by Jule McBride
“Niles Devlyn,” Dylan snarled, his heart skipping a beat as the cops turned a corner, making them lose sight of the other two cars. “My... brother.”
Brother. It sickened him to use that word.
The cop in the passenger seat stared through the wire-mesh screen and the back windshield. “Huh?” he said. “I don’t see anybody.”
“He was behind us. He looks like me.” Dylan glanced back, his eyes scanning the street. Had Niles caught up to Alice? Rammed her car from the back, maybe? Gotten out and—
Relief flooded him when he saw Alice’s car turn the corner. Thank God she was still okay. “There. Back behind Alice. He’s in the blue car.”
“Look,” the driver muttered. “I don’t know anything about this case. We’re just ‘sposed to take you in for questioning. If there’s really somebody—”
“Stop the car!”
“Mister, we—”
“She’s in danger.”
“She who?”
Letting his anger show would make the cops less likely to listen, so Dylan kept his voice tightly controlled. “Alice. She’s—”
“Take it up with Santiago down at the station,” the rookie in the passenger seat said.
Dylan wanted to scream, but he settled for speaking through clenched teeth. “The man’s a murderer. The man’s—”
“Like I said, when we get to the sta—”
“Use your radio, dammit,” Dylan choked out urgently. “Make someone intercept her car. It’s that tan Buick. It’s a rental.”
Nobody reached for the radio.
“You’re endangering a woman’s life!” Dylan’s eyes kept scanning the back seat; surely there was something here with which he could knock out a window. “He’s a murderer. Don’t you see? He looks like me now. That’s why I’m on the video cameras at the estate. He killed our father—”
“Your father?”
“Don’t you know anything about this case?”
The driver shook his head.
The rookie turned and shot Dylan a peeved glance. “No offense, but we get this kind of thing—”
“Thing?”
“Yeah, thing. You know, one guy saying the other guy did it. Or claiming the real perp’s in a vehicle behind us.”
“He is behind us.”
The driver said, “It’ll be better all ‘round if you just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
“Enjoy the ride!” Dylan snapped, his neck craning. Alice had dropped back yet another block. She was usually a slow, cautious driver, and right now she was no doubt battling her own confusion and concern. He could barely stand to remember the dawning look on her face as Santiago talked.
She really thinks I’m a murderer now. That alone made fury boil inside him. So did the thwarted need to protect her. What if she wound up going back to the hotel instead of following them to the police station? What if Niles tailed her to the room and—
Dylan couldn’t stand to imagine Alice’s pale skin red with slashes, her lovely green eyes slits of terror. Lord, Niles had stabbed their father thirty-two times. He’d murdered Jan! Feeling as if he was losing his mind, Dylan succinctly said, “For God’s sake, you two, I am not making this up.” Some blocks back, Alice was turning a corner. Both she and Niles were following the cop car onto a two-lane road now, headed for the freeway.
There was no hope if Dylan didn’t do something. He had to escape. Somehow, he had to get out of the car, away from these two cops.
But Alice was so impossibly far away now. Sunlight glinted off the tan car’s windshield, silhouetting her inside the front seat. She was sitting ramrod straight; he imagined her hands were frozen and gripping the steering wheel. He couldn’t begin to imagine what was going through her mind. Even though she couldn’t see his face from here, or read his expression, Dylan tried waving his arms, hoping to get her attention. At least they hadn’t handcuffed him. Yet.
Not that she noticed him waving. Maybe she didn’t want to notice.
She really does think I’m a cold-blooded killer. The thought made Dylan queasy. The driver put on a turn signal, and as he swerved onto the freeway, everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Dylan’s heart hammered. There were six lanes of traffic now. They were going to lose Alice! Dylan’s eyes darted frantically across the miles of concrete. Tan cars were everywhere. Blue ones, too.
Where’s Alice? For a second, everything felt off-kilter ; Dylan was a child again, listening to his mother read Curious George. Over and over, she’d point at the pictures, saying, “Where’s George?”
