CHAPTER 39
Sisssttterrr!
Laura nearly dropped the thermometer
she was holding for her patient. She’d let her guard down and
Justice was calling her.
It’s gone, isn’t it?
The evil incubus . . . you lossst it!
How does that feel,
bitch? It’ssss gone!
There was a snarling sound of
satisfaction in his hiss. Her knees nearly buckled. She closed her
eyes and threw out her own taunt: Come and get me,
you sick freak. Just try.
And then she slammed up her mental
wall. Fast. Hard. Before he could respond.
“Hey!” her patient said, a man who’d
had his appendix removed the day before.
“Sorry.” She forced a smile just as the
electronic thermometer beeped, showing that Mr. Greer’s temperature
was perfectly normal. He glowered up at her as she gave him the
good news, then demanded more ice in his water glass and a change
on his menu, one he’d chosen the night before, when his pain meds
had, apparently, colored his options.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said,
“but I can’t promise anything.”
How could Justice know that she wasn’t
pregnant any longer?
Just how deep was her connection to
him?
“Time to end it,” she muttered under
her breath as she left fresh ice with Mr. Greer before heading to
the nurses’ station. Sooner or later she’d have to come
face-to-face with Justice, and that thought both terrified and
galvanized her. She had to be ready, both mentally and physically
strong.
Somehow she had to shake off the
melancholy of losing her child and let anger burn through her,
directed at her tormenter. But today . . . today she just felt sad
and overwhelmed.
By the time that Laura was through with
her double shift, she was ready to tumble into bed and never wake
up. She needed to regroup, then somehow get the drop on
Justice.
How much easier it would be if the
police would catch him.
But she was losing faith in the
authorities as the days since his escape wore on. Wherever he’d
holed up, it was a dark, well-concealed hiding spot.
“He can’t hide forever,” she reminded
herself as she clocked out.
Grabbing her purse from her locker, she
headed toward the main doors of the building. Working in the
hospital had helped take her mind off losing the baby and Justice’s
attack and her conflicted emotions about Harrison Frost. Falling in
love with him was definitely not on her agenda, but then neither
had been getting pregnant, suffering a miscarriage, or fighting her
mental and physical battles with a homicidal maniac.
A week ago, her life had seemed boring.
In a rut. Predictable.
But now . . .
She clicked on her cell phone and saw
that she had half a dozen messages, mostly from Harrison. She was
about to phone him back when she rounded a corner and nearly ran
into Carlita Solano heading the other direction. Carlita was
carrying a patient intake packet but stopped short when she spied
Laura. “Hey! You outta here?”
“Uh-huh.” Laura kept
walking.
“That reporter, the guy who was here
from the Seaside Breeze, he’s been waiting
for you.”
It was amazing to Laura how Carlita’s
nose could smell out gossip. Rarely did anything go on within the
walls of Ocean Park that the nurse didn’t know about. Right now
Carlita’s dark eyes flashed, as they always did when she sensed
gossip. She fell into step with Laura as they passed a visitors’
lounge where several people were leafing through dog-eared
magazines.
“Have you heard anything about
Conrad?”
Laura shook her head. “Still comatose,
from what I hear.” What she didn’t admit to was going to the ICU
and checking the man’s vitals herself early in her shift. Conrad
lay on the bed, eyes closed, tubes running in and out of his body,
his heartbeat monitored by a computer screen.
“That’s what I heard, too. It’s all
just so weird,” Carlita said. “It seems that every time I turn on
the local news, I see Ocean Park on the screen. Or at least that
reporter who’s been hanging out around here. Pauline
What’s-her-name.”
“Kirby,” Laura supplied as she passed
the admissions desk, where several patients, insurance cards and
forms in hand, were seated in plastic chairs by a few strategically
placed ficus trees while waiting to be admitted.
“Right. What a bitch.” Laura didn’t
comment and Carlita asked, “So, what’s the deal with you and the
guy from the Breeze?”
Laura shrugged. “He’s probably after a
story,” she said and forced a smile she didn’t feel as she pushed
through the doors just as Nurse Solano’s pager went off and she
bustled away.
Harrison was parked next to her in the
lot, near one of the security lamps. Gone was the good weather. A
soft rain was falling, causing the lamp’s light to look a little
fuzzy and creating a slick sheen over the pavement.
