CHAPTER 28
“He’s here!”
“Where? Where is he? Where are you?”
Harrison demanded, jumping to his feet, upending his stool in the
process. It clattered to the floor as he yelled into his phone,
“Laura! Lorelei! Laura!”
Dead zone. No connection.
He turned and was running for the door
in one movement.
“Hey!” Geena called behind
him.
“Call a cab! On me!” he yelled over his
shoulder and then dropped her from his thoughts in the next
moment.
He was at his car in less than seven
seconds, yanking open the door. He had no illusions about what
Laura meant. The bastard was there. Justice Turnbull had found
Laura.
“Damn . . . goddammit . . . damn . .
.”
With fumbling fingers he tried to call
her. No answer. Tossing his cell phone into the passenger seat, he
growled in frustration and fear.
He should have stayed with her. He
should have listened to his own inner voice, the one that cautioned
him. He should have never left her alone. God, why did he leave her
alone? What if something happened to her? What if Justice hurt her
. . . or . . . what if he . . . ?
Harrison slammed the door shut on his
worries. No time for that. He had to get to her. He had to find
her. Save her from the maniac and kill that son of a bitch, send
the psycho to kingdom come.
His hands flexed on the
wheel.
If that bastard hurt her . . . if he
hurt one hair on her head. . .
He wondered how he’d been so foolish as
to put her into danger. By not believing, thinking her “connection”
to Turnbull was all in her head. Guilt bored through his soul and
panic kept his foot hard on the accelerator as the night, and
oncoming cars, rushed by, headlights muted by the fog, their beams
arcing through the night to shimmer on the wet ribbon of asphalt
that wound through the cliffs to Laura’s cottage.
God be with her.
He floored it around a final corner and
drove like a maniac. At the access road that led to her drive, he
spun off Highway 101, up the hill, and nearly sideswiped a black
SUV in the process. Wrenching the steering wheel, Harrison barely
slowed down, bumping and blasting forward. Then, shooting into her
driveway, he stood on the brakes, skidding on the wet gravel, his
tires whining, tiny rocks spraying wildly as he stopped behind her
car, the only vehicle in the driveway.
He threw open his door and jumped out,
stumbling a little in his haste. Down on one knee. Staggering. Up
again, in control, balanced on the balls of his feet.
Ready.
The lights were blasting inside her
house. Illuminating both the back steps and front porch. Darkness
crouched behind this bright scene. Quickly he glanced around, then,
bending down, reached into the gravel drive, his fingers searching
for a larger stone. No luck. But then his hand closed over a laurel
branch that felt at least an inch in diameter. Good
enough.
Crouched low, he swept around his
Impala, then checked Laura’s car. No one. He couldn’t see her in
the house, which was now a fishbowl, yellow light shining from
every window. Bright, uncurtained, empty rooms. No sign of any life
anywhere.
Laura . . . Lorelei . .
. ,he thought achingly, fear tearing through him like a
brittle cold wind.
Should he go inside? Make his presence
known? If Justice was still around, he couldn’t have missed his
approaching car.
He straightened, listening, the branch
clutched in his hand. “Laura!” he said aloud, hearing how sober and
serious his tone was. No answer. “Laura!” he yelled
louder.
A moan sounded. A mewling
sound.
Toward the highway. West.
He turned to it, bent over, scuttling,
moving fast. The moan came from somewhere that sounded far away, at
the western edge of the property, which faced the highway and,
farther out, the ocean. The land at the front of her bungalow
sloped slightly downward, then suddenly dropped off. Highway 101
lay about fifteen feet below.
Fingers holding his stick in a death
grip, he stole along the gravel path that led from the front door.
All his senses were alert. Ready. His muscles flexed, his heart
beating a steady, fear-driven beat. If the maniac jumped out at
him, the bastard was going to be in for one helluva
battle.
“Lorelei,” he called softly again, his
voice sounding loud in the covering darkness.
The cry that came back to him was of
relief. “Harrison?” Her voice was strangled with emotion. “I’m—I’m
down here!”
Thank . . . God . . . !
He leapt forward and skidded to a stop
at the edge of the short cliff. He could see her form, huddled in
the ditch below that ran along the side of the highway. Ten to
fifteen feet down. He glanced around quickly. Where was
Justice?
“You okay?” he asked, sinking to his
knees, grabbing a hanging limb from a shivering laurel, then
stepping toward the edge, aware the limb wouldn’t hold his weight.
At that moment, it snapped and split, but Harrison had only
partially given it his weight, and he swung and scrabbled downward
into the dirt, half rolling to the ground beside Laura, who was
sitting up and quivering.
“Harrison . . . ,” she said brokenly.
“Harrison.”
He pulled her quaking body close.
