by Nancy Bush
A door squeaked open at the end of the hall and Claire nearly jumped out of her skin. Stone made silent note of her discomfort, then turned to look in the same direction.
“What makes you think Cat’s from Siren Song?” she asked quickly, seeking to regain his attention.
“A number of things.” He quickly gave her a rundown of his interview with Cade Worster, finishing with, “Rafe Worster’s the homicide victim. Stands to reason Jane Doe could be from this Colony, or whatever.”
“Have you told them? The Colony members?”
“Oh, sure. I walked right in and sat down with Catherine and the girls. We just talked and talked and talked.”
Claire forced herself not to look directly down the hall, but in her peripheral vision she got a quick look at Heyward and Greg.
Aware she was distracted, Lang asked, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
He stared into her eyes for long moments until Claire had to look away. Then he turned slowly and saw for himself. “Jesus,” he muttered. “He’s here.”
“You can’t go there.” Her hands shot out to stop him, arms straight.
“I haven’t moved a muscle, Doctor. I don’t plan to see him.”
His voice was like a razor. She nodded, feeling idiotic. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “And you keep saying my sister asked for it.”
“I’m not your enemy,” she said a bit helplessly.
He looked like he was going to argue. The scowl on his face reflected his anger. But with an almost physical effort, he clamped his lips shut and pulled himself together.
“To hell with it,” he muttered, thinking of turning away.
“If you really want to talk to the Colony, why can’t you?” she burst out. “I mean, essentially, aren’t you the law?”
He didn’t want to be here anymore. He was done. She was the enemy, even if she didn’t know it. She and Halo Valley Security Hospital.
But he’d come here for a different reason. Arguing with her about Marsdon wasn’t it. “Even the law isn’t going to hit their gates with a battering ram or yell at them through a bullhorn without some kind of proof of a crime. I can’t really force them to talk to me. They don’t have phones. Electricity is iffy, maybe a generator for the first floor. They wear long dresses and their hair up in buns. I’ve called to ’em. I shoved a note with my cell number through the bars, just in case they find a phone somewhere. I told ’em I’m with the sheriff’s department. They know I’m trying to reach them, and they now know how to reach me, but so far, nada.”
She nodded, clearly surprised that he’d been able to put Heyward Marsdon aside.
He shook his head, wondering what the hell he was doing.
“Cat can walk by herself now, though we don’t let her without staff nearby,” she said diffidently.
“She talking?”
“No.”
“I’d like to ask her about the Colony anyway.”
“I don’t know…”
Heyward and Greg came their way, Heyward looking hopefully toward Claire, who nodded but stayed where she was. Lang watched them slowly move on by, his body tense.
With an effort, he dragged his attention back to their conversation. “Maybe she’s listening. If she’s a member, maybe she’ll snap out of it.”
“It doesn’t usually work that way,” she said carefully.
“How the hell does it work, then, Doctor?” he demanded.
“She’s just not responding that well.”
“Why don’t we go try it on her? You and I. Right now.”
He turned toward the hallway, and short of physically blocking his way, Claire could do nothing but fall in step beside him. At Cat’s door they turned to face each other. Squared off.
“Let me talk to her first,” Claire said.
“I want to be there. See her reaction.”
“If there is any.”
“If there is any,” he agreed flatly.
“I think I should go in alone first.”
“Bullshit protocol,” he said. “What’s the worst thing that’ll happen?”
“She’ll relapse.”
“Into what? Catatonia?”
“You don’t know anything about it,” she said stiffly.
“I know a lot about it,” he snarled. “I had a sister who suffered from schizophrenia. Don’t tell me I know nothing about it.”
“Cat’s going to have a baby very soon,” Claire said, losing the battle, stinging from his arrows. “I’d like to know who her people are in case she cannot care for this child immediately.”
“So would I. Lead the way,” he challenged.
She pulled out her cell phone. “We have a midwife who’s associated with Ocean Park Hospital who’s been looking in on Cat, monitoring her pregnancy. I need to check with her.”
“More bullshit,” Lang concluded, but he waved a hand, telling her to get on with it.
Claire turned away, ostensibly to hear the call, more because she needed a semiprivate moment. Lang wasn’t completely wrong. There had been nothing in Eugenie Ledbetter’s reports on Cat’s condition that would suggest the pregnancy was anything but textbook. Claire just wanted to keep the power play between herself and Stone under control. Eugenie answered directly and when Claire posed the idea of having Cat interviewed, Eugenie didn’t see it as any kind of problem. “Has she come to?” was all Eugenie asked, to which Claire answered, “Not really.”
“She wondered why you called her,” Lang observed with a small smile as Claire hung up.
Annoyed, she turned to Cat’s door. She would have liked to thwart him in some way. He really, really got to her in ways that probably needed to be assessed, but right now she didn’t have the energy or inclination to go there. Cat came first. As her hand reached for the knob, she asked, “Does arrogance always work for you?”
“A lot of the time,” he answered without missing a beat.
“Part of your police procedural?”
“More like a natural gift.”
“Let me broach Siren Song to her,” she ordered, slipping into the room.