What a helluva thing to remember now. Dylan stared at the bumper-to-bumper traffic, his chest squeezing tighter and tighter. He’d lost Alice, but Niles Devlyn hadn’t. No doubt, the killer was right behind her.
Dylan’s eyes fell to his steel-toed boots. Maybe... Using the toe of one boot against the heel of the other, he slipped his foot out. If he was fast, maybe he could use the steel toe to knock out a window, then grab the exterior door handle and open the door.
The invisible bands around his chest suddenly tightened, making him feel breathless, as if he was suffocating. Drowning. Memories of the cold dark water threatened to engulf him again. You have to fight.
This time, his twin wouldn’t win.
He watched the traffic. If they slowed down, he’d be ready. He might only get one chance. The two cops in the front seat were carrying guns, and he sized the men up, wondering if he could wrestle a gun away from one of them, so he’d have protection when he confronted Niles.
If he confronted Niles.
He still couldn’t see either car. But the hotel was close to the police station. Even if Alice went to the hotel, maybe Dylan could get there before Niles. If only he could escape. He stared at the traffic again.
There! When he saw Alice, relief flooded him.
But only for a second. Because his twin brother was right behind her.
SHE’D COME STRAIGHT to the hotel.
Maybe she shouldn’t have, maybe she should have gone to the police station, but she had to be alone. To think. And anyway, a policeman had met her here, and now for some hours, he’d been posted outside the door.
They wouldn’t say why.
It didn’t make sense, since Dylan was under lock and key. But he’d tried to escape. Detective Santiago had called. He’d said that, on the freeway, Dylan had attempted to break the window in the back seat of the cop car, not realizing the glass was shatter-proof.
As if Alice cared to hear details. She’d had to confront the fact that she’d made love to a killer. Wasn’t that vile enough for one day? Bile rose in her throat. She choked it down. With everything in her power, she tried not to think back, or remember how she’d felt when she’d first seen Dylan, injured in the ranch’s driveway.
Had that only been two days ago?
It seemed like another lifetime. “I wish it was somebody else’s lifetime,” she whispered. And yet she could still remember how, when she’d first gazed into Dylan’s eyes, her heart had stopped—and then flooded with joy. Dylan! she’d thought. It was a miracle! He’d come back into her life. He was disguised, but he wasn’t dead as she’d imagined. He was safe. She’d been so sure there was a reasonable explanation for where he’d been, and why he’d returned.
Now she shuddered. The explanation was that Dylan was also a man named Stuart or Niles Devlyn. Who knew—or cared—which twin he really was? Certainly not Alice. She’d quit trying to understand this puzzle. She was too scared and her heart was too broken. Maybe the twins’ fingerprints had gotten mixed up.
Either way, it was Dylan who’d had plastic surgery, and who’d been identified as Lang Devlyn’s killer. Clarisse had also seen him at the Blue Sage Motel, carrying the bag that contained the locket. Thinking of the locket and phone calls, Alice shuddered. Why didn’t he just kill me?
“C’mon,” she whispered shakily. “Ten deep breaths.” She managed to get hold of herself long enough to take two. Somehow, she’d get through this.
At least that’s what she’d told herself for the last hour, during her bath.
Now, from where she stood in the hotel bedroom, she stared at her reflection in the full-length minor of the open bathroom door. Right now, she couldn’t even stand to look at herself. I slept with a killer. I felt his hands on me. I let him—
No longer able to bear the thoughts, Alice cut them off. Turning, she pulled a bathrobe from her carry-on, then tugged it over the silk gown she was already wearing.
“How am I going to sleep tonight?” she said, her voice still shaking. Her hands were shaking, too, she noticed. She stared down at them; her long pale fingers suddenly looked so weak. Finding a hairbrush, she lifted it, then began pulling it through her wet, tangled hair.
At least the room was nice. Spacious and calming in its unobtrusiveness. Two queen-size beds were side by side. Exactly alike—like twins—they were neatly covered with matching peach spreads. Elsewhere things were beige—the thick carpeting, the light paint on the walls, the plush bathroom towels.
