Kitabı oku: «Double Take», sayfa 2

FOUR

Cole’s mouth was dry. He straightened his legs and looked up at the sky. The pages were getting hard to read as the sky turned gray and purple, with a tinge of orange on the horizon. It would be dark soon.

“Cole!” A worried-looking John Brennan stood waving behind the police barricade. “You ready to go, man?”

Cole stepped forward, then caught sight of the detective. The urgency rose up once again. Signaling for his cousin to wait, he called out, “Detective Parker.”

His hands grew sweaty as the man changed directions. Too late to back out now.

“Mr. Leighton. You have some more information?” The officer’s voice remained gruff, but Cole thought he heard a hint of hope. Or was it annoyance at being disturbed? Probably the former. The annoyance would come after Parker heard what he had to say.

“Just a theory, sir.” Another deep breath. “I think the gunmen could be acting out the plot of a novel. Obsession by Warren Flint.” It sounded even more foolish out loud than it did in his head, and he had to force himself to maintain eye contact. “What if the robbery wasn’t their main purpose for being there—the girl was? I had just started reading the book when I got on the bus, and it was like Flint was there with us, writing down everything he saw.” Gray seats, two gunmen, one hostage from the front…who looked just like the cover model.

“Maybe the bus scenario was just a coincidence—maybe that’s where the similarities will end,” Cole said. “But…I don’t believe in coincidences. So I read farther, and in the book the heroine was taken hostage and dumped in a boathouse. It’s just a crazy idea, but…what if that’s where they hid her?”

Parker stared him down before saying, “Mr. Leighton, how about we talk more about this at the station. Do you need a ride?”

He willed away the mental image of being driven, handcuffed, to some psychiatric ward. Wouldn’t that look good on his résumé…. “No. Thanks.” He gestured toward John. “My cousin just got here.”

“Fine. I’m about to wrap up here. Why don’t you follow me in?”

Cole gave a short nod.

“I’ll be waiting. Hopefully this whole mess will be resolved soon.” Parker smiled, and in that smile was just a hint of wolf.

Cole walked toward John under Parker’s gaze. Maybe they’d listen. Maybe they’d be so desperate for a lead—any lead—that they’d check it out, just in case.

Or maybe they’d interview him for hours, check out everything, from his last job to his kindergarten report cards, and the hostage would die of hypothermia.

Cole jabbed his fingers into his hair, squeezed, then let go. He could be off his rocker. He could be right on. Either way, those boathouses were going to be checked. Tonight. He’d make sure of it.

Cold.

Wet.

Dark. So very dark.

Kenzie forced her eyes open, but the darkness remained, taking her breath away. She was surrounded by murky blackness below—the water lapping against her collarbone as her arms stretched up into the shadows. A whimper of fear slipped out, echoing back to her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Took a shuddering breath. Pain. Her head pulsed with it. Her arms, too. Her fingers…Had she fallen? Gotten trapped in a storm?

Where was her brother Mikey?

It came back, too suddenly. The devastating images from her ordeal, then from the past, rushed through her mind like the tornado from that day so long ago. Her brother was dead. And once again she was alone in a storm. She felt lost in the remnants of her past where darkness hovered, its thickness a cold blanket. She gulped in air as fast as she could, but it didn’t make it to her lungs. She was drowning…

No. Hyperventilating. Kenzie’s eyes slammed shut as her memory came back in a flood. She couldn’t do this in the inky blackness—couldn’t stay calm, couldn’t even think about anything but how dark it was.

Steady. Take it slow. If she could concentrate on her surroundings, maybe she could figure a way out of here. If she couldn’t—

She could. Concentrate.

They’d taken off her blindfold. Not that she could see much, but it was something, at least. Rope burned her wrists. They’d lashed her to something—metal chilled her fingertips. If she could get a grip on it, maybe she could pull herself up.

Her sore fingers flexed, then slid down the square bar. She couldn’t grip it, not the way her hands were tied together. She curled her hands around the rope instead. One. Two. Three. She pulled with her arms, kicked off with her legs. The water swirled around her navel for an instant, then back around her shoulders as she dropped with a grunt. Shivering, she stared upward, seeing the dim outline of the rope and her hands, then the outline of a small boat.

