by Lisa Jackson
Using his handkerchief, he picked up a tiara. It looked familiar. Had Jenna worn something like this in Innocence Lost, when she’d played the teenaged prostitute? Were the earrings like those that had sparkled in the ears of Paris Knowlton, the role Jenna had played in Beneath the Shadows?
Carter had seen enough of her movies recently. He should remember. He checked his watch and frowned. He’d stayed too late.
He started to leave, the beam of his flashlight illuminating the videos and DVDs, titles he equated with porn or Jenna Hughes. Wes Allen’s very private theater. Carter hated to think what Wes did while he watched.
He was about to leave when the beam of his flashlight slid over a black video case that didn’t have a printed spine. His gut slammed hard against his diaphragm. A labeler had been used to identify the homemade film: CAROLYN.
“Shit!” Carter reached for the video, intent on putting it into his pocket or smashing it into a million pieces. But he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to nail Wes, and damn it, he wanted to nail Wes Allen in the worst possible way. If for nothing else, then the pornography. Curiosity about what was on the damn tape burned through his brain and his guts ground.
He couldn’t compromise the collar. Couldn’t.
But he slipped the video into his pocket.
It was time to get the hell out of here.
A sound pierced the silence. The deep, rumbling sound of a truck’s engine. Getting closer.
Hell!
He quickly slipped out of the room, slapped the light switch off with a gloved hand, closed the door behind him, and managed to click the lock closed. He was halfway across the basement when he stopped short. The truck was close, the engine growling ever louder. Through the crack in the cellar door, he saw lights flashing. Headlights sweeping across the exterior of the farmhouse. From Wes Allen’s truck.
Carter froze.
Pressed himself back against the wall.
He heard the engine die, the pickup’s door creak open, and the sound of Wes trudging through the snow toward the house.
Carter held his breath as the footsteps clomped up the steps to the back porch, paused for a second, then walked inside, the floorboards groaning directly above Carter’s head.
Go on in, Wes, turn on the news…check your e-mail…or go on up to bed…sleep it off.
But the footsteps overhead stopped in the kitchen.
No sound at all came from the house.
As if Wes had felt something in the air. Had sensed someone had been in his house.
Carter heard another soft scrape. The sound of a drawer opening? Oh, crap, was Wes intending to visit his private viewing room?
Carter still had the key ring on him. If Wes was looking for his keys…oh, shit. He couldn’t panic. Had to figure a way out of his. Wes shuffled a bit, swore. Searching for keys that were missing?
If you don’t do something, he’s going to come down here and you’ll be trapped.
Slowly, Carter extracted his cell phone from his pocket. Sweating despite the freezing temperature, he turned the phone on and muted it. He pressed BJ’s number.
She answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Call Wes Allen,” Carter whispered.
“What?”
“It’s Carter. Call Wes Allen at home. Tell him you saw someone lurking around his shop in town. He needs to get down there. Pronto. You’ve called me, and I’m going to meet him there. You have another emergency you have to cover.”
“Carter? What the hell are you talking about?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
The floorboards were creaking overhead. “What the fuck?” Wes growled.
“Just do it. Now!” Carter whispered harshly into his cell, then rattled off Wes Allen’s number.
“Can’t you?” she demanded, then said, “Fine…but you owe me.” BJ sounded miffed.
Carter snapped off his phone. Hardly dared breathe in the damp, frigid basement. He could have put in the call to Wes himself, but it wouldn’t have allowed him enough time to beat Wes to the shop. Someone else had to have made the call—that someone was BJ. This way, if Wes took the bait, everyone’s ass was covered.
Overhead, Wes walked out the door again, his boots ringing on the floorboards of the porch.
Come on…come on…call, damn it…
Wes was getting closer.
For God’s sake, BJ, call!
The footsteps were near the cellar door; any minute, Wes would notice the lock was open.
Rrrriiinnnnggg!
