Deadly Obsession (19 page)

“That should be enough to scare away most people,” Mrs. Sims said.

“Most people, but not me. I refuse to be frightened away from my first home.” Jillian balled her hands into fists. “It's mine. I'm not going anywhere.”

The older woman studied her for a long moment and then nodded. “Well, don't let me keep you. I'll get Daryl and we'll be on our way.”

“Okay.” As Mrs. Sims turned to walk around the porch, Jillian closed the door. She tracked the woman's progress through the windows that had no curtains until she moved out of sight.

Jillian went back to the task of assembling the dresser.

A knock on the kitchen door at the side of the house interrupted her in the middle of twisting a screw into the wood. She set the screwdriver on the floor and wove her way through Sheetrock boards, a generator and tools to the door. When she opened the door, Mrs. Sims stood there, a frown digging deep grooves in her forehead.

“Daryl wasn't there. By chance did he come inside?”

Jillian stared out at the encroaching fog. “No, he didn't. I hope he didn't get lost.”

* * *

Chance spent the morning at the library, combing through page after page of newspaper articles dating back seventeen years. Julia Thompson's was the only missing person case that was still unexplained. And he found five murders reported in those years, but all the bodies were found in their homes, none of which was Jillian's house.

By early afternoon, his eyes were crossing and he'd developed a headache. Since Jillian was in Portland for the rest of the day, Chance drove out to the B and B to see Nova.

As soon as he drove up the driveway and parked in front of the mansion, Nova stepped out on the porch, a huge smile on his face. “Chance, amigo! I was beginning to think you'd skipped town and wouldn't make it to the wedding.” He dropped down off the porch and enveloped Chance in a back-pounding hug.

“I've been busy,” Chance offered.

“Busy keeping up with the pretty Realtor?” Nova winked. “She's
muy linda
, isn't she?”

Chance climbed the steps to the porch and sat in one of the rocking chairs. “Yes, she is. And that's becoming a real problem.”

“Why? Don't you like her?” Nova dropped into the chair next to him.

“Yeah. Too much.” Chance glanced at his friend. “I want her, but I can't let myself get involved.”

“Because of the nightmares?” Nova's face lost the happy smile and turned serious. “You can't stop living because of your dreams. Have you thought of getting help?”

“I've been to the shrinks and therapists. I'm armed with all the techniques for coping with PTSD. Most of them say to give it time and the dreams will fade away.”

“And have they?”

“Some.”

“Then what's stopping you from pursuing the pretty maid of honor?”

“I don't want to hurt her. Physically or mentally.”

“From what Molly said, you slept with her the night you stayed here. How'd that go?”

“No nightmares.” Chance rocked out of the chair and stood. “But one night isn't enough to know if I'm over the violent reactions.”

“You won't know unless you give it a shot.”

“And risk Jillian's life on maybes?” Chance shook his head. “I can't do that to her. I'd never forgive myself if I hurt or, God forbid, killed her.”

“It's been over a year since you choked that guy. You haven't had a recurrence.”

“Because I haven't allowed myself to sleep in the same room with anyone else.”

“Until Jillian.” Nova nodded. “Does she know why you don't want to start something with her?”

“Yeah, I told her last night.”

“And?”

“She's willing to risk it.”

“Did you sleep with her last night?”

“Yes and no.”

Nova laughed. “To me, that should have been one or the other. Either you did or you didn't.”

“I held her, but I didn't sleep.” He dragged a hand over his face. “I want to be with her, but I need to sleep.”

“She's with Molly all afternoon. Why don't you find a lounge chair in the living area and catch some
z
's? I just lit the fire.”

Chance glanced through the windows. “I thought you were overrun by family?”

“I sent them to town. Dave Logsdon promised to take them deep-sea fishing. They'll be gone all day. You can sleep in complete silence.”

Chance smiled. “I'm going to take you up on that offer.”