The metal was a lift. They’d dumped her in a boathouse. Why? It didn’t matter. Right now her biggest enemy was the water. It couldn’t be very deep, but how long had she been in it? Her clothing was soaked through, her arms ached and her body trembled. She had to get out. Had to get warm. Had to find a light.

She needed to do a chin-up. Hold steady. Fling her legs up and out till they hit the deck. Try to propel herself forward enough to hold her body above water. And then what?

She’d cross that bridge when she came to it. If she came to it. First she had to get her feet out of the water. A gust of wind rattled the windows, shaking her resolve. What if the water rose or a tornado ripped through?

The tremors grew stronger as she pressed her face into her extended arms, trying to block the sudden images—the ones that always came out along with storms and darkness. The one where she was trapped in the dark listening to the house turn to kindling, waiting in vain for her brother to come back for her.

She wouldn’t go there. Couldn’t, or she’d be dead. How long did it take for hypothermia to set in? It was a warm spring, but the water was still cold. So cold…

She had to get out of the water. Now.

She tightened her grip on the rope, breathed in and strained to lift her body clear of the water. Up. Up. Hold. One foot hit the underside of the deck, and she sank back down. Biting her lip against the explosion of pain in her ankle, Kenzie tried again. And again and again. The ropes cut deeper into her wrists. Her legs banged against wood and scraped against metal until tears flowed freely down her face. She couldn’t quit, but her arms were on fire. Her legs barely cleared the water.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Kenzie closed her eyes, envisioning each move. Maybe if she saw herself doing it, she’d believe it, and, believing, it would happen.

Sure. Then why didn’t she just “see” a rescuer burst through the door? Or maybe God’s hand gently scooping her up and transporting her back to her couch at home? When had believing ever worked for her?

A low rumble of thunder, then another, closer. Kenzie tried to swallow. Couldn’t. Her mouth tasted metallic. God, I don’t want to die here. In a storm, in the dark…like Mikey.

Maybe that’s why this was happening. Her punishment for putting her brother in danger. For letting him die in her place. He was the darling child, after all. The beloved son.

She opened her eyes and caught a fleeting image. Mikey. Staring at her—his own eyes unseeing and lifeless. No, just a hallucination, but still the scream came, catching in her throat, then pushing its way through. Loud, long. Ending in a gasping sob. She screamed again. Wind rattled the walls, but no one came. Another scream.

But no one heard.

FIVE

“This is unreal, man,” John said as Cole slid into the truck. “I didn’t think they were going to let you go.”

Cole caught his cousin’s sidelong glance, and his face heated. “I didn’t think you’d come back after what I told you on the way in.”

“It’s weird, but I believe you. I think. Did the police?”

Cole shut out the memory of the officer’s steely eyes. “No. But Parker couldn’t come up with any reason to hold me.” But he would in a couple of hours…“Did you bring your gun?”

John pointed to the glove compartment.

Cole opened it and tugged out a map, a knife then the Glock. The cool feel of it soothed him as John pulled the truck onto the road.

“Should we get some coffee to go?”

“There’s no ‘we,’” Cole said.

“If you’re doing this, I’m doing this, okay? What good is family if they won’t go out for an evening of boathouse hopping with you? Besides, I’m the one with a license to carry that beauty.” John grinned, then sobered. “You really think she’s there?”

“No…Yes.” He closed his eyes. “I have no idea. But I sat on that bus and did absolutely nothing while they took her. If I go back home and wake up tomorrow to find out my bizarre theory was right…”

“Okay, man. Then let’s do this. You said we’re looking for a small lake near a larger one. Secluded. Affluent-community type thing, correct?”

“Exactly.” Cole had studied that chapter of the book, read it over and over again, gleaned as many details as he could. “In Obsession, it seems like they drove maybe an hour. So…”

“So we’re looking for something that’s an hour away, right?”

“Or less. Right.” Maybe.

John shoved the map toward Cole and edged the Dodge Ram back onto the road. “I’ll head up I-85. There’s an area near Lake Lanier kind of like you’re talking about. Some of Kasey’s clients live up there. Nice homes.”

“And what would your girlfriend say if she knew what I was dragging you into?” They could get arrested, maybe worse if someone decided to try out their shotgun collection on intruders.

