At Risk (32 page)

He wondered if the professor would scream. He’d switch on the tape recorder taped to his chest before he climbed to the second floor. If he had to act prematurely, he would have the consolation of her final cries to relive over and over. His gut churned in anticipation.

He could taste her.

He rose and took no more than two steps through the shallow water when he heard a branch snap. Instantly he retreated to his hiding place and listened intently. What had disturbed the night? A dog? A deer? The sound had come from the front of the dwelling. What wild animal would venture so close to the house? And for what reason?

The Game Master held his breath and waited. A tree frog chirped; the wind rustled the phragmites, and from the deep woods came the muted cry of a screech owl. The Game Master waited. Blood pulsed in his head. His lungs burned as seconds stretched into minutes.

And then he heard it—the unmistakable crunch of a footstep. He resumed breathing. A man. Not a woman, but a man. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. There was no question. His instincts were as finely tuned as those of a marsh hawk. The Game Master smiled. Power flowed to his limbs. Flames ignited from his glowing core.

The hunt was on.

Time stopped as he circled the sprawling brick house, loping between old trees, beach plums, and boxwood with the grace of a dancer. No twig snapped under his feet. No leaves crunched. He felt as one with the darkness, a fierce predator guided by will, self-preservation, and superhuman intellect.

The man never heard him coming.

One final leap and the Game Master’s left hand closed over the intruder’s mouth. At the same instant, the point of the knife in his right hand severed the victim’s spinal cord. One quick thrust and the man collapsed. The Game Master didn’t loosen his grip until his quarry had given several convulsive jerks and lay limp and still.

Blood loss was minimal.

The Game Master pulled a length of black plastic from the pouch at his belt and wrapped it quickly around the dead man’s neck and head. Then he lowered himself to a crouching position and waited to see if the professor or the dog had heard the slight scuffle.

When no lights came on and the house remained silent and sleeping, the Game Master slung the warm body over his shoulder and returned to the two-man kayak. Fitting the corpse into the backseat and balancing its weight so that it wouldn’t tip was tricky, but he managed as he managed most difficult situations.

As he pushed the kayak away from the dock and climbed in, he cast a longing look at the house. The professor would have to wait a little longer. It was more important to dispose of the intruder’s remains, and he knew the perfect spot, a bottomless sinkhole in the marsh.

A pity to rid himself of the body so quickly, especially since this was only the fifth male he’d ever eliminated. The Game Master wondered if he should keep some sexual token as a novelty. As a courtesy to the superior sex, he’d never saved trophies from men. Well, hardly ever. He had carried
the crabber
’s tongue on a key chain for years. Ridding himself of the professor’s father had been almost as easy as silencing the little tramp. The murdering fool had been drunk and unable to defend himself, even when he knew why he had to die and who was carrying out the sentence.

The Game Master turned to glance back at his passenger. “Enjoying the ride, are you?”

The intruder’s head wobbled as the kayak moved into the channel and the force of the outgoing tide.

“No use complaining now.” The Game Master chuckled at his own little joke. “You should have stayed away from the professor.”

The following morning, Liz called Nathan Tarkington’s office to see if she needed to remain in contact for the next few weeks, and to share her concerns about the lack of response she’d had from the State Police in general. When she reached the detective’s voice mail, she left a brief request for him to call her.

Tarkington picked up just as she was about to disconnect. “Yes, Dr. Clarke. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten to touch base with you. Things are hectic here.”

“Maybe I’m getting neurotic, but I felt as though you were avoiding me.”

“No, no. The investigation is under way, and I’m not at liberty to disclose information. I assure you, I’ll call you when and if you’re needed.”

The detective was saying all the right things, but Liz had the feeling that she was getting the brushoff. “Did you get a report from a trooper who responded to a complaint at my home? Someone poisoned Michael Hubbard’s guard dog, a valuable German shepherd. Do you know Michael? He’s my neighbor, and he lent me the animal to—”

“Yes, I know Captain Hubbard well. I’m sorry, but I’m late for a meeting. I promise that your concerns will be given the attention they deserve.”

