Survive the Night (Lost, Inc.)

by Hinze, Vicki

  “He left his calling card.” He pulled the baby bottle inside the ziplock bag from his pocket.

  On its side, she saw the D.B.D. Her heart raced, her limbs tingled. “Did you see him?”

  “Jake lost his scent in the stream. I got a glimpse of neon blue through the trees. Someone on a four-wheeler. I could hear it but didn’t get a clear line of sight.”

  “Nothing showed up on the monitors. We’ve been watching nonstop.”

  “He wasn’t on my land.” Paul walked back to the kitchen and sat down at the table. “He knew where the field of vision ended.”

  “Then he’s been scoping out the ranch.” Warny sat down beside Paul. “Son, I ain’t one for running, and you know it. But if Crawford knows the layout of your security, and he knows Miss Della is here—”

  She had to go. A hard knot slid from her chest, hollowed her stomach. “I don’t think it’s Crawford, Warny. I don’t think it’s Leo Dawson, either.”

  “Jeff?” Paul asked.

  She nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  “I ain’t too sure, Miss Della.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. If Crawford were out there, he’d have shot you, Paul. That would hurt Maggie far more than doing anything to me.”

  “Dawson?” Paul refilled his glass from the crockery pitcher on the countertop near the stove.

  “There’s too much method to this. It just doesn’t fit his erratic behavior.”

  “Well, I hate to say it, but it don’t exactly fit Jeff’s behavior, either, does it?”

  “I don’t know, Warny. Who he was, who he is now... I just don’t know.” She squeezed a slice of lemon into her glass. “But Cray not calling back has me worried. Madison, Jeff... There’s only one reason he wouldn’t call by now—he can’t. And why he can’t worries me most.”

  “She’s right about that.” Warny nodded to add weight to his claim.

  “I know.” Paul frowned into his tea.

  One of Paul’s phones rang. “Madison,” he said on answering it.

  He listened for a few minutes, then hung up. His eyes had been serious. Now they were sober.

  “Who’s dead?” Warny asked.

  “Not dead but hurt,” Paul said, letting his gaze slide to Della. “Cray was attacked last night. He’s going to make it, but he was beaten pretty badly.”

  “Who did it?”

  “Unidentified male wearing neon-blue shoes. Cray had run the call and a property check, Della. Jeff doesn’t own a cabin, and the call was relayed from a tower in Panama City.”

  “Why would a call from Tennessee get routed through Panama City?” Warny asked.

  “It didn’t. Panama City was first tower to pick up the call. Jeff was in Panama City when he called Cray.”

  Della shook. She laced her hands in her lap to hide the trembling. “Then I was right. This is Jeff.”

  “Looks entirely possible.”

  The same sense of betrayal she’d felt at the airport flooded her, but it didn’t sink in and take hold. He’d been revealed. She sat unharmed, and he’d been revealed. “It’s time for me to go home.”

  “What?”

  “Miss Della, no.”

  “Yes.” She looked at Paul. “Jeff wants to hurt me. I’m not going to put anyone else in his line of fire. Detective Cray could have been killed. Don’t you see? I can’t keep letting other people act as shields for me. Not knowing what he’s capable of doing. I just can’t.”

  “Della, he’s dangerous. You’re not alone.”

  “No, I’m not. But I’m not Maggie, either, Paul. I can’t spend what’s left of my life always looking over my shoulder. I won’t run from him. I just won’t. And I won’t be the reason he blows up your ranch or barn or hurts the rescue animals.”

  “Courageous but not in your best interest, Miss Della.”

  “It’s not courageous. If I run or hide or I’m always looking back over my shoulder, I won’t ever be able to look ahead. I give in to that, Warny, and I’m already dead.”

  Paul frowned. “I’m opposed to this.”

  “Noted.” She stroked his face. “Take me home, Paul.”

  * * *

  He argued with her the entire time she packed her belongings but got nowhere. What was he going to do? She couldn’t just go home and wait for Jeff to attack her, but that’s what she planned to do.

  Paul kept arguing on the drive back to North Bay, until Madison called and said she needed for them to come into the office at Lost, Inc., and consult.

