Kitabı oku: «The Seekers», sayfa 4

Chapter Four

The need to hurry and get back to Abbie pressed at Gray’s back like a mugger’s knife. He’d left her at the convent guarded by a police officer. MacAllister would keep her busy while taking down her statement. Gray headed toward the patch of woods where the intruder had shot at Abbie. Simms, the chief of police—a scrappy goat of a man as weatherworn as the island—followed at Gray’s heels.

A platinum sky met a stirred-up sea of pewter. The scent of rotting kelp, peaty forest floor and rain-heavy spruce boughs filled the morning air. His suit—what was left of it—and shoes weren’t exactly the best equipment for this task, but his travel bag was stuck in the trunk of his Corvette on the mainland. The plan had been simple—get Abbie and get off the island.

He should’ve known. When it came to Abbie, nothing was simple.

“With the storm last night, we aren’t too likely to find anything,” Simms said when Gray bent closer to the ground for a better look.

“Won’t know unless we try.”

The ground was saturated from the rain, squishing moisture into his shoes with every step. He ignored the discomfort and concentrated on his task. The faster he found the trail, the faster he could get back to Abbie.

Spotting indentations in the ground, he stopped. Boots. Army boots. The real thing or purchased off the shelf? One person. That was a relief.

“Watch your step,” he told the chief. “I’ve got something.” Careful not to displace the track, Gray placed his foot alongside one particularly good boot mark. The print was narrower, smaller than his. The stride was shorter, too, with the toes pointed slightly inward. A short man? A woman?

Using the camera Sister Bertrice had loaned Abbie, Gray snapped a picture of the track and one with his foot placed next to it for comparison. Maybe Kingsley could come up with an identifier. Simms took his turn at photographing the evidence.

Picking his way along the trail, Gray looked for disturbed vegetation, broken twigs and turned-over rocks. Along the top edge of the bluff, near the spruce Abbie had been photographing when he’d found her, he noted light prints. Suddenly the prints moved backward, dragging heel and toe. A retreat when Abbie had clambered up the rocks?

He touched the imprint of Abbie’s shoe running away from him. But he knew the outcome of that trail, so he followed the other. It led to a boulder where the intruder had knelt and used the rock’s flat top to prop his weapon. The knee prints were smaller than he’d expect from a man, less deep. Would someone like Vanderveer entrust such an important job to a woman? That didn’t fit the bully profile. Bullies needed to elevate themselves by putting others down. And for a man like Rafe, a woman would make a prime target.

Yet what better way for Rafe to fool the people charged with watching his every move?

And there was Abbie in a convent full of sisters. Could one of the nuns be toting a weapon in the folds of her skirt? He itched to get back, but to protect Abbie, the professional in him had to learn as much as he could about his adversary.

Now the prints showed the intruder running. His prints chased hers. But in clear daylight he could see what he’d missed in the fog. He spirited the threads of Steeltex caught in the bark into his pocket before the cop could see them. As far as he knew, the project was still classified.

“Looks like your shooter rested here,” the chief said, stroking his close-cropped beard as he studied the scene. His navy windbreaker flapped in the wind.

In her camouflage suit, the shooter had blended well. “I breezed right by her without seeing her.”

“Her?”

“That’s what the trail says.”

The cop shrugged. “Could be a teenager. You said both shots missed.”

“Could be.” But not wearing Steeltex and not zeroing in on Abbie. Vanderveer wasn’t that desperate yet.

Gray climbed down the opposite side of the bluff to the eastern shore of the island. The rocks mostly hid the shooter’s tracks until he studied the few inches of mucky beach. There he found a slip mark above the high-tide line. Scuffs of navy paint streaked a rock, and the rainbow slick of gasoline staining shone on another.

“Looks like your shooter came with his own power.” The chief bent down and studied the paint, then photographed the marks. “I’ll take a paint sample and see what we can come up with. But I expect he’s gone and won’t come back.”

If she’d actually left the island. The ragged shore was full of little coves. His guess was that she’d stick to Abbie like a shadow.

The chief finished collecting his evidence and taking his notes, then joined Gray at the edge of the water. “Nothing much to do for kids around these parts, so they go out and shoot targets. First time for Retreat, but it happens all the time on the smaller islands.”

Probably just as well the chief didn’t seem too disturbed about last night’s events. He would get their statements and they’d be out of here in less than two hours. Gray planned on hitching a ride back with the cops. They’d be safe enough on the water.

But on the highway, Corrine, his red vintage Corvette, would make them sitting ducks.

IN THE PILOTHOUSE OF THE police patrol boat, Abbie sat stiffly while MacAllister stood at the controls. Her restless fingers clasped and unclasped the buckle of the small leather bag in her lap. Here she was again, in a small enclosed space, surrounded by cops. What if one of them died because of her?

