by Nora Roberts
“I know it’s difficult for you, but I like this one.” Kate tried a bolstering smile as she offered Jo a photo of herself cradled in Sam’s lap. Shade dappled over them in patterns, making the study almost dreamy.
“The campground,” Jo murmured. “The day I was locked in the showers and Daddy let me out. It wasn’t kids. The bastard. It wasn’t kids, it was him. He locked me in there, then he waited around and he took this.”
“That was the day Ginny went missing, wasn’t it? Nearly two weeks now.”
Jo knelt on the floor again, but she wasn’t panicking now. Her hands were steady, her mind focused. She went through photo by photo, coolly. “I can’t be sure of each and every one, but those I can pinpoint were all taken at least that long ago. So I’ll assume they all were. Nothing in the last two weeks. He’s held on to them. He’s waited. Why?”
“He needed time to print them, to select them. To decide which ones to send. He must have other obligations. A job. Something.”
“No, I think he’s very flexible there. He had pictures of me on assignment at Hatteras, and others of me in Charlotte. Day-to-day stuff. He isn’t worried about obligations.”
“All right. Get your purse. We’re going to get the boat and go over to the mainland. We’re taking this, all of this, to the police.”
“You’re right. That’s better than sitting here being afraid.” Very carefully she slipped photo after photo back into the envelope. “I’m sorry, Kate.”
“For what?”
“For not telling you. For not trusting you enough to tell you about what happened.”
“And you should be.” She reached out a hand to help Jo to her feet. “But that’s done now, and behind us. From now on you and everyone else in this house are going to remember we’re a family.”
“I don’t know why you put up with us.”
“Sweetie pie,” Kate smiled and patted Jo’s cheek, “there are times when I wonder the selfsame thing.”
NINETEEN
“HEY, where y’all going?” Lexy spotted Kate and Jo as they stepped out the side door. Her eyes were bright, her smile brilliant. She was nearly dancing.
“Jo and I have to run over to the mainland on some business,” Kate began. “We’ll be back by—”
“I’m going with you.” Lexy raced through the door, zipping by before Kate could grab her arm.
“Lexy, this isn’t a pleasure trip.”
“Five minutes,” Lexy called back. “It’s only going to take me five minutes to get ready.”
“That girl.” Kate heaved a sigh. “She’s always wanting to be someplace she’s not. I’ll go tell her she has to stay behind.”
“No.” Jo tightened her grip on the pair of envelopes she held. “Under the circumstances it might be better if she knows what’s going on. I think, until we find out something more, she needs to be careful.”
Kate’s heart skipped a beat, but she nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll tell Brian we’re going. Don’t you worry, sweetie.” Kate flicked a hand over Jo’s hair. “We’re going to take care of this.”
BECAUSE she was afraid of being left behind, Lexy was true to her word. She knew Kate would have balked at the little shorts she’d had on, so she changed in record time to thin cotton pants. She brushed her hair out, tied it back in a mint-green scarf in anticipation of the boat trip. On the drive to Sanctuary’s private dock north of the ferry, she freshened her makeup and chattered.
Jo’s ears were ringing by the time they boarded the reliable old cabin cruiser.
Once there had been a glossy white boat with bright red trim. The Island Belle had been her father’s pride and joy, Jo remembered. How many times had the family piled into it, to sail around the island, to streak out over the waves, to take an impromptu run to the mainland for ice cream or a movie?
She remembered steering it, standing on her father’s feet to give her a little more height, with his hands laid lightly over hers on the wheel.
A little to starboard, Jo Ellen. That’s the way. You’re a natural.
But Sam had sold it the year after Annabelle went away. All the replacements since had gone unnamed. The family no longer took dizzying rides together.
Still, Jo knew the routine. She checked the fuel while Lexy and Kate released the lines. Automatically she adjusted her stance to accommodate the slight sway at the dock. Her hands took the wheel easily, and she smiled when the engine caught with a kick and a purr.
“Daddy still keeps her running smooth, I see.”
“He overhauled the engine over the winter.” Kate took a seat, and her agitated fingers twisted the gold chain that draped over her crisp cotton blouse.
She would let Jo pilot, she thought. It would help her stay calm. “I’ve been thinking the inn should invest in a new one. Something spiffier to look at. We could offer tours around the island, stop off at Wild Horse Cove, Egret Inlet, that sort of thing. ’Course that means we’d have to hire on a pilot.”
“Daddy knows the island and the water around it better than anyone,” Jo pointed out.
“I know.” Kate shrugged her shoulders. “But whenever I bring that up, he mutters under his breath and finds something else he has to do. Sam Set-in-His-Ways Hathaway is not an easy man to move.”
