Vision of Darkness (25 page)

“I walked the property three times, Al, and the only human life I saw was that sad excuse of a sheriff standin’ at the edge of the woods, squintin’ into the trees, and takin’ a leak.”

It didn’t surprise Alex that the Forbes’s promised walk around the perimeter was anything but.

“But after the malodorous deputy left,” Nick continued, “I didn’t even smell anythin’ out of the ordinary.”

“That’s not possible,” Alex said. “You could find the proverbial needle.”

“Not when there’s no needle to find. Either this man is really, really good…or he doesn’t exist. Are you sure it was a sniper? Did you find the slug?”

“No.” And he’d looked for it. Hard. “But the mirror didn’t spontaneously explode.”

“Pru did say—”

“Stop right there, pal. I don’t want to hear one word about The Green Lady.”

Nick’s jaw tightened as he watched roiling green waves whitecap against the beach below. “Yeah, well, somethin’ weird’s happenin’ around here. You’d do best to acknowledge that.”

“It’s not a ghost.” He
refused
to believe it was a ghost. “What about the so-called Sierra Group Sully thinks are after us?”

“Oh, they’re real enough and right mean S.O.B.’s to boot.” Nick shrugged. “But they don’t go after innocents. Why would they attack Pru?”

“Maybe they were aiming for me,” Alex said. He didn’t believe it, though, and the uncertainty came through in his voice.

“I’m tellin’ ya, pal. There was nobody in those woods with a rifle. I would’ve known.” Nick paused. “It’s not unheard of, you know. The Lakota and just about every other tribe out there have stories about spirits bound to this world.”

“The key word there is stories and that’s all this nonsense is, a silly ghost story. The Green Lady does not exist, okay? Ghosts do not exist, okay? Whoever’s trying to hurt Pru is a flesh and blood human and we are going to find him.”

“Think what you want,” Nick said, then added deliberately as Alex turned away, “But it’s wise in situations like this to look into every aspect, no matter how irrational it may seem. Nothin’s impossible.”

Inside on the stairway landing, Alex stopped to glare at the photograph of Lovie True.

“Nothing’s impossible,” he muttered as she smiled brazenly back, daring him to believe. “My ass.”

CHAPTER 26

Wow
, was the only word Alex’s sleepy brain came up with as he watched chaos unfold on Main Street. Helen Mallory had been right. Pumpkinfest was a “to-do” around here. Despite the ridiculously early hour, hundreds of people rushed around, preparing booths along the sidewalk offering everything from arts-n-crafts to food.

“People come from all over for this,” Pru told him as she set up her booth at the intersection where the stubborn red light had first led him to the diner. It seemed like ages ago, but it had only been—what? Twelve days.

“Do you always have it on Halloween?” he asked and took another sip of the coffee she’d shoved into his hand as he trudged from the house this morning still half asleep.

“No. It just happened to fall that way this year. It’s always the last weekend of October. It’s a pretty big deal, brings a lot of money to town. There’s a costume contest, a haunted house, a jack-o-lantern contest, a boat parade down at the harbor, a cooking contest—I usually enter, but I didn’t get a chance this year.” She paused in unloading loaves of pumpkin bread from a box to wipe her forehead with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, then smiled over at him. “There’s a karaoke contest later tonight. You should enter that. You have a nice voice.”

Alex grinned like an idiot. When she’d slid into the shower behind him this morning, she’d caught him jamming out to his own version of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s
Simple Man
. “Sorry, babe. I’m only available for private performances.”

Her cheeks flushed pink and she started to turn away, but he caught her in the circle of his arms and nuzzled the back of her neck. Her shudder sent a jolt right to his cock and he tugged her closer, letting her feel it. A quick taste of her neck, a nip to her earlobe and she was putty in his hands. He loved that moment, when the stiffness melted out of her and left her humming with sexual energy. He’d spent the better part of the night in the kitchen with her, soothing over all her fears with stolen moments like this. They were almost back to normal now, the fissure the mirror incident had caused mostly repaired—though that wasn’t going to last long. He still planned to tell her the truth tonight.

The thought of that lovely conversation settled a ball of molten lead in his stomach.  

With a soft sound of assent, Pru tipped her head to the side, giving him free access to all the creamy skin along her neck. Beautiful. She smelled of the kitchen and the delicious strawberry shampoo he’d washed her in this morning while kissing his way down her body.

“Seriously,” a voice said, “you two need to can the PDAs.”

And she went statue-stiff again.

Alex managed to suppress a groan as he lifted his head to scowl at Mischa Harkov. “Your timing sucks.”

“Got a couple questions for you,” Mischa said, completely unapologetic.

Pru squirmed and he let her go. The moment was lost anyway. He crossed his arms over his chest. “About?”