“Go. I have a honey-do list a mile long that will keep me busy for most of the afternoon. Just watch out for Jack and Jill. They think the furniture is their territory. You might have to share.”

Chance found a recliner near the crackly blaze in the big fireplace. He stretched out and closed his eyes, his mind going over all he'd learned and all he'd read, disappointed he didn't have any more than he'd started with. When Jillian returned from Portland, she'd be disappointed. But he couldn't magically produce the one piece of information that would solve all of her problems.

Before long, exhaustion claimed him and he slept so soundly, he didn't wake until a phone rang somewhere in the house. It rang seven times, finally pulling him from the warm, restful cocoon of a dreamless sleep.

Chance pushed to his feet, followed the sound of the ringing and found Nova, out of breath, answering the phone. He turned toward him and said, “Oh, good, you're awake. It's Royce. He says he tried to call your cell, but couldn't get through.” Nova's lips twisted. “Big surprise out here, huh? Anyway, he has some information that might help.”

The gray fog of sleep vanished as Chance took the phone from Nova. “What do you have?”

“We found records of Sarah Thompson's legal name change in the Social Security database.”

“What did she change it to?”

“She changed her name to Sandra Warren. Using that name, we checked court records in Portland and found record of her marriage to a Robert Taylor. He then adopted her daughter, Jillian, who we assume was little Julia. We also found death certificates for Sandra and Robert Taylor from three years ago.”

Chance's blood chilled. Jillian Taylor was the little girl who'd disappeared seventeen years ago and had no memory of the incident or who abducted her.

“Thanks, Royce. I have to go.” Chance ended the call and stared for a moment at the telephone. How the hell was he going to tell Jillian she was Julia? God, it all made sense now. She'd told him she didn't remember anything before the fifth grade. The town of Cape Churn and the house she'd purchased all felt like home. Though she didn't know it, her deeply buried memories had led her back to the place that had stolen them.

“Nova, I'm home,” Molly's voice called out from the front door.

Chance jerked his head toward the window. The sun, hidden by the clouds, must be well on its way toward the horizon, and one of those deadly fogs had crept in while he'd been asleep.

Molly entered the house carrying a long garment bag, smiling at Nova. “I have my wedding dress. I can't wait for you to see me in it.”

Nova pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “I can't wait to see you out of it.”

Molly swatted his chest. “Nova, we have company.” She looked past him to Chance. “How was your day? Jillian and I had the best afternoon.”

“Does she need help carrying anything in?” Chance asked.

Molly's brows dipped. “No, she's not with me. I dropped her at the house.”

Chance's heart slammed against his ribs. “You what?”

“The construction crew was still there. She said she'd be fine. She texted you when we got back in town.” Molly's lips twisted. “If you've been out here all afternoon, you probably didn't get the text.”

“Gotta go.” Chance hurried past Molly and Nova. “I'll be at Jillian's house if you need me.” Once out the door, he raced for his car, jumped in and screamed out of the driveway, kicking up gravel. The clock on the dash indicated it was past six. The construction crew had been gone from the house at five thirty the previous evening. Which meant Jillian might be alone now.

The thought of her alone and exposed to whoever wanted her out of her house scared Chance more than any Taliban fighter ever had. If the person who'd abducted Julia had any clue she was the grown-up little girl, he might not only scare her, he might kill her to keep her from ever remembering him and turning him in to the police.

Chance drove at breakneck speed through the thickening fog, desperate to get to Jillian, kicking himself for being so weak as to sleep through the afternoon instead of being vigilant and there when Jillian needed him.

His gut feeling wasn't good. And damned if his gut wasn't always right. He prayed that for once it was wrong, and he'd find Jillian painting a wall or taking a shower, which he would happily join.

Damn it to hell. Could the fog be any thicker?

Chapter 19

J
illian stood in the doorway to the kitchen, staring out at Mrs. Sims, a shiver of apprehension rippling through her. “Daryl wasn't stacking wood out back?”

Mrs. Sims shook her head. “I couldn't find him.”