“You could tell him how he’d be able to keep an eye on things better if he was in charge.” Jo glanced at the compass, set her heading, and started across the sound. “He could make sure people didn’t trample the vegetation or upset the ecosystem. Put someone else on it, they’re not going to care as much, be as vigilant.”
“It’s a good angle.”
“You buy a new boat, he’ll have a hard time resisting it.” Lexy readjusted the knot in her scarf. “Then you mention how you need to find the right pilot—not only one who’s experienced and competent, but somebody who understands the fragility of the environment and how it needs to be explained to the tourists so they understand why Desire has stayed pure all these years.”
Both Jo and Kate turned to stare at Lexy in astonishment. Lexy spread her hands. “You just have to know how to work people, is all. You talk about educating the tourists on respecting the island and leaving it as they found it and that sort of thing, he’ll not only come around, he’ll end up thinking it was his idea to start with.”
“You’re a sly child, Alexa,” Kate told her. “I’ve always admired that about you.”
“The island’s what matters to Daddy.” Lexy leaned over the rail to let the wind slap her face. “Using that to turn him around isn’t sly, it’s just basic. Can’t you go any faster, Jo? I could swim to Savannah at this rate.”
Jo started to suggest that Lexy do just that, then shrugged. Why not? Why not go fast and free for just a little while? She glanced back at the shoreline of Desire, the white house on the hill, then she gunned the throttle. “Hold on, then.”
At the burst of speed, Lexy let out a whoop, then threw back her head and laughed. Oh, God, but she loved going places. Going anywhere. “Faster, Jo! You always handled these buckets better than any of us.”
“And she hasn’t manned a boat in two years,” Kate began, then shrieked as Jo whipped the wheel around, shooting the boat into a fast, wide circle. Heart thumping, she grabbed the rail while Lexy shouted out for more.
“Look there, it’s Jed Pendleton’s fishing boat. Let’s buzz them, Jo. Give them a taste of our wake and rock them good.”
“Jo Ellen, you’ll do no such thing.” Kate conquered the laugh that sprang to her throat. “You behave yourself!”
Jo shared a rare grin with Lexy before she rolled her eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” she murmured, tongue in cheek, and cut her speed. She sent out a short hail to the fishing boat. “I was just testing her engines and response.”
“Well, now you have,” Kate said primly. “And I expect it’ll be a smooth ride from here on.”
“I just want to get there.” Lexy turned around and leaned back on the rail. “I’m dying to see people walking aroun
d. And I’ve just got to do some shopping. Why don’t we all buy something new and pretty? Party dresses. Then we’ll have us a party. Get all dressed up, have music and champagne. I haven’t had a new dress in months.”
“That’s because your closet’s already bursting at the seams,” Jo said.
“Oh, those are ancient. Don’t you ever have to have something new—just have to? Something wonderful?”
“Well, I have been wanting a new dedicated flash,” Jo told her dryly.
“That’s because you’re more interested in dressing your camera than yourself.” Lexy tilted her head. “Something bold and blue for you for a change. Silk. With silk undies, too. That way if you ever let Nathan get down to them, he’ll have a nice surprise. Bet you would, too.”
“Alexa.” Kate held up a hand and counted slowly to ten. “Your sister’s private life is just that—private.”
“What private life? Why the man’s been dying to get inside those baggy jeans she wears since he laid eyes on her.”
“How do you know he hasn’t?” Jo shot back.
“Because,” Lexy said with a slow, feline smile, “once he has, you’re going to be a whole lot more relaxed.”
“If all it takes to relax a woman is a quick roll, you’d be comatose by now.”
Lexy only laughed and turned her head back into the wind. “Well, I’m sure feeling serene these days, honey pie. Which is more than I can say for you.”
“Lexy, that’s enough.” Kate spoke quietly, then rose. “And we’re not going to the mainland to shop. We’re going because your sister’s got troubles. She wanted you to come along so she could tell you about it, so those troubles won’t touch on you.”
“What are you talking about?” Lexy straightened. “What’s wrong?”
“Sit down,” Kate ordered and picked up the envelopes Jo had stowed. “And we’ll tell you.”
TEN minutes later, Lexy was going through the photos. Her stomach was tight, but her hands were steady and her mind was working. “He’s stalking you.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it that.” Jo kept her eyes on the water, on the faint haze that was the mainland.
“It’s exactly that, and that’s how you’re going to put it to the police. There are laws against it. I knew a woman up in New York. Her ex-boyfriend wouldn’t leave her be, kept popping up, calling her, following her around. She lived scared for six months before they did something about it. It’s not right you should have to live scared.”
