The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) (26 page)

"I wish you smoked," Thea said.

"Huh?"

"Smoked. Cigarettes. The fumes would have blown you up out on Highway One and you never would have gotten to this God-forsaken town. You really have been a pain, Camilla Stewart."

Camilla shook her head, keeping one eye on Oliver and watching the shining blade hover close to his neck. "Why did you want that to happen, Thea?"

"Dennis was mine," she said simply. "You tried to steal him, but I stopped you."

"I don't want him—didn't want him," she corrected, flashing back to the image of that body in the freezer and feeling her stomach turn over.

Thea had done it. "You killed him."

For the first time, Thea looked upset. "He was mine, and you ruined everything." Unbelievably, a tear ran down her perfectly made-up cheek, bringing a streak of mascara with it.

"You were his girlfriend?"

She sneered, the sad look gone. "You thought you could take him, but you failed."

Oliver was frozen in the woman's grasp. She had to get him away from this crazy woman.

"You can have Dennis," she said. "Just let us go."

"Have him?!" Thea twisted Oliver around in front of her and put the knife against his throat. The boy cried out in pain. "He's dead, Camilla. And it's this little brat's fault. I can't ever have him. Our love was perfect. He told me I was the only one he'd ever felt this way about."

Camilla bit her lip to keep from saying that was exactly what Dennis had told her, too. She had to keep her talking. "But he was married, Thea."

"To that horrible woman. She didn't love him the way I do."

"She was a school teacher."

"Kids, kids, kids!" She dragged Oliver across the grass toward the cliff face. "Who needs kids? They just cause trouble."

Camilla followed, staying a few steps behind. She had to keep her talking. "How do they cause trouble, Thea?"

"He thought he could buy me off. Me! His one true love."

There was another one of those phrases that had crossed Dennis's lips so easily. And this woman had really bought the act, hook, line and sinker.

"Please, Dora," Oliver whimpered.

"Dora?"

"She was one of the ladies daddy saw after mommy died."

She saw the glint in Thea's eyes. "You knew him before Joyce Henning died." It was a statement. She knew now that everything Ryan had said was true—a serial killer was stalking her and Oliver. A crazy murderer had killed Oliver’s mother and who-knew how many other women. But the killer wasn't Dennis.

"You killed them all." She said it with certainty now.

Dora dismissed the other women with a wave of the hand holding the knife. "They stood between us. He would have come back to me, if it weren't for all those bitches."

"Don't cuss in front of Oliver," she said automatically before realizing how stupid that was.

She watched Dora edge closer to the cliff, with Oliver held in a death grip in front of her.

"Why did you kill Dennis?" It was a dangerous question, but she needed to distract her, buy a little more time.

Again that look flashed across Dora's tear-streaked face: sadness, loss, then back to anger. "He thought he could buy me off. Me!"

"What do you mean?" she asked, edging a step closer and trying to keep her face neutral.

"He was afraid for his son." She spat it out contemptuously. "He said he'd give me a million dollars to go away and leave him and his son alone. But he loved me. He told me he did."

"Of course he did," she said soothingly, but saw the flash of anger in Dora's eyes.

"Me! Not you. Not this brat." She leaned back against the stone wall now, maneuvering Oliver closer to the edge.

If only she could think of a way to get to Ryan. But she had sent him away. If only his famous intuition would kick in, make him realize what was wrong. If only.

"Where's the deputy guarding the cottage, Dora?"

"Gone." There was a world of horror in that single word.

The look in the killer's eyes told her there was no point hoping for a miracle. No one was guarding them. No one would come rescue them. She had to get out of this on her own.

She held her hands out to Dora. "Let Oliver go. He's not the problem. I am. I stole Dennis from you. Take your revenge on me."

Dora didn't bother to answer, just twisted around to face the cliff. Camilla followed, hands still raised.

"He loved his son more than me. More than me! No one ever turns me down."

"Don't do this. You can still get away. Take all the money." She swallowed hard. "Take Oliver."

"Camilla?" The look of betrayal on Oliver's face cut her like the blade at his throat would, but she didn't have time to explain it to him.

