Something Wicked (38 page)

“Yes . . . ,” the girl said on a gulp.

Her heart squeezed hard; her pulse pounded in her ears. “What?”

“I found . . . a gun.”

Savannah blinked hard, pulling herself back from a full-on Mommy panic attack. “What kind of gun?”

“I don't know. A little one? A . . . handgun, I guess.”

“Oh. Well, it must be Hale's,” she said.

“Uh-uh. I think it's his wife's. . . . It was in her things, but kinda . . . hidden a little,” she said slowly.

“Where did you find it?” Savvy asked, realizing that Victoria had most likely been snooping in Kristina's belongings. A slow burn started inside her at a deep level.

“There was this bag of clothes in the closet? For long dresses and stuff, to protect them? I just wanted to see and I unzipped it and the gun was lying on the bottom, sort of. Kinda tucked back.”

Savvy pushed her anger at Victoria to the back of her mind. Kristina had had a gun? That was news to her, but then her sister had become so cagey and secretive, it was possible she hadn't known. “You should let Hale know,” Savvy said, but a dark fear swirled into her thoughts.
Kristina with a gun . . .

She thought of the evidence file on the Donatellas. The murder weapon was never discovered.

“Have you touched it?” Savannah asked swiftly.

“Well, uh . . . I picked it up, but I put it back.”

Her Mommy panic was back, only in a different form.

“Should I bring it to you?” Victoria asked.

“No! Don't touch it again.”

“You're scaring me,” she said, her voice starting to quaver.

“Just . . . stay with Declan, and don't do anything. I'll be right there.”

Savvy grabbed her messenger bag, checked her own gun at her hip, then headed toward the back door of the station.

 

 

Ravinia pulled the sheaf of papers from her pack, where she'd had them stowed ever since her friend had handed them to her. She'd intended to turn them right over to Catherine, but then she'd been reluctant to. No, she hadn't read them, and she couldn't rightly say why.

She'd purchased several pairs of jeans and some dark green dungarees, three shirts, a sweatshirt, and yes, a black Gore-Tex jacket. She had new underwear; several new bras, the store-bought kind, which actually cinched you in; a new pair of sneakers; and the boots on her feet, with some heavy socks. She had bought some snacks, too, and thought Hot Tamales could almost be the perfect food.

Lastly, she'd purchased a disposable cell phone.

But after she'd returned, she'd spent the day in her room, reluctant to leave it until she was actually on the road. She was delaying for reasons she couldn't quite fathom, but she knew it was because she was going to miss her sisters. Not that she was spending these last hours with them. That was what she should be doing, but it seemed too hard, somehow.

She'd decided that when she did leave, she was going to tramp up the road that ran in front of the Siren Song drive and led to the Foothillers' village. She wanted to see Rand one last time, see if he could tell her anything more about her family's connection to his.

Of course . . . her eyes strayed to the pages. Her friend had told her Catherine had been looking for them, so maybe some of the answers were right here.

Getting to her feet, she looked into the small mirror above her ancient vanity and made a face. She'd always been rather proud of her hair. Had combed the dark blond tresses and tossed them about her head, lost in self-admiration. Now that just felt . . . stupid . . . and so she'd plaited her hair into one long braid down her back.

Grabbing up her pack, which was a little heavier than she would have liked, but no pain, no gain, Ravinia slung it over one shoulder, picked up the papers, then headed down the hall to Catherine's room. She raised her hand to knock but heard voices inside. For a moment she was undecided. She wanted Aunt Catherine to be alone when she turned over the pages. She was just turning back toward her room when Ophelia burst through the door, nearly running into her.

“I was just coming for you,” Ophelia said, taking in Ravinia's attire and backpack with raised brows.

“I'm just saying good-bye,” Ravinia said, lifting her chin in challenge.

“What's that?” Ophelia asked, zeroing in on the pages clutched in her left hand.

“Something for Aunt Catherine.”

She was annoyed when Ophelia walked right back into Catherine's room ahead of her instead of leaving. And then she was further annoyed when Ophelia said, “Ravinia has something you've been looking for.”

“How did you know?” Ravinia wanted to scream, but she swallowed the words, knowing full well there were other forces at play in her family.

“What is it?” Catherine asked. She was seated at her desk, not lying in bed, which was a good sign.

For an answer, Ravinia handed over the papers, giving Ophelia a hard look when it appeared she might try to grab some for herself. Ravinia had waited all day to share this moment with her aunt, and now she had to deal with Ophelia.

