by Nina Pierce
“No, just the same old same old.” Meghan paused on the brick walk and turned back to him, bumping her head with the heel of her hand. “That’s not true. An old classmate of yours came by last week looking to book a wedding. All this stuff going on with Daddy. I completely forgot to tell you.”
Guilt clawed at his throat, and he swallowed hard, but it didn’t help ease the tension working to bring up his lunch. “Oh, yeah?” The words came out as casually as he’d hoped. “Someone from the university?”
Meghan slid through the passenger door Peter held open. “No, high school or something. She said her name was…” Meghan paused in thought. “Her name was Sarah.”
Peter inhaled deeply, relief sweeping the tension from his taut muscles. He was getting paranoid over nothing.
“Pretty lady,” Meghan continued. “She had the most incredible long, blond hair.”
Peter turned and threw up in the bushes.
* * * *
Crystal had spent the afternoon making the final arrangements. Everything was set, and finally things were falling into place. It couldn’t be working out any better. One more day in Maine, then back to Boston for her usual weekend routine at the hotel.
The hospital was quiet in the late afternoon. Most patients napped, and families stepped out to get early dinners or run errands. Crystal hoped that was the case with John Tilling’s family. As she moved through the ACU, she reprimanded herself for coming up here. What she needed to do didn’t include John, but after he’d whispered so hopefully in her ear this morning, she’d grown quite fond of the father-figure.
Chancing one more look around, she slipped into his room and grabbed the chart.
The beep of the monitor reassured the staff that his heart was working normally, but put Crystal on edge. Each breath was measured with the whoosh of the oxygen. Two IV bags hung next to his bed, and she stepped up and checked the labels. Saline solution. Just as she expected.
“What are you doing here?”
Crystal jumped as an older doctor waddled into the room. Other than trespassing, she wasn’t technically doing anything wrong, but guilt at being caught in a stranger’s room brought heat to her face.
“I, umm … was leaving for the day, but wanted to check on one of my patients.” That was a lie, but hopefully this doctor wouldn’t question the credentials hanging from the pocket of her white coat.
John Tilling stirred at their voices, but didn’t wake.
“I don’t recognize you; are you a new resident?” The white-haired gentleman with the piercing blue eyes offered her an out.
“I am.”
“Have you been assigned this case?”
“I haven’t, but I understand…” She flipped open the chart, scanning the latest notes, praying she’d find what she was looking for. “—that Mr. Tilling is suffering from selenium poisoning.”
“Hmmff.” He pushed past her and studied the paper flowing from the EKG. “More likely a bad ticker and old age. But no one seems to agree with my diagnosis.”
She wanted to disagree, but arguing with a doctor on staff didn’t seem prudent.
“Oh, Dr. McCarty. Stopping in to see your patient?” The doctor entering the room smiled at them both. Crystal immediately handed the dark-haired woman John’s chart.
“Dr. Dixon.” The older gentleman acknowledged the Chief of Staff with a curt nod of his head and a plastic smile. “John seems to be holding his own with your new therapy.”
At the sound of his name, John’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked several times, bringing them into focus. “Ah, my two favorite physicians and my guardian angel.” He reached out a gnarled hand, and Crystal took it in hers. “I hear I have you to thank for my diagnosis.”
Heat filled her cheeks. All Crystal wanted to do was leave. This was not the low profile she had intended to keep here at the hospital. “Dr. Dixon’s the one you need to thank, Mr. Tilling. She ran all the tests.”
“Sarah’s being a bit modest, Mr. Tilling. All the credit goes to her,” Dixon said as she flipped the pages in the chart. “Actually I’m surprised to see you here, Sarah. Didn’t you say you were headed back to Boston tonight?”
Crystal had told the Chief of Staff that very fact just this afternoon at her acceptance interview. Her residency with Bangor Hospital would begin after the first of the year. But she had no intention of leaving Delmont until she finished her business with Peter. “Actually, I was just leaving. I just wanted to see how Mr. Tilling was doing.” She hoped the lie wasn’t as obvious at it sounded.