“Did the officer mention the insurance policy that my ex-husband took out on—”

“Yes, Dr. Clarke, I have that information. You must understand that—”

“This isn’t coincidence. I’m being stalked.”

“I’ll get back to you on this. We appreciate your cooperation. Thank you, and have a good day.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Liz muttered to the German shepherd after Tarkington hung up. “Daddy was right. The police are not our friends.”

What she needed was to get out of the house and do something—anything physical—to work off her annoyance at the detective and the tension gathering in her shoulders and the back of her neck. After spraying herself and Otto liberally with insect repellent, Liz put the dog on a leash and slid the .22 revolver into an old holster of her father’s so that she could comfortably carry the gun on her walk. She felt a little foolish, but she had promised Michael that she’d keep the weapon handy when she was alone. You couldn’t get much more alone than the old logging trail that ran into State Game Lands.

She walked and ran for the better part of two hours, returning in an easier frame of mind than she’d been in for days. She’d decided to contact Nancy Steiner and ask her point-blank about Cameron’s abrupt departure, and she’d made the decision to refuse Michael’s offer of marriage. No matter how it altered their friendship, she couldn’t settle for security. She’d been independent too long to marry for emotional security and companionship.

What to do about Jack still plagued her, but a trip to Ireland was beginning to look better and better. Jack hadn’t been honest with her, and without honesty between them, good sex wasn’t enough. There was too much danger of sliding into his world and the possibility that his life mirrored that of his brother George.

She cared for Jack, but she’d proved that she could make tough decisions where he was concerned. She’d done it once, and she could do it again.

As she and the German shepherd entered the kitchen, a blinking red light on the kitchen phone alerted her to a missed call. Caller ID listed it as the Delaware State Police, and she listened to the message. Detective Tarkington was polite, but succinct. He apologized for not answering her primary question when they’d spoken. She was free to go on summer vacation so long as she left a contact number.

She had scarcely better luck with Nancy Steiner. Liz reached the professor by telephone at Somerville, but found her less than friendly.

“Considering the charges that Mr. Whitaker has made against you, I’d suppose that you’d be more than willing to drop the entire matter,” Professor Steiner said.

“I was not stalking him,” Liz replied. “Quite the contrary. It was Cameron who—”

“I’m really not interested in your excuses. Whatever your slant on the problem—”

“Slant?” Liz said. “I have reason to believe that Cameron threatened me both by e-mail and repeated calls to my home phone. He trespassed on my property, and admitted taking photographs of a highly personal nature.”

“Dr. Clarke, I see no reason for this conversation to continue further. This is not California, and whatever conduct might have been acceptable in your last position is not sanctioned here. Mr. Whitaker is no longer an employee or a student at Somerville, and his reputation and future career have suffered irreparable damage. Haven’t you done enough to him without pursuing—”

“Has he left Dover?”

“I would suggest you contact Dean Pollett, although I highly doubt he will share confidential information with you either.”

“Did Cameron do something to you? Asimple yes or no will suffice,” Liz said. “Why would he accuse me of wrongdoing and suddenly leave Somerville?”

There was silence on the other end of the line. “Nancy . . . all I’m asking is—”

“I should think I’ve made myself quite clear.”

“He did, didn’t he?”

“Good-bye, Professor Clarke. Do not attempt to discuss this matter with me again.” A loud click ended the connection.

Liz swore under her breath and punched in Dean Pollett’s number. His secretary answered and informed her that the dean would be out of his office for the next week.

“Can you tell me if Cameron Whitaker’s accusations against me have been dropped?”

“That’s for Dean Pollett to—”

“Phyllis. Nothing happens in the school that you aren’t on top of. Please. At least, tell me—”

“Dr. Clarke, you really shouldn’t be discussing this with me. Dean Pollett will be back on—”

“Yes or no, Phyllis?”

“I can’t say.”

“Just tell me if I should hire an attorney. It’s an expense I can’t afford at this time, but—”

Phyllis cleared her throat. “I believe . . .” she began hesitantly. “I believe you could hold off on that action . . . for the time being.”

“Thanks, you’re a life saver. I’ll sleep easier tonight.”