The P.I. shot a shuddered look at Pru. “Mind if I borrow him for a quick walk?”

Alex opened his mouth to protest but she spoke over it with a bright smile. “Go ahead. He isn’t much help here anyway.”

“Hey, I am so. I hung the banner.”

“You keep distracting me.” She gave him a little push and made an irritated sound when it didn’t move him. She added in a softer tone, “Stop being so protective. We’re in the middle of public. What can happen to me?”

Public setting or not—it didn’t matter to a good sniper. Who knew that better than he did? He started to tell her so, but at the last second thought better of it. No point in upsetting her. He was on edge enough for the both of them.

“It’ll only be a minute,” Mischa said.

Alex checked his watch. He could spare a minute. Nick was due to arrive shortly anyway. “All right.” He reached out, cupped Pru’s cheeks in his palms and kissed her gently. “Stay here until I get back, okay? Please, just to make me feel better.”

She gave a faint smile, ticked his lower lip with her short fingernail. “I will. Promise.”

Mischa smirked as Alex joined him on the road in front of the booth. “You got it bad, don’cha?”

“You had questions for me?”

“Okay, no shit-chat. I do like that about you, Alex.” He produced a stack of photographs from the ratty backpack slung over his shoulder and handed them to Alex. At the top of the stack sat the photo of Lila VanBuran sunning herself on a boat. “Recognize it?”

“It’s the one I saw on her vanity. So what?”

“Look at the others. I had the photo enhanced and blown up to show the boat and surrounding area. Recognize any of it?”

Alex stopped walking, flipped through the stack again. “These are the cliffs over by the lighthouse.”

“Near where you found her body?”

“No. Around the other side.”

Mischa’s smile was grim satisfaction. “You said Lila’s body was calcified. She had to have been disposed of inside a cave and…” He flicked the original, unenhanced photo. “There are several caves in this spot. I checked.” 

Which was right where Alex had seen the mysterious “ghost ship” his first night in town. No beach on that side of the lighthouse and the cliffs were steeper, dropping directly into the ocean, which was why the yacht’s vanishing act had stumped him. But what if it hadn’t vanished, merely disappeared from sight?

“Any big enough to fit a boat?” he asked.

“Oh yeah.”

Alex squinted hard at the photos again, studying every detail. The curve of the bow, the sleek gray color. He did a quick mental calculation, estimating the boat’s size in context to Lila and the surrounding area. Hard to be one-hundred percent sure, but the boat in the pictures looked like the same one he’d seen while camping on the beach that first night.

Déjà vu.

“Holy shit. I think I know when her body was removed from the cave.” And—it struck him like a fist from a prizefighter—he knew who owned the boat. He’d seen it in another picture, one that sat on the chiffonier in Pru’s foyer.

Yeah, not good. Really, really not good. With dread burning in his chest, Alex dug in his pocket for his cell and dialed Grandma Mae’s number.

“Alex,” she said warmly after his greeting. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise for an old lady. Has Pru mentioned you have an excellent voice to wake up to in the morning?”

Heat rushed into his cheeks. God, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d blushed—if ever—but his and Pru’s sleeping arrangements was not something he wanted her grandma to know about. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for calling so early, but this can’t wait. You saw Cappy the day he died, right?”

“Yes,” she answered, the smile fading from her voice.

“Do you remember what exactly he said to you?”

“Oh, Lordy. Let me think.” There was a shuffling sound in the background, blankets shifting and settling. “He was afraid of the ghost ship I told you about, but I just brushed it off as paranoia due to his illness.”

“Yes, but you also wondered if maybe he saw a real boat and got confused.”

“Just an old woman’s speculation.”

“What did he say?” Alex prompted. “Word-for-word, if you can remember.”

Silence. Then, slowly, as if she wanted to make sure she had it right: “He said, ‘the crew wants to kill me.’ Over and over and I couldn’t calm him down. ‘The crew wants to kill me, the crew wants to kill me.’”

Alex sucked in a breath. That was what he thought, but he had to hear it again. “Thank you, Mae.”

“Did I help?”

“Yes. You’re an absolutely amazing woman and I wish you’d run off with me.” She giggled like a teenager, which made him smile despite the sinking feeling in his gut. “But since I’m crazy for your granddaughter, I’ll just owe you a kiss. Thanks again.” He ended the call and met Mischa’s curious gaze.

“What’s up?” Mischa asked.

“We need to run up to the lighthouse, then go see Sheriff Forbes.”      

***

Pru looked up from an inane conversation with Helen Mallory about vendor policies as Alex strode back to the booth, grim-faced. “Something wrong, hon?”