“We’re just friends. And…she’d wonder why she wasn’t invited.” John smiled. “So let’s do this. But if the girl isn’t right there—” John pointed to the map. “I don’t know where else to look.”

“As long as we do what we can.” Cole glanced up as lightning sliced through the night sky.

So…c-cold.

Rain hit the roof, a solid wall of sound. Occasional crackles of lightning lit the boathouse, making the shadows deeper while spotlighting the boat, the lift, the lack of color in her hands.

An eerie keening filled the room, echoing off the walls. It wasn’t until the lapping water choked it off that she realized it came from her own throat.

She was going to die here.

No! She’d get through this. Maybe she could work the knots loose. Bite through them. Rub them against a bolt on the lift until she could break free. Awkwardly, Kenzie ran her icy fingers along the couple inches of metal she could reach. Smooth. Maybe she could slide down just a little. There had to be some sort of screw or…or something. Had to. She couldn’t just hang here. Willing strength into her legs, she kicked against the water. Nothing. Again, with more force this time. Still nothing, and she was tiring fast.

“God!” Her cry reverberated back to her. She doubted He heard. No one could hear over this storm. No one would be coming to her rescue. If she wanted to live, she had to work. Had to come up with some other plan. There had to be some way…

But not right now. After she’d rested a bit. S-so tired…

Kenzie relaxed her head against her arm, allowed her eyes to drift closed. That felt a little better. A little warmer. A little more—

Her chin hit the water and she jerked her head back up, heart pounding so loud she could hear it thudding in her ears. If she slept, she died.

Trespassing. Breaking and entering. What other laws would they break tonight? Though they hadn’t actually broken anything and weren’t planning on robbing anyone, Cole doubted good intentions would win them any favors if they were caught creeping around a stranger’s boathouse.

Of course, the real question was, what would it do to his job search if anyone found out about his crazy Lone Ranger crime spree?

“Nothing?” John whispered as Cole stepped away from the boathouse.

Cole shook his head, and they jogged back to the truck.

“How many more on this lake?” The rain had soaked through Cole’s clothing, chilling his skin. And they’d only been outside for a few minutes at each stop. How long had the hostage been in the water?

If this wasn’t all in his head.

“I think two more. Maybe three.”

So they’d check two or three more. Then they’d go home, John would get a laugh, and Cole would get a shower. He’d check the news a couple times, throw the book away, wash his hands of the whole thing…and begin an intensive search for his sanity.

“Here’s the next one.”

Cole peered through the swishing windshield wipers, but without the headlights on, everything was shadow. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. With John just behind him, he jumped out of the truck, ducking as rain blurred his view, and ran, sticking to the cover of the trees. The dark outline of a boathouse loomed in front of him, but he stopped behind a tree and studied it first as John came up behind him.

Lightning flared, illuminating a cabin off to the right. No lights. No vehicles. Even so, his steps slowed as he neared the lake. John stayed back, his gun in hand as he kept watch. Stopping under the boathouse’s overhang, Cole peered into a window. His breath fogged the already-cloudy glass. Too dark.

The door stood a few yards away. Cole gripped the handle; it turned easily, but the door creaked as it opened. The rain on the roof roared loudly enough to cover the sound. Still no movement. Number three—another waste of time. But he stepped inside to double-check. If she was here, she might be unconscious.

Or dead.

No one on the deck to the right. He moved to the left, walking softly as he searched the shadows. All clear.

The rain let up for a moment—a light patter on tin—and he heard something. A soft whine. No, a sob. The voice faded into a whimper as lightning flared.

A woman in the water. Hands tied to the lift. Hair floating around her shoulders.

He fumbled for the light switch as she slowly turned toward him, her eyes dark hollows in a face pale as death. “Help…m-me.” Her soft voice trembled almost as much as her body, but she was still conscious, still alive.

If he could just keep her that way until help arrived.

“My name is Cole Leighton. We met earlier today.” He kept his voice low and steady, trying to stay calm as he strode to the doorway. “You’re going to be fine.”

Cole hollered for John and edged closer to the water. The light shone on the lift and her ropes, then her blue-tinged fingers. Wincing, he threw off his jacket while he kept up a one-sided conversation.

“My cousin John is calling nine-one-one. I’m going to get you out of the water and get you warm, okay? You’ll be fine. Help is on the way.”