“Would you like me to make an appointment with the dean for you?”

“No. I’m thinking about taking a trip to Ireland, to see my daughter. Tell Dean Pollett that I’ll speak with him when I get back.” She thanked the secretary again and hung up.

“One more monster slain,” Liz said to the dog. She washed out the water bowl and refilled it. “There you go, Otto, nothing’s too good for you.”

She felt like calling Amelia and telling her the good news, and then remembered that there would be no more heartfelt chats with her best friend. She could share Cameron’s downfall with Michael, but she wasn’t up to talking to him yet. If she did, she’d feel compelled to tell him that she couldn’t marry him . . . that if she’d led him to believe otherwise, she was sorry . . . that all she felt for him was friendship.

Instead, Liz tried to reach Sydney. When voice mail picked up, Liz left a message for her friend to call. Then she grabbed a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich and threw herself into the task of cutting the grass.

Liz finished the back yard as the first drops of rain began to fall. Driven inside, she swept and mopped her kitchen floor and settled down with her computer to check out fares to Ireland. When she couldn’t find anything reasonable, she put in a call to Dot at the travel agency in Dover that she’d used several times before.

Everyone Liz knew seemed to find great rates on the internet, but she was old-fashioned enough to prefer the services of an experienced travel agent for overseas flights. Due to a computer glitch, a friend in California had once purchased two tickets to Italy for the same day. Getting a refund from her credit card company had proved a nightmare, and Liz wasn’t willing to make a similar mistake.

Dot called back in twenty minutes with several possibilities. “I can get you a much better deal if you’re willing to wait at least ten days,” the agent said cheerily. “You’ll save four hundred dollars if you stay at least three weeks.”

Liz groaned. “Ten days? Can’t you schedule now?”

“No. It’s a special promotion. Iceland Air. It includes a twenty-four-hour layover at a good hotel in Reykjavik. We aren’t supposed to tell anyone about it, but it’s common knowledge. I know you’d love to see your daughter sooner, but I’d wait if I were you.”

“Okay, so what now? Do I call you in ten days?” Liz asked. “I’d like to think about it. I might want to leave sooner.”

“If you do, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll call you on the first day of the special. And meanwhile, if anything better comes up, I’ll let you know. There’s always the possibility of a special to Heathrow or Glasgow. Then you’d have to book transportation to Dublin, but that’s minimal.”

“No, I’m not that fond of air travel. I’ll fly straight through.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, then,” Dot said. “Bye.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.” Liz laughed. “I’m coming to Ireland.” It had taken her the better part of the evening to reach Katie, but now that she had, she felt a hundred times better. “I can’t wait to see you,” she said. “I’ve got so much to tell you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Moms. Really. And I’m sorry about what I said—about Dad. I know he can be a real jerk sometimes, but . . .” Katie sighed. “He’s really gone and done it this time, hasn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Does this mean I’ll never see the twins? I know you and Danielle never hit it off, but they are my half—”

“I’d never try to keep you from seeing them. So long as it’s okay with Danielle, and I’m certain she’d be glad to have you visit with them.”

“You don’t mind, really?”

“No, I don’t mind. It might be nice if you’d send Danielle a photo of yourself. See if you can find a plastic frame, something the little Tasmanian devils can’t eat or tear apart.”

Katie laughed. “Be nice, Moms. They’re only babies.”

“Actually, honey, I think Danielle could use a little emotional support. Call her if you like. But just do it when the rates are low.”

“I hear you. Do you think you could pick me up two pairs of jeans, the ones I like, in a size eight? And Kraft macaroni and cheese? As many boxes as you can stuff in your suitcase. Ireland’s fantastic, of course, but sometimes, I could die for Grotto pizza or Thrashers’ fries with vinegar. Even the Coke tastes different over here. I think it’s sweeter.”

“No Cokes. I draw the line at trying to smuggle cans of soda through customs.”

“What made you decide to come here instead of driving to New England with Michael? You said you were thinking about it.”

“It’s too long to explain over the phone. I’ll tell you everything when I get there. Let’s just say that I couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing you.”