Deadly Reckoning

by Elle James

  Mrs. Watson lived in a small, two-story house in an older neighborhood of Portland. The building appeared to date back to the early 1930s, the wood planks on the porch thick with many layers of paint, the top coat peeling in places.

  Glancing at his watch, Gabe knocked again. If he didn’t hurry, it’d be way past dark before he returned to Cape Churn. He couldn’t be much later, not with Kayla exposed and at risk of another attack from a crazy man.

  The curtain moved in the front window and a wrinkled face peered out. A few moments later, the locks clicked and the door swung open.

  “You must be Officer McGregor.” She held the door wide. “Please, come in.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Gabe stepped inside. A long, narrow hallway stretched before him with doors opening off each side and a staircase rising up to his left. “I’m sorry, I arrived early, but there’s a storm coming and I need to get back to Cape Churn before it breaks.”

  “That’s quite all right.” She shuffled through the doorway to their right and waved at a faded sofa, whose floral pattern had seen better days. “Please, sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.” He patted his pocket, anxious to show the photos to the woman, but wanting to ease into the discussion about her son. “Ma’am, I wanted to discuss your son, Rick, and his girlfriend.”

  The woman shook her head, her eyes sad. “What a terrible tragedy, Nancy’s death. You know, they never found her murderer.”

  Gabe nodded. “That’s what I understand. I’d like to know more about her relationship with Rick. Do you remember?”

  “As if it was yesterday.” Martha stared toward a curtained window as if she could see beyond the fabric. “Rick was so in love with Nancy. I thought the two of them would be married and having babies by now. I so want grandchildren before I die. You see, I had Rick late in life and his father died when Rick was only three.” Martha blinked and looked across at Gabe. “What was your question?”

  “I wanted to know about Rick and Nancy’s relationship.”

  “Oh, yes.” She glanced down at her hands. “Rick loved Nancy so much he wanted to marry her. He proposed and she turned him down.” Martha looked up, her eyes glassy with tears.

  “Did she say why?”

  “She said she wasn’t ready.” A tear slipped down the old woman’s cheek. “Rick found out she’d been seeing someone else. Such an ugly situation. Poor Rick was beside himself.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Nancy told the police he tried to choke her. They arrested him and let my son out on bail with a restraining order against him. He couldn’t get within one hundred yards of Nancy.” Martha shook her head again, staring at the rug. “My Rick wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s always been so kind and gentle. Such a good little boy when the bullies weren’t picking on him.”

  “Bullies?” Gabe prompted.

  “Oh, growing up, the bullies picked on him since he didn’t have a father. Teased him for being a mama’s boy.” Mrs. Watson frowned. “Nothing wrong with loving your mother, is what I said.”

  “What happened to Nancy?”

  The woman looked up and blinked, then shook her head. “Terrible tragedy. She ran out in front of oncoming traffic just a week before the trial. Died instantly.” Martha sighed. “Rick was so upset, he couldn’t make it to the funeral.” The woman wiped a tear from her eye. “That was six months ago. I don’t think Rick ever really got over Nancy.” She rose and walked to the mantel over the fireplace and lifted a photo of a young couple. “This is Nancy and Rick before they broke up.”

  Gabe stared down at a pretty auburn-haired woman with pale skin and green eyes. She smiled into the camera, happy, pretty and full of life. His breath lodged in his throat. God, she looked a lot like Kayla. The man beside her had longish brown hair and a mustache.

  “Mrs. Watson—” Gabe pulled the photos from his front pocket and held out the one of Rick Watson’s mug shot first “—is this a photo of your son?”

  “Why, yes. Oh, but that picture was awful. The one they took at the police station. He doesn’t look anything like that now.”

  “What about these photos? Do you recognize the man in them?” Gabe held out the photo of Lawrence Wilson from his Washington and Oregon driver’s licenses.

  She tipped her glasses down to the end of her nose and studied the pictures, a smile crossing her face. “That’s much better. Rick sure cleaned up nicely, didn’t he?”