  He’d find reinforcements there who could be more persuasive. Della had dug in her heels and wouldn’t budge. She was being noble. Taking all the risks and dangers on herself, pushing him and Warny and Jake, the rescued horses and the ranch, and everyone at Lost, Inc., out of her stalker’s range. Her intentions were honorable, but he failed to make her see they were shortsighted, too.

  Yet—his chest warmed—Warny had heard her praying. Not for herself, for Paul.

  That moved him. Touched him. Warny and Maggie were likely the only two people who ever had prayed for him in his whole life.

  That offered him hope. She more than cared about him. Maybe even loved him, though she might not yet realize it. But Della Jackson wouldn’t pray to God unless she believed He existed and she wouldn’t pray to Him for Paul’s protection unless she felt He was capable of granting that protection. He could logically conclude that somehow Della had found her way back to God.

  That awed him. For her, for them. So, while worried sick about this stalker—it had to be Jeff—Paul was also nearly overcome with gratitude.

  “Why does Madison want to touch base in person?” Della asked. “She said to stay away from here.”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “You called her and told her what you found by the stream and prodded her to tell you to tell me she wanted to consult.” She laid a steady glare on him. “You called in backup to get me to stay put.”

  Caught red-handed, he had no choice but to confess. “Yes.” His face burned.

  Della smiled, pecked a kiss to his cheek. “I adore you.”

  Much, much better than the ear blistering he expected. She was nearly as good at it as Mrs. Renault. Glad to be spared, he smiled back at her. “I adore you, too.” He clasped her chin in his hand. “Della, I—”

  “I know. You’re worried.” She pressed her lips to his hand. “Me, too. But it’ll work out as it’s supposed to, right?”

  “It is what it is.” He sighed. “But that doesn’t give us a license not to do all we can do to be smart about what we do.”

  “Exactly.” She unclicked her seat belt. “Let’s go get this done.”

  Paul frowned. The odds of Madison having any better luck than he’d had were a million to none. Not one. None.

  * * *

  “Ah, good, Della. You’re here. Hello, Paul.” Mrs. Renault came out from behind her desk and locked the door leading outside. “They’re all waiting in the conference room.”

  “She knows I called,” Paul told Mrs. Renault.

  “Of course she does. She’s stubborn, dear, not stupid.” Mrs. Renault’s tweed skirt swished against her calves. “Your objections will have to wait, Della. Madison just took a call from the detective. She’s got news.”

  They rushed upstairs and into the conference room. Doc and Jimmy sat in their usual chairs, and Madison sat in hers at the head of the table. “Della. Paul.”

  “What did Cray say?” Della asked before Paul could.

  “Don’t bother sitting down,” Madison said, gaining her feet. “The clerk at The Shipping Store in Panama City—”

  “Sammy,” Della said.

  Madison nodded. “He got worried after you guys were there. So he’s been reviewing the security tapes. He’s captured a photo of the woman who shipped the package. Della, she looks just like you.”

  “Did he send it to you?” Paul asked.

  “He refused. I think he’s afraid of having to testify. But Mrs. Renault knows
the owner and he sent it to her.”

  Mrs. Renault pulled a photo out of a file and passed it over to Della. “Here you go.”

  Paul leaned over her shoulder and he and Della studied the photo. “She does look a lot like me.”

  Madison agreed. “But she’s not nearly so interesting as something else in the photo. Look closely.”

  Paul slowed his scan and saw what Madison meant. Just outside the door, clipping the very edge of the camera’s frame, he spotted the toe tips of a pair of shoes. They were neon blue.

  “It’s him.” Surprise streaked through him and he pivoted his gaze to Madison. “He was there, watching.”

  “Which makes the identity of the woman all the more significant, doesn’t it?”

  “It does.” Paul frowned and asked Madison, “So who is she? Do you know?”

  “We do now.” Madison looked at Della. “Care to guess?”

  Della winced. “The Christmas bride.”

  Paul groaned. “Jeff’s fiancée?”