He climbed out of his car as she
approached, and she felt a little jolt in her heart at the sight of
him. His beleaguered jeans, T-shirt, and beat-up leather jacket,
along with his scruffy hair and beard shadow, added to the
I-don’t-give-a-damn allure. Something she’d thought she was immune
to.
“Don’t you have a job or anything?” she
asked as she approached him.
His smile was brief. “Doin’
it.”
“Hmmm.”
“Look, there’s a lot we need to talk
about.”
She glanced back at the hospital and
wondered if anyone, including Carlita Solano, was taking note of
their conversation. “Not here. How about at my house? I’m really
beat.”
“You know you can’t stay
there.”
She didn’t want to hear that, but she
knew he was right. “Then how about a five-star hotel, somewhere
with room service, decadent desserts, and a Jacuzzi tub . . . ?”
she suggested with a wan smile.
He laughed. “In your
dreams.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
“I have an idea. A little B and B owned
by a friend of mine in Astoria. He owes me a favor.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Laura
noticed Byron striding out of the hospital. Her stomach did a
nosedive. She wasn’t in the mood.
“Laura!” Byron called, loudly, zeroing
in on her.
“Want me to get rid of him?” Harrison
asked.
“He is a doctor
here. Could be considered my boss, in a way.” When Harrison’s brows
slammed together, she touched his arm. “I know,” she said, then
reluctantly turned to meet her ex-husband halfway across the
lot.
“I’m off duty,” she told him
curtly.
“I know.” He seemed a little less
hostile than before. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened at the
house, about that maniac chasing you down, and I know I’ve been
kind of rough on you lately.”
“Really.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender.
“Okay, I know. A jerk, but I wanted to make sure you were
okay.”
“Yeah, that’s what it is.”
He struggled not to argue further but
said instead, “And the baby?”
“Oh, for the love of God. How many
times do I have to tell you, I’m not pregnant! Seriously. Forget
about any delusions you have. There is no baby!” Her heart cracked
at those last words, and she felt a rush of tears, which she
somehow managed to blink back.
Byron stared. “I almost believe
you.”
Laura silently counted to ten, then
left him to stalk back to her car and a waiting
Harrison.
“What was that all about?” he
asked.
“Another misunderstanding,” she bit
out. She heard a car door slam and then a powerful engine roar to
life. Byron was gunning his Corvette. A moment later he shifted
into second before reaching the street, where he tapped his brakes,
then sped onto the highway.
Harrison’s gaze followed Byron, too. “I
can’t believe you were married to that guy.”
“I was young.” And
stupid. So easily and ridiculously impressed. Clearing her
throat, she said, “Let’s get back to you trying to convince me not
to go home.”
He turned his attention to her again,
and she noticed his hair starting to curl and darken in the mist.
“I did a feature on the B and B when I first moved up here, and the
owner got a lot of free publicity. He said I could stay anytime. I
think this qualifies as anytime.”
She was so weary. So, so weary. Seeing
her waver, he touched her shoulder as he reached for his phone with
his other hand. “You’re gonna love it.”
She wasn’t so sure but climbed behind
the wheel of her Subaru as he stood outside his Impala and made
arrangements for the night.
“We’re set,” he said. “The name of the
place is Heritage House. You want to follow me?” He gave her the
address before climbing behind the wheel of his own car and
starting the engine.
Like an automaton, she headed after
him, north to Astoria. She hoped he didn’t have any thoughts of
romance, because it just couldn’t happen. With a sigh, she said,
“I’ll jump off that bridge when I come to it.”
I sneak down the stairs
to the bait shop’s parking lot and drink in the scent of the sea.
It’s foul here, rank with the scents of oil and dead shellfish and
diesel, but still, there is a hint of brine to fill my
lungs.
I wonder if the van
will still work. Faded letters advertising Carter’s Bait Shop,
along with a phone number and an image of a sexy mermaid, cover the
driver’s side. The plates are expired, so I quickly switch them
with those of a Toyota parked in the corner. The Toyota belongs to
Carter’s daughter Carrie, but she leaves it whenever her boyfriend
picks her up in his winched-up 4x4.
It’s a simple matter to
change out the plates and hot-wire the van. It starts easily, which
is good, and the gas gauge indicates the fuel tank is nearly a
quarter full. Enough for tonight.
