Nowhere Safe (33 page)

“You want to die? You want to kill us both?” she shrieked at him.

“My ear,” he cried, then swore some more before finally, mercifully, lapsing into silence. She could feel his rage. It wasn’t an aura like his lust, but it was dense and hot and filled the car.

She turned south off Highway 26 to 101 and drove steadily toward Deception Bay. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to do when she got there, but it felt right.

Just as she slowed at the entrance to the jetty, Ugh suddenly reared up and grabbed her face with one hand, his fingers digging at her eye. “You think I didn’t have a knife, bitch!!!!” he screamed, pulling the weapon out with his other hand.

She lurched forward as he struck downward, freeing herself from his grip, jerking the wheel back and forth, flinging him away as the knife grazed her shoulder and plunged into the seat. The Lexus tore through the gate. A piece of painted white metal flew into the window, scarring it all the way with a
bang
before it flew off.

“Stop!” he shrieked, struggling to reach her as she wrenched the wheel one way, then the other, aware of the dangerous edges of the jetty on either side, the wheels spitting up rocks, the car careering like a drunken beast.

The end of the jetty was in sight. It was all she could see. All that was there. Ugh was struggling to grab her. She felt his hands digging at her, undoubtedly grasping for the knife again. But all she saw was the ocean.

The Lexus roared toward it like a rocket.

At the last moment a figure appeared in front of the car. Lucky gasped in shock. Dr. Parnell Loman. Her stepfather. Her abuser.

She drove right at him.

And then suddenly she was airborne, the restless Pacific rushing up to meet her.

Ulysses Graham Harding had always imagined he was meant for great things. He couldn’t believe someone as insignificant as this woman would have the brio to try and take his life.

As the Lexus smashed into the waves and rocks below, he was thrown into the front seat beside her at the same moment the windshield burst open and water rushed in, engulfing them.

He was swept out in a back flow and found himself floating in frigid water, relatively unhurt. His would-be killer was floating out of the vehicle also, a limp rag. Probably dead. Good.

He let the tide take him out, away from the shoals and the Lexus that was being tossed by waves and slammed into boulders. Poor Daria. Her baby was being beaten to death.

There were lights on the jetty. Headlights and flashlights. They’d been seen crashing into the surf.

He ducked into the frigid water, knowing he wouldn’t last long in its deadly cold, but also knowing he had to get far, far away. He couldn’t be found. Couldn’t be associated with Lucky, whoever she was.

Eventually, he hauled himself from the tide and across rocks and sand to a stretch of beach that led to two oceanfront cottages, neither of which was occupied. Shivering so much he could hardly function, he managed to scrounge up a decent sized rock and hurl it at what looked like a bathroom window. It crashed through and he stripped off his shirt, wrapped it around his hand so he could reach inside the shards of glass and find the latch.

Once the window was open, he squeezed himself inside, heading straight for the shower to warm his hypothermic body. His damn head hurt now that he was out of the cold, and his ear ached excruciatingly, but otherwise he was in one piece.

He checked the closets. Though there were clothes, there was nothing even close to his size.

But there was a washer and dryer.

Stripping naked in the dark, he put his shirt, pants, socks, and boxers in the dryer. He’d managed to hang on to his shoes by some minor miracle.

While his clothes were drying, he considered his predicament. It wasn’t quite as dire as it could be. There was Beth out there, living in Cannon Beach. She could pick him up in twenty minutes, if need be.

There was no phone at the cabin and he wouldn’t want to use one here anyway.

As soon as his clothes were dry, he put them back on and then went into the bathroom and examined his face. Not too bad. A scratch by his eye and that damned mark from the stun gun. He turned to look into his ear and thought he saw more blood.

His shirt was a mess of stains but it couldn’t be helped.

Before he left he wiped every surface that he’d touched, then he let himself out the front door, locking it behind him.

He was in the town of Deception Bay, he realized, and he walked into the center of the town and into a pizza parlor called Sammy’s. Approaching the counter, he said to the teenaged girl behind it, “Dropped my cell phone in the water, looking at that wreck off the jetty. Any chance I could use the phone?”

“Is it a local call?”

“Yep.”

She considered a moment, but waved him behind the counter and to the wall where a phone was mounted. “Don’t talk long. We get orders.”

“I’ll be quick.” He winked at her and she half smiled.

His luck was holding. Beth was home and said she would be more than happy to come and get him. She had to be over forty, a little on the old side, but his imagination could turn her young again. It would have to. He didn’t have any little blue pills, and Beth was going to want payment.