He searched his pockets for the knife he’d taken from the glove compartment. There. He slipped into the cold water, and it hit him mid-chest.

“What’s your name?” he asked as he waded to her.

“M-MacKenzie Jacobs.” Her answer was barely above a whisper as he cautiously hooked an arm around her waist. The rope held her up too far—her feet didn’t quite touch bottom.

“Okay, MacKenzie. I’m just going to keep my arm around you so you don’t sink when I cut the rope, okay? Then you’ll be out of here.” He held her carefully, feeling her violent tremors against his chest. How long had they left her out here? The heat of his anger should warm her in seconds.

Cole sawed at the thick rope, watching the strands give way. Too slowly. “Come on, come on, come on.”

The door flew open. MacKenzie didn’t respond. Just stayed with her head resting against his shoulder, shivering uncontrollably.

SIX

“Cops are on the way.” A new voice.

Kenzie didn’t want to move. Just wanted to sleep, to curl up against this wall of warmth, with the strong arm holding her, the steady voice in her ear, the light shining on her. Just wanted to float away…

“What can I do?”

She blinked as that other voice spoke again, but let her eyes drift shut. Please be quiet. Please, please…

“Help me get her out of here. Into the truck.”

She felt the rumble of the first, familiar voice. The voice that brought the light. Then the pressure was off her arms. Her hands dropped, splashing water into her face. She didn’t react. Couldn’t.

“MacKenzie? Still with me?”

Another arm scooped up her legs—she barely felt it, but then she was cuddled closer to that warm wall. The water swirled around her calves. She couldn’t feel her feet. Other hands touched her arms. Tried to pull her away—no. No!

“She doesn’t want you to let go, Cole.”

“It’s all right, MacKenzie. John’s a friend.”

No. She wanted to stay there. Just stay…

“Is the heat running?” The first voice, farther away. She couldn’t feel the vibrations of his voice, the pounding of his heart. Don’t leave…

“Yeah. Here, you got her?”

“Try not to jostle her.”

Snuggled close again. Something warm over her knees, her head.

“MacKenzie, talk to me, girl. Keep those pretty eyes open.”

“Still got the dispatcher on the phone.”

A sprinkling of water, then a blast of hot air. So hot. The lightning—must be burning her up.

“Good. How long…”

The words faded in and out. Kenzie tried to keep listening, but then just the tone was enough. The first voice was there. Still soothing, even though she burned like fire.

“MacKenzie?”

She tried to answer. Bright lights filled her vision, then she faded away.

The police and paramedics had arrived just as Cole removed one of MacKenzie’s waterlogged shoes. From inside the truck, he now watched as she disappeared behind the ambulance doors, following the flashing lights with his gaze as it sped out of view. It was over. He’d been right.

Now he just hoped he hadn’t been too late.

“So now what?” His spiky hair mussed and dripping, John loosely held the steering wheel and stared at the rain.

“Now…” He pictured MacKenzie’s shoeless right foot. Please, God, let her be okay.

Detective Parker tapped on his window. Cole hit the unlock button and waited as the officer climbed into the backseat, the suspicion in his face making Cole’s blood freeze.

“It seems you were right, Cole Leighton.”

“Yes, sir.” Cole closed his eyes, then opened them and stared straight ahead. He could use a blanket of his own right now.

“We did a sweep of the area—no one was here except you guys. We can’t do much in this rain. CSI has it covered for now, so why don’t you two come back to the station and give us your statements? There are a few things we need to clear up.”

“That’s fine.” Actually, it wasn’t, but he doubted he had a choice.

“Mind if we get into some dry clothes first?” John asked.

Cole caught his cousin’s sideways look. The heat blasted the outside of his jeans, but they were still wet and stiff. Water squished between his toes, which reminded him again of MacKenzie’s blue foot.

“Oh, it shouldn’t take too long. We’ve got some blankets. Coffee. Let’s get it over with, in case there’s some pertinent information.”

John nodded his reluctant agreement.

“Good,” Parker said. “I’ll follow you there.”

The door opened, and rain rushed in before it slammed shut. Parker got out and the detective faded behind sheets of rain. They waited in silence until Parker’s car flashed its high beams. John put the Dodge in gear and headed for the main road.

