In the Dead of Night (16 page)

“I think you’re a sick bastard.”

He put his hand to his chest in feigned affront. “Your harsh words wound me.”

Sara could feel her heart beating out of control, the adrenaline running like wildfire through her body. Fear had taken hold of her, like a giant bird of prey gripping her with talons. She needed to think. There had to be a way out of this. But she was quickly running out of time.

Nick, where are you?

She looked at Brett Stocker, her mind whirling. “Why the phone calls?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Why did you need me here at all? You could have found the manuscript on your own and you wouldn’t have had a murder to cover up.”

He pointed at her as if she’d been a naughty child. “You have no idea how difficult this has been.” Not expecting her to answer, he continued. “I broke into this house several times. Being an amateur criminal, it was not easy. But I searched this old dump from top to bottom multiple times. I did this for a year, but I never found it.” His eyes landed on hers and he smiled. “I knew if anyone could find it, it would be you.”

But Sara’s mind was already jumping ahead to other questions that had begun to spin in her head. Looking at Brett, seeing him in the raincoat with water dripping down and a gun in his hand, a flash of memory assailed her. “Your father murdered them, didn’t he?”

“I always believed the theory the police had set forth. Then two years ago, after my father had his first stroke and he was lying in his hospital bed, he told me everything. He told me about the snuff films he’d made. The young women he’d murdered. He told me about the tell-all book your parents and Nicholas Tyson were working on. They were going to ruin him. Ruin everything he’d ever worked for. His reputation. They were going to send him to prison.” An odd light entered Brett’s eyes. “He said those women were indecent, anyway. They contributed nothing to society. No one would miss them. He said he was doing the world a favor by getting rid of them.”

“That’s incredibly vile,” Sara said.

“But financially rewarding.” Brett loosened the collar of his shirt. “My father enjoyed his just rewards, and now I’m going to enjoy mine.”

Sara knew what would happen next. He would order her from the house. March her to the cliffs and force her to jump to her death.

“What about the messages?” she asked quickly.

“I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about.”

“Someone wrote warnings on my car. Twice. They used red finger paint.”

“Obviously, it wasn’t me. But then we digress. Your time is up.” Raising the pistol, he pulled back the slide. “Lace your hands behind your head and walk out the door. Nice and easy. You got that?”

Sara raised her hands, but they were shaking so badly she couldn’t lace them. “Brett, it doesn’t have to be this way. Please. Take the manuscript and run.”

“I swear I’ll blow a hole in you.” He jammed the gun at her. “Now walk out that door or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

Nick retrieved his cell phone messages on the way to the bungalow. Worry notched into cold hard fear when he listened to Sara’s message. He couldn’t believe she was going to meet Blaine Stocker alone. He had a bad feeling about the man. Cursing, he tried her number, hoping to stop her, but the call went instantly to voice mail.

His cruiser’s tires slid on wet pavement when he whipped the car into a U-turn and headed for the coast highway. He mashed the accelerator, the speedometer jumping to ninety miles per hour as he snatched up the mike and called dispatch.

Relief rippled through him when he heard B.J. on the other end. “I need backup and an ambulance at the Douglas mansion.”

“Roger that, Chief.” A heavy pause. “What happened?”

“Someone is trying to kill Sara. I think they’re at the mansion now. No time to get into the details, but it has something to do with the murders twenty years ago.” He paused to negotiate a curve, backed off the speedometer when the car fishtailed. “Get someone out there now. No lights. No siren.”

“Got it.”

Nick disconnected.

The so-called accident had been a ruse. He’d fallen for it hook, line and sinker. And now Sara was going to pay the price.

He wasn’t going to lose her. Damn it, he wasn’t going to allow it.

Rapping his fist against the steering wheel, Nick cursed himself for leaving her alone. How could he have been so stupid? How could he put his own selfish needs above her safety?

But Nick knew the answer. Nancy’s death and the death of their unborn child had warped something inside him. The grief had been so achingly profound that some small protective mechanism kicked in whenever he began to feel too much for someone. He’d been willing to live a loveless and solitary existence as long as he never had to feel that gut-wrenching pain ever again.

Only now did Nick realize it had all been for nothing. At some point in the last days, he’d fallen in love with Sara. He’d done the one thing he’d sworn he would not. His heart had betrayed him. Once again, he faced the same horrific loss and grief as he had before.

“I’m not going to let this happen,” he vowed between clenched teeth.

He put the pedal to the floor.

And began to pray that he wasn’t already too late.

S
ARA COULDN’T BELIEVE
her life was going to end this way. At the hands of a man whose father had murdered her parents and Nicholas Tyson in cold blood. She thought about the bogus suicide note. There was no way Sonia or Nick would believe it, particularly with the information she and Nick had just uncovered.

Nick.

The thought of him brought tears to her eyes. The image of his face filled her mind. The intimacies they’d shared just a few short hours ago. She’d fallen in love with him. The realization should have shocked her. But it didn’t. Maybe in some small corner of her mind she’d always loved him. Maybe in her heart she’d always known she would come back to this place. And fate would take care of the rest. How ironic that she would realize her one and only love just moments before her death.