  Mrs. Renault pulled out a second photograph, passed it to Della. “Meet Tamela Baker soon-to-be Jackson.”

  At first glance, it had to be like Della was looking into a mirror. But with a more serious look, subtle differences became evident. Tamela Baker’s eyes were wider set, her mouth fuller, her jaw a touch more square. And Della certainly didn’t have a butterfly tattoo on her wrist.

  Della snatched up the security camera photo she’d placed on the table and compared them. “The tattoo.”

  “The tattoo,” Madison said, smiling.

  Jimmy let out a heartfelt “Whew. I told you he snapped.”

  “Yes, you did.” Della’s eyes burned. A tear leaked from her eye.

  It startled her coworkers and Madison.

  Paul mouthed, Don’t notice.

  She tossed the photo onto the table. “Excuse me.” Della rushed from the conference room.

  Paul started to go after her.

  Mrs. Renault stopped him. “Give her a minute.”

  “But she’s crying,” he protested.

  “She’s healing, Paul.”

  “It’s so time.” Madison got misty. “When she comes back, you two return to the ranch. Even if he knows Della is there, it’s still safer than anywhere else. We’ll get a protection detail out there.”

  “I’m all for that, but she’s insisting on going home to protect everyone else.”

  Madison pursed her lips. “I agree with her. She can’t run. How can she ever have a life if she’s busy running all the time? It’s like with Maggie. He’ll torment her forever, and that’s just no kind of life.”

  “So she makes herself bait?” That was not happening. Paul didn’t like the way this was going. “No.” Agitated, he didn’t bother trying to hide the fact. “Where’s Deaver?”

  “Proving his loyalty. He’s gone to see Talbot and Dayton. It’s a fishing expedition to see if he can get anything helpful out of them.” Madison wrinkled her nose. “I’m still not sure I trust Grant, but he didn’t sell us out on the Seaside setup, so...frankly, I’m still on the fence.”

  “Which is the safest place to be at the moment,” Mrs. Renault said, taking a seat at the table. “So, does the detective have people checking hotels and rentals for Jeff and Tamela Baker?”

  “Yes, but it’s going to take some time,” Madison said. “There’s one we’ve been able to eliminate.”

  “The one where Cray was attacked,” Paul offered.

  “Yes.” Madison looked at Mrs. Renault. “Is there any one place that would connect to Della?”

  “Several.” She scanned her notebook. “Seascape on Highway 98. They stayed there in a house-hunting trip when she was assigned to the base here. Ramada resort on the island—family vacation a year earlier. Several overnight stays at Holiday Inn, usually for their New Year’s Eve celebrations. And out at Delta Pointe with Jeff’s parents, his sister and her family. He left a comment on the survey that he didn’t want to leave.”

  “Maybe he came back,” Madison said. “Get that information to Cray, please. And run a courtesy check on rentals in Delta Pointe.”

  Mrs. Renault nodded. “Jimmy, your assistance, please.”

  They left the conference room together.

  Madison faced Paul. “There’s one other thing to report. When Beech swept Vet Net the second time, he also swept here. He found a listening device planted in my office.”

  “Grant?” Paul asked.

  “At first, I thought so.” Her face burned red. “But we ran the clock, and during the window of opportunity the night our tires were slashed, he was down in the alley. Beech suspects someone helping with the flat tires the night of the festival planted the device.”

  “Surely not Jack Sampson.”

  “No. He was at Addie’s when he took the call that we needed the tires fixed. A man there with experience helped. Jack didn’t see the harm.”

  “Jeff’s dad owned a repair shop and station,” Paul said, recalling that from a conversation with Della. “He fixed flats all through high school.”

  Madison nodded. “We think it was him, and he was watching.” She kept checking the door. “I’ll feel better when you two are back at the ranch. It’s still safest. We’ll contact you as soon as we’ve located him.”

  Paul stayed stone-faced, but his eyes were a dead giveaway. “We should go to Delta Pointe and look around. It wouldn’t take long.” The area wasn’t that big. A couple hundred properties.

  “Don’t you dare. He catches a glimpse of you there and he’ll run so far, so fast we won’t have any idea where he is.”