“Lorelei.”
“I’m okay,” she said through teeth that
chattered. “I’m okay.”
He didn’t believe it for an instant. He
kissed her head, squeezed her, fought back his own fear at losing
her. He ran his hand down the back of her head, entwining her hair
in his fingers, wanting to fuse her to him, feeling her heart
beating as the cloaked surf pounded the shore somewhere far below
them. “Where is he?” he demanded in a cold voice.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I—I
fell and it just went quiet. He was up above and I saw him. I
think. It was hard to tell. Too dark and all this fog . . . but I
think he looked down at me but couldn’t come down, probably for
fear of being seen with the headlights from the traffic. I don’t
know. Anyway, he’s gone. I hope . . .” She buried her face in his
shoulder. Harrison clutched her as hard as she clutched him,
feeling her warmth, the desperation of her grasp.
Harrison glanced back up the short
cliff. Justice could still be on the grounds, waiting. Hidden in
the shadows.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. Scraped a little. I was scared. I
just fell, but it was okay. I heard you on the phone, but I was
running and I lost it and . . .” She shuddered.
He squeezed her and whispered into her
hair, “Don’t move. Stay here. I’m going to check the
house—”
“No!” She scrambled to get her legs
under her. “I can’t stay here. No way. I—I’m going with
you!”
“I don’t think—”
“And I don’t care.” She was emphatic,
her spine stiffening as he held her.
He sighed. “Anyone ever tell you you’re
stubborn?”
“You’re the first.”
“Yeah, right. Okay. C’mon.” Clasping
her hand, and keeping low against the cliff face, he led her along
the ditch until they reached the access road that led east and
upward toward her driveway. “You okay?”
“Okay, enough.”
Climbing the steep few feet to the top
of the ditch together, Harrison held on to her tightly. As one,
they crept up the road. He tried to shield her body with his, but
in the shadowy, thick night, Turnbull could be hiding anywhere,
could leap out from behind the solitary fir tree or the laurel
hedge or the car.
Harrison squinted into the darkness. He
held on to her fingers with one hand; in the other he still
clenched the smooth-barked stick. Approaching her driveway, he
spied both their cars and the bright squares of the windows of her
bungalow.
He squeezed her hand and they both
stopped. For a long moment they stood quietly, eyes and ears
straining, hearts pounding rapidly.
Harrison said in an undertone, “My
phone’s in my car. I should’ve called nine-one-one.”
“No . . . ,” she murmured.
“It’s time the police were called. Past
time.”
“I know. But . . . do you think he’s
here? I don’t think he’s here anymore. I knew he was here before, and it doesn’t feel the same
now.”
“Lorelei, I’d like to trust your
instincts, but he came after you this time. Physically. There’s a
difference.”
“I know. But I just want to go
inside.”
Against his better judgment he gave in
and led the way to the back door, which was gaping open, unable to
close, because Justice had smashed the lock through the casing. Now
Harrison pushed at the door panels with one finger, opening it
wider. A knife with a short, bloody blade lay on the floor in the
shards of glass.
“I left that,” Laura said, her voice
slightly unsteady. “That was my weapon, but I wanted the phone.” As
Harrison bent to pick it up and place it on the table, she said,
“He has my butcher knife.”
“Jesus.” Harrison’s gaze scraped the
interior of the cottage again.
“He’s not here. He’s gone.” She looked
around the room a little wild-eyed.
“You’re bleeding,” Harrison said
neutrally, though seeing the blood soaking through the knee of her
uniform’s left pant leg was a bit harrowing.
Following his gaze, Laura said, “Oh,”
then bent down to it, pulling up the pant leg and revealing a long
bloody scratch. “It’s not deep.” Remembering, her fingers then flew
to her cheekbone, which was red and sporting a coming bruise. “Got
hit by a branch. But he’s gone. He’s not here.”
“Let’s make sure.”
“Okay,” she said.
He grabbed the knife with his right
hand and transferred the stick into his left. Carefully, with Laura
in tow, he crossed the living room and closed and locked the front
door, which had swung open, giving a sweeping glance around the
porch first. Then he checked the bedrooms, bathroom, and
closets.
“You’re right. He’s not here,” he said,
returning to the kitchen.
“He must’ve run away when he heard you,
or after he realized he couldn’t get to me. I thought I heard
something crashing through some brush.”
“Which direction?”
“North, maybe? Or up the hill into the
woods?”
“How did he get here?” Harrison asked,
more to himself than to her.
“I think he was already here when I got
home.”
“Well, we’re not staying here.”
Harrison reached for her hand again. “We’ll call the police
and—”
“No! Not tonight.” She let out a weary
sigh. “I know I should have called them earlier, and I kicked
myself that I didn’t, but . . . I just can’t face them and all
their questions.”