Rain slashed at her like cold knives as she trudged down the path toward the cliffs. She heard Brett behind her, his footfalls heavy on the ground, raindrops pattering against his raincoat. She kept hoping Nick would appear on the trail in front of them, pistol drawn, and end the nightmare. But Nick was at the scene of what was probably a horrific crash that could possibly involve his mother. There was no way he could leave. There was no way he could even know she was in trouble.

Sara was on her own. If she was going to get out of this alive, she was going to have to come up with some kind of plan. If she refused to jump, she knew Stocker would shoot her. Either way, she was going to die.

Ahead, the path curved. Beyond, the cliffs looked out over a raging sea and rocky shore a hundred feet below. If she was going to do something, now was the time. Once they reached the cliffs, it would be too late.

Sara let her foot catch on a protruding rock, feigned a stumble, and dropped to her knees. “Damn it.” Grimacing as if in pain, she looked over her shoulder at Brett. “My ankle. Wait.”

He raised the gun. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I think I sprained it.”

“I don’t give a damn about your ankle. Get up. We’re running out of time.”

There was no way Sara was going to jump off that cliff and let him get away with murder. She knew she risked getting shot in the back if she ran, but the odds seemed better. It was a risk she was willing to take.

She struggled to rise, leaving her weight off her right foot. A few feet away, the mangled branch of a dead juniper drew her attention. It was the size of a small bat. If she could reach it, she could use it as a weapon.

“I don’t think I can walk,” she said.

Lowering the gun marginally, Brett grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. “Walk, bitch!”

Sara leaned heavily against him. Snarling, he shoved her away. Pretending to reach out to break her fall, she snatched up the branch and swung it as hard as she could. Stocker’s eyes went wide. The gun came up, swung toward her. She caught a glimpse of his face an instant before the wood slammed against his left temple.

Screaming in pain and anger, he reeled backward, landing hard on his backside. His free hand clutched at his left eye. With his right, he brought up the gun. “You bitch!”

“No!” Sara spun to run as he leveled the weapon on her.

“Stop!” he shouted.

Sara took off like a sprinter out of a starting block. Three strides and a gunshot rent the air. A scream tore from her throat when white-hot pain shot down her arm from elbow to wrist.

Shock rippled through her when she saw blood dripping from her fingertips. It registered that she’d been shot, but she couldn’t let the fear paralyze her; she couldn’t let it slow her down. If she wanted to live, she was going to have to outrun him.

Her feet pounded through mud, carrying her down the trail at a dangerous speed. Branches and rain pelted her. Heat radiated down from her elbow, but her fingers had gone numb. Vaguely, she was aware of the growing bloodstain on her sleeve. Red rainwater dripping from her fingertips.

The trail forked. Realizing she needed a way to let Nick know where to find her, particularly if she lost consciousness, she reached for her mother’s necklace in her pocket, plucked it out and dropped it in the center of the trail that ran parallel with the cliffs.

A second shot rang out. Instinctively, Sara ducked, glanced behind her. Ten yards back, Stocker staggered toward her, waving the gun madly. “You’re
dead!
”

A scream jammed her throat when he raised the gun for another shot. Heart pounding out of control, she took the north trail.

Another shot exploded. The dull
thunk!
of a bullet striking the ground sounded at her feet.
Oh, dear God, he’s going to cut me down!
she thought wildly.

The thought had barely formed in her mind when the trail ended abruptly. Beyond, the ground dropped away a hundred feet to the rocky shore below. Twenty years ago the trail had gone on for another mile or so. But erosion had eaten it away. Now, she was trapped.

Panic gripped her so hard that for a moment she was paralyzed. Glancing once over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Stocker through the trees, guessed him to be ten yards behind her. And she knew if she stayed put he would shoot her down.

Willing to take her chances on the rocks, Sara looked over the edge, searching desperately for a safe place to land.

Closing her eyes, she hurled herself into space.

T
HE FIRST GUNSHOT
stopped Nick dead in his tracks. The second sent his heart into overdrive. For a moment, he stood on the trail with rain pouring all around and listened, trying to establish the direction from which the shot had come. A third shot rang out, and he knew the shooter was near the cliffs.

Not considering his own safety, he ran headlong down the trail. Rain lashed at his face. Branches tore at his clothes. But he didn’t slow down. All he could think was that he was not going to lose Sara the same way he’d lost Nancy.

Twenty yards from the cliffs, the trail forked. Nick stood at the junction for the span of several heartbeats, listening, trying to decide which way to go. He’d stepped left when he spotted the spark of green against the muddy earth. Bending, he scooped up the necklace. He could tell by the lack of dirt that it had been recently dropped, and he knew immediately Sara was telling him to take the northernmost trail.

Dropping the necklace into his pocket, Nick tore down the trail. He could make out footprints, but they were quickly being washed away by the rain. He rounded a curve and the cliffs came into view. A tall man in a black raincoat stood on the ledge with his back to Nick, looking down. He held a gun in his right hand and was firing shots at something below.

What the hell?

Recognition sparked. Brett Stocker. But what the hell was Stocker doing out here? Protecting his old man? Or was this about something else?