Jillian walked around to the back of the house where she'd last seen Daryl. The wood was piled neatly, but Daryl was nowhere to be seen.

“Daryl?” Jillian called out. Dusk had mingled with the overcast skies, settling over the property while she'd been working on the dresser. Along with the shadows, the devil's shroud had crept in from the ocean.

A chill racked Jillian's body. She should have put on her jacket, but she hadn't planned on being outside long. “I have no idea where he could have gone. You're welcome to look inside the house, but I've been working on the first floor since last I saw him and no one has come inside.”

Mrs. Sims pressed her lips together. “That boy is always wandering off when he shouldn't be.” She turned and stared into the woods. “I'll honk my horn. Sometimes that reminds him to come. He's so easily distracted.” She left Jillian on the deck and walked around to the front of the house. A moment later, the sound of a car horn cut through the shadows and fog.

Jillian stared at the woods, hoping the man would appear, but even after the honking, Daryl didn't materialize out of the fog.

Mrs. Sims rejoined her on the porch, her hands in her pockets. “I'm afraid for the boy. If it gets any foggier, he could get lost trying to get back to the house. He could walk off a cliff and we'd not find him until too late.” She started toward the woods. “I guess there's nothing else to do but go look for him.”

“Let me help you.” Jillian stepped down from the porch and followed the woman to the edge of the woods. She wished Chance would arrive before they got too deep into the underbrush. Though she didn't want to depend on him to bail her out of tough situations, it was nice having a man like him around. Especially when it came to finding a developmentally challenged individual in the woods, in the fog.

Mrs. Sims seemed to be a woman on a mission. She marched into the forest, plowing ahead. “I hope he didn't go too far. The fog's getting really thick.”

Jillian worried about visibility, too. Though it wasn't completely dark yet, the fog was making it hard to see ahead or behind. Rather than compound the problem of one lost person in the woods, she decided to leave a trail to make it easier to find her way back in the fog.

With no bread crumbs to drop, she reached into her pocket for the loose nuts and bolts she'd stuffed there earlier and dropped them every few steps. When she finally got back to her house, she'd have to come up with a whole new set of nuts and bolts to assemble the rest of the dresser. But it was a small sacrifice to keep from getting lost.

Mrs. Sims was well ahead of her. Jillian had to hurry to catch up with the older woman. She wasn't even sure which direction they were headed. At least if they started going around in circles, Jillian should find her trail of shiny bolts.

With the ever-thickening fog pressing in on her, Jillian momentarily lost sight of Mrs. Sims. She picked up her pace until she burst through the stand of trees into an opening and almost pitched over the edge of a cliff.

“Mrs. Sims?” Jillian called out. Dear God, she hoped the woman hadn't fallen over the ledge. She gazed over the edge but couldn't see more than five feet down. “Daryl?”

The tinny sound of music echoed in the darkness.

Jillian straightened, her body stiffening. She'd heard that tune before. But where? She dug in her memory, the answer seeming to slip just out of reach. She closed her eyes and listened to the haunting melody, one she'd heard a long, long time ago. An image of something small and dark emerged in her mind. A shiny black box, decorated with bright paintings of men and women dancing.

Jillian gasped, feeling as if all the air was sucked out of her lungs. She opened her eyes, straining to find the source of the music. She knew that song. The first time she'd heard it, she'd been carrying a black Russian porcelain music box home through the woods.
Oh, God.

Her knees wobbled and tears filled her eyes. These woods. She'd been on her way home to show her mother the box her teacher had given to her as a gift.

“I'm Julia,” she whispered and turned in a circle as if seeing the world for the first time. “I'm Julia Thompson.”

Mrs. Sims stepped out of the fog and held out the Russian music box. “Do you remember this?” she asked.

Jillian nodded. “Mrs. Tillman gave it to me for helping her to clean the boards after school.” She held out her hand. “Where did you get it?”

“What else do you remember?”