Alice glanced nervously toward the door.
She didn’t know why she bothered to look. Of course the chain lock was still on. She’d already checked at least five times.
But it didn’t matter.
It would never matter.
She couldn’t imagine anything making her feel safe again. She’d made love to a killer. Invited him into her home. Wanted him to kiss her...touch her. Oh God! It was so sick. Why hadn’t she known? Why hadn’t she asked more questions? Why hadn’t she sensed the truth? Why had she so easily become his victim?
No, she could never feel safe again, not when her own body and thoughts had betrayed her. Not when she’d been so sure she’d found Dylan again, and that Dylan could never kill.
But he had.
And it was him, that much she knew. He’d known things only Dylan could—such as their special spot at Cat’s Canyon. Which meant he’d changed his face, just as he’d claimed. In turn, that meant it was his face—not his brother’s—that Santiago saw on the tapes from the estate.
She still couldn’t believe it.
“Santiago saw him kill Lang Devlyn,” she whispered. In cold blood. She shivered again, and a creepy prickly feeling crawled down her spine like something vile. Like spiders.
Wherever he was, Niles Devlyn would still look like the old Dylan, with rounder cheeks and straight, fine golden hair. No doubt he was criminally insane, just as Dr. Clark claimed. He’d been locked up for years. But now it was clear that murderous impulses ran in the Devlyn genes. Because Niles’s brother Stuart—or rather Dylan—was definitely a killer, too.
Twins.
Two insane killers.
Poor Nancy Nolan. If she fully recovered from her coma, how would Nancy live with this? Realizing she’d paused in midstroke, and that her fingers had wrapped icily around the hairbrush, Alice clenched her teeth as if they were about to chatter. Somehow, she forced the brush through her hair again. If she could just keep moving, maybe things would be fine.
But she knew that was a lie.
She’d taken a hot bath anyway, knowing that a thousand baths couldn’t make her feel clean. No, she felt dirty. Filthy, she amended. How could she have let such a sick creature touch her? How could she have let him—
She loosed a sudden sob. The second it came from her throat, she clamped her lips shut. For a second, the walls she’d thrown up around her heart threatened to come down. Not that she’d let them. She felt too betrayed. Too confused.
Too damn scared.
And somehow she was sure she’d never feel—really feel—again. She felt too numb inside. Certainly she’d never trust herself to love again. Not after realizing she’d loved a murderer.
And she had loved him!
She’d been mad because he’d left her. But she’d started to feel so ready to forgive him. She’d started to fantasize that she and Dylan could start anew.
She slipped the hairbrush into the pocket of her bathrobe, then continued staring at herself in the mirror. Who was this woman who was so easily fooled? It was as if she’d never even seen herself before. Her eyes drifted down the robe and gown set to her pale knees and calves. How could she have let a killer touch her? Let him kiss her mouth? Enjoyed the feel of his breath on her cheeks? Feeling bile rise in her throat again, she tensed.
Just as she was about to run for the toilet, the phone rang.
She jumped, feeling startled, the shrill double ring going right into her blood. Turning numbly from her reflection, she stared at the phone. It rang again. Only then did she walk toward the bedside table between the beds to pick it up.
“Hello?”
“Can you...hear me...Ms. Eastman?”
Barely. The line was breaking up. A high-pitched tone cut through static. “Who is this?”
“Detective...”
She thought he said Santiago. “What?” She raised her voice. “Who is this? Is this Detective Santiago? Are you there?”
“Sorry, it’s a cell phone. I’m in the car.”
Flinty anger coursed through her. Whatever he was going to say, she didn’t want to hear it. She just wanted to get away from here. To get on the very next plane out of Los Angeles and home to the ranch.
Couldn’t the detective understand? She’d been tricked into loving a killer! Somehow she had to get help and heal herself. She needed time and space. Nature. Long walks in the woods. Maybe a good shrink. And then maybe—God knew how—she might be able to move on with her life. Santiago was saying something she couldn’t understand. “What?” Alice said into the mouthpiece.