“Well, you two seem to have some business to discuss, and three doctors appear to be a bit of a crowd.” Dr. McCarty scooted around Crystal, stopping momentarily at the door. “John, I think they’ve got you on the mend. I’ll see you in another couple days. And then we’ll make arrangements to get you transferred back to Delmont.” With an absent wave over his shoulder, Dr. McCarty left.
“Too bad you have to leave, Sarah.” Dr. Dixon replaced the chart at the foot of the bed and smiled. Crystal had instantly liked the Chief of Staff and was looking forward to beginning work with the friendly woman.
“I’m sure the rest of the Tilling clan would like to thank you,” Dr. Dixon said.
“Thanks aren’t necessary.” Crystal smiled, knowing the Tillings would meet her soon enough.
* * * *
Meghan set the last of the Christmas bouquets in the cooler and used the safety handle to secure the new door. The workman had installed it on Tuesday. One day was all it had taken. She had no idea why she’d waited so long and let such a dangerous thing fester. There was no way anyone was getting locked in there again. Least of all—her.
Grabbing the broom, she swept up the pile of debris that had accumulated over the busy afternoon. It seemed everyone in Delmont was hunkering down for the storm that was expected tonight and had shown up at her business earlier in the afternoon. Chelsea had even stayed late to help with the onslaught. Now, at a quarter after five, the quiet had settled with the sun. Peter would be here shortly to pick her up.
Peter. He had acted very odd this morning after they’d come home from the hospital. She was sure she hadn’t misinterpreted the lust in his eyes, but he’d shut down so quickly after she’d thanked him for the flogger. Maybe it was too much too soon. They’d only begun to explore the interesting possibilities of bondage and submission. She rather liked the idea of being whipped. Finding the flogger this morning in the back seat of her car had eased the tension of the potentially disastrous event of being locked in the garage with a running car.
Meghan sighed and retrieved the dust pan, sweeping the bits of ribbon and flower stems up and depositing them in the trash. Still, Peter had been oddly insistent she ride with him to and from work. The car situation had shaken him more than she expected. Though she was grateful he’d be the one driving in the snowstorm, she would rather have seen him head back to bed. Obviously, he’d come down with the flu over the past day. Peter wasn’t prone to vomiting and most certainly not in the driveway.
The bells over the door jingled.
Setting the broom in its holder by the office door, she went out to greet her customer. Just as well someone had come in. She needed something to pass the last hour.
“Hello again, Meghan.” Sarah wound her way slowly through the decorated trees, her mouth curved in an artificial smile. “Do you remember me?”
The ominous question crawled across the back of Meghan’s neck, raising the tiny hairs as it went. “Sarah, is it?” She swallowed hard, trying to remember where her cell phone was. The way the woman moved through the shop as if scoping it out put Meghan immediately on edge.
“Not many customers tonight?” Sarah lilted her voice up to turn her statement into a question.
“People are always dropping in.” Meghan was pleased her voice was steady. She wanted to sound like she wasn’t as truly alone as she felt. “Peter’s coming to pick me up in a minute or two.” She paused, not sure how to make the lie convinc
ing. “I mentioned you were here, and he wondered what school you went to.”
Sarah craned her neck around the counter, checking the back work area. “That doesn’t matter at the moment.” She shot a glance out the front window. Only her car was parked in the lot, the bright beams of the front headlights making eerie shadows on the arrangements displayed there. “We won’t be here when Peter shows up.”
Meghan had no idea why she referred to herself in the plural. “Oh, did you stop in to pick up some bridal bouquet books?”
“No, Meghan, I came for you.”
Chapter 12
Peter pushed the SUV as fast as he dared through the blinding snow. The storm had started only thirty minutes ago, but the lazy flakes floating to earth had quickly become a wind-driven blur of white. The weather stations had said only flurries and scant accumulation, but already an inch of greasy snow had collected on the road, making the driving that much more hazardous. Peter’s headlights tunneled through the darkness from his Bangor office to the shop, turning the flakes of snow into a dizzying vortex of white points of light.