Drawing his weapon, Nick chambered a bullet and started toward Stocker. He was midway there when the other man fired a series of shots. Realization struck Nick like a boxer’s punch. Fear twisted his insides into knots. Sara had gone off the cliff. God only knew how badly she was hurt. And the son of a bitch was trying to pick her off.

The bullet hit the ground two inches from the ledge where Sara crouched. A foot away, the cliff dropped away to the rocky beach below.

A groan escaped her as she struggled to her feet. Pain echoed through every inch of her body. She’d landed on a ledge about two feet wide that was covered with rock and moss and the twisted roots of long-dead junipers.

Every nerve in her body jumped when another shot rang out. Sara looked up. Terror spread through her like wildfire when she saw Brett Stocker leaning over the rocky ledge above, aiming the pistol at her.

“You can’t get away!” he screamed.

Another shot thwacked against the ground next to her foot. Sara looked around wildly. But the ledge offered no cover, no place to hide. All she could do was get as close to the base of the cliff as possible and hope he wasn’t a very good shot.

She staggered to the rock wall, pressed her back against it and tried to make herself as small as possible. Overhead, she could see the gun’s muzzle as he tried to get it into position to kill her. In the back of her mind, Sara wondered how many bullets he had left. If he had a spare magazine.

“Help me!” she screamed.
“Help!”

But she knew there was no one around for miles.

A cry escaped her when another bullet slammed into the ground inches from her foot. Sara danced sideways, pressed her body harder into the rock behind her, wishing desperately she could melt into it. It was a hopeless situation. She was a sitting duck. Stocker had a bad angle to contend with. But it was only a matter of time before one of his bullets found its mark.

Nick, where are you?
she thought.

The only answer she got was the crash of the surf below and the retort of another gunshot.

N
ICK’S VISION
tunneled on Stocker. The roar of rain and the surf faded to silence. He didn’t let himself think about what he was going to do. He didn’t consider consequences. His own safety never entered his mind. Nothing mattered except for saving the woman he loved.

The world went silent and still. Nick raised the gun, aimed for a body shot. Held it steady. “Toss the gun or I’ll split you in half.”

Stocker turned. His eyes went wide. Blood covered the right side of his face.

“Drop it,” Nick ordered.

Stocker lifted the gun by its butt and let it fall to the ground.

“Put your hands up and turn around.”

To his surprise, Stocker obeyed. Holding his sidearm steady, Nick approached. “Where is she?”

Stocker’s expression twisted into that of a crazed maniac. He glanced over the cliff, a chilling smile overtaking his face.

“Sara!” Keeping an eye on Stocker, Nick approached the cliff. “Sara!”

Stocker hit him with the violence of a linebacker sacking a quarterback. An animalistic cry tore from Stocker’s mouth as both men went down.

As he rolled, Nick caught a glimpse of a narrow ledge below. A flash of the rocky shore a hundred feet down. The gray, churning ocean beyond. He brought up his weapon, fired off a wild shot, missed.

Breathless with adrenaline, Nick scrambled to his feet.

Stocker rolled. An inhuman scream tore from his throat as the gun came up. Nick’s finger jerked on the trigger. Once. Twice. He didn’t count the number of shots. Seconds later, Stocker lay dead on the ground.

Turning away, Nick looked around. “Sara!
Sara!
Answer me, damn it!”

A thousand emotions descended when he heard her voice call out his name. He found her ten feet below, crouched against the wall of the cliff. She’d taken a serious fall, but she was standing.

His legs shook as he climbed down to her. He reached for her and she went into his arms. “Sara. My God. Are you all right?”

“Now I am,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder.

Then he was shoving her to arm’s-length, his eyes sweeping over her in a quick physical inventory. His heart stopped dead in his chest when he spotted blood dripping from her fingertips. “Oh, honey, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m hit,” she said. “I don’t think it’s too bad.”

For a moment, Nick was overcome with emotion. Unable to speak, unable to function, all he could do was wrap his arms around her and hold her against him.

She trembled violently, but he could feel her life force pulsing strong and warm. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

“How did you find me?”

“The necklace,” he said. “That was incredibly smart.”

Reaching up, she cupped his face with her uninjured hand. “You saved my life.”

Nick closed his eyes against a hard rush of emotion. He knew he was holding her more tightly than he should, considering her injuries. But he couldn’t help it. She was alive. At the moment he didn’t think he was ever going to let her go again.

Pulling away slightly, she made eye contact. “Stocker?”

He shook his head. “Dead.”

“He tried to kill me,” she said. “He was going to make it look like suicide. All because he wanted to claim the manuscript as his own.”

“He’s never going to hurt anyone ever again.” He ran his fingertips down her arm, his gut tightening at the sight of the blood. “Hang tight. There’s an ambulance on the way.”

She offered a smile. “I’ll let you know if I need to faint.”

He smiled back. “You’re incredibly brave.”

“So were our parents.”

He nodded, wiping at the tears that had begun to stream down her cheeks. “We’re going to be all right,” he said.

“As long as we’re together,” she said, “We’re going to be just fine.”

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Nick Tyson truly believed it.