"He's your only connection to Dennis now. He's what's left of Dennis. Keep him alive, take him with you, and you will still have Dennis with you."

Dora paused, then motioned with the knife. "Come closer, Camilla, or I'll stab the brat."

She came closer, hands still raised.

Dora moved away from the cliff, the knife at Oliver's throat. "Climb over the wall, Camilla Stewart. You're going to have an accident."

Camilla obeyed. She stood on the narrow edge between the waist-high stone wall and the drop-off. The fog looked like a fluffy gray pillow below her, but she knew that was an illusion. She'd fall through the cloud like lead through empty air.

"As long as Oliver is still alive, you'll still have Dennis," she said, trying to reach that clever, crazed mind and convince her.

If Oliver went with Thea, Ryan could still save him. No one could hide from her overprotective oak tree. He'd find Oliver if it was the last thing he did.

But if Oliver went over the cliff after her, there was nothing Ryan could do to save him.

"I’m the one you want, Thea. Not Oliver. With me gone, you're home free. You can escape."

Dora shook her head. "You're both going to die."

~*~

Ryan was out of the truck almost before it stopped in the gravel in front of the honeymoon cottage. He had his service revolver in hand, but down at his side so he didn't accidentally shoot the wrong person.

There were a bunch of cars parked. The deputy's, Robin's, Camilla's rust bucket, and another.

The deputy's car was empty. Where was the guy? Not a good sign. He hadn't called in before going wherever he'd gone.

A car he didn't recognize was parked behind Camilla’s convertible. He checked it out. A rental.

He called dispatch, reporting the missing deputy and giving them the rental's license number. He whispered into the mike, then turned the volume down so it wouldn't squawk and give away his location.

He wanted to run through the gate and burst in and save them, but he knew that was stupid.

He forced himself to slow down. Maybe nothing would happen. There was no reason for Dora to know she'd been found out. He had to take it slow. They were probably drinking Camilla's horrible coffee in the kitchen. He just had to keep his cool.

Not make a mistake.

He opened the redwood gate and went through. The cottage looked still. He stood and listened for a minute. Nothing but the sound of waves on the beach far below, and the flapping of a shutter or something.

He crept up to the front of the cottage, and peeked in the lopsided window. Nothing looked out of place behind the wavy glass.

He tried the door handle. Unlocked.

He slowly opened it, dreading the creak of the hinges.

They didn't make a sound. Had she oiled them?

He stepped through the door, checking the corners and scanning the room automatically.

No one was there. The sleeping bags were on the floor on top of the blow-up mattresses. Oliver's pajamas were in a heap on top. That was how it looked when he'd left. Nothing looked off.

But if nothing was wrong, Camilla should be here. They should be sitting in the kitchen—the kitchen where he and she had just fought an hour ago. They should be going over paperwork for the house sale.

The sound of a shutter or something banging was louder. He crept into the kitchen, cleared it—no one inside—and went to the back door.

He peeked out the small window next to the door. The fog was really thick here, so close to the ocean. Everything looked shadowy. But he could see no one in the back yard.

The door to the shed was standing open, flapping back and forth in the wind. That was the source of the sound. But why would they be out there?

Slowly, he opened the kitchen door.

Finally, he heard voices—not from the shed, but from farther away.

The cliff.

Two voices. Camilla's and another female. He listened for a moment. Not Robin. A voice he had never heard before. Angry, but in a cold, controlled way. Bad sign. Dora Favre was too much in control. She was capable of anything.

He crept out the door. Started to make his way toward the cliff, thanking the fog for keeping his movements invisible to the two at the edge of the yard.

Three. He could see three figures now. One was alone, on the wrong side of the shadowy stone wall at cliff's edge. The other two were a few feet away, right at this side of the wall. A taller figure and a shorter one.

Too close. Oliver and Dora, presumably. Which made the person right near the cliff edge Camilla.

He crept closer, listened to the voices, trying to predict the next movement before it happened.

"Take him with you, Thea. He's all you have of Dennis," Camilla said. Good girl. Trying to stall for time.