“I said...”
“What?” she said again.
“He escaped.”
A free hand rose to her gown, covering the spot over her heart. Weakening, her knees buckled, and she sat on the edge of one of the beds. “From jail?” she managed to say.
“Yes, he...”
The rest was lost to static. “It’s supposed to be secured in there,” she gasped in a strangled voice. “They’re locked up. Those guys are in cells. You do put them in cells, don’t you? How could—”
“He got loose on the way to the dining hall.” Santiago’s voice suddenly came clear. “Sit tight,” he continued. “We’re on our way. We’ll be right there.”
We’ll be right there.
Her heart pounded. Dear Lord, they were on their way to help her! That could mean only one thing—they thought Dylan was coming here. She froze. Her fingers, already icy, were curled tightly around the receiver. She concentrated on trying to let go, but she couldn’t The phone stayed frozen to her hand because she was so scared.
He killed Lang Devlyn, she thought. He killed the plastic surgeon who operated on his face. He almost killed his mother. He killed Jan.
And now he’s coming to kill me.
Someone pounded on the door.
Her eyes shot to it Santiago? she wondered. Could he have made it here so soon? It didn’t seem likely. But she was in a state of panic. Her body and mind were numb from denial and fear. Maybe more time had passed than she thought.
The pounding sounded again.
A cop. Relief flooded her. Surely it was the cop outside the door. Of course it was. Detective Santiago had probably contacted him on his radio, and the police officer wanted to talk to her, to assure her. Turning, she didn’t even bother to hang up the phone. When her fingers unclenched, she let the receiver slide down to the mattress, then she bolted for the door.
She looked through the peephole.
She couldn’t see his face—his chin was tilted down—but she could clearly see the bill of his uniform cap, the blue of his suit and the badge pinned to his shirt pocket. Another wave of relief rushed through her. “Yes?”
He knocked again. She guessed he figured she couldn’t hear him through the door. She quickly unhooked the chain latch and pulled the knob.
She gasped as the door swung open.
Dylan stared back, smiling.
He was dressed in the
police officer’s uniform. Her eyes flitted toward the fire door at the end of the hallway, and she was sure Dylan had killed the officer and dragged him to the stairwell. How else could Dylan have gotten his clothes?
And then she realized she couldn’t move.
She was frozen.
Not even her fingers would move. They were splayed at her sides, and there was nothing she could do.
I have to move or I’m going to die.
Dylan tilted his head. His smile broadened. And then, with sudden terrifying precision, his hand thrust out, backhanding her. The blow lifted her off her feet.
She staggered back like a drunk as he entered the room. The door slammed shut, and a knife came from nowhere. It appeared in a black-gloved hand, flashing a terrifying silver.
He grinned. “I can’t wait to cut you up.”
Dear God, move, Alice!
As he stepped closer, something inside her rolled over. She felt a strange sense of doubt she was powerless to deny. Even now, she couldn’t quite believe what she’d been trying to convince herself of for hours. Even now, when she saw the knife in his hand, she couldn’t really believe Dylan was a killer.
He ’d never hurt me!
Memories pushed at her frozen consciousness. How they’d met outside the general store. How he’d made love to her that first time in the grass in Cat’s Canyon. Surely this couldn’t be the same man...
“Ready to go through the looking glass, Alice?” He loosed a high-pitched hysterical-sounding giggle that chilled her already icy blood. “When you go through the looking glass, look out, ’cause I think you’re gonna get cut.” He took another step, and she somehow she managed to stagger back between the beds and toward the phone. The dial tone changed to a sound indicating it was off the hook.
“I’m going to watch you bleed.” He raised his voice. “You like to bleed, don’t you, Alice?” Taking another slow step, he tilted his head and studied her, deciding where to make the first cut.
Why won’t my body come unstuck?
She was half crouched in the two-foot space between the beds now, poised between fight and flight, with him still approaching. There were weapons: a heavy lamp behind her. The phone receiver. The hairbrush in her pocket. If she could only move.