by Karen Harper
“You didn’t tell him I’m here?”
“Josh was nearby when the reporter checked in and piped up to say you were with Quinn in New York. He outright lied, but I went along with it. In other words, lay low out here, and I’ll let you know if he leaves. He tried to interview Josh—guess he had his name, too—but Josh just kept saying, ‘No comment,’ that things were under investigation, and no one was supposed to talk.”
“Quinn says Josh is very protective, and I agree the more I get to know him.”
“The guy is full of surprises. He even carted your boxes of supplies back here in his truck since you decided to work on your products in our kitchen and storeroom. The boxes are in the work shed, so just ignore the snowmobiles stored with the other stuff. Suze has some of her paintings in crates, too. In short, it’s pretty crowded in there.” She waved and popped out as fast as she’d come in.
So Josh was a good guy in the disguise of a curmudgeon. She should have known that since Sam, Mary and Quinn obviously trusted him.
She finished putting some of her products back on the sales table and decided to open her cartons in the large shed, however crowded it was in there. She fumbled in the drawer for the box cutter and a flashlight. Peeking out to be sure no stranger was in the backyard or looking out the lodge windows, she went out.
* * *
Geoff and Brent took Quinn to Tavern on the Green in Central Park for a late dinner. “I figured you’d feel more at home with the outdoor, garden seating,” Geoff told him. “I kind of miss it in the winter, especially when this place is full of tourists.”
Quinn liked the place okay, especially outside. It was spacious even inside, but he enjoyed the fresh air and the plants all around. Yet he always had the sense of people pressing in from the tall buildings. He’d like to bring Alex here someday, though. Even if she was from near Chicago, she’d worked in a suburb, so he hoped she’d share his feelings about cities versus smaller towns and countryside, especially an area with deep forests, mountains and lakes.
“So,” Brent cut into his thoughts, “would you like to go over possible interview questions for Gab Fest and run your responses by us?”
“I’ll do best if it’s kept spontaneous,” Quinn said, reaching for his iced tea. “Geoff showed me the video clips the show will use so I know how to speak to it when they run it.”
“You feel steady enough after everything?” Brent went on. “The hosts have promised questions about the murder are strictly off-limits. I consider myself strictly off-limits, too,” he said, taking a sip of his martini. “I told Trooper Kurtz that when he called me about getting fingerprinted here and sending them digital to their BCI in Anchorage. No way I had motive or opportunity to harm that woman, and you didn’t, either.”
“Brent,” Geoff cut in, “how about another topic besides poor Val Chambers? Meanwhile, Quinn, how serious are things between you and Alex? Brent tells me he got the idea that you two might be an item.”
“Despite everything, I admit I’m serious about her, and that’s about all I want to say on that right now. But, Brent,” he went on, turning toward him at the table, “I don’t like your earlier suggestion that we do a show on the so-called Falls Lake ghost. We don’t need those woods and the lake crawling with ghost hunters, and I’ve had a reporter from one ghost TV show poking around already in the dead of night. And that would upset some of my team.”
“I think you’re off base there,” Brent said, sitting forward. “I can see that haunted angle as a great way to build our audience.”
Geoff said, “Let’s just help Quinn stay mellow, in charge with whatever backwoods charm he can manage for this gig tomorrow. But, Quinn, I see Brent’s point about growing our audience however we can. Actually, I’m the one who arranged your guest spot on Gab Fest, and Brent wasn’t all for it. But your interview is bound to get us more viewers, women at least. By the way, I hear you had three female students in the most recent group.”
“Yeah, that worked out well. I’d say we’re averaging about fifteen percent women in the beginner groups but barely five percent in the advanced. So, Brent,” Quinn said, “if you want to build our demographics, why have you been against going for the huge, dynamic women’s audience? Times are a-changin’, my friend.”
And then Quinn had a revelation. Could Brent’s attitude toward focusing the show on a masculine audience be the fallout of his bitter divorce? His ex might have been married to a brilliant lawyer, but she’d come out on top with a huge settlement. Clarissa Bayer had hired a legal shark and managed to take half of Brent’s assets when she left him besides getting custody of their adolescent son, since she’d proved Brent was having a recent affair—a second one. And his latest lover had testified against him in the divorce hearings.
“You do realize,” Brent said, gripping his drink with one hand and pointing to emphasize his words, “that the fact you’re single gives a boost to our male-oriented ratings, Q-Man in the wilds and all that. Then we get the female audience with your macho star appeal, not by softening the impact of the show with more female students or women characters—a girlfriend or a wife.”
“Look, I don’t see this as a hunk show or I’d be out of there.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Brent shot back. “But you don’t see it as a family show, either, do you? We’ve hardly mentioned that Mary and Sam are married, and she’s been pretty much in the background. And that’s the way I see the show’s trajectory. I don’t care if it is the equality-for-women, #MeToo era.”
“No personal life for the title character?” Quinn shot back.