“You have to.”
“I know. But . . . can it wait? Until
morning at least? Please. I just can’t.”
“He’s a murderer. An escapee from a
mental hospital.”
She nodded and shook her head. “All
right. They can check the break-in. Tell them to come over. But
I’ll talk to them in the morning.”
Harrison weighed the options. “Okay,
then, we’ll go to my sister’s. She doesn’t live far.”
“No . . . I . . . don’t . .
.”
“You’re not staying here,” he insisted.
“It’s not safe. And tomorrow we’re going to the authorities,” he
stated flatly. “Tonight it’s either my place, a motel, or my
sister’s. But wherever it is, I’m not leaving you. Your
choice.”
She swallowed, glanced down at the
knife, then very deliberately picked it up and placed it back on
its magnetic holder. “Your sister’s?”
“My sister’s,” he repeated. “Right
after I call the police.”
She remained silent.
“It’ll be okay,” he said, hearing her
unspoken reluctance. “They’ll have a fresh trail. You can talk to
them in the morning.” His gaze met hers. “We have to.”
“Oh, hell . . .” She nodded.
“Fine!”
Something was off. There was a strange,
pillowy thickness to the air, and Justice felt both lost and
intensely furious with Lorelei as he strode, head down, along the
edge of the surf, which curled and licked at his
boots.
Lorelei . .
.
Justice ground his teeth together and
squeezed his mind hard, seeking to reach inside her evil head. He
threw all he had into making a mental connection, but she thwarted
him. Oh, she was strong! Stronger than he’d believed. He’d had his
hands into her Medusa hair, and now his skin felt on
fire.
He was walking along the beach, but
inside he was running. How many miles was he from the bait shop?
Six? Eight? Maybe ten? He wouldn’t be able to walk the entire
distance on the beach; there were several rocky cliffs that broke
up the sand. Those would be the dangerous places. When he would
have to move from the beach to where people could see him. But he
wouldn’t have to walk along the main highway, either. There were
twisting roads and paths between 101 and the ocean. He could find
his way.
He would make it.
He fingered the butcher knife in his
jacket pocket.
Tomorrow he would finish
her.
He knew where she lived.
He knew where she worked.
He knew her.
The baby . .
.
Laura ran a hand lightly across her
stomach as Harrison drove with controlled urgency to a rather
dilapidated cottage a little less than ten miles south of her
bungalow. As he’d promised, he’d called the police, and they had
come to the house. They’d talked to her quickly, the interview was
shorter than she expected, but the officers assured her detectives
would want to speak to her again in the morning. In the meantime,
her house was being cordoned off as a crime scene.
Now, two hours later, she was looking
at the home of Harrison’s sister. Like hers, it was perched on the
uphill/ eastern side of Highway 101, facing toward the sea, and
also like hers, there were a lot of buildings and foliage on the
western side of the highway, which obscured most of the view,
though as soon as she stepped from Harrison’s car, she could hear
the sea’s dull roar.
She’d wanted to tell Harrison this was
a fool’s errand the whole way, but she hadn’t the energy. He’d
suggested she pack a bag and she had, like an automaton, her
thoughts dull and scattered, focused on Justice and the indelible
etching in her mind of his features, a cold, lean face with
glaring, empty eyes. A nightmare.
She’d forcefully pushed thoughts of him
aside, and her next fear had leapt into the space in her brain:
the baby.
Her fall hadn’t been far but it had
been jarring. She’d lain out of breath and slightly dazed,
adrenaline pumping, fear magnified, as she’d thought he might fling
himself over the edge after her. Only the traffic had kept her safe
while she huddled in the ditch beside the road, far enough down
that she was shielded by debris and Scotch broom from the sight of
passersby.
Harrison climbed from the driver’s side
and around to her. They both skirted a blue Honda Accord parked on
the cracked asphalt drive. His sister’s, she surmised.
Harrison glanced toward the front
window, where a sliver of light escaped through drawn curtains.
“Didi’s probably asleep, but Kirsten’s still up,” he said. He gave
her a sober look. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
They both knew it was a bald-faced lie.
She wondered if she’d ever be “okay” again. He squeezed her hand
and her heart turned over. A glance at his face and the beard
shadow covering his jaw almost convinced her that she was falling
in love with him. Which was ridiculous. Still, the flash of his
teeth when he smiled, the slight dimple in his cheek, and his eyes
. . . hazel eyes as green-gray as the Pacific . . . She almost
laughed at her stupid romantic fantasies.
She didn’t know why she’d agreed to
come. Maybe because she hadn’t wanted to be alone. Maybe because
she wanted to be with Harrison. Maybe because she felt he was right
and the time for fooling around with Justice was long
over.
