Arranging Love (9 page)

Chapter 12

Peter pushed the SUV as fast as he dared through the blinding snow. The storm had started only thirty minutes ago, but the lazy flakes floating to earth had quickly become a wind-driven blur of white. The weather stations had said only flurries and scant accumulation, but already an inch of greasy snow had collected on the road, making the driving that much more hazardous. Peter’s headlights tunneled through the darkness from his
Bangor office to the shop, turning the flakes of snow into a dizzying vortex of white points of light.

His gut told him something was terribly wrong. He’d called Meghan twice this afternoon, but
Chelsea had said she was too busy to talk and would call him back. She hadn’t. Now the friggin’ battery of his cell had died, and he had no way of calling Meghan to tell her he was on his way. He plowed restless fingers through his hair, hoping his discomfort was nothing more than paranoia.

He looked down at the flogger on the seat next to him. This was not what he’d intended when he’d sought out the Internet relationship with
Crystal. Why would she follow him to
Maine
and start digging around in his real life? He hadn’t even talked to her face-to-face, for chrissake. Obviously, she’d found out where he lived. Peter’s stomach clenched. Instinct told him it had been her at the hospital; now he wondered if she was somehow behind all of Meghan’s recent disasters.

Tonight he’d tell Meghan everything and decide if her recent misfortunes were more than coincidences. Perhaps they should go to the police. But if he did that there would be an investigation, and the whole thing would embarrass the Tillings. They didn’t need that right now with John in the hospital. No. He’d have a talk with Ayden. Deirdre’s fiancé might be DEA, but surely he’d know how to handle a potential stalker.

Worry coiled around his belly, pushing acid into his throat as he pulled into the parking lot of
Tilling
Gardens
and Plants. The dashboard clock read 5:42, but the lights were already turned down for the evening. Peter shoved the SUV into park and jumped out, sliding through several inches of snow to the front door. If anyone had been here, their footprints had been swept away.

He tried the door. Locked.

Perhaps Meghan had closed the shop early, but was waiting for him out back. He cupped his hands around his eyes, peering through the glass. There were no lights on in the work area.

He didn’t want to believe something had happened to her, but as the minutes continued to accumulate without word from her, so did his fear.

* * * *

Meghan sat in the backseat of Sarah’s car, trying to make sense of this insane situation. Sarah drove recklessly through the storm to an unknown destination. But it was Sarah’s passenger who was calling the shots at the moment.

With her hands bound uncomfortably behind her back with a thick rope, Meghan was having a hard time getting comfortable. The seat belt Sarah had fastened too tightly now dug into the soft flesh of her neck. Panic squeezed her throat and made it hard to draw breath. Meghan shivered uncomfortably, both from the cold and the terror gripping her heart. She hadn’t been allowed to grab her winter coat, and the thin red cotton T-shirt she wore did nothing to stave off the winter air.

“Please … please tell me why you’re doing this.”

The blue eyes that stared back at her were cold and without emotion. “Oh, Meghan, my dear, I’ve got such wonderful things planned for you.” The syrupy voice dripped malice. “I’ve had just about enough of the Tilling clan, and since your father refused to die, you will take his place in my plans.”

She had never heard him speak this way—had no idea misery could turn a person into a killer. But the gun Doc McCarty pointed at Sarah communicated so much more than words.

* * * *

“No, Meghan doesn’t know any of this.” Peter paced around the kitchen of the family homestead, unable to handle the jittery pull of his frayed nerves.

Ayden sat calmly at the kitchen table, his hands folded in front of him. The man’s police training was obvious as he sat listening without apparent judgment to Peter’s account of his salacious activities over the past several months. It had been over forty minutes since he’d found his house empty and come here. An hour had passed since leaving the shop, and he had to wonder how far
Crystal could get in this weather.

At this point, Peter believed
Crystal had taken Meghan, and he had nowhere else to turn. He’d told Deirdre and Ayden everything—well, nearly everything. He didn’t want to go to the police just yet. Hopefully Ayden could mobilize some of his men from the DEA to find Meghan. He was a professional, and keeping assignments a secret was his specialty.