When they hit pavement, John said, “How come I get the feeling this interview is going to be more like an interrogation?”

“I’m sorry, John.”

“No, man. You did the right thing. I’m just saying…they better have some good coffee.”

Cole forced a laugh. “Don’t count on it. But maybe they put on a new pot since I was there last.” Less than two hours ago. Parker’s eyes had narrowed then. This time they’d be mere slits. He wouldn’t try to figure out if Cole was a kook or a paranoid bookworm or a bad guy. He’d be pretty certain of the latter. A bad guy with a hero complex.

Well, he’d be basically correct, wouldn’t he?

“Cole, you did the right thing,” John said again. “You have an alibi. There’s no way they’re going to believe you did this.”

In spite of the chill, a bead of sweat dripped down his face. Not good. They’d probably take his fear as an indication of guilt, a sign that he knew something.

“What are the odds?” he said. “Only a few days in town and I just happened to choose that bus, that book, at that time? And I didn’t have anything to do with it?” One in a million. One in a hundred million. No, more like…zero, zilch. No chance at all.

“Tell me.” John’s face was hard, his eyes on the road. “Did you have anything to do with it?”

Cole flinched. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. The odds aren’t good—so what? Maybe God stuck you on that bus at that time with that book and gave you the wisdom to figure things out. Because He knows how stubborn you can be.” John glanced away from the windshield, caught Cole’s gaze, then concentrated on the road again. “You saved the girl’s life. We can deal with whatever happens next.”

Cole swallowed. Closed his eyes. He’d felt, for that brief moment when he’d held MacKenzie Jacobs—when he lifted her from the water and set her carefully in the backseat of the truck—that he could redeem himself. That this life could make up for one that was lost years ago. That he could start over again with a fresh page in God’s book.

But that would have been too easy, and he deserved anything but easy.

Cole folded his arms on the tabletop and lowered his head. At three in the morning, he didn’t really care if the action might seem suspicious. His heavy eyelids refused to stay open. So, while he waited for Parker to return, he’d take advantage of the reprieve.

His aching eyes closed, but his mind would not shut down. The routine rolled through his mind—he’d been through it before. They’d analyze the recording of his interview. Maybe test the stress levels in his voice for indications of guilt. There would be stress, all right—he’d been stressed out for almost twenty-four hours. More like twenty-four years, but that was beside the point.

Shut up, Cole.

A chair scraped, jerking him to awareness once again. Lifting his head, he found Parker sitting across from him.

“Sorry to keep you up so late, Mr. Leighton,” he said in a neutral tone. “Just a couple more things and then we’ll let you go get some much deserved rest.”

“Go ahead.”

“We’d like you to take a polygraph test. That’ll really help us wrap a few things up, and then we won’t need to take much more of your time.”

At least, not after they’d locked him up and thrown away the key.

“Fine.” As if he had a choice.

“Good.” Parker smiled. “Secondly, I wondered if you’d loan us your copy of that book.”

Cole gave a brief nod. “I’d be glad to.” Parker shouldn’t need a polygraph to hear the truth ringing in that statement.

Kenzie didn’t want to open her eyes. The warm bed and soft hospital pillow called to her. Last night she thought she’d never be comfortable again. Now she was, and she didn’t want to move. Ever.

Then the aches hit. Her head. Her hands and wrists and legs. Everywhere, she hurt.

“MacKenzie?”

“Mmm,” she said, not opening her eyes. She didn’t want to find out if they hurt, too.

“Oh, honey…”

“Mom.” Her lips were cracked. “You missed your flight. You didn’t need to come.” The days of needing her mother were past…and Mom hadn’t been there then, anyway.

“Oh, it was no bother. Somebody needs to take care of your houseplants until you come home.” She spoke in overly bright tones this time, and it was almost worse than when her voice had dripped with pity. “Did you see the flowers someone sent you? Beautiful roses for a beautiful girl.”

Ah, yes. There was the pity again.

Her suffering could have been over. Just a little longer in the water, and Kenzie would no longer have to wish she was the one who died and Mikey was the one who lived.

Kenzie finally opened her eyes to stare at the roses, not allowing herself to glimpse her mother’s expression. She’d learned to read her well, but at this moment she didn’t want to know what lay between the lines in her mother’s furrowed brow.