He studied Helen with a suspicious eye, saw the stack of policy pamphlets in her arms and turned his back dismissively on her. “Maybe. I need to run home and check something real quick. Is Nick here yet?”

Pru didn’t like his tone, but she couldn’t put a finger on why. “He’s at the diner picking up another package of napkins for me.”

“Good.” He leaned down, his lips brushing over hers in a light caress. “Don’t let him out of your sight, okay? Next to me, he’s the only one you should trust right now.”

Her heart thumped. She caught the flaps of his unzipped leather coat as he turned away. “Wait. What’s going on? Alex?”

He looked at Helen again, who was making no effort not to eavesdrop, and lowered his head so that his mouth was next to her ear. “I think I know who killed Lila VanBuran.”

“Oh, God. Who?”

He shook his head. “I have to make sure first. You’re…not going to like it.”

Faces flipped through her mind, all the people she knew, those she loved, those she trusted.
Not going to like it.
Nausea rolled in her stomach and she pressed a hand there to ease it as she watched Alex and Mischa walk toward Mischa’s car.

***

From the corner of the street, half-hidden behind an empty booth three down from Pru’s, the operator watched Alex Brennan walk away, deep in conversation with that nosy private investigator the VanBurans had hired. It was the first time he’d seen Alex in days, and the thrill of it hummed in his blood. Maybe this was it. The end game. He’d make Eli proud and rid the world of another evil.

He’d be a hero.

His grip tightened on the gun in his pocket. The two men walked toward him, absorbed in a stack of photos. He could jump out in front of them, coldcock the P.I. and order Alex into his van, parked on the crossroad nearby. Risky, yes, but God was on his side. Within the hour, Alex Brennan would be dead and he’d be well on his way to Eli with the spoils of war—the freak’s black heart.

C’mon, keep walking
, he urged and withdrew the gun, holding it alongside his leg.

A hundred more feet.

Sixty.

Forty.

So close.

Still twenty feet away, Alex and the P.I. stopped moving. Alex made a quick call, then they turned and headed back.

No! The operator gnashed his teeth. This was not working. Alex kept slipping through his fingers and if he didn’t get the job done, Eli might have him replaced. That couldn’t happen. This was his first and only chance to prove himself.

He watched Alex and the P.I. climb into a rattletrap muscle car. The engine roared as they sped away.

He needed another plan, one where he had the time to take the proper precautions and do the job right. No, what he really needed was to get into the lighthouse. If he could just lure Alex away long enough to set up a trap….

Oh. Duh. The operator slapped his forehead, disgusted with himself for not thinking of the most obvious solution sooner. A surefire way to get Alex out of the way for a day or so. Eli’s ace in the hole.

The brother.

***

Forbes sat back in his chair and stared at Alex Locke—er, Brennan. He shook his head. “Let me get this straight. You’re DEA?”

“Yeah,” Alex said.

“Investigating a murder?” 

“No.” He jerked his chin toward the pain-in-the-ass P.I. “Mischa was. I just stumbled into it.”

“And so you decided to give me your UC name instead of coming clean from the get-go.”

“Didn’t know who I could trust.”

Uh-huh
, Forbes thought. “Does Pru know?”

At least the asshole had the grace to look away. “No.”

Forbes rubbed both hands over his face, then sat forward and pulled the handful of photos across his desk. “Explain this to me again.”

“It started last August,” Mischa said. “When Lila told her best friend she was going to meet—and I quote— ‘a crew the ’rents wouldn’t approve of’ on the day she disappeared.”

“Then,” Alex said, “a little over a month later, Cappy told Grandma Mae the crew of the ghost ship was trying to kill him. He was sick, so nobody believed him. But his so-called suicide and all the accidents up at the lighthouse—it all comes back to her.” He jabbed his pointer finger down on the photograph of Lila VanBuran sunning herself on the bow of a boat. “And him.” He pointed to another photo, framed, that showed Cappy Putnam, Wade, and John Jr. standing on the bow of a similar boat. His finger landed on John Jr.’s face.

Bile seared Forbes’s throat as his gaze jumped back and forth between the two pictures. “No, I can’t believe that. John Jr.’s a good kid, always has been. He wouldn’t hurt a defenseless girl, not to mention—as you’re insinuating—his own father and brother. He doesn’t have it in him.”

“I agree,” Alex said. “But he hangs out with guys that do.”

“A
crew
the ’rents wouldn’t approve of,” Mischa said again and produced a yearbook from the local high school, class of 1999. Forbes recognized it and the pieces thunked into place even before Mischa opened the thing to the back page and showed him the spread. John Jr., Rhett, David, and Kevin had been known as The Crew since elementary school by everyone in town. Their senior year, Cappy had dedicated a sailor-themed page of the yearbook to them.