The chop of tarnished-silver water bounced the boat around. Wind whipped her hair. She scraped the flailing locks back into a ponytail and tied them with an elastic band she found in the pocket of her polar-fleece vest. She scanned the horizon for another boat, another threat, another sniper’s rifle seeking her out.

Gray leaned against the railing at the prow, looking—even without a shirt under his suit jacket—like a carefree tourist. But his shoulders betrayed tension and his gaze swept the water as if his glasses were X-ray devices able to spot the skeleton of a would-be assassin.

He meant well, of course. He didn’t realize that this wasn’t just another scrape. That this situation had dire consequences. Mostly for those around her. Maybe he even thought he was keeping her safe just for old times’ sake. Because Bryn was her friend and that was the only way he could show his sister he cared.

He’d seen WITSEC from the deputy’s viewpoint. He’d gotten to go home most nights and sleep in his own house, in his own bed. He’d gotten to keep his name, his past—himself. He couldn’t know what it was like to lose yourself piece by piece, to live in fear that at any moment a bullet would shoot through some window and destroy what was left of you.

She tore her gaze away from Gray’s face and tried to focus on the instrument panel as complicated as any jetliner’s. It didn’t work. The red lines reminded her of blood and dead deputies. She rubbed her hands against the thigh of her slacks but couldn’t stop the flow of cold sweat. How long before they got to shore? How long before she was out of this tin-can target? How long before she could get away?

Since high school she’d gained a certain sense of self, of who she was and what her duties and obligations were. She’d embraced both her public goodwill image at Holbrook Mills and her unofficial role as ambassador for Echo Falls. She’d also cultivated a personal passion to capture a person’s truth on film. She loved catching kids. Life hadn’t tainted them yet and there was such purity in all their expressions.

Until Rafe had taken over his father’s role as partner.

He’d chipped at the gleaming facade that was her life and broken it all apart until she’d wondered about her choices, about her values and about the meaning of her life.

Not exactly what Rafe had had in mind. He’d hoped that his remarks would make her as soft and as pliable as the parachute nylon the mill produced. What he forgot was that Holbrook fabric was not as fragile as it looked.

Even though there was nothing left of what she once was, she still wanted that life back. She loved Echo Falls. She loved the mill. She loved the people who made up both.

Rafe had meant to distance her from her environment and had instead brought her closer to her roots.

By now she was supposed to have married him. And what was hers was supposed to be his. She shuddered.

At first he’d charmed her with his polished manners, his dazzling smile and his smooth bass voice. She’d almost fallen under the spell of his persona. Until the press conference, when Holbrook Mills had announced its new contract with the Army. As was her custom, she’d photographed the event. When she’d processed the film, something in Rafe’s eyes had shivered dread down her spine. She’d thought it was a trick of the light. But the look of pure evil she’d frozen on film had surfaced again, both at her home and at his office, when he’d thought no one was looking. He’d shown his true colors the day he’d murdered her father.

Because she’d seen his soul, he had to destroy her. He had to destroy everything she cared for.

Against her will, her gaze once again sought Gray. The stubble-shadowed jaw took nothing away from the clean-cut looks he’d sculpted out of the clay of his dirt-poor youth. A leaden weight dragged at her heart.

Her father would approve of the man Gray had become. They shared a deep sense of ethics and the values of honor and loyalty. Bryn probably wouldn’t agree, but Bryn tended to forget she was the one who’d slammed shut that particular door. Abbie had seen the letters from Gray that Bryn had discarded unopened. Gray was the one who’d arranged and paid for his mother’s stay at the hospice when liver disease had made staying at home impossible. He’d offered to pay for Bryn’s college education, too, but pride had made her refuse.

Seeing him again, so strong and solid, so determined to act as her protector, spiked her heart with a quick jump. She wished for one of his smiles that made her feel as if all was right with the world.

She was tired of constantly looking over her shoulder. She was tired of being afraid. She was so marrow-deep tired that she was actually considering letting Gray take her to Seekers, Inc., letting him take care of her. Letting Rafe test just how high-security Seekers’ safety bunker was.

The last few weeks of bloody horror were making her weak.

You’re as strong as Steeltex.

Sneering, she shook her head and opened the small leather bag that contained the few changes of clothes Bryn had provided her and the camera Bert had loaned her. She took out the Nikon and loaded a fresh roll of film.

She wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, to slide into darkness and stay there until the trial was over. Until someone could assure her that the shackles around Rafe were so tight and so solid, he could never again rally allies to do the dirty work he was denied.

“We’ll find him, you know,” MacAllister said, slanting her a look that came too close to pity for comfort. “Something like this, the perp always comes to light.”

“Of course.” She raised the camera and searched through the magic frame.