Deirdre, on the other hand, was acting like any overprotective sister. “Holy shit, Peter. You go surfing for some second-rate hooker on the Internet…” She stalked up to him, her nose only a breath from his. “—then show up here telling us you’ve put my sister at risk?” Her finger pounded into his chest with each word.

He didn’t retaliate. She was right. He’d screwed up.

“Deirdre.” Ayden’s even tone stopped her tirade. A subtle nod of his head and she dropped into the chair next to him in a huff. “Peter, what makes you think this woman is here?” he asked.

He hadn’t wanted to show them, but he had no choice. Peter returned to his coat hung on a hook by the back door and pulled the flogger from the sleeve where he’d hidden it. He threw the offensive object on the table as if it were an evil talisman. “This belongs to her. She left it in Meghan’s car.”

“A fucking flogger?” Deirdre jumped from the chair. “I knew it! You’re cheating on my sister with a fucking masochistic whore!” Her hand moved so fast, Peter was unprepared for the sting of pain as her fist connected squarely with his jaw. “You cheating bastard. I’ll have your balls…”

Peter was sure she would have been good with the threat—or worse—if Ayden hadn’t jumped from his chair and grabbed her from behind. He swung her flailing hands and feet away from Peter.

“Deirdre, this isn’t helping Meghan,” Ayden said as he set her on the floor. His hands had a firm grip on her arms, and he bent, daring to stare down her angry glare boring into him. “Calm down and let’s figure this out. Once we find your sister, I’ll help you skin him myself. Until then…”

“You both have it wrong,” Peter said softly, his hand cradling his sore jaw. “I haven’t been completely honest.”

“What? Is your little girlfriend pregnant?”

Ayden clamped his hand over Deirdre’s mouth.

“Oh, fuck you, Deirdre. I didn’t sleep with her.”

Both of them turned to him. Their confused looks would have been comical if the situation wasn’t so serious.

“I’m pretty sure
Crystal’s my biological sister.”

* * * *

Sarah had no idea how she’d gotten herself into this mess. All she’d wanted was to find her place in this world. Someone to call family. Who would have thought her search for her older brother would find her here on a desolate back road in
Maine
with a crazed old man holding a gun to her head?

Snow fell so hard she could barely see, let alone keep the Beemer on the road. Meghan was doing a good job distracting the old geezer. Hopefully, in the end the woman could convince him not to harm them. Sarah had no idea how she and Meghan were both tied to this man, but perhaps talking with him could shed some light on how a kindly country doctor could tip over the edge of lunacy.

“You love my parents, Doc,” Meghan said.

A derisive laugh puffed his cheeks. “Your father stole my life forty years ago.” He waved the gun. “Turn here. And you need to slow down, Miss Sarah. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you two.” He laughed, a maniacal sound that rent the air.

It was the same grating sound that had greeted her outside the
Bangor
Hospital
when the doctor had forced Sarah into her car at gunpoint. She couldn’t even imagine what he planned to do with her. He’d done nothing but yell at her in nonsensical snippets as they’d driven to the floral shop and taken Meghan hostage at gunpoint. Dr. McCarty had stayed hidden behind a Christmas tree at the shop, but kept the gun aimed at them both. Sarah had hoped to run out the back, but leaving Meghan at the mercy of an insane man hadn’t seemed fair.

When Meghan had balked at going anywhere, he’d waved the gun in her face, forced Sarah to tie Meghan’s hands before shoving the poor woman into the backseat. Sarah could only hope Meghan would figure out it was a bondage knot meant to release with a gentle tug on the end she’d slipped into her palm. She still had no idea why the man wanted the two of them.

“My father was your best friend,” Meghan continued in a voice filled with sadness.

“My friend?
My
friend?” The words vibrated with anger, his face contorting into a sinister mask of hatred. He spat the words out through clenched teeth. “He took the only woman I have ever loved from me! What kind of
friend
does that?” He shifted in the seat to face Meghan, the dashboard lights shimmering in the unshed tears rimming his eyes.

“But you had a wonderful life with your wife,” Meghan whispered.