But then Catherine suddenly handed the top page to Ophelia, anyway, saying, “The adoptive families! Mary had these on Echo.” Then, to Ravinia, “How did you get these?”

“Maybe this'll lead us to Declan Jr.,” Ophelia said.

Ophelia swept out of the room, but Ravinia felt her comment like a blow. She shouldn't be surprised that she wasn't the only one Aunt Catherine had confided in, but it bothered her deeply. One more reason to go.

“Good,” Aunt Catherine said, glancing down at the other pages, which looked as if they were lined notebook paper, their holes tied together with orange thread. “She didn't have a journal on the island,” Catherine mused. “She put it down on paper. How did you get this, Ravinia?” She looked up at her, demanding an answer.

“He gave it to me.”

“Who?”

“I don't know his name.”

“How . . .” Catherine swallowed, then asked sharply, “What did he look like?”

“I don't know. Dark hair. Blue eyes . . . I guess. Handsome,” she said reluctantly.

“His hair was dark? Not any shade of blond?”

“He's not one of us, is he?” Ravinia asked on a gasp.

“Was he on the island? Was he the one who found these pages on the island?” Catherine demanded.

“I guess so. He's the one that built the fire.”

“He said that? He admitted it?”

“Pretty much.”

“Ravinia, what exactly did he say?”

“He said he was a friend, and that sometimes you just had to burn things.”

Catherine seemed to melt into the chair, as if all her energy had been expended. “He burned them,” she said in wonder. “He took the bones, and he burned them.”

“Are you sure? Why would he do that? Why would anyone do that?”

To her surprise, her aunt actually smiled. “It's how you kill the Hydra. Burn it, so it doesn't grow another head.”

“Who is he?” Ravinia said. “Is he some relative?”

“I think he's your brother Silas. Mary's last son, like you're her last daughter . . .” A cloud marred her expression. “Unless she had more children I'm unaware of.”

“On the island? How?”

Her gaze had dropped to the tied pages. “Never mind. I'm just borrowing trouble.”

“So, he's my brother Silas?” Ravinia repeated. “And he's not like Declan . . . ?”

“The remains that Silas burned were once Declan's father, not Silas's. I don't think Silas means us harm.”

“He doesn't,” Ravinia assured her.

Catherine nodded, accepting her answer as the truth, which was surprising in itself. “Silas wouldn't have given you the pages if he wanted to keep his past secret. Ophelia will check with their adoptive families.”

They stared at each other a moment, and then Catherine got to her feet. She looked down at the desk and picked up a piece of paper, staring at it a moment before turning to Ravinia and holding it out to her.

“What's this?”

“It's what I'd like you to do for me. It's comforting to know that Silas appears to be helping us, but I can't take the chance. Declan Jr.'s too strong, and if he senses that there's someone vulnerable out there . . .” She pressed her hand to her mouth and shook her head. “I couldn't keep her. Not with Mary so dead set on me giving up Declan. I did as she asked, but fertility is one of our assets.”

“You had a baby,” Ravinia realized.

“Elizabeth. I gave her away at birth, but now I want you to find her.” Ravinia took the piece of paper and read the name: Elizabeth Gaines. “She could be married now,” Catherine went on. “The Gaineses lived in Northern California. I don't know if they still do. Robert Gaines was in real estate, and Joy was a stay-at-home mom.”

“How old is Elizabeth now?”

“Twenty-six.”

“I'm not sure how I'll find her, but if I do . . . ?”

“Let me know she's all right. And keep her safe.”

Ravinia saw the glimmer of moisture in her aunt's eyes, but Catherine turned away, back to the papers. As she left the room, she thought she heard her aunt say, “I'm going to miss you,” but she wasn't really sure.

 

 

Savvy drove fast and hard. The roads were dry, and though water stood in puddles all around, her tires gripped the road.

She'd tried to call Hale several times, but he had been at a job site and then had gotten on the phone hurriedly once, saying Astrid Carmichael was in his office, working on the memorial service, and asking if he could call her back.

She should have just told him about the gun, but she'd let the thought slip away. She wanted to see it for herself, anyway. She would call him from the house.

She turned into the driveway, her tires giving a squeal of protest. Victoria's small compact was parked in the turnaround, as it had been each time she'd arrived. Savvy jumped out of the car.

And immediately sensed a presence behind her. She turned, one hand reaching automatically for her gun, and then stopped cold, seeing the familiar man with the wide smile.

“Mr. Woodworth,” she said, surprised. “Nadine Gretz put out a missing person's report on you.”