“I didn’t say that. Only your team are all outdoorsy people, and someone like Alexandra Collister being part of things feminizes it, and we don’t need that. Besides, I got the idea that she wanted to remain private—in the shadows—because of an unfortunate previous experience of some kind.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying all this when you managed to get me scheduled on a female-focused show like Gab Fest tomorrow,” Quinn shot back, feeling very defensive and protective of Alex. And he did not want to discuss her frightening domestic background. “Are you still thinking about some backward world where a woman’s place is in the kitchen and the bedroom?” he challenged. “Or just watching ‘women’s shows’?”
He turned to Geoff again. “Geoff, Ginger’s a big part of your life and likes the show. Talk some sense into our adviser-investor here.”
Quinn knew his voice was rising, but he couldn’t help it. He was on edge, had to watch his temper lately, especially here where he felt crowded, pushed and, despite people everywhere, almost lost. How did Brent really know Alex was running from something? Worse, he had just used Alex’s entire name, so had he been researching her?
“It’s just food for thought right now, Quinn,” Geoff insisted, leaning forward and gripping his wrist. “But let’s all face it, the appeal of the show is mostly to a male audience, not ghost aficionados or women who want to go out tracking.”
“And you two have been researching Alexandra Collister?” Quinn demanded, unwilling to let that go. He tried to keep his voice down as their steaks arrived. “I don’t recall either of you knowing her full, legal name.”
With a huge sigh, Brent leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think I heard her tell her entire name and say something about previously living in the Chicago area and having a bad relationship there, that’s all. We can get back to this discussion about the show’s future trajectory later. Let’s enjoy our meal.”
“Look, Quinn,” Geoff said, back to his usual calm, controlled voice, “we care about you and your staff—and friends—and have promoted you for your personality, character, appearance and occupation, not to mention your passion for the wilds. Yes, we’re selling a product in a way. Look at all the good you’re doing to keep America green. You profit, we profit, as long as we don’t get crazy and mess
things up. It’s a tragedy the murder happened, but we’ll get through it. Valerie Chambers was not good for Ryker, who is evidently under suspicion for her death, and we just hope that Alex is good for you. Let’s face it, your relationship with her, whatever it is, happened pretty fast.”
Frowning, Quinn took another swig of his iced tea. “I’m against people being used,” he told them, leaning forward to pick up his fork and stab a few fries. “If I sense that is happening with the people I chose to work with, I’m done at next contract time.”
The two men glanced at each other without moving their heads—or mouths—for once.
“Agreed,” Geoff said. “Our concern is for you above all.”
Quinn nodded and ate some fries. He didn’t tell them so, but his concern was not primarily for the show. It was for his staff, but now more than that. As soon as he was done here, he was going to unwind by taking a solo walk under the streetlights through the winding footpaths of a wooded part of Central Park called the Ramble. It was near a lake, too, and he was suddenly so homesick for Falls Lake—and to have Alex with him.
* * *
The door to the shed was not only unlocked but stood ajar, so Meg must have known she’d be going in to get her boxes soon. Alex was glad she’d brought a flashlight. Though there were two windows, they were small and the forest shadows loomed large outside. And as Meg had said, it was crowded in here with three snowmobiles, some stacked furniture, crated oil paintings, paint cans and who knew what else.
And yes, her four boxes were piled near the door, which she kept open for more light and air in the dusty, stale atmosphere. She realized she hadn’t smelled anything musty since she arrived in fresh-air Alaska.
She cut into the first box and pulled out the new labels she’d had Suze design to give more of a rustic flavor to her renamed products. As soon as she became really acclimated here, she’d research what local plants she could use. And that greenhouse Quinn had mentioned...and that house he’d talked about, a cozy bungalow...
She scooted the next carton away from the wall and noticed a large roll of yellow tape hanging on the peg behind it. Maybe it was the one Josh had used to cordon off the students’ observation areas the day Val died. She remembered Brent with his backpack on—which was so unlike him, however casually he dressed—pointing here and there when Josh probably knew more about the layout than a city lawyer ever would.
What scared her was that whatever was used to bash in Val’s skull could have been the handle on that roll of tape. Or, of course, the handle of Ryker’s camera or even the camera itself. Could it even have been a piece of wood from the forest, which anyone could have wielded, or almost anything hard someone had hidden in one of the backpacks that day?
A chill racked her. Quinn had said he’d call her, but she’d left her purse with her cell in the shop. She had to go back and get it. He’d said after midday New York time, but...but she wanted to talk to him now, just to feel better, to not feel all alone out here.
It was a crazy idea, but she almost felt she was being watched—just nerves over poor Val’s demise, no doubt.
“So we meet again,” came the whisper of a too-familiar voice behind her. “Why the hell did you run and this damn far away? I told you. You are mine or the end!”
31
After dinner with the show’s two movers and shakers—and they’d certainly shaken him up tonight—Quinn walked through the Ramble, missing Alex, wishing he was with her on the path they’d hiked yesterday. Strolling lovers or couples necking on park benches made him miss her even more. For sure, he told himself, he’d stop doing the show when his contract was up next year if he couldn’t have her in his life because of it. He’d produce and finance the show himself, or get new sponsors—something.