Slowly, not bothering
with the headlights, I cruise out of the bait shop’s lot and up a
short rise toward the highway that snakes along the
coast.
I have business to
attend to. . . .
James Ferguson stared in disbelief at
his brother’s empty room.
He was gone? Seriously?
Mikey had really taken
off?
James searched his brother’s room for
the third time, then the garage and the family room and the whole
rest of the house. He’d called Mikey’s phone a dozen times and left
him messages as well as a kazillion texts. Desperate, he’d even
called some of the dweeb’s friends, but no one copped to knowing
where Mikey was.
“Great,” he growled as he flung open
the slider door off the kitchen dining area and stepped onto the
covered patio. Rain dripped down from the corrugated plastic roof
to puddle around the edges of the concrete pad and soak the yard.
Where the hell was that little jerkwad? Mom and Dad were due back
in a couple nights and James was in charge and now that little
freakoid was gone! James hadn’t seen him at all after school, and
he’d thought maybe Mikey had cut out early with friends. After all
it was the last week of classes . . . but . . .
“Shit! Fuck! Hell!”
James thought about the little jerk’s
fascination for that psycho at the beach, the escaped whack job.
Mikey couldn’t get enough info on that sick dude. He was really
pushing James to drive over to the coast before their folks
returned and . . . oh, son of a bitch! The douche bag had taken off
on his own.
Standing on the back patio, looking
into the wet night, his stomach already a rock-hard knot, he worked
up the nerve to call Belinda Mathis. She was on his speed dial,
though he never called, or hadn’t until right now. He hit the
button and waited impatiently for her to answer. Just the thought
that he was trying to contact her caused his palms to sweat. He
thought of her pretty pixie-like face and incredible long hair.
Then there was her tight ass and . . .
Her phone went to voice mail. He didn’t
leave a message and texted instead:
does your sister know where my brother
mike is?
There was a few second gap as the rain
plopped steadily on the ground, and James noticed the neighbor’s
Siamese cat skittering quickly across the top of the fence, only to
look his way and hiss before gathering itself and jumping to the
far side.
“Perfect!” As the testy cat
disappeared, James’s phone chirped to indicate he was receiving a
text.
Belinda Mathis’s phone number, along
with her pretty face, appeared on the screen of his
cell.
Her short reply was: k says at the
beach she thought he was with you
James’s stomach dropped as he typed
quickly, his fingers flying, his head pounding with about a million
questions.
James: im at home how did he get to the
beach
Belinda: dk
dk—Don’t know. Crap! If she didn’t
know, who would?
James: when did he go
Belinda: k says maybe
2nite
“Shit!” he said aloud, but typed:
thx
Belinda: tell him to call
k
“Oh, sure that’s what I’m gonna do,” he
said aloud as he texted Mikey again and felt another wash of
embarrassment that the only way he could talk to the coolest girl
in school was because of his dumb shit of a brother.
He curled his fist and jammed it into
the metal post that supported the overhang. Bam! Pain erupted in his hand. Water splashed off the
roof. There wasn’t so much as the tiniest dent in the
post.
He knew what he had to do. If he didn’t
get his brother back here, ASAP, Mom and Dad would kill them
both!
And it would be the little creep’s
fault. All Mikey’s goddamned fault!
Laura had to hand it to
Harrison.
He hadn’t been lying.
She did like the bed-and-breakfast. In
fact, she liked it a lot. Situated on a steep hillside, the old
Queen Anne–style home was poised to look out over the mouth of the
Columbia River. Inside, the house had been renovated, with interior
plumbing in each of the suites, though the rooms held their
original charm, Tiffany lamps glowing warmly on gleaming woodwork,
a runner protecting the stairs, tables and settees scattered around
a foyer.
Their room was on the third floor. A
bay window looked over the roof of the carriage house and the
lights of the city to the black waters of the wide river. Lights
glowed on the waterfront and shone upward on the massive
Astoria-Megler Bridge, which spanned the wide Columbia River as it
linked the two states of Oregon and Washington. The Oregon end of
the bridge rose to the heavens, making it tall enough for
freighters to pass in the deep channel; then the span dropped
suddenly to flatten over the rolling waters as it stretched to the
Washington shore.