“He won’t be able to keep the secret. It’ll itch at him and itch at him till he bursts and has to tell someone else about the deed. Small town like this, a secret like that won’t stay quiet too long.”

“Thanks.”

His fresh-scrubbed face was still eager and filled with idealism. How long would it take for lines to carve dispassionate grooves around his eyes and mouth like those that etched Simms’s face? “Can I take your picture?”

“Me? What for?”

“I like the look in your eye.” She wanted to capture the youthful passion shining lighthouse bright on his face. As a reminder that some parts of the world were still worth looking at.

He grinned. She snapped.

MacAllister slowed the boat as he approached the dock. “We’re almost there.”

One hand on the wheel, the other on the throttle, he twisted around to face her. He opened his mouth as if to add something more. She adjusted the focus ring. Surprise rounded his eyes. Glass shattered. The report of a gun cracked through the sudden rev of the boat’s engine. MacAllister crumpled, taking her down with his dead weight.

“CAN WE STOP?” ABBIE ASKED as Gray’s Corvette burned up I-95. Red streaked the sky, reminding her yet again of MacAllister’s blood all over the patrol boat deck. Another dead cop. Because of her. Her stomach was a tangle of greasy knots, her mind a maddened beehive and her determination would capitulate into a white flag of surrender if she didn’t do something soon. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

His fingers touched her knee in concern and racked up her guilt another notch. “There’s a rest stop up ahead. Can you hang on for another few minutes? I don’t want to pull off on the shoulder.”

“Just hurry.” Would he leave her alone? She searched her memory for the layout of the bathroom but couldn’t remember if there was a back exit or not. Gray had changed into khakis, a polo shirt and running shoes. She wished he’d kept on his slippery leather shoes. Then she’d have half a chance at losing him.

“You holding up?” Gray asked as they passed a sign announcing their upcoming exit.

His head remained fixed straight ahead, but the flick of his gaze in her direction snapped like a camera’s shutter to judge her mental and physical soundness. “I’m fine.”

“You saw someone shot to death. You need to—”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You’ve been through a—”

“No, really, there’s nothing to talk about.”

Talk wasn’t going to solve her problem. As much as he wanted to, Gray couldn’t fix this. Another cop had died. And once again the shooter had gotten away. If Gray hadn’t called his boss, who had expedited her release, she’d still be trying to answer questions to which she had no answers. Somehow she needed to ditch Gray.

The surprise in Officer McAllister’s eyes would haunt her for the rest of her life. It would paint a stain on her conscience—just as Deputy Kushner, Deputy Donaldson and Deputy Tarpley’s deaths had. Another bright life extinguished because of her. If MacAllister hadn’t moved, if he hadn’t wanted to soothe her, the bullet that shattered his heart would have hit her right between the eyes.

She blinked to soothe her burning eyes. She swallowed to loosen the knot in her throat. She shuddered and zipped up the polar-fleece vest she couldn’t seem to shed even in the near-eighty-degree heat.

Why couldn’t Gray understand that she didn’t want to add him—or anyone else—to the ranks of the dead? That Rafe wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted? Her in a grave on which he could spit.

The coming rest stop was the last one before the New Hampshire border. And she simply couldn’t let herself get trapped in a place Rafe could find.

Gray slowed and took the Exit 25 ramp. He parked on an outside row of the rest-stop parking lot, leaving plenty of space all around him for a quick getaway.

She rolled her shoulder as if to dislodge a laser sight. “Is someone following us?”

“Just being careful.”

He draped an arm casually around her shoulders, but there was nothing relaxed about the action-readiness of his taut muscles. His hand hovered over the gun she’d seen him hide in the holster under the untucked tail of his polo shirt. He studied every car and every person they passed on their way to the building.

To her dismay, he made as if to accompany her into the ladies’ room. “You can’t go in there.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

“What could possibly happen in there?”

“You’re not feeling well.”

“Yet another reason not to have an audience.” She raked her loose hair back and blew out a breath. “Just give me a couple of minutes.”

A bus belched to a stop, unloading a gaggle of older ladies wearing red hats and purple T-shirts. Laughing and talking all at once, they entered the building and swarmed toward the bathroom.

Gray made a small sign of surrender. “Okay, I’ll wait for you right here.” He leaned against the doorway. His smile had steel around the edges, but to the casual observer it would look like a lover’s tease. “If you need anything, call.”

Not good. How could she get away with him watching the only exit? The competing scents of cinnamon and fast-food grease wafting in the air turned her stomach. Think, Abbie. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of the Cinnabon stand near the men’s room. “I could use a cup of tea to settle my stomach.”

His long and hard stare had her insides squirming like eels. With a barely visible shake of his head he denied her request. “Not a chance I’m going that far from you, honey.”

“Do they have ginger ale in the soda machine?”