Carter waited, listening hard. Nothing.
Again the phone rang. The footsteps stopped dead in their tracks.
Answer the phone, Wes. Answer the damned phone.
“Jesus.” Wes began running, over the snow, up the steps. The back door opened as the phone jangled again. Carter, standing just below the floorboards, heard it all.
“Hello!” Wes’s voice was irritated as the door slammed shut behind him. “What?…Who is this? My shop?…The alarm didn’t go off…isn’t that your job? Oh, hell. Yeah…thanks. I’ll check it out.” Wes hung up, swore, and flew out the door. Carter heard him running to his rig, the door of his truck opening and closing, and the engine finally firing.
Carter sagged against the wall and reminded himself to send BJ flowers or take her to a ball game or something.
Tires spun. The truck roared down the drive. Carter gave himself two minutes, just in case Wes had second thoughts; then he hurried out of the basement, locked up, deposited Wes’s key ring in the drawer behind some bottle openers, and let himself out. After locking the door securely behind him with Carolyn’s key, he took off, running up the hill and through the woods in the oversized boots. It had started snowing again, hard, which was damned lucky. His tracks would be covered before daylight.
CHAPTER 37
“I can’t, not tonight,” Cassie whispered from her bed. It was late. What was Josh thinking, calling after midnight. “And don’t argue with me, okay? I’m not going to let you tell me what to do.”
“So you can let your mom control you.”
“I said, ‘Don’t go there.’”
“Okay, but what about tomorrow? There’s a party.”
“I can’t. Look, Josh, don’t do this, okay?”
“But I love you, Cass, you know it.”
Do I? “I can’t risk it.”
“Tomorrow. We can go earlier. There’s another candlelight vigil for Ian’s mom—you could say that you wanted to go. I just want to see you again.”
“I don’t know…” But there was a part of her that needed to get out, away from these four walls with a tense mom, dorky sister, and watchful bodyguard.
“Think about it,” Josh said, and hung up.
Cassie bit her lower lip and looked out the window. Would the damned snow never quit? It was true she was bored to tears and her mom and her were getting on each other’s nerves. Big time.
She’d nearly broken up with Josh…and had had second thoughts.
But to sneak out using the excuse of going to a candlelight vigil for Lynnetta Swaggert? How lame was that? How slimy?
She flung herself back against the covers and fought tears.
Her life was shit.
“I will come for you…” a disembodied voice whispered over the frozen terrain. Snowflakes, tiny beads of ice, rained from a moonless sky.
The voice seemed to resonate from everywhere—the mountains, the river rushing by, the dark forest.
“Who are you?” Jenna cried, scared out of her wits. She was running as fast as she could, gulping terrified breaths of cold air and looking over her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever it was that was following her. She saw nothing, but he was there, chasing her, following her every move. She sensed him. Felt him. Knew he was chasing her.
There was no escape and yet she ran, her bare feet slipping on the hoar-frosted ground, her tight black dress, binding, restraining her from running faster.
“Jenna…Jennnnnnnaaaaa.”
She died a thousand deaths at the sound of his voice. It seemed to come from everywhere. “Who are you?” she demanded, as the wind whipped through her hair and clawed at her face.
“You know.”
“I don’t!” Her legs were like dead weights, dragging her deeper into the snow, her dress ripping and peeling away as, frantic, she scrambled among the headstones, forcing herself through the snowflakes that stung as they pelted her skin.
The voice whispered against her ear, “I am everyman.” Deep, male, and guttural, it echoed through the cemetery.
“Leave me alone.” She tripped over a short stone wall that had been hidden in the snow.
“Wait for me…”
“Leave me the hell alone!” she screamed, turning to facenothing. No ogre. No wraith. No horrid creature stalking her. The snowflakes continued to fall and spin and dance in the night.