He took a step closer. “Call me Henry. Or, better yet, Declan. How's that? Or how about Charlie . . . ?”

She was already reaching for her gun, adrenaline sizzling through her like a jolt of electricity. Not Jacob Balboa. Henry Woodworth.

He jumped forward and grabbed her arms. Her fingers slipped on the butt of her gun. His hands were steel, squeezing so hard, she couldn't move. Then he let go of one hand to yank her hair, snapping her head back. He slammed his fist into her jaw with the other, and she stumbled backward. Pinpoints of light flickered behind her eyes.

Go for the nose and eyes
, she thought.
Elbows are weapons.

She twisted, hard. Tried for the gun again. Failed. Jabbed her right elbow into his nose. A gush of blood sprayed her as he howled in surprise and pain, but then his hands were around her throat, choking her. They fell to the ground together. Savannah pried at his strangling fingers, flailing, struggling to breathe. He was holding her down, pressing his weight on her. Kissing her. Biting her. Making her stomach revolt and her throat gag.

“I knew you'd be a hellcat. Give all you've got. I'm going to have you. Forever,” he cooed. He released her long enough to rip at her shirt. She gasped for air as one of his hands caressed her breast, squeezing hard.

“C'mon, Mama,” he whispered, and she tensed. She wasn't going to let him rape her. She would kill him. Smash his head. Find a way to get her gun. Shoot the son of a bitch in the heart.

And then she felt something cold and insistent slide through her skin, into her bloodstream, along her nerves, firing up all the sensors in her brain with a wild, rampant sexual desire that froze her where she lay.

No . . . oh, God . . . ,
she thought, inwardly panicked, unable to move.
Kristina . . . this is what you felt . . . !

His hands were around her throat again, squeezing. She sensed his blue eyes boring into hers. Then her consciousness spiraled downward, funneling smaller and smaller, compressing down until blackness surrounded her and she was gone.

S
avannah's first conscious thought was that she was lying on a cold slab. Every muscle ached, and she was freezing. She slowly came awake to realize she was lying naked atop a granite kitchen island. Bluish moonlight left a hard rectangle across her feet, the only illumination in an otherwise dark room.

She tried to lift her hand, but it was tied down. Both hands were. And her legs.

“Been waiting for you . . . ,” a voice said silkily from across the room.

Savvy turned her head sharply and saw he was standing by the fireplace. She could just make out a jumble of wood inside the hearth, but Charlie didn't seem to be in any hurry to light it. He probably hadn't put it there, she realized. The house had a cold, empty feel and a faintly musty smell.

The Donatella home. Left to rot and fall into the ocean.

He'd brought Kristina here.

“I know what you're thinking,” he said, coming closer. He was still wearing his dark jacket and jeans, while she was completely nude, and his nose, though swollen, had stopped bleeding. Just looking at him, her teeth started chattering. “Don't worry. I'm gonna get you real warm,” he said, running a finger along her jawline and down her neck, along the curve of her breast and down her hipline. She was afraid she would feel that noxious sexual thrill again. No wonder Kristina had been so desperate and crazy! He'd put her under his spell, somehow, just like Catherine had predicted.

He was Declan Jr. He'd said so. He'd killed Kristina and he'd killed Owen DeWitt and he'd probably killed his mother, too.

His grin was so malevolent, she had to remind herself that he was just a man. Not a demon. Gift or no gift, he was still just a man.

Savvy had to keep him talking. She had to buy time until what? Victoria saw her car in the driveway? Hale came home and wondered what had happened to her?

“What name do you go by?” she asked him, trying to stop her shivering.

“Henry Charles Woodworth. That's what my adoptive parents called me, before my ‘mother' committed suicide, that is. Think I should change it to Declan, like my birth certificate?”

“You're not Declan Bancroft's son,” Savvy said. “That was just something Mary told Catherine as a means to hurt her. Your real father is someone else.”

“You're wrong.”

“I don't think so.”

“He's my father. Why do you think I'm working for him? Because I love the job? Bancroft Development is rightfully mine.” He made a disparaging sound. “I've been letting the old man know he shouldn't have ignored me.”

“What do you mean?” She'd turned her head toward the window at the front of the house, and though he'd pulled the drapes closed, there was a sliver of moonlit porch and driveway visible beyond. And her car sat in front of the house.

Her car.

She felt despair. Maybe Victoria didn't even know she'd come by.