  For a very long moment, Gabe couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

  The old woman glanced up at Gabe, smiling, her eyes alight. “He was here to see me two weeks ago. He stopped in on his way back from a trip to Seattle and stayed a whole week.” She pointed to a photo of Lawrence Wilson. “I don’t have a recent picture of my son. Do you mind if I have that one?”

  Sucking in a deep breath, Gabe handed the woman all the photos and stood. “Thank you, Mrs. Watson. I regret the need to rush out, but I have to be back to work in Cape Churn as soon as possible.” Sooner than possible.

  Gabe left Mrs. Watson’s house, leaped off the steps and ran for his vehicle. Damn. Rick Watson was Lawrence Wilson, and he was running free in Cape Churn.

  Just because Lawrence and Rick were the same person didn’t make him the murderer, Gabe argued with himself. But the fact that he’d attempted to strangle his girlfriend added more credence to jumping to that conclusion. Add that to the fact he’d lived in Washington prior to moving back to Oregon, and that he clearly shared the killer’s interest in redheaded women, and it was too much coincidence to be far-fetched.

  As soon as he climbed into his SUV, he hit the speed-dial button for Chief Taggert’s office. When he got Taggert’s answering machine, he dialed Taggert’s cell phone. The line went directly to voice mail, indicating the man was either on his phone or out of range.

  Damn! Gabe hung up and dialed Kayla’s home phone number.

  The line rang and rang, and finally rolled over to the answering machine. “Kayla, if you get this message before I get back, don’t let Lawrence Wilson in the cottage or anywhere near you. I think he’s the killer. If he comes anywhere near the house, call the police. I’m on my way back from Portland.”

  He dialed her cell phone. Still no answer. He left the same message, his frustration mounting.

  Gabe hit the off button, the urge to throw the cell phone so strong he almost flung it out the window. What was the use of cell phones when you got so little reception outside of Cape Churn?

  He dialed the B and B landline. As soon as his sister picked up, he dived in, “Molly, where’s Kayla?”

  “What, no hello?” Molly laughed. “She’s at the lighthouse cottage. She never came to the B and B.”

  “She what?” His heart slammed into his ribs.

  “Dakota came back without her around four. Kayla sent him home saying she’d pack it in before dark and come over. Well, it started raining before dark and she called to say she was fine, and that she didn’t want to get out in the rain. Do you want me to go over there?”

  “No, and keep Dakota from going as well. I’ll have the police department send someone to keep an eye on her.”

  “Is she in danger?”

  “Maybe. I can’t get hold of her. I’m going to send over the police.”

  “Oh, dear, now you’ve got me really scared for her. I’ll call the police myself.”

  “No, let me. I need to talk with the chief anyway to let him know what’s going on.” Gabe hung up. He had to get through to the chief and let him know what suspicions he had. If Lawrence Wilson truly was the killer, Jillian could be in trouble as well.

  A loud boom startled Kayla out of sleep so suddenly that she fell from the couch onto the floor. She landed with a thump, the breath knocked from her lungs.
For a moment she lay staring up at the coffee table, the sofa and the ceiling, wondering where the hell she was.

  Two more reverberating booms shook the cottage again and Kayla jumped to her feet, ready to run out of the house, fearing an earthquake. She ran to the window and stared out past the duct-taped patch into nothingness. The rain had stopped and once again the Devil’s Shroud had slipped over the land, softening hard edges and obliterating the view of the ocean. She felt as if the cottage had been wrapped in a huge woolly blanket, smothering tight against the woodwork.

  Kayla glanced at the clock on the wall. Only eight-thirty. She’d been asleep for over an hour. Maybe Molly could tell her what the booming had been. She picked up the phone and dialed the number she had scribbled on a piece of paper.

  Not until she pressed the phone to her ear did she realize there was no dial tone. She set the phone on the cradle and dug in her purse for her cell phone. When she glanced down at the bars, she knew it was useless. The No Service message was displayed on the screen.