“You are my woman…”
“I’m no one’s woman, you fiend.” She turned to run again, but something grabbed her from below, holding her fast, strong fingers curling around her ankle. Glancing down, Jenna found herself staring into the upturned face of Lynnetta Swaggert.
Lynnetta, her hair combed, an angelic halo seeming to glow around her as she lay upon the snow, smiled blissfully upward, and said, “You’ll tear your dress, Jenna.” Blue eyes clouded with worry. “Be careful. I can’t mend it for you any longer.”
“Lynnetta! Thank God you’re all right.”
But Lynnetta’s beatific smile turned evil. “Sensual…strong…erotic…” Lynnetta repeated, as if she’d memorized the words.
“What are you doing here? Who brought you?” Jenna demanded.
“You are everywoman.”
“Like hell!”
“Tsk, tsk. This is your destiny.”
“Destiny? No…” In a full-blown panic, Jenna looked around at the crumbling headstones, the thick night closing in. “I’ve got no destiny.”
“Of course, you do. I’m talking about God, Jenna,” Lynnetta said. “He’s the only door to salvation.”
“God is no part of this.”
“He works in mysterious ways.”
“That’s bull, Lynnetta.”
“Where are your clothes?”
“What?” Jenna looked down and discovered that she was naked. The black sheath was no longer wrapped around her body and she was cold…so damned cold…shivering. Sharp bits of sleet bit at her skin, leaving tiny red welts upon her flesh. “I don’t know.”
“You’d best find them, naughty, sinful girl. Tsk, tsk, Jenna. Shame on you. Making those filthy films…” Lynnetta’s peaceful smile faltered and she was gone; in her place was dirty snow, piled high around a tombstone.
With horrified eyes, Jenna read the inscription:
Cassandra Lynn Kramer, beloved daughter.
What! Her heart hammered painfully. Cassie? No!
“No, no, no!” she cried, hyperventilating, tears streaming down her face…
Jenna’s eyes flew open.
Darkness surrounded her as the nightmare slithered into the darkest corners of her subconscious. “My God,” she whispered, swiping the tears from her eyes.
She was home.
In her own bed.
Safe.
Her heartbeat slowed as she caught her breath. And then sensed it. A presence. Dark and evil…as if someone had been standing over her, watching her writhe painfully through the nightmare. But that was impossible; probably her own mind playing tricks upon her, the remnants of the chilling, grotesque dream. Her skin prickled in fear, and she strained to listen for the sound of shallow breathing, or the scrape of a shoe against the floor. She heard nothing out of place, just the howl of the wind shrilling over the eaves and the creak of old timbers settling onto the frozen foundation.
Yet there was a shift in the air, something amiss, the cool breath of some living creature’s wake.
Don’t do this to yourself, she reprimanded, as she rolled quietly from beneath the covers and grabbed the robe she’d tossed over the footboard. Heart thudding wildly, she made her way to the hallway, and by the feeble glow of the nightlight, she climbed the few stairs to the next floor where the hardwood was cold against her feet and the air seemed to stir without reason.
Cassie’s bedroom door was ajar and bluish light flickered from within. Quietly, Jenna pushed the door open and saw her daughter fast asleep on the bed. Cassie’s face appeared innocently soft and unlined, cast in the shimmering pale blue from the muted television. The worries and stresses of her teenaged life had been erased by the peace that comes with sleep.
So far, so good, Jenna thought, as she slowly let out her breath and walked noiselessly to her younger daughter’s bedroom. Carefully, Jenna opened the door and Critter, at the foot of the bed, lifted his furry head. His tail thumped while Allie, disturbed, smacked her lips as she rolled over before burrowing deeper under the covers.
Everyone was safe.
No evil presence was skulking through the halls.
“Jenna?”
She nearly lost control of her bladder.
Gasping, she whirled to find Jake Turnquist, only his head and shoulders visible as he stood on the stairs. “Everything okay?”