“You’re the professional,” he said, and she was pretty sure she heard a gibe in there somewhere.
He didn’t want to like her. Or be attracted to her. Or even notice any little thing about her. But Dr. Claire Norris was a stunner. Not traditionally beautiful, maybe. Her face was narrow, her profile sharp. But she had sleek, dark, winged brows and warm, liquid brown eyes and a mouth that was a bit too generous, the lips, even without lipstick, like now, soft and pliable and welcoming even while her words were taut and hostile. As they walked in he had to drag his gaze from her slim waistline, a blue satiny blouse tucked into a black skirt beneath the open lab coat.
Cat looked much like he had the first time he’d seen her. Unresponsive. Staring straight ahead. She was blond and blue-eyed and projected an almost eerie innocence, too perfect to believe in.
Otherworldly, Clausen had said of Catherine. It was true, too, of Cat.
“Detective Stone of the Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department has come back to visit us again,” Claire Norris said, leaning a bit toward the patient. Lang was conscious of the swell of her hips beneath the lab coat. His gaze traveled to her calves, trim and tight, with neat ankles and a pair of black flats.
What would that leg and foot look like in a three-inch heel? he wondered.
“He thinks you may have come from the town of Deception Bay. There’s a lodge there called Siren Song.”
Black patent leather, shining, tap-tapping against a wood floor as she walked away from him and—
“Detective?” The woman in question turned toward him, her brown eyes assessing.
“What?”
“She’s responding.”
His gaze flew to Cat’s face. Those blue eyes were now staring straight at him now, unwaveringly. Waiting.
It was enough to send a cold little shiver under his skin
. “We think you may be from Siren Song.”
Was he imagining it, or did her eyes dilate?
“We’ve been trying to learn something about you. Your name. Where you come from. Your family members. We’re in contact with someone from the lodge. Catherine,” he added, pushing the truth.
She turned her head away. Slowly. To stare at the wall again. But before that Lang had noticed her skin quiver a bit. From fear? Cold? It was like an oven in this damn room, as far as he could tell, so that didn’t make sense.
“Does any of that sound familiar?” Claire asked her.
Cat didn’t respond, but Lang could tell her breathing was faster and shallower. Something was going on there.
“We’ve identified your traveling companion, Rafe Worster,” he added. “He was a homicide victim the same night you were attacked.”
No response to that. Lang brought up finding her and Worster’s body at the rest stop, but she was gone to whatever world she’d escaped to. There were no more responses.
After a few more moments, Claire motioned for him to head out of the room. Reluctantly he let himself be banished to the hall as Norris assured Cat that she was safe at Halo Valley, that she needed to take her time in remembering, that everything was A-OK.
When Claire came out they walked together back down the hall. Lang asked, “Does that work? All that pacifying?”
“Everyone needs to feel safe.”
“Is that the driving force of her catatonia? How do you know that?”
“I don’t know the driving force,” she said. “But given the circumstances that brought her here, I think a need to feel safe would be right at the top of her list.”
“I’ll buy that. She’s scared. Someone tried to take her baby, or at least tried to cut her there. Wound her. Maybe kill her. And that same person killed her boyfriend.”
“If he was her boyfriend.”
“It’s an assumption I’m going with until I hear differently,” Lang said. “Makes the most sense, and it goes with what Cade said. Rafe, the sometime womanizer, worked at Siren Song around all those young women under Catherine’s charge. He got to one of them: Cat. They started an affair and then…bam! She’s pregnant. Bad news for everyone. So then…”
They were back in the lobby, but Claire had drifted toward the empty morning room. Lang followed her and they moved in unspoken decision toward the bookcase along one wall.
“So then?” she prompted.
Her face was close to his. For a moment he lost his train of thought. There was a strange intimacy about being in this corner, their voices low, their dialogue concerning a sexual affair. “So then they have to get out. Away from Catherine and all that repression. They run away together.”
“Hmm…” She sounded unsure.
“What are you thinking?”
“By the time they run, she’s seven or eight months pregnant. Her pregnancy has to be obvious to everyone. It’s not like they could hide it.”
“Lots of times women hide pregnancies. Teenagers hide them from their parents all the time. Some women don’t even know they’re pregnant until they deliver.”
“That’s the rarity,” she said, but her tone was thoughtful. “They wear dresses that are almost smocks.”
“So maybe Catherine didn’t know?”
“You think Cat hid her pregnancy, and then ran away with this Rafe, who was her lover, before anyone could find out?”
“Maybe.”
Claire’s brow furrowed. “I’m not saying Cat’s from Siren Song, but if she were, she might have felt it was imperative to leave when she did.”
“To keep the news from Catherine. To save the baby. But then Catherine found out and went after them, found them at the rest stop, took out a knife—”
“No.” Claire shook her head. “Not in her character. She’s raised all those girls, apparently. She wouldn’t do that.”
“Anybody can kill,” Lang argued. “And Catherine seems to be a woman of rigid rules. This could have been a complete betrayal. What if she tracked them down, planning on—I don’t know—forcing an abortion.”