  A pale beam of light glowed in the side window, the light pushing through the fog, moving toward her from the direction of the driveway. “Gabe?” She ran to the door and flung it open, peering out into the night. More booming came from the direction of town, not that she could see anything through the fog. She couldn’t even see the vehicle headed her way, just a growing glob of light getting bigger the closer it came.

  What if it wasn’t Gabe?

  As quickly as she had opened the door, she closed it and slammed the newly fixed dead bolt home. She leaned her head toward the window and tried to see who was coming up the driveway.

  A shape of a dark sedan barely materialized out of the fog and pulled to a halt in the gravel. A door opened and a man’s tall figure climbed out the driver’s side.

  Kayla’s heart fluttered in her throat as her fingers clutched the curtains.

  The passenger door opened and another figure emerged, not as tall, and thinner. As the pair moved toward the door, Kayla backed away from the window, inch by inch.

  The porch light shone down as far as the steps, making the world hazy and muted. A light laugh, muffled by the window glass, floated through to Kayla, and Jillian Taylor mounted the steps, shining a flashlight behind her.…

  At Lawrence Wilson, the resort developer.

  Kayla nearly fainted from relief. When Jillian knocked at the door, she jerked it open before she could knock a second time.

  “Kayla, honey. Sorry to bother you so late, but Lawrence dropped by before I could get out of my office and insisted on seeing the cottage one more time. He heads back to Portland tomorrow. The fog didn’t seem as bad in town, but once we got on the highway, well, it’s crazy out there.”

  “I can’t believe you made it this far. I can’t see off the end of the porch.”

  Jillian shifted a strand of her straight blond hair behind her ear. “Did you hear a noise a few minutes ago? I wasn’t sure. We had the music up a little loud. I couldn’t tell if it was thunder or the sound of the bass guitar.”

  “I thought I did hear something. It sounded like it came from town.”

  “Hmm. Wonder what it was about.” She turned to Lawrence. “Maybe we should head back.”

  “We can’t see two feet in front of us out on the road. It’s too dangerous,” Lawrence said. “Perhaps we could wait a few minutes here and see if the fog lifts a little before we attempt the road again.”

  Somewhat glad for the company, Kayla held open the door. “It is too dangerous to be driving along the highway in this. Please. Come in.” She stood to the side as Jillian and Lawrence entered, wiping their wet shoes on the welcome mat.

  “I should be used to this by now, but the fog seems thicker than normal these last few days.” Jillian shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

  “Not at all, you know where it is.” Kayla pointed toward the bedroom and followed Jillian’s progress until she stood alone in the living room with Lawrence Wilson.

  She turned to the man and tried to smile, but when she glanced up at him, he was staring down at her, his eyes narrow, his mouth tipped up at one corner in what Kayla could only classify as a snarling smirk. She noticed he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses tonight, and without them, she could see his eyes clearly. There was something disturbingly familiar about them....

  A chill stimulated by the cool fog outside shook Kayla’s frame. “Seems like a bad day to be looking at property. You’re not going to see much.”

  “The reverse is true as well.” He spoke in a low, gravelly whisper.

  Kayla wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “What did you say?” she asked.

  “What happened to the word on the window?”

  “What word?” Kayla took a step backward, the contents of her belly flipping cartwheels.

  Lawrence smiled, his light brown gaze holding hers. He reached out to touch the necklace she wore, his fingers brushing the base of her throat. “Where’s the locket?”

  Fear rushed over her, flooding her senses in an overpowering surge. Her entire body shook all the way out to her tingling fingers. “You…”

  His smile widened, his eyes narrowing. “Loved your artwork in Seattle.”

  All the helpless rage and desperation she’d experienced while this man had choked her bubbled up inside her, spurring her to action. “Jillian!”

  The bathroom door burst open and Jillian ran through the bedroom. “What? What’s wrong, Kayla?” She turned to Lawrence. “What happened?”