“We’ll look on the way out.” There was no give in his voice. He was as determined to keep her trapped in his sights as she was to escape him. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” With as carefree a step as she could manage, she rounded the curve of the wall, then peered around the corner. Through his damned glasses, his gaze was zeroed in on the entrance to the ladies’ room.

Behind her the red-hatted women congregated around the sinks. Their cheery voices pinballed against the tiles. She could slip into the middle of the group as they were leaving. Gray would spot a sea of red and purple, and she’d swim out lost among them. Then she’d have only a few minutes to disappear. Would the ladies notice one more on the tour bus?

The older women headed for the entrance. Just as she was about to join the group, someone bumped into her. Abbie’s arms automatically reached out to the tiled wall to catch herself from falling.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the tall, thin woman said. “I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s all right.” Distracted, Abbie glanced at the group. She had only a few seconds more to make her escape. “I’m fine.”

Abbie pushed herself off the wall. A heavy, cream-colored envelope toppled from her leather bag. “Miss? You dropped something.”

Hands dripping with water, the woman ripped a length of paper towel from the holder and shook her head. “No, it’s not mine.”

Abbie turned over the envelope and glanced down at the name. “Are you—”

She sucked in a small gasp and ran a finger over the brown calligraphy ink that turned her name into a work of art. Where had this come from? The paper was damp under her fingers, as if it had absorbed moist sea air. Bert must have tucked a note in her bag.

She looked up in time to realize she’d missed her opportunity to escape. The ladies had all left. And Gray still stood there.

Desperately needing a few minutes to think, she slipped into a stall and locked the door. She dragged a nail under the flap and slit the envelope open. Bert’s words of encouragement would settle her nerves. Her gaze traveled to the end of the page looking for the curvy angel doodle that always graced Bert’s notes. Her heart sank.

Rafe’s name contaminated the expensive paper, and his heavy energy crawled under her skin like a poison-ivy rash. She let her back fall against the beige metal wall of the stall for support. The stationery shook in her hands.

In the same calligraphy hand, the message read:

My Dearest Abrielle—

At a time like this, who can you trust?

The WITSEC inspector assigned to keep you safe?

Check his bank account, dearest Abrielle, you’ll see how well he’s being paid to betray you.

Your childhood friends?

Your Brynna has a crusade to mount now, doesn’t she? And crusades are always expensive. Ask her how many cases she’s handled this year. Ask her about her expenses. Ask her how she’s making ends meet. The answer will surprise you. Did you know that she’s used your name to grease her way?

Your Grayson is a man on a mission. On the surface, you’re his mission. But ask yourself what is more important to him, you or keeping up the image of the fearless hunter? He can live without you. He’s proven that over the past thirteen years. But he cannot live without the weight of his title. A coward always needs a shield. He’s run from Echo Falls. He’s run from the Navy. He’s run from the Marshals Service. When things get tough, Grayson Reed runs. Can you trust that he won’t run when you need him most?

Don’t be foolish enough to think Seekers, Inc. can protect you. One of them is ready to use you as barter bait. Their deaths will be on your conscience.

You are mine. No one, nothing, can keep us apart. I will find you wherever you go.

I have never shown you anything but the utmost respect. I have loved you and cherished you. I have laid my soul bare to you. I am ready to give you the world. I will stand by you when you need me.

In just a few more days we can put this misunderstanding behind us and live the life that is our fated destiny together as man and wife.

Remember, Abrielle, there is no one you can trust, except me.

All my love,

Raphael.

“Abbie?” Gray’s voice echoed against the tiled walls of the bathroom and made her jump. “If you’re not out here in ten seconds, I’m coming in after you.”

“I’ll be right out.”

She folded the letter back in its envelope and dropped both in her bag. At the sink she splashed cold water on her face and pasted on a smile, then strode out of the ladies’ room.

“Everything all right?” Gray asked. His blasted mirrored glasses covered his eyes, but their burning gaze studied every inch of her for signs of distress. “Still want that soda?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Gray maneuvered her to the vending machine, fed coins into the slot and handed her a can of Sprite—the closest thing to her request. Their fingers touched against the cool aluminum. His grip on the can stayed firm and his mirrored gaze seemed to reach all the way down to her soul. “I can keep you safe.”

When she didn’t respond, he let go. The weight of defeat strained her limbs like deadwood.

The nightmare wasn’t going away. Rafe didn’t love her. He didn’t cherish her. He didn’t have her best interest at heart—only his own. She had no illusions that if she gave in to his demands, she would wake up six feet underground.

Still, he was good at using weaknesses to his advantage. He was a master at digging dirt. How much of what he’d written about Phil and Brynna and Gray was true? How much was scare tactic? How much more could Rafe take away from her before there was nothing left?