“What a sick mind you have,” she sputtered.
“Coming from you, that’s saying quite a lot. You being the expert on sick minds.”
“I don’t think that’s Catherine’s M.O., either. If Cat is really a member of the Colony, and she took a lover and became pregnant, that might certainly stir up some strong emotions in Catherine, but I don’t think it would set her on a path of murder. Either the baby, Cat, or even this Rafe.”
“Then why won’t she even talk to me?” Lang demanded.
“You haven’t given her a clue what it’s about.”
“She knows Cat left. She has to be worried about it. But for some reason she doesn’t want to face it, and why would that be? Because she’s at fault in there somewhere. Maybe criminally at fault.”
“You’re trying to force facts to fit your own theory.”
“Well, why are you so dead set on defending a woman you don’t even know?” Lang demanded.
“Why are you so dead set on making her out to be a monster?”
“Because she’s holding those girls hostage. Not letting them out of that place!”
“You don’t know that.”
He snorted. “You say you live in Deception Bay? Well, how’d you miss the four-one-one on Catherine of the Gates? From what I’ve learned, she makes Nurse Ratched look good.”
“So she follows Cat and her boyfriend and attacks them with a knife? Killing him and stabbing away at Cat’s belly, with no real direction, then leaves her and the baby to die, too? If she’s as concerned with rules as you say, she wouldn’t break so many of them.”
“You just want to defend her because she’s a woman,” he said.
Claire’s eyes flashed. “You’re going to make this about gender?”
Her eyes weren’t totally brown. They had gold specks inside them. Gold specks that glowed hot. “It is about gender. You don’t think a woman could be diabolical enough to chase them down and knife them to death?”
“Oh, yes, I do. Women can surprise you with their strength, fury, and commitment. I just think you’re totally off base with Catherine. You’re objecting to the circumstances in which the Colony women live. You think it’s a kind of forced slavery. So Catherine is the head evildoer. You’re focused on her, and it’s taking you away from the real killer.”
“I’m just letting this go where it goes,” he countered. “Investigations are like that. You just follow them. They lead you where they’re gonna lead you. To Catherine, or maybe to someone else. But she’s my impasse.”
She thought that over for a moment, turning slightly as if listening to something.
“What?” he demanded.
“It is about gender,” she said, reversing her earlier stance.
“Wait. Really. My head’s spinning,” he said wryly. “Now you think I’m right?”
“You can’t reach Catherine because you’re not a woman,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm.
But he saw where her thoughts were heading. Wasn’t sure he agreed.
“Her world is all about women. Men are—”
“The enemy?” he guessed.
“I was going to say, men are a foreign culture. She doesn’t understand them and doesn’t want to deal with them.”
“So I should go with a woman next time? Or send one?”
“You can go with me.”
The words flew out of Claire’s mouth before she really knew what she was saying. The discussion with Lang had been low and intense, and Claire, though she didn’t really want to be so near him, felt strangely certain that she was on the right track where Catherine of Siren Song was concerned. And she wanted to help Cat. She wanted to be a part of this. With or without Langdon Stone, though she knew she couldn’t just charge out on her own without him.
“No,” he said.
“I can help you with her.” Claire was calm and certain.
“
You’re out of bounds.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He was on the defensive and it pissed him off. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but you and I—face it, lady. We’ve got problems enough already, and I don’t want to have you under my care.”
“Under your care.”
“Let’s not…” He stepped away from her, hands up, as if she were some armed villain.
“You don’t have to like me,” she said determinedly. “But no matter what you think, I’m good at what I do. I’m going to try to talk to her. On my way home. You can join me if you want, but you can’t stop me.”
She didn’t wait for his response. Didn’t wait for anything. She swept past him and up the stairs and took out her keycard and let herself out of the hospital and into the medical office building.
Chapter 15
Claire took her own car, but she was completely attuned to the gray truck following her Passat as they drove west toward the coast. Detective Langdon Stone was following close behind her. She was pretty sure she’d taken complete leave of her senses.
“Is that a professional opinion?” she asked herself grimly. The answer was yes.
She shouldn’t be doing this. Sure, she was trying to learn more about her patient, but rashly telling Langdon Stone that she was heading to Siren Song wasn’t exactly part of the job description.
Why? Why had she jumped at this opportunity?
Claire took a corner too fast and forced herself to slow down, easing her foot off the accelerator. The rain was in abeyance but that didn’t mean she should be driving at the mercy of her emotions. She was normally pretty good at self-assessment. Years of practice, she thought with a faint inner smile. When her marriage had broken up, she’d examined all the reasons, picking them apart, spreading them out, examining each one. Her ex, for all his faults, of which there were many, wasn’t a bad guy. They just hadn’t been on the same page.
Not all his fault. Not all hers.
Claire had done what so many had done before her upon the disintegration of their marriage: she’d thrown herself into her work. Her job was the one place she felt truly competent. She was good at it. She understood her patients. She made serious headway and glowed under the compliments of a particular one who’d overcome a crippling shyness, got promoted at her job, and gave all the credit to Claire.