Thirty minutes later she was walking into Sammy’s. Ten minutes after that he was giving it to her in the back of her car with her hooting and hollering and saying how long it had been since she’d been a backseat babe. Graham had his mind fixed solely on Lucky. It was Lucky beneath him, and she was screaming for mercy. He damn near smashed his hand over Beth’s mouth, like he’d done with Daria, but he just managed to balance on the knife’s edge between fantasy and reality, holding himself back until the deed was done.

Then she was driving him back to Laurelton. It was no problem, really. She wanted to take him.

It was problematic that she knew where he lived, but then, he was good at problem solving.

By the time he finally got Beth to leave, it was damn near dawn. He’d shoved Daria’s body back into the garage before she could see and locked the door, but he still had to bury her in the garden. But it was Friday. A school day. If he tried to take off another day it was bound to look suspicious. It was going to be hell getting through all his classes, but after he did, no one would dare to think he could have anything to do with the crash off the jetty.

Switching on the coffee maker, he went to the bathroom and took another shower. When he got out, he dug through Daria’s makeup drawer and found a tube of flesh-colored makeup. Putting a dab on his finger, he smeared it on the stun gun marks. It took a few tries to cover it up, and if someone looked closely they’d realize he was wearing makeup. Better that than the marks, though. He also covered up the scratches on his face, too, and in the end was pleased with the results.

Back in the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out the carton of half-and-half. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he added a liberal dose of cream and then sat down at the table, drinking the coffee, enjoying the moment, staring outside at the raspberry vines, a smile creeping across his face. He’d done it! He’d fooled them all. All he needed to do now was move the bodies and no one would ever suspect.

“I got away with murder,” he gloated to the empty house, swallowing down the rest of the cup.

 

 

September walked into the station with a smile on her face that just wouldn’t quit.

“What now?” Wes asked.

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing. You were at the hospital with Jake,” he said.

“He’s being released today.”

“And?”

She shook her head, unwilling to reveal what had been said between them, how Jake had leaned forward, grabbed her with his good hand and tumbled her over the bed until she was half lying on him.

“What are you doing?” she’d demanded.

“Kissing you,” he’d answered, and then had made good on that promise with a long, lingering kiss that reached down to September’s toes.

“You taste minty,” she’d said, when it was over.

“You think I’d kiss you with mung mouth?”

“I considered it a possibility, but you notice I didn’t stop you.”

She’d tried to pull back then, but he’d held on to her and she’d lifted her brows, gazing into his gray eyes, questions in hers.

“Do you remember what you said before?” he asked.

“I say a lot of things. You gotta give me more.”

“You said you would say yes when I asked you.”

September had thought about playing dumb, but had immediately scratched that idea in favor of getting to the truth. “So, are you asking?”

“September Rafferty, will you marry me?”

“Detective September Rafferty,” she’d corrected him, fighting to keep a straight face.

“Detective September Rafferty, will you marry me?”

She’d been shocked, thrilled, scared, but in the end had said, “All signs point to yes. . . .”

Now, remembering, she just couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. She was thinking of heading home, making sure the place was ready for when she went to pick him up. D’Annibal had already told her to take time off.

As if hearing her thoughts, the lieutenant came out of his office and said, “The Tillamook County SD wants someone to check on one Daria Johannsen, the owner of the black Lexus that took a dive off the Deception Bay jetty last night. They’ve been calling her, but she hasn’t answered.”

“I’ll do it on the way home,” she offered.

He nodded and added, “They found some things in the car. Some zip-ties and what looked like a water-logged placard with twine looped through two holes.”

“Holy . . . mother of God. Ani? ” September stared at him. “Is she using the name Daria Johannsen?”

Wes called from his desk, “Uh-uh. I’m looking at the picture on Johannsen’s driver’s license from the DMV data bank.”

Both September and D’Annibal went to Wes’s computer. A middle-aged woman with short, frosted hair and a wide smile stared back at them.

“Did anyone survive the crash?” September asked.

“No bodies yet. Probably one or more’ll wash up sooner or later,” the lieutenant answered grimly.

“An eyewitness puts a woman at the wheel,” Wes said. “TCSD is giving us updates, but my money’s on Ani going off the jetty.”

“Maybe you should go with her,” D’Annibal told Wes.

“I got this,” September said. “If there’s a problem, I’ll call.”