Jillian pinched the bridge of her nose, a stabbing pain shooting through her head. “I don't know. I was on my way home to show it to my mother, but I fell. I must have hit my head because when I woke, I was in the dark.”

Her eyes widened as everything came back to her. “I didn't remember anything. I woke up and didn't remember who I was, where I lived. Anything.” Her body shook. “I was so scared.”

“And who took care of you?”

“A teenager. He kept me in a dark cellar or something, along with a menagerie of cats and dogs. He said his mother wouldn't let him keep them at home so he brought them to the cellar and hid them.”

“Where were you?” Mrs. Sims asked, her eyes gleaming, her expression intent.

Jillian shook her head, wondering why the woman was so adamant. “I don't know. I can't believe I remember as much as I have. It's been a very long time.”

The older woman stepped up to Jillian, coming toe-to-toe with her. “Tell me where you were!” she demanded. “You have to tell me where you were.”

Automatically backing up a step, Jillian held up her hands. “I can't. I don't know where I was.”

“You have to remember. I have to find and destroy his hiding place.”

“Whose hiding place?”

Mrs. Sims clutched the box to her chest, her eyes glazing and blotchy red flags of color rising high in her cheeks. “For seventeen years, I've lived in fear of this day. After all this time, I thought we were safe. Then you showed up, bought that damned house and ruined everything.”

“I don't understand.”

“Julia disappeared. No one could find her because my son hid her. Daryl has a place he hides all the strays he rescues. You were one of his strays. When my son came home carrying this box, I knew he had you, but I couldn't find where. I still don't know where he hides things. You have to tell me. I need to know so that I can protect him.”

“Mrs. Sims, I remember carrying the box and falling. But I can't remember where the cellar was. I must have wandered out and somehow found my way home.”

“You're lying!” She charged Jillian and shoved her.

Jillian staggered backward, her arms flailing to the side. She grabbed Mrs. Sims's arms to keep her balance. So close to the edge of the drop-off, Jillian couldn't risk taking one more step backward. “I'm not lying, Mrs. Sims. Please believe me.”

Mrs. Sims's face flushed red and her eyes glowed like an animal possessed. “I can't let you tell anyone else what you know. If the police find out Daryl was the one to keep little Julia Thompson for thirty days, they'll take him away, lock him up in a mental hospital, and that would leave me all alone.” She shoved at Jillian. “I won't let them take him away from me. Do you hear me? He's all I have. I'm his mother, damn it.” With the strength of a much younger woman, she slammed into Jillian, knocking her backward.

Still holding onto Mrs. Sims's arms Jillian fell backward, landing on her butt on the very edge of the escarpment. Mrs. Sims landed on top of her and grabbed for Jillian's throat, squeezing as hard as her bony fingers could.

Jillian struggled to break the woman's hold, but she couldn't. The advancing fog was just a part of the gray haze filtering into her vision, making it even darker.

She had to hold on.

* * *

Chance skidded to a stop on the gravel drive in front of Jillian's house. Another vehicle stood out front, an older-model tank of a car with peeling paint. Lights shone through the windows, but he couldn't see any movement inside the house. He slammed the shift into Park and leaped out of the vehicle, running for the house. Skipping the steps, he leaped up onto the porch and burst into the house. The first thing he noted was the door was unlocked.

“Jillian!” he shouted. A quick run through the first floor netted nothing. He took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. Jillian wasn't in the master bedroom, bathroom or any other room on the second floor. Back down he went and checked the basement. She wasn't there.

Forcing himself to think calmly, he looked around the living area. Nothing seemed out of place except a half-assembled piece of furniture. It wasn't the kind of thing the construction crew would be responsible for building. A perky pink tool bag sat beside the wood panels and an assortment of slides and brackets. Jillian had been at work assembling this item when she'd been interrupted. By the owner of the dilapidated car out front?

Where had they gone?