His gut told him something was terribly wrong. He’d called Meghan twice this afternoon, but Chelsea had said she was too busy to talk and would call him back. She hadn’t. Now the friggin’ battery of his cell had died, and he had no way of calling Meghan to tell her he was on his way. He plowed restless fingers through his hair, hoping his discomfort was nothing more than paranoia.
He looked down at the flogger on the seat next to him. This was not what he’d intended when he’d sought out the Internet relationship with Crystal. Why would she follow him to Maine and start digging around in his real life? He hadn’t even talked to her face-to-face, for chrissake. Obviously, she’d found out where he lived. Peter’s stomach clenched. Instinct told him it had been her at the hospital; now he wondered if she was somehow behind all of Meghan’s recent disasters.
Tonight he’d tell Meghan everything and decide if her recent misfortunes were more than coincidences. Perhaps they should go to the police. But if he did that there would be an investigation, and the whole thing would embarrass the Tillings. They didn’t need that right now with John in the hospital. No. He’d have a talk with Ayden. Deirdre’s fiancé might be DEA, but surely he’d know how to handle a potential stalker.
Worry coiled around his belly, pushing acid into his throat as he pulled into the parking lot of Tilling Gardens and Plants. The dashboard clock read 5:42, but the lights were already turned down for the evening. Peter shoved the SUV into park and jumped out, sliding through several inches of snow to the front door. If anyone had been here, their footprints had been swept away.
He tried the door. Locked.
Perhaps Meghan had closed the shop early, but was waiting for him out back. He cupped his hands around his eyes, peering through the glass. There were no lights on in the work area.
He didn’t want to believe something had happened to her, but as the minutes continued to accumulate without word from her, so did his fear.
* * * *
Meghan sat in the backseat of Sarah’s car, trying to make sense of this insane situation. Sarah drove recklessly through the storm to an unknown destination. But it was Sarah’s passenger who was calling the shots at the moment.
With her hands bound uncomfortably behind her back with a thick rope, Meghan was having a hard time getting comfortable. The seat belt Sarah had fastened too tightly now dug into the soft flesh of her neck. Panic squeezed her throat and made it hard to draw breath. Meghan shivered uncomfortably, both from the cold and the terror gripping her heart. She hadn’t been allowed to grab her winter coat, and the thin red cotton T-shirt she wore did nothing to stave off the winter air.
“Please … please tell me why you’re doing this.”
The blue eyes that stared back at her were cold and without emotion. “Oh, Meghan, my dear, I’ve got such wonderful things planned for you.” The syrupy voice dripped malice. “I’ve had just about enough of the Tilling clan, and since your father refused to die, you will take his place in my plans.”
She had never heard him speak this way—had no idea misery could turn a person into a killer. But the gun Doc McCarty pointed at Sarah communicated so much more than words.
* * * *
“No, Meghan doesn’t know any of this.” Peter paced around the kitchen of the family homestead, unable to handle the jittery pull of his frayed nerves.
Ayden sat calmly at the kitchen table, his hands folded in front of him. The man’s police training was obvious as he sat listening without apparent judgment to Peter’s account of his salacious activities over the past several months. It had been over forty minutes since he’d found his house empty and come here. An hour had passed since leaving the shop, and he had to wonder how far Crystal could get in this weather.
At this point, Peter believed Crystal had taken Meghan, and he had nowhere else to turn. He’d told Deirdre and Ayden everything—well, nearly everything. He didn’t want to go to the police just yet. Hopefully Ayden could mobilize some of his men from the DEA to find Meghan. He was a professional, and keeping assignments a secret was his specialty.
Deirdre, on the other hand, was acting like any overprotective sister. “Holy shit, Peter. You go surfing for some second-rate hooker on the Internet…” She stalked up to him, her nose only a breath from his. “—then show up here telling us you’ve put my sister at risk?” Her finger pounded into his chest with each word.
He didn’t retaliate. She was right. He’d screwed up.
“Deirdre.” Ayden’s even tone stopped her tirade. A subtle nod of his head and she dropped into the chair next to him in a huff. “Peter, what makes you think this woman is here?” he asked.