“I mean, I'm a Bancroft and I deserve what's mine. Oh, don't shiver. I've got what you need right here.” He grabbed his crotch and grinned some more. “But you gotta be patient, like me. I've been thinking about you ever since you came to the job site. Couldn't get you outta my head. It's too bad, because I treated Nadine pretty badly afterward, but she always comes around.”

“What about Jacob Balboa?” Savvy asked. Her thoughts were on Kristina, but she couldn't go there. She didn't think she could stand hearing what he said about her.

She'd surprised him with the name. He blinked several times and asked sharply, “What about him?”

“My partner's at his house. Did you kill him? Why?”

“Now, hold on. I didn't say I killed him.”

“You did, though,” Savvy realized, reading between the lines. Would anyone be looking for her? The only one who was expecting her was the nanny, and she had no faith in Victoria.

“Balboa was asking all about you. And he knew a little too much about Good Time Charlie. I had to . . . take care of things.”

“And then you came to the coast, after you killed both him and DeWitt,” Savvy said.

“Dimwit! If anyone deserved to die, it was that piece of human garbage.” He leaned closer. Savvy would have shrunk away if she could have. “But it's their black souls that hold the mysteries. I look into their eyes and . . .” He closed his own eyes and sucked in air with a sigh of pleasure. “I can see every part of them. Your sister was so easy, but she knew too much, too.”

“That's why you killed her.”

“She was a part of it. She was right here.” He looked around himself.

“She was here the night you executed the Donatellas?” She wanted her voice to be steel, but there was a quiver beneath it she couldn't contain.

“Oh, sure. She liked coming to Bancroft properties and fucking me,” he said, and Savvy knew it was a lie. “She liked the danger. Marcus wasn't invited, but he showed up with Chandra. They caught us, and they would have told the old man, which wasn't part of the plan.”

“Their deaths never had anything to do with the dune failure,” Savvy said.

“That was what everyone wanted to believe, so I pushed 'em there. ‘Blood money' was a nice touch.”

She felt soul sick for her sister, seeing how terribly she'd been used and abused by this human aberration.

“I like you, Detective. I really do. It's too bad you couldn't be like Nadine or Kristina and hang around awhile, but you're not the type to play along, are you?”

“Kristina never played along.”

“Oh, she did. She did. She helped me haunt the old man. She despised him.”

Fury licked through Savannah. “That's a lie. She liked Declan.”

“That's why I picked her, y'know. 'Cause she married St. Cloud. His grandson. My nephew,” he said, chortling.

“You're not a Bancroft,” Savvy said again. “Catherine said your father was a monster.”

He flew forward and slapped her hard. Her senses spun. How long had it been since he'd abducted her? It had been afternoon, and now it was night. She'd called Hale, and he said he would call her back. How many times had he tried?

“My father is Declan Bancroft!”

“No.”

This time his answer was to pinch one of her nipples, hard. Savvy shuddered but was too cold to react much, and, anyway, it was nothing compared to what he could do with his
thoughts.
He ran an experimental hand down her body, and though she clenched her teeth, sick with worry, the terrible feeling didn't follow.

“You're thinking about him,” he suddenly accused her, and he slapped her again so hard, she saw stars. She
had
been thinking about Hale. How much she wanted to be with him. How, if she got out of this mess, she would make it work between them. How it didn't matter what anyone thought. She wanted a future with Hale and hoped he felt the same.

And then she felt it coming, that awful snaky sensation, like being overcome by a dark sexual twine. She moaned in fear and blanked her mind to it, thinking only of Hale, and baby Declan, and the love she felt for her sister, who'd fallen victim to this madman. The throbbing sexual netting seemed to lessen, and she squeezed herself tightly, fighting him off.

“Fuck!” Charlie yelled in frustration. “You can't get away from me!”

But something must be working, or he wouldn't be so upset. She bore down inside her mind and thought about Hale some more, recalling the hard line of his jaw and the surprise of his smile, the long, dark lashes over steely gray eyes, the male scent that was uniquely his, which she'd smelled in his bedroom.

The bellow that rose from Charlie's chest made Savvy's eyes fly open. She was shaking uncontrollably now. Hypothermia.

He glared at her with consuming fury. “You want him? Your sister's husband? You want him?”

“Yes,” she said, fighting to keep her voice from trembling. “I want him. Not you.”

He ripped at his hair, clearly overcome with her defiance.

Then her phone started ringing from inside her messenger bag, and she recognized Hale's ring tone. With a screech of fury that made her worry the last shreds of his sanity might be fleeing, he grabbed up the bag and yanked out her still ringing phone, holding it up for her to see.