Chance ran outside and stopped on the edge of the porch. He heard a faint cry, but he wasn't certain from which direction it had come. He waited to hear it again. It sounded as though it came from the side of the house. With darkness descending, and the fog getting so thick he couldn't see more than five feet ahead, Chance needed something else to get around. He ran back into the house and up to the master bedroom, where he'd left the flashlight.

Outside, he shone the light on the ground and worked his way toward the cry he'd heard. A shout sounded in the distance. Chance picked up the pace, his flashlight swinging left and then right. He was afraid to move too fast for fear of running into a tree or over the edge of a cliff.

As he swung the light back the other way, he caught the flash of light on something metal. He bent to examine what it was and discovered a small shiny bolt. One that could be used to assemble a piece of furniture.

He walked forward several steps, swinging the flight, pointing at the ground. After a couple more steps, he found another bolt. After the fourth bolt, Chance knew—Jillian had left him a trail to follow.

He built up a controlled speed, stepping through spongy moss, patches of large rocks and phalanxes of old-growth timber, but he still felt as if he was moving far too slowly, tracking the shiny bolts all the way to an opening in the trees and a rocky ledge.

Ahead he heard a woman scream and another cry out.

Chance ran as fast as he could, praying he wouldn't be too late.

Two shadowy figures struggled ahead. One plowed into the other and both fell.

Chance shone his flashlight toward the rocky ledge. The figures had disappeared. “Jillian!” He ran to the edge of a drop-off and leaned over. He couldn't see more than five feet down the sheer face of a cliff. “Jillian,” he called out, his heart sinking to his shoes. He waited, straining to hear even the faintest cry for help.

“Chance?” Her voice came to him from what seemed like a long way down.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” He squatted down on his haunches and tried to see her, but couldn't.

“I landed on a ledge. I'm not sure, but I think Mrs. Sims landed farther down. She hasn't made a sound.”

“Can you hang on until I get help?”

“I can. It's a small ledge, but enough for me to balance on. I'll be okay, I'm just afraid for Mrs. Sims.”

“Hang tight. I'll be back as soon as I can get help.”

Chance hated leaving her, but he couldn't help her without a rope. He didn't know how steep the cliff was or how far down it she'd landed. He followed the nuts and bolts trail back to the house, knowing he'd have to drive halfway to town to get help.

When the big old house loomed in front of him, another figure took shape out of the fog. A man stood next to the old car that belonged to Mrs. Sims.

“Daryl? Is that you?” Chance asked.

“Yes, Mr. McCall. My mama is picking me up to take me home. Her car is here, but I can't find her.”

“She and Miss Taylor have had an accident. They fell over a cliff. I need to get to town to get a rope or someone to help get to them.”

“I have a rope,” Daryl said.”

“It might have to be a really long rope to get all the way down the cliff to where they are.”

“My rope is as long as a football field.”

Chance grabbed Daryl's arm. “I need it now. I don't have time to go all the way to your house to get it.”

Daryl smiled. “You don't have to. It's close by. In my treasure cave.”

Making a snap decision, Chance grabbed the man's arms. “Show me.”

“It's a secret. You have to promise not to tell.”

“I promise, Daryl. We have to hurry. I'm afraid Miss Taylor and your mother are hurt.”

Daryl's brows drew together. “Follow me.” The man led Chance into the fog. Chance soon struggled to keep him in sight—Daryl moved quickly through the woods as if familiar with his way, even in the choking fog.

Engulfed in the devil's shroud, Chance began second-guessing his decision to trust Daryl's ability to judge the length of a rope or find his way through the woods to some alleged treasure cave. Chance might have been better off driving toward town and calling 911. Then he'd have the full contingent of rescue personnel to help him get to Jillian and Mrs. Sims.

“Daryl,” Chance called out. “We should go back.”

“Why? We're almost there.” He kept moving, faster than Chance could keep up.

They were far enough away from the house that Chance wasn't so sure he'd find his way back. Apparently, Daryl didn't need a bread-crumb trail to find his way through the fog. If Chance turned around to find his own way back, he might not make it.