He hadn’t wanted to show them, but he had no choice. Peter returned to his coat hung on a hook by the back door and pulled the flogger from the sleeve where he’d hidden it. He threw the offensive object on the table as if it were an evil talisman. “This belongs to her. She left it in Meghan’s car.”
“A fucking flogger?” Deirdre jumped from the chair. “I knew it! You’re cheating on my sister with a fucking masochistic whore!” Her hand moved so fast, Peter was unprepared for the sting of pain as her fist connected squarely with his jaw. “You cheating bastard. I’ll have your balls…”
Peter was sure she would have been good with the threat—or worse—if Ayden hadn’t jumped from his chair and grabbed her from behind. He swung her flailing hands and feet away from Peter.
“Deirdre, this isn’t helping Meghan,” Ayden said as he set her on the floor. His hands had a firm grip on her arms, and he bent, daring to stare down her angry glare boring into him. “Calm down and let’s figure this out. Once we find your sister, I’ll help you skin him myself. Until then…”
“You both have it wrong,” Peter said softly, his hand cradling his sore jaw. “I haven’t been completely honest.”
“What? Is your little girlfriend pregnant?”
Ayden clamped his hand over Deirdre’s mouth.
“Oh, fuck you, Deirdre. I didn’t sleep with her.”
Both of them turned to him. Their confused looks would have been comical if the situation wasn’t so serious.
“I’m pretty sure Crystal’s my biological sister.”
* * * *
Sarah had no idea how she’d gotten herself into this mess. All she’d wanted was to find her place in this world. Someone to call family. Who would have thought her search for her older brother would find her here on a desolate back road in Maine with a crazed old man holding a gun to her head?
Snow fell so hard she could barely see, let alone keep the Beemer on the road. Meghan was doing a good job distracting the old geezer. Hopefully, in the end the woman could convince him not to harm them. Sarah had no idea how she and Meghan were both tied to this man, but perhaps talking with him could shed some light on how a kindly country doctor could tip over the edge of lunacy.
“You love my parents, Doc,” Meghan sai
d.
A derisive laugh puffed his cheeks. “Your father stole my life forty years ago.” He waved the gun. “Turn here. And you need to slow down, Miss Sarah. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you two.” He laughed, a maniacal sound that rent the air.
It was the same grating sound that had greeted her outside the Bangor Hospital when the doctor had forced Sarah into her car at gunpoint. She couldn’t even imagine what he planned to do with her. He’d done nothing but yell at her in nonsensical snippets as they’d driven to the floral shop and taken Meghan hostage at gunpoint. Dr. McCarty had stayed hidden behind a Christmas tree at the shop, but kept the gun aimed at them both. Sarah had hoped to run out the back, but leaving Meghan at the mercy of an insane man hadn’t seemed fair.
When Meghan had balked at going anywhere, he’d waved the gun in her face, forced Sarah to tie Meghan’s hands before shoving the poor woman into the backseat. Sarah could only hope Meghan would figure out it was a bondage knot meant to release with a gentle tug on the end she’d slipped into her palm. She still had no idea why the man wanted the two of them.
“My father was your best friend,” Meghan continued in a voice filled with sadness.
“My friend? My friend?” The words vibrated with anger, his face contorting into a sinister mask of hatred. He spat the words out through clenched teeth. “He took the only woman I have ever loved from me! What kind of friend does that?” He shifted in the seat to face Meghan, the dashboard lights shimmering in the unshed tears rimming his eyes.
“But you had a wonderful life with your wife,” Meghan whispered.
“That bitch tricked me into marriage. Got pregnant with my faggot of a son. Jason never was the man I wanted him to be. He was always a mama’s boy. Even a trained professional couldn’t turn him into a man. His own fucking man-whore couldn’t stand him in the end and killed him.”
Meghan gasped. “You’re wrong. He was a wonderful son and friend.”
Sarah had no idea of whom they spoke, but the doctor’s last declaration had obviously cut Meghan deeply as soft sobs broke through her words.