“That bitch tricked me into marriage. Got pregnant with my faggot of a son. Jason never was the man I wanted him to be. He was always a mama’s boy. Even a trained professional couldn’t turn him into a man. His own fucking man-whore couldn’t stand him in the end and killed him.”

Meghan gasped. “You’re wrong. He was a wonderful son and friend.”

Sarah had no idea of whom they spoke, but the doctor’s last declaration had obviously cut Meghan deeply as soft sobs broke through her words.

“His murder was nothing but a terrible tragedy between scorned lovers. Doc McCarty, I…”

“Shut up. Just shut up. I have no desire to rehash my life with you, Meghan.” He turned back to the road. “Take this next left.”

Sarah was having a hard time controlling the car. The farther they drove into the middle of nowhere, the more snow accumulated on the road. How the hell had her life gotten to this place?

She’d come to
Maine
this week for her second round of interviews at the
Bangor
Hospital
. She’d just accepted the residency position they offered this morning, and tonight she’d be dead at the hands of a madman before reaping the rewards of her hard work in medical school. Mistress Crystal’s persona would be retiring before the holiday, and Sarah Maddock had planned to emerge like a butterfly from a chrysalis. Now she’d never have a chance to prove herself worthy of her brother’s love.

Everything she’d done over the past few months since discovering Peter’s real identity, she’d done to be closer to her brother—to build a relationship the fates had stolen from them. Now it was all slipping through her fingers. She’d never have the opportunity to tell Peter he had a baby sister.

“Where are you taking us?” Sarah’s voice trembled.

“It doesn’t matter,” the doctor spat. “Where you die should be of no concern.”

“Why don’t you let Sarah go? She has nothing to do with all this,” Meghan suggested.

“Nothing to do with this?” His raspy laugh clawed its way down Sarah’s spine. “Why don’t you brag about what you did, Sarah?”

She would have had no idea what he was talking about if he hadn’t ranted about how she’d fucked up his life on the way to the floral shop. Discovering the source of a patient’s illness was a cause for celebration, not vituperation. “Someone would have figured it out eventually,” Sarah said quietly. “The signs of selenium poisoning were all there, I just happened to be the first to put the pieces together and solve the puzzle.”

“
You
figured out what was wrong with my father?” Meghan asked.

Sarah dared catch her eye in the mirror. “I’m new to the staff at the hospital.” She lifted a shoulder. “I told you I knew Peter. I had no idea John Tilling was your father until I saw Peter in his room this morning and went to check the patient he was visiting.” That was a lie, but Meghan didn’t need to know she’d actually run from Peter, too afraid to talk to him. She knew her Internet research wasn’t wrong. She and Peter Maddock had the same mother. But by the time Sarah was born, Peter had started kindergarten, and the courts had placed him in foster care. She suspected Peter must also know he had a sibling. Why else would he have sought her out? She’d known at the hotel that he hadn’t wanted a sexual tryst with her, but fate had intervened once again, and they’d never had a chance to meet in person. Now, she wondered if this lunatic with the gun would keep her from ever meeting her brother.

Sarah looked in the mirror at the confusion wrinkling Meghan’s face. “When your father spoke to me in the hospital, I smelled the garlic on his breath, saw the deterioration of his fingernails. Only one poison does that.” She sounded like she was apologizing, and maybe she was.

She’d come to Delmont not caring about his fiancée, wanting only to have a relationship with Peter. Sarah had found out about Meghan and the engagement through her Internet search as well. She resented that her brother had found a family and had had every intention of separating him from the Tillings. Like a jealous girlfriend, she’d thrown her flogger into Meghan’s car the night she’d watched them through the window, hoping to begin a rift that would break them apart. Why she’d wanted him all to herself was beyond her at the moment. Peter came with a family—didn’t she want them in her life also?

“One more turn.” Doc waved the gun, and Sarah slowed the car down, trying not to skid into the ditch. Then she thought better of it. Perhaps that was their only chance. The doctor wasn’t wearing a seat belt. If Meghan could free herself, maybe she could grab his gun. It would be two against one old man—an
angry
old man with a gun—hell-bent on revenge. Sarah wondered if Meghan was even trying to work on the ropes that bound her hands.