“Lover boy,” he snapped when the ringing finally stopped.

“He's been trying to reach you.”

Savvy tried to keep her relief from her face. He knew she was missing.

“Well, maybe it's time we let him know where you are. . . .”

Her relief turned to instant fear for Hale's safety as Charlie scrolled to her most recent call, then began composing a message on her keyboard. He looked up when he was finished. “You texted him that you're at Bankruptcy Bluff. You want him. Let's bring him here!”

 

 

Hale was pacing the kitchen floor, with Victoria standing by, looking unhappy. “You told Savvy that you found a gun in Kristina's dress bag, and she said she would be right over,” he reiterated.

“I've told you and told you. Yes. That's what happened.”

“You didn't call me. You called Savannah.”

“I'm sorry! It scared me.”

Hale didn't completely believe her, but he didn't have time to dig deeper into Victoria's strange choices. When Savannah had called him earlier, he'd been certain she was in her car. He hadn't known where she was headed, but now knew she was supposed to come here. What happened to her? God, he wished he'd talked to her when she'd called. She was probably going to tell him about the gun. Since then, he'd phoned her cell over and over again, but she hadn't answered even once.

His fear was rising with each passing minute. Was this Charlie's work? He decided he would call the TCSD. If the reason she hadn't phoned back was something easily explained, like maybe there was some problem with her phone, so be it.

He was reaching for the phone he was recharging on the kitchen counter when it
blooped
, alerting him that he had a text. He snatched it up and saw in relief that the text was from Savannah.

At the bluff. Hurry.

Immediately he texted back: Where's Charlie? Did u see him?

Followed him here.

“Goddamnit,” Hale muttered, half out of relief, half out of fear.

Quickly, he texted back: Wait for me. Don't do anything.

“Jesus.” He stuffed the phone in his pocket and ran for the door.

“What did she say?” Victoria asked, staring after him with wide, scared eyes.

“She's okay. I know where she is. Just stay with Declan. I'll be back soon.”

 

 

Charlie waved the cell phone at Savannah and chuckled. “Lover boy's coming to save his lady fair. How does it feel to steal your sister's husband? That your thing?”

Savannah quaked all over. The small smile that curved Charlie's hard lips was evil in its intent.

 

 

Hale backed the TrailBlazer out of the garage, his brain churning. Something wrong there. Why had she decided to go to Bancroft Bluff instead of the house? Some new clue that had turned her back to the scene of the Donatellas' murders?

He'd gone straight back rather than run into Victoria's Toyota, which was parked in the turnaround. Now he stood on the brakes, thinking. He threw the car into park, and jumped out, running forward to the stretch of concrete driveway near the garage, seeing something on the ground.

Blood. A spray of it.

Hale jumped back in his SUV. Deception Bay and Bancroft Bluff were twenty minutes away without traffic.

He grabbed his phone and put in a call to the TCSD. “This is Hale St. Cloud,” he bit out when a female operator answered for the station. “I need to speak to Langdon Stone or Detective Clausen.” He couldn't remember Clausen's first name.

“If this is an emergency, call nine-one-one,” the voice responded.

“I need to speak to one of the detectives,” he said, wondering if maybe he should call 9-1-1.

But a few moments later a male voice said, “Mr. St. Cloud, this is Detective Clausen. How can I help you?”

“Just got a text from Savannah. She asked me to come to Bancroft Bluff. I'm on my way, but as I left my house, I saw some blood on the concrete driveway. Savannah was supposed to be at my house, but she didn't show. . . .”

“You think something happened to her?” Clausen asked quickly.

“I don't know.” He was relieved that the detective was taking him seriously.

“I'll run up there and see what's happening. Was thinking of going there, anyway. We got a homeless man that can't seem to stay away from one of your houses, Mr. St. Cloud.”

Maybe the detective wasn't taking him as seriously as he'd thought. “I'll be there in fifteen minutes,” Hale said, if the slowpoke in front of him would get his bucket of bolts off the road.

“Give me your cell number. I'll call you,” Clausen said. Hale gave it to him, but Clausen hung up before Hale could ask him for his in return.

 

 

Savannah tested the bonds on her left arm; they seemed a tad looser than those on her right, and this was on the side away from Charlie. She had to free herself. Had to find a way to warn Hale. “You look into their souls before they die,” she said, seeking to get him talking again. He'd gone silent, lost in some world of his own.

“Shhh . . .” He said then, “Bitch. I won't play her game, but she won't give up.”