"I'll jump, I promise." Bad. She'd better not. He'd recovered the bodies of idiot tourists who'd tried climbing the cliff face on a dare before. He had to stop her before she went over.

"Now, Camilla Stewart. Jump or I stab him."

He crept closer. Stabbed. Not shot. Good. He needed to distinguish her arm with the knife from the shadows or a shot from this angle might not save the boy.

As the breeze swept the fog into currents and eddies he realized he suddenly had a clear line of sight to the cliff. He ducked behind the nearest bush and peered out. Camilla was facing his way, and Dora, with Oliver clutched tightly to her side, was facing toward the cliff.

He raised the gun. Which hand held the knife? He saw that the knife was down by her side, close to the boy, but not at his jugular or anywhere a sudden jerk from her would cut the boy.

Then Camilla saw him, and her expression, as it always did, gave her thoughts away. Dora twirled, saw the officer bearing down on her with gun raised, and pulled Oliver over the edge of the wall with her and jumped.

He ran forward, but he couldn't possibly reach the cliff in time.

But Camilla did. She leaped sideways, catching Oliver's wrist as Dora leaped. The boy cried out and Ryan heard a snap as his wrist broke, but Camilla held on through the boy's screams.

When he got there, Camilla was gripping Oliver's broken wrist with both hands, and slipping in the soft dirt at the cliff's edge.

He grabbed onto the boy's midsection with one hand and tried to put down his gun with the other so it wouldn't misfire when he dropped it. But he felt himself pulled over the wall by the small boy's weight.

He looked over the edge and saw that Dora had Oliver by the ankles and she dangled freely, the fog and its 100 feet of empty space beneath her flailing feet.

Oliver continued to scream and Camilla was slipping, but Ryan ignored them and leaned farther over the wall.

"Don't drop him!" he shouted at Camilla, and trusted her to hold on.

He let go of Oliver and leaned over the poor child's body, pressing the boy down against the ground with his heavy weight. He grabbed Dora's hands, jerking her grasp away from Oliver.

She pulled at him, her beautiful face a mask of pure, insane hatred. "I always win!" she screamed. "Always!"

"Not this time." He pulled as hard as he could, forcing her back from her death. He felt Oliver disappear from beneath him and then he was alone in his battle with the flailing woman, gravity and her crazed desire to take one last victim giving her the power to pull him farther over the edge.

He refused, using all his strength to pull her back up, inch by inch, until she was at the top of the cliff and he had her pinned on the sweet grass inside the stone wall.

He lay there a moment, gasping for air, hearing her sobs mingled with Camilla's soft murmuring in the background:

"I've got you, Oliver. I promise I'll never let you go."

~*~

Chapter 15

"Robin's sleeping," Dr. Lil told her in a whisper as they stood next to Oliver's bed in the clinic. "She has a concussion, and her cut on the head required five stitches, but she'll recover."

"And Oliver?" Camilla looked down at the sleepy boy, just barely keeping his eyes open.

"He's going to be okay. His wrist is broken, but he'll heal quickly—from that." Dr. Lil gave her a quick glance that told volumes. Her little boy had a lot of healing to do to get over what he'd been through. They all did.

She leaned over him and kissed him on the forehead.

"Daddy's dead," he whispered.

"I know, sweetheart. Sleep now. He's in heaven watching over you, keeping you safe forever and ever."

"With Mommy."

Camilla let the tears fall. "Yes. Your parents protected you. Now I will keep you safe forever. I will be here when you wake up. Let yourself go to sleep now, honey."

She brushed the hair from his forehead gently, and he closed his eyes, and she watched his chest rise and fall.

"He's pretty heavily sedated now. He's in shock. But he's resilient. Val DiPietro can put you in touch with a good counselor to help him work through the grief."

She nodded. "We'll all need time."

Dr. Lil patted her on the back. "You have time now. And you have the whole town behind you, to help you through."

She nodded. "I'll be asking for all the help I can get." They were staying here, no matter what the consequences. She owed Oliver that.

"Good girl. You'll make it, kid." Dr. Lil gave her another quick pat and then left the room. "Captain," she said as she went out.