“That must’ve been quite a favor,”
Laura said as she dropped her bag on the four-poster bed. In her
mind’s eye she saw Harrison under the thick covers, his dark hair
mussed on the linens, his naked body stretched next to hers. They
would touch and kiss and . . .
And it was too soon . .
. too soon. . . .
A deep sadness welled inside her, and
she dropped into one of the side chairs near the window. “Justice
reached out to me again, but I closed him out.”
“Don’t think you’re so special.
Remember, he called me, too,” Harrison said.
“This is getting worse and worse. So
many people.” She found his gaze. “It’s not just me, or my sisters.
Justice is terrorizing everyone he’s ever dealt with. I saw Conrad
Weiser today, the security guard who was supposed to help transfer
him, and his condition hasn’t improved.”
“When the bastard uses Zellman’s phone
again, the police might locate him and figure out where he’s holed
up.”
“There could be so many places,” she
said. Even though Justice had an attachment to the ocean, Tillamook
County was only a portion of the Oregon coastline. If he headed
north, as they had, he could travel into Clatsop County and into
Washington State, or to the south into Lincoln County and beyond.
And that didn’t count on the fact that he could head inland, if he
followed Becca and Hudson, which she believed, hoped, was a long
shot.
“I brought protection,” he said and
slid the gun from the waistband of his jeans.
She stared at the gun. For a moment
she’d thought he meant something else, and she had to fight to keep
her emotions from showing on her face.
“You know how to use it?” he
asked.
“Only from what I’ve seen on
TV.”
“It’s not too heavy, but it’s got a
little kick to it, so if you have to use it, use both hands, okay?”
He handed her the gun, came around behind her and, placing his
hands over hers, leveled the pistol.
She quivered. “I hope it doesn’t come
to this.”
“Me, too. But here, let me show you.”
He pointed out the parts of the gun. “Tomorrow we’ll go to a range
and you can practice.”
She held the 9 mm in one hand, then the
other, then with both, frowning at the weapon as she tested its
weight.
Harrison pressed it onto the table.
“For now, it’s peace of mind. Tomorrow it might become something
more. Let’s just leave it.”
She nodded but every once in a while
glanced at the gun, safety on, lying on the antique
table.
They talked for a while, getting
nowhere; then Harrison offered to go out and bring back some kind
of dinner.
“It’s ten o’clock,” she protested, but
he waved off her concerns, promising to be back soon. As soon as he
stepped out of the room and locked the door behind him, she
stripped out of the clothes she’d worn through both her shifts,
twisted her hair onto her head, and took a hot shower. She was
still bleeding, but already her flow had slowed. She didn’t break
down. She almost did, but once again she channeled her emotions
into anger, plotting how she would face Justice.
What the hell was Justice doing calling
Harrison on Dr. Zellman’s cell phone?
She toweled off and put herself back
together, tossing on an oversized T-shirt to sleep in. Hearing the
door to the suite open, she grabbed the thick robe left hanging on
the door and slipped her arms through the wide sleeves, then walked
into the living area.
Harrison, his hair wet and windblown,
was just walking through the door from the hallway. In his arms was
a cardboard pizza box and a bottle of wine. “Pepperoni and Merlot,”
he said. “Pretty high class.”
“Very.” She couldn’t help the smile
that tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“What could be better?”
“Nothing,” she said simply, her voice
cracking a bit.
Harrison threw her a look. “We’re going
to get him,” he said as he placed the box and bottle on a lacquered
pedestal table, then served up the pizza on napkins. There were
wineglasses and a corkscrew tucked into a small glass-fronted
cupboard. Harrison found what he needed, uncorked the wine, and
poured them each a glass, then set the bottle near the open
corrugated box. “Anyone ‘call’ while I was gone?”
“If you’re talking about Justice
Turnbull, the answer is no.”
He clicked the rim of her wineglass
with his. “Here’s to catching bad guys.”
“Real bad guys,” she
added.
“Real bad guys,” he
agreed.
It was all Harrison could do to keep
his hands off her as she fell asleep on the bed beside him. She
looked sexy as hell in the oversized T-shirt, with her hair piled
on her head, her long neck exposed, but he stayed on his side of
the bed and simply watched as her breathing grew
regular.
He knew she cared about him, had felt
her response the last time they’d kissed. Her blood had heated as
fast as his had, but tonight she was a little withdrawn, and his
sister’s words echoed through his brain.