  Madison made perfect sense. “Okay. Then it’s back to the ranch, provided she agrees.”

  “Don’t worry. She will. Like Mrs. Renault said, Della’s stubborn, not—”

  “Madison, she’s gone.” Mrs. Renault rushed into the room. “Della’s gone.”

  “How?” She had ridden with him.

  “Your SUV is gone, too.”

  Madison fished her keys from her pocket and tossed them to Paul. “Take the Jag.”

  He caught them. “I’m half tempted to put a rope on that woman.”

  “You find her and I’ll help you.” Madison stood up. “We’ll notify Cray.”

  “She’s probably gone home,” Mrs. Renault said. “Offering herself as bait.”

  “Not yet,” Paul said. “Not until she’s sure we’re not looking for her there.” He headed out the door. “She could go to Miss Addie’s. She and Gracie are still out of town.” Hopefully Jeff didn’t know that.

  “She was crying.” Mrs. Renault shouted down the stairs, “Check the beach!”

  “Right.” Paul pushed the back door open, sprinted to the Jag, got in, cranked the engine and sped out of the parking lot.

  Jeff had gone this far; he would go further. He’d go all the way.

  And that put Della in grave danger.

  ELEVEN

  Della drove into a Starbucks drive-through, ordered her favorite and then pulled into a strip mall’s parking lot to drink it while she thought through her plan.

  Paul would be worried, and she hated that. But standing in the conference room, looking at the photo of Jeff’s Christmas bride, Della saw one thing was too clear—he was marrying her again. They could have been twins. And that terrified Della. He’d definitely snapped, and there was no way he’d let her live and mess up the altered reality he’d created in his mind. But why would he do that? The only reason that came to mind was that he wanted to recreate what had happened—and effect a different outcome.

  The coffee burned going down her throat. Better Paul worried than got caught in the cross fire—and the same for all the people who had come forward to surround her with their protection.

  A couple walked past to their car, holding hands, talking.

  In her mind, a snippet of conversation between her and Paul replayed.

  “Are you okay?” he’d asked.

  “No. But I will be.” She’d clasped his hand. “I’m
sorry. I hate that you’ve been dragged into this.”

  “Della, where you are, I am. You didn’t do this any more than you...”

  “Killed Danny?”

  He nodded.

  “I know.”

  Paul had swiveled his gaze from the road to her. “You’re different. What’s happened?”

  “Your ranch is a special place, Paul. I’m peaceful here. I can be still and not feel empty.”

  She’d told him she’d made peace with God. He hadn’t said a word, but tears glittered in his eyes. And at that moment, she knew love was possible. Until that moment, she believed it was lost to her forever, but in that instant she saw the truth. Love wasn’t lost, just misplaced for a time. With all its ups and downs and trials and triumphs, with all its tender and rash moments, it was back. Her heart was full of love for Paul.

  A warm flood of gratitude had emanated from deep within and spread through her entire body then, and it did again now.

  No way was Jeff tainting that.

  So she’d stolen Paul’s SUV and run.

  And now—she sipped from her coffee—all she had to do was lie low a couple of hours, until dark, then return to the cottage and wait for Jeff.

  That he’d come after her she had no doubt.

  A man walked by carrying an infant, holding the hand of a toddler girl with pigtails and a happy jack-o’-lantern on her shirt. His hair was the same color as Jeff’s when the sun hit it. A car started backing out and the father shouted, “Hey, stop! Stop!” He thrust the infant forward as far as his arms would reach. “Can’t you see me here with my kids?”

  Mentally, she flashed back to an argument between Jeff and their next-door neighbor. He’d been outraged at the man for parking his truck on the grass a foot over the property line. He’d been belligerent; his voice had carried through the house and had her running out into the yard to see what was wrong.

  Jeff surprised her, stunned her, that day. His behavior was too far over the line. The neighbor had taken serious exception to Jeff’s belligerance, and the shouting match escalated. When the neighbor came charging at Jeff, he’d jerked her nearly off her feet, thrust her between them as the man just did with his baby.