She left the station, thinking about making a stop at the market as well. Maybe she should pick up steaks again . . . show Jake she wasn’t half bad at barbequing herself.

She was lost in pleasurable thoughts about the night ahead when the Johannsen drive appeared on her right. The house was situated down a long, curving asphalt driveway and she wound down it slowly, pulling up to the sprawling ranch next to a station wagon already parked in front.

Slipping her gun from her messenger bag, she placed it into the holster at her hip. She was lax about carrying it when she was with a partner, something she’d been reprimanded on and always swore to do better. But when she was on her own she was more careful. Grabbing her cell phone, she stuffed it in her jacket pocket, then she stepped out of the car. She realized her heart was beating hard in her chest. What if Wes was wrong about Ani going over the edge and she was here, lying in wait?

Cautiously, September walked toward the breezeway that separated the garage from the main house. At the back door, she peered through a small window that looked across a mudroom into a bright, yellow kitchen.

A man’s trousered legs were splayed on the floor beyond the counter’s peninsula, his upper torso blocked from her view.

Her already pounding heart speeded up. Something odd there. Looked as if he’d passed out and lay in the position he’d landed.

She tried the knob and the door opened beneath her hand.

Grabbing her cell phone, she called Wes and said softly, “There’s a man lying on the kitchen floor. Maybe unconscious. I can see him through a window.”

“At Johannsen’s? Don’t go in. I’ll be right there.”

“He might need help.”

“Damn it, Nine. Listen to me.”

“You sound just like Auggie,” she said. “I’m just going to check on him. Hold on . . .” She shoved her cell into her pocket, then pulled out her gun. Pushing open the door, she led with the Glock, moving cautiously into the kitchen, aware that she was ignoring all protocol, all senses heightened. If Ani was here . . .

She hesitated a moment, counting her heartbeats, waiting, listening. The man was either unconscious or dead, she thought. He wasn’t making any sound. Stepping in as quietly as she could, she hugged the cabinets, moving further inside until she could dare a glance over the counter at the man. A chair was knocked over and he was lying on his back, his eyes wide open, staring at some nameless horror.

She blinked in recognition. He was from Twin Oaks. Something Harding. One of Claudia Livesay’s daughter’s teachers.

She inhaled on a soft gasp. And he sort of looked like Kevin Costner.

The hairs on her arms lifted.
He’d
been Ani’s target. That’s what it was. She
had
been Alicia Trent, and she’d gone to the school looking for him.

Immediately she went on red alert. Was she here? Was she?

Grabbing her cell phone, she asked in a whisper, “You still there?”

“Yeah, and I’m on my way, goddammit,” Wes snapped back.

“Call 9-1-1. Looks like we’ve got a dead body. Male. I think it’s a teacher named Harding from Twin Oaks.”

“Shitfire, Nine.”

“I know. But there’s nobody here but him and me.”

She clicked off and looked at the scene. He’d apparently fallen out of the chair, she thought. A cup lay shattered on the floor beside his head and a small amount of coffee had spilled onto the floor. Had he had a heart attack, or had there been something in the coffee? Something Ani had given him? Roofies or worse? One of her special cocktails?

Looking down at him, it dawned on her that he’d probably kidnapped Gillian Palmiter. Bartender Mark had said he’d wanted Jilly that night at Gulliver’s, and it looked like he’d found a way to have her and secrete her away. Probably followed her to the boyfriend’s apartment parking garage, picked her up there, brought her here, possibly?

And maybe he was responsible for the missing Ms. Claudia Livesay as well.

She got right down, looking him over closely. He’d been through some kind of fight. There were scratches on his face, and was that a stun gun mark? She inhaled sharply. It looked like he’d already tangled with Ani.

Her eye caught on something else: a faint line of what looked like blood on the toe kick beneath the cabinet that ran around the end of the peninsula. On hands and knees she followed it into the main
U
of the kitchen and saw, scratched into the wood, the word
GARDEN
.

She stood up fast, staring through the French doors to the garden beyond. Whose message was it? Daria Johannsen’s? And was that the beginnings of a casket-sized hole being dug just past the raspberry vine? She longed to go out and look, but decided she’d broken enough rules already. It would be far more prudent to wait by the body. Let the techs do their job outside.

Moving back to the dining area, she glanced down at him again. Her gaze stopped on the coffee spill once more. Turning her head, she zeroed in on the stainless steel carafe of the coffee maker.