“Is there a card?”

Her mother’s graceful fingers stretched toward the vase and rotated it. “Nothing.”

“Did you…see who brought them?” The man who’d saved her? She held her breath, hoping she hadn’t missed him, yet hoping he had come.

“They were here when I arrived.”

“Mmm.” Kenzie turned her face toward the ceiling and blinked as the tiles swam out of focus.

“Are you okay? Anything I can do for you?”

“I’m fine. Thanks. Just need sleep.” The blankets weighed her down until they smothered the incessant beeping and the aching pain.

Someone rapped on the door, then cracked it open.

Kenzie held her breath, fighting the urge to run. No one would hurt her here. The kidnappers had made their escape. That’s all they’d wanted, right?

But she closed her fingers around the television remote—some weapon—and slowly turned her head. A police officer stood just inside the doorway, his expression grim and tired.

“Miss Jacobs?”

“Yes.” Letting go of the remote, Kenzie drew her blankets close, then adjusted her bed until she was sitting up.

“I’m Detective Parker. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

She was too tired to dredge up yesterday’s nightmare, but, pasting on a smile, Kenzie nodded.

The policeman came around the bed and opened the blinds slightly, then scooted a chair close. Out of his briefcase came a black folder with a legal pad, a bulky pen, a digital recorder.

Her eyes drifted closed, exhausted by the mere sight of his equipment.

“Miss Jacobs.” The detective’s kind voice pulled her from the edge of sleep. “I don’t want to put off this interview since the more we know, the more likely we are to make arrests. But if you’re not up to it…”

“No, please. Wouldn’t want to hold up justice.” She meant it, but her eyelids did not want to cooperate.

Finally they fluttered open, and she found the man settling into his chair, legs crossed and folder propped just so. He’d done this before. Caught lots of criminals. If she could just stay awake, she could help him catch more. Then this whole thing would be over and life could get back to normal. Whatever that was.

Maybe now she’d have something new to mix in with her old nightmares. She still felt the gun against her temple, the rope chafing her wrists, the water lapping around her shoulders. Maybe because she relived it every time her eyes closed.

Detective Parker cleared his throat. “Miss Jacobs, I want you to run through everything that happened yesterday, but first, can you describe the men who took you?”

“No.” From now until the moment the camo guy and his smooth-accented boss landed behind bars, she’d probably suspect every male who came within twenty feet of her.

As if her dating life wasn’t bad enough already.

“I was blindfolded most of the time, but…” She allowed her eyes to close again, brought up the image of the bus and talked about what she’d seen, felt, heard. She told him about the leather jacket and sinewy arm locked around her shoulders. The ski mask and how that, almost more than the gun, gave the man a twisted and terrifying appearance. She hadn’t noticed his eye color; the glint of metal had been a stronger draw for her gaze.

“There were two men.” A shudder shifted the blanket. Kenzie clenched it in her fists, chilled once again. “The man with the camouflage jacket must have driven the van away, while the man with the leather jacket took me to…to the boathouse. But everything’s kind of hazy. I blacked out when they put me in the trunk of a car, and when I woke up, I was in the water. That…that’s all. I’m sorry.”

“You’re doing fine. Do you think—”

“Wait…” She paused with her eyes tightly closed. Remembering. Shadows filled her mind. A blur of black and gray and white-hot pain. “At the boathouse, I think I came to for a moment when the man with the accent took off my blindfold. Just before he—” She choked back an unexpected sob.

“Take your time, Miss Jacobs.”

A gulping breath. Warm air filled her lungs, and she found the strength to focus again on the vague memory. “So dark, but he must have had a flashlight. I saw…”

She was flopped over his knee, one of his arms steadying her while his other pulled the blindfold free. Legs untied, wrists bound more tightly, but in front of her now.

Her breath came faster. She was falling. Knees hit the deck hard. Turned her head as her hands—forced out over the water—touched metal. Caught a glimpse of dark hair, lighter neck, white scar.

Then she plunged into the icy water.

A quick gasp. No. She was okay now. But the tremors took over again. And, as she tried to recount the day through chattering teeth—every exhausting and excruciating detail—she wondered if she’d ever really feel safe again.