Maybe because there was no other
choice.
She led the way up a short path lined
with small white shells that glowed under the faint light from the
crack in the blinds and a half-moon that was playing tag with
scudding clouds. There were two steps leading to the small cement
porch, which was dark beneath a burned-out exterior
light.
Harrison knocked on the door, then
called, “Kirsten, it’s me.”
A dog started yapping wildly, and Laura
heard Harrison mutter a series of swear words beneath his breath
and something that sounded like, “It can’t even see me, the little
bastard . . . !”
“Are you talking about the dog?” she
asked, but then the door opened and a slim woman in gray sweats and
a white, collared, fuzzy sweater with a front zipper
appeared.
Her gaze swept over them, landing on
Harrison. “What are you doing?” she demanded, annoyed. “It’s after
ten!”
“I’ve got a small favor to ask,” he
said.
“Ask it in the morning!”
“I’d like to stay here tonight, with a
friend. At least I’d like her to stay and me with
her.”
That caught her attention and she
turned toward Laura, who stood motionless, feeling slightly
idiotic. “Okay,” she said carefully, waiting for more as her eyes
narrowed thoughtfully.
“This is Laura Adderley,” he
introduced. “Would you just open the door and let us
in?”
She stepped back and a small, hairy dog
charged forward, barking madly. “Shut up, Chico,” she muttered
fondly. “Damn it. You’ll wake Didi! Harrison, get in here and sit
down. Chico!” she hissed through her teeth. To Laura, she said,
“Hi. Sorry. The dog and Harry just don’t connect.”
Chico, ignoring her, kept barking at
Harrison, who, once the door was shut behind them and locked,
walked to the far end of the living room and a straight-backed
chair, his gaze on the dog, who glared fearlessly right back.
Chico’s barking turned to a low-throated growl.
“Good grief,” Kirsten
muttered.
Laura saw the resemblance. Kirstin
looked like Harrison in a way, the same eyes and mouth, but whereas
he seemed to cultivate a scruffy, “I don’t care” kind of look, her
hair was combed into a sleek ponytail and she seemed more put
together.
Kirstin gazed apologetically at Laura.
“Umm . . . I’ve got an air mattress that I could put in the living
room? The sheets are in the hall cupboard for it and the vacuum’s
there to blow it up. Or, I can move Didi into my bed with me, and
we can remake up her bed. . . .”
“Don’t worry about us. Lorelei can have
the blow-up and I’ll take the couch.”
“The couch will break your back,”
Kirsten said dryly. “As you well know.”
“I’ll live.”
“So, are you going to tell me what this
is all about?” she asked.
“Tomorrow.” He shifted in the chair,
where Chico stood stiff-legged in front of him. The dog’s little
black lips quivered and Harrison looked askance at his sister.
“Really . . . ?”
“C’mon, Cheeks.” Kirsten scooped the
dog into her arms, and he wriggled and yapped and tried to keep his
gaze on Harrison. Kirsten gave Laura a pitying look before she went
down the hall. “You really shouldn’t get involved with him, you
know. He’s nothing but trouble.”
“I’m just her bodyguard,” he stated
before Laura could respond.
“Sure you are.” Kirsten disappeared out
of view.
As soon as they heard her bedroom door
close, Harrison got to his feet and found the vacuum and bedding
for Laura and an extra blanket for himself. He blew up the
mattress, and then they put the sheets and blankets on the air
mattress together, but as Harrison straightened, he saw Laura had
taken the extra blanket and snuggled onto the couch.
“Hey,” he said.
“It’s too short for you,” she said.
“And I don’t want your back to break.”
He gave her a studied look. “You could
share the mattress with me.”
Laura, feeling the effects of a very
long day, tried to muster a smile. “I’m going to go change out of
these pants and check the scratch on my leg. Make sure I have a
pillow when I get back.” With that she scooped up her bag and
headed to the bathroom. All the while she wondered what she was
doing, staying another night with Harrison, this time at his
sister’s place. As odd as it was, she somehow felt at home. “You’re
a head case,” she told her reflection as she stared into the mirror
of the medicine cabinet mounted over the sink, then brushed her
teeth and rinsed her mouth. “A bona fide head case.”
And, deep down, she feared she was
falling in love.
“The least of your
problems.”
When she was finished with her evening
ablutions, she returned to find he’d tossed a pillow onto the
couch.
As she settled down, she was unnerved
to see he was lying on his back on the air mattress, staring at
her.
She stared back, her pulse rising with
each silent moment. Feeling a bit breathless, she turned away,
wrapping a protective arm around her abdomen, and reminded herself
that she was pregnant.
With her ex-husband’s
child.