  Kayla backed away another step, her fingers reaching for the phone on the counter. “It’s him.” She pointed at Wilson. “He’s Rachel Kendrick’s murderer. He’s the man who attacked me in Seattle. Oh, God, it’s him.” Her gaze blurring, she fumbled to key the emergency number.

  With a look of utter innocence, Lawrence stepped up beside Jillian. “I have no idea what she’s talking about.” He swept his hand to the side. “Do I look like I’d murder a woman?”

  He sounded so sane, so calm and sensible. It made the sinister gleam in his eyes even more frightening. Kayla’s fingers found the buttons she needed and she hit Talk.

  The line remained dead.

  Lawrence laughed. “What? No service?”

  Jillian’s brows drew together and she moved toward Kayla. “I don’t understand. Why did you call Mr. Wilson a murderer?”

  “Because he is.” Kayla grabbed Jillian’s hand and pushed her behind her, inching her toward the door. With her other hand, she snatched the can of wasp spray Gabe had left on the countertop. “Run, Jillian,” she urged. “Run for help. He’s crazy. He likes to scare his victims then strangle them.”

  Jillian planted her feet and refused to move. “What are you talking about? Lawrence? Do you have any idea?”

  Lawrence’s gaze narrowed, his lips thinning, his hand reaching beneath his jacket. “She’s a whore.”

  Kayla raised the can of spray, aimed it at Lawrence’s face and pressed the button.

  At the same time, Lawrence yanked a pistol from beneath his jacket.

  The spray hit him full in the face and he screamed.

  Kayla threw herself at Jillian, knocking her through the open door and out onto the porch. “Run, damn it!”

  A loud bang blasted her eardrums at the same time something slammed into her right shoulder, flinging her forward. Kayla tumbled off the deck onto the soaked ground, her head spinning, her mind telling her to get up, run, save her baby. But her body refused to cooperate.

  She tried to push to her feet, but the heels of her bare feet slipped on the damp grass and her right arm wouldn’t work. She rolled over and pushed up with her left hand, scrambling to her feet.

  Jillian flew off the porch and land
ed beside her. “Kayla, oh, God, Kayla.” Using her left arm, Kayla grabbed Jillian and stumbled to the side of the house, out of sight and range of the pistol.

  “Run, Jillian, go for the road, get help. Hurry. Stay low in the fog, follow the gravel.” Kayla pushed her away from her.

  “What about you? I can’t leave you with him.”

  “Yes. You. Can. I won’t get far. You can.” She shoved in the direction she knew the road would be. “Now go.”

  A sobbing Jillian staggered away in her high heels, disappearing into the fog.

  Footsteps stomped onto the porch and an angry roar blasted through the fog. “I’ll kill you, bitch.”

  Shooting pain radiated through her arm, making her dizzy, but she couldn’t give up. Her baby depended on her to stay alive. Not wanting to follow Jillian and put her in the line of fire, Kayla turned the opposite direction, stumbling into the murky night, nearly tripping on the can of wasp spray. She snatched it from the ground, the effort costing her as her head reeled and her vision blurred.

  Concentrating on keeping her balance, she straightened and pushed through the fog as fast as she could without running face-first into a tree, the cottage or the edge of the cliff. Her foot caught on a rock and she fell to her knees, jolting her arm, sending another wave of pain shooting through her shoulder. She clamped down hard on her lip to keep from crying out.

  “You can’t hide from me. I will find you, just like I found you here. Thought you were so smart leaving Seattle.” He laughed, the sound more chilling than the air. “I sent that brochure for Cape Churn. What you don’t understand is that you’re mine and always will be. Until death do us part.”

  His voice grew closer.

  Kayla lurched to her feet, swayed and straightened, her vision fuzzy as she ran into the fog.

  A shot rang out, the sound loud, as if echoing off the descended clouds. Hot liquid ran down her arm, dripping off her fingertips. She was losing blood, but she’d lose her life if she didn’t get away from Lawrence.