That is, if things between them worked out. If...if.
He stared across a stretch of water, wishing he was home, then walked east toward Fifth Avenue. Streetlights and lit-from-within window displays made the area look like day. He leaned against a store wall and punched in Alex’s cell number. It rang...rang. He’d told her he’d call her about now, but maybe the distant time zone had mixed her up.
Her voice came on, asking him to leave a message. “It’s me,” he said. “I’ll call back later. Just wanted you to know I’m heading to look in the windows or a jewelry store I just might visit tomorrow. Hope you’d be as excited with that as I am.”
He called his mother and filled her in on the murder, made sure she remembered he’d be on Gab Fest tomorrow. Then he explained he was in love, would bring Alex to see her as soon as he could—and admitted he was hoping to buy an engagement ring.
“But you haven’t known her long, my dear.”
“Long enough. Are you going to lecture me, too?”
“Too? You must tell others it’s not their business, unless you mean Alex herself.”
“My producer and his lawyer.”
“Well, no lecture from me! I knew that your father was the man for me about an hour after we met, so I’m not one to scold, at least on this. I can’t wait to meet her. You can probably only imagine a mother’s wish for her son to find ‘the one,’ and I have visions of grandchildren dancing in my head. Now tell me more about her...”
And he did.
* * *
Her pulse pounded so hard she heard it thudding in her ears. The words barely came out.
“L-Lyle. How did you find me?”
“Did you doubt I would? I’ve been watching you for a couple of hours, hoping you’d wander somewhere out here instead of the shop where others could see you from the lodge. I saw one of your female friends out here earlier, and she left this place open. Ah—fate that you joined me, but we need to get going now.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Remember the ‘or the end’ part of my promise?” he asked, and lifted a gun she hadn’t seen to point it at her.
She sucked in a breath. Nightmare. Not happening. The hole in the barrel seemed huge...dark. And then she saw the gun had a large handle, which he was gripping so hard the weapon wavered.
“A few days ago, did you hit a woman on a rocky ledge looking down at a stream?” she asked, her voice not her own.
“Are you crazy? I just got here, though I saw that in the Anchorage paper. But hell, no. I’m after you, and you’re going with me right now, quietly, willingly, or else. Move. Out into the forest for a little chat, maybe more or—I repeat—the end.”
Maybe, she thought, someone would see her from the inn and get help. If she went missing—even if it took a while for people to learn that—surely Meg or Suze would call for help. But the one who could track her was far away.
Pieces of panicked thoughts bombarded her. Lyle had never had guns, had he? What if he didn’t control that one well? She had the blackest feeling she could not just talk him out of it—this abduction, maybe a shooting. Surely she knew this area better than him and could shove him somehow, get away. And that futile thought reminded her again of how very far away Quinn was.
Then she made a very calculated decision. If she left here with Lyle, she was doomed, gone, the end indeed. She had to make a stand here, close to the lodge, her family, civilization.
She stepped back but another carton was in the way. Lyle leaped at her, seized her, clamped a big hand over her mouth when she opened it to scream. He gripped her face so hard her teeth ground against the soft inside of her mouth.
She yanked one hand free and lunged for the plastic tape hung on the wall, hoping to use it for a weapon. But he threw her down, his hand still clamped over her mouth. He grabbed the tape. She tried to kick at him, knee him, but she knew he was strong. He’d pinned her down in better times and was enraged now, his face distorted in an expression she’d never seen.
He ripped off a jagged piece of tape to wrap around her mouth—no, he pried her mouth open and, when she tried
to scream, jammed some of its stiffness in her mouth. She gagged, gasping for air. The tape blocked her airway so she started to suck in air through her nose. Did he mean to kill her right here?
Out of breath—still struggling. He ripped off more tape—and wound it around her wrists. Getting dizzy, hurting. Was this a nightmare or real?
If she could only get to her box cutter for a weapon, but it was out of reach. Despite her bound wrists, she tried to claw him. Out of air, out of sanity. She tried to protest through the plastic gag, but he ignored her. He dragged her to a sitting position, hefted her up over his shoulder and carried her out, closing the shed door behind them before he strode for the nearest forest path, the one she and Quinn had walked just yesterday, the one that led to the stream.
The remnants of her breath bounced out as his shoulder banged into her stomach. She almost threw up.
However he had found her, he was here. He must mean to kill her. This was real—the end.
* * *
It seemed he carried her forever. Maybe she was unconscious, but no, she knew where she was, who held her captive. How did he know his way here? Who had told him where she was, not only in Falls Lake but at the inn? He seemed to know the lay of the land.
And Quinn—more than half a continent away. He was supposed to call her about now. She’d just been going to get her phone. What she wouldn’t give for a phone. The only good thing was that Spenser had not been with her, for Lyle would have hurt or killed him to keep him quiet.
Quinn, Quinn. She tried to send a message to him all those miles away. I love you, need you.
For a moment, she’d thought she heard footsteps on the path behind them, but no one was there.