Take it slow, okay?
Laura’s not the only one who’s falling in love. . .
.
Much as he hated to admit it, Harrison
grudgingly decided that he was feeling something deep for Laura.
And whether she was truly falling for him was yet to be determined;
she seemed to run hot and cold. Then again, maybe she was riddled
with the same doubts he was. He’d started out intending to write a
story that would blow the public away. Now he was embroiled in some
kind of creepy mind game with a psychopath while falling for the
monster’s latest intended victim.
He watched the rise and fall of her
chest and softly brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. His heart
twisted and deep inside he felt a male response. He tamped that
down as best he could but risked brushing his lips over her
forehead. She moaned in her sleep, and he watched as her lips
twitched.
That was it. He couldn’t do
this.
Sliding off the bed, he grabbed his
pillow, found an extra blanket in the armoire and, still cold,
slipped on his jeans before lying on the floor. The settee in the
room was just too small for his six-foot frame.
This, him sleeping on the floor, either
at Kirsten’s or his own damned apartment, on the Aero Bed, was
getting to be a habit.
Pain in the ass.
The bait shop van is
mine for the taking. Risky, but I need to hurry. My mission cannot
wait any longer. Carefully, I pull around to the road and turn, out
of view, and then I’m gone.
The witches are
slumbering.
It doesn’t take long
and I’m there, but I park far away from their lair, hiding the van
on an unused driveway, then walk more than a mile through the
darkness to the fenced grounds.
Though the main gate
would be the easiest to breach, it could be watched and is far too
risky, so I ease around the corner, deeper into the forest, the
surrounding trees a canopy, their branches heavy with the rain.
Through the Stygian darkness, I move, and I feel that quick little
frisson of anticipation, the soul-jarring excitement that comes
before a kill.
For a split second, my
mind wanders and I nearly stumble. Voices call to me. Voices from
my youth . . . or are they nearby?
I whirl and stare at
the gloom behind me.
Is it a creature of the
night? Some rodent stirring the brush? Or just the
rain?
Or your imagination . . . You know
you’ve seen things that can’t be.
But I’m dizzy for a
second, and I think with fury of the one who dares call me . . .
Lorelei. Her scent is faint now . . . farther
away.
I grip the rough bark
of a nearby fir, squeeze my eyes shut, and slowly count to ten,
forcing a calm through my center, trying to capture that bit of
reality that, I’m told, sometimes escapes me.
Slowly, I recover. I
release the tree and slip my weapon, Lorelei’s knife, between my
teeth as I scale the fence, away from the front of the grounds,
toward the back. There, in the shadows, I stare up at the huge
edifice where lights still glow.
They are
inside.
Unaware.
While the sea pounds
the shore far below. I draw deep breaths, filling my lungs with the
salty air, listening to the thunderous cadence, imagining the crash
of waves against the rocky shoals. Rain runs down my face. Clears
my head. Helps me focus.
There is so much to do.
And it must be done tonight. All of it.
In my mind I hear the
taunts of the witches . . . “Bastard,” “Imbecile,” “Freak,” and my
blood rages, thundering in my brain, their cruel taunts like a
drill with a dozen heads piercing my brain. Hateful, evil spawn of
Satan! Whores who procreate like their sinister bitch of a
mother!
My head throbs, and
then I remember the doctor who thought he could treat me. Fool!
Sanctimonious, supercilious, arrogant idiot! How dare he think he
can determine my fate?
But I fooled you,
Zellman. Proved you to be unworthy, a charlatan. But that’s not
enough. You need to feel my pain. . . . You need to feel the same
depths of despair . . . . Oh, there is so much to do, so many
things to do.
Tonight . .
.
In my mind I see the
doctor in his office, his eyes knowing . . . his smile false and
forced, and he thinks he knows me. . . .
I blink. Feel the rain
on my face. Return to the moment.
There is no more time
for planning. No seconds left to savor my intentions. Staring at
the house, I see movement behind the windows, and I smile as I
recognize her glancing worriedly through the panes before she draws
the shades.
My fingers curl around
the hilt of my knife, now in a death grip in my right
hand.
She peers through the
small space where the curtains don’t quite
meet.
Too late,
bitch.
Far, far too
late.