Of course not. Does it look like everything’s okay? “Yes…no…I think.” She pushed her hair from her eyes and tried to calm her galloping heart as she walked quickly toward him. Whispering, she said, “I had a bad dream. About Lynnetta. And when I woke up, instead of being relieved, I had the feeling that someone had been in my room, had been standing at the edge of the bed and was staring at me.”
“Maybe you heard me come in.”
“To my room?” She was suddenly wary.
“No. I was downstairs. My flashlight batteries went dead tonight and I didn’t have any replacements. I knew you kept extras in the pantry, so I came in to get some. Maybe you heard the back door open.”
“Maybe,” she said, then shook her head as they walked down the stairs together. “But I don’t think so. I think…Oh, God, am I going insane?” she said, and realized that she couldn’t remember her last, uninterrupted good night’s sleep. Her nerves were frayed and she was close to the breaking point. “That’s it, I’m going crazy.”
“I don’t think so. They say that if you think you’re crazy, then you aren’t. Come on downstairs,” he said tiredly. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll do another perimeter check.”
“Thanks,” she said, and though she sensed his reluctance, he took off for his rounds.
In the den, Jenna turned on the television, yet stared out the windows to the dark, howling night beyond. There was no moonlight. No stars visible. Just the certain, steady fall of snow.
She caught her own pale reflection in the window and watched Jake for as long as he was visible, then waited nearly an hour for him to return. She stoked the fire, heated hot chocolate, scanned yesterday’s newspaper, and half-listened to a late, late talk show, all the while watching the seconds tick off the clock.
Finally the back door opened and Turnquist walked into the house. Brushing snow from his jacket and pants, his face ruddy with the chill from the wind and snow, he looked as tired as she felt.
“Nothing?” Jenna offered him a cup of hot chocolate.
He pulled off his gloves and took the cup gratefully. “Not a damned thing.”
He’d seen no one outside.
Found no evidence of anyone having been on the ranch.
Was certain nothing had been disturbed.
“I guess I’m just paranoid,” she said, feeling like a fool. She’d sent the man out in the bitter cold because of a “feeling” that someone had stood over her bed and watched her as she’d slept so fitfully. And Jake was more than a little ticked, though he tried to hide it. Snow was melting on his stocking cap, and his hands, despite the fact that he’d worn insulated gloves during his rounds, appeared chapped and half-frozen.
“Look, I don’t think you’re crazy, you know that. Bu
t your nerves are shot.” He didn’t say the words kindly as he warmed his hands by the fire, stretching his fingers as if to assure himself that they still worked. “Maybe you should take something to help you sleep.”
“Sleeping pills?”
He looked over his shoulder at her, appraising her with cool blue eyes. “Or Valium, or Prozac, just enough to take the edge off.”
“I think I need ‘the edge’ on.”
He didn’t reply, just picked up his cup and finished the hot chocolate. Outside, the wind tore down the gorge, keening and whistling around the eaves.
“Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“Just doin’ my job,” he said, his voice softening slightly as he carried his cup to the sink. “Go on upstairs and I’ll lock up.”
“Okay. Good night.”
“Is it?” he teased, shaking his head. “Hell, I don’t think so.”
“Me neither.” Smiling at his bad joke, she headed up the stairs to her bedroom, once her sanctuary, now violated. She wondered if she could ever relax in here again. Tossing her robe over the foot of the bed, she yawned. Everyone was here. Safe. She could sleep now.
She glanced over at her dresser and noticed the jewelry box. Had it moved? Get over yourself, Jenna. Go to sleep.
But as she stared at the box, she noticed one of its small drawers wasn’t completely closed.
Had she left it that way?
When was the last time she’d opened it?
She couldn’t remember.
Oh, for God’s sake, Jenna, the drawer’s not completely shut—so what? Are you going to freak out over every little thing? Jake’s right—you need drugs or something to calm yourself down! Disgusted with herself, she reached for the lamp, then decided to close the damned drawer. She walked to the bureau and looked into the box.