“She knew who he was,” Jo pointed out.
“Well, you have to figure out who this is.” Because the pictures spooked her, Lexy set them aside. “Did you break up with anybody close to the time this started?”
“No, I haven’t been seeing anyone in particular.”
“You don’t have to think it was in particular,” Lexy reminded her. “He has to think it. Who were you dating—even one date?”
“Nobody.”
“Jo, you had dinner with someone, went to a show, had a quick lunch.”
“Not dates.”
“Don’t be so literal. Problem with you is everything’s just black and white in your head. Just like your pictures. Even those have shades of gray, don’t they?”
Not entirely sure if she was insulted or impressed by her sister’s analogy, Jo frowned. “I just don’t see—”
“Exactly.” Lexy nodded. “You think up a list, then you think of another for men you turned down when they asked you out. Maybe somebody asked you a couple, three times and you figured he gave up.”
“I’ve been busy this past year. There’s hardly anyone.”
“That’s good. It’ll make the odds better on finding the right one.” Lexy crossed her legs, put herself into forming the plotline. “Maybe there’s someone in your building in Charlotte who tried to draw you out, make conversation when you bumped into each other in the hallway. Open your mind now,” Lexy said impatiently. “A woman knows when a man’s got an interest in her, even if she’s got none in him.”
“I haven’t paid much attention.”
“Well, pay attention now, and think. You’re the one who has to stay in control here. You’re not going to let him know he’s got you scared. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he can put you in a hospital again.” She reached over, gave Jo’s shoulder a hard shake. “So you think. You’ve always been the smartest one of us. Use your head now.”
“Let me take the wheel, Jo.” Gently, Kate pried Jo’s tensed hands away. “You sit down, take a breath.”
“She can breathe later. Right now she’s going to think.”
“Lexy, ease off.”
“No.” Jo shook her head. “No, she’s right. You’re right,” she said to Lexy, taking a good long look at the sister she’d allowed herself to think of as fluff. This time what she saw was substance. “And you’re asking the right questions—ones I never thought to ask myself. When I go to the police, they’re going to ask the same ones.”
“I expect they are.”
“Okay.” Jo let out an unsteady breath. “Help me out.”
“That’s what I’m doing. Let’s sit down.” She took Jo’s arm, sat with her. “Now, first think about the men.”
“There aren’t many. I don’t draw them like bees to honey.”
“You would if you wanted to, but that’s another problem.” Lexy waved it away with a flick of her hand. Something to be solved later. “Maybe there’s one you come into contact with regularly. You don’t pay much attention, but you see him, he sees you.”
“The only man I see regularly is my intern. Bobby was the one who took me to the hospital. He was there when the last package came in the mail.”
“Well, isn’t that handy?”
Jo’s eyes widened. “Bobby? That’s ridiculous.”
“Why? You said he was your intern. That means he’s a photographer too. He’d know how to use a camera, develop film. I bet he knew where you’d be and what your schedule was whenever you were on assignment.”
“Of course, but—”
“Sometimes he went with you, didn’t he?”
“As part of his training, sure.”
“And maybe he has a thing for you.”
“That’s just silly. He had a little crush at first.”
“Really?” Lexy lifted a brow. “Did you accommodate him?”
“He’s twenty years old.”
“So?” Lexy shrugged it off. “Okay, you didn’t sleep with him. He was a regular part of your life, he was attracted to you, he knew where you’d be, he knew your routine and he knew how to use a camera. Goes to the top of the short list, I’d say.”
It was appalling, even more appalling than the faceless, nameless possibilities. “He took care of me. He got me to the hospital.”
He said he hadn’t seen the print, Jo remembered as her stomach muscles fisted painfully. It had been only the two of them there, and he said he hadn’t seen it.
“Does he know you came back to Sanctuary?”
“Yes, I—” Jo cut herself off, closed her eyes. “Yes, he knows where I am. Oh, God, he knows where I am. I just talked to him this morning. He just called me.”
“Why did he call you?” Lexy demanded. “What did he say to you?”
“I’d left a message for him to get in touch with me. Something I ... I needed to ask him something. He got back to me today.”
“Where was he calling from?” Kate flicked a quick glance over her shoulder.
“I didn’t ask—he didn’t say.” With a supreme effort, Jo reined in the thudding fear. “It doesn’t make any sense for Bobby to have sent the prints. I’ve been working with him for months.”
“That’s just the kind of relationship the police are going to be interested in,” Lexy insisted. “Who else knows where you are—that you’re sure of?”
“My publisher.” Jo lifted a hand to rub her temple. “The post office, the super at my apartment building, the doctor who treated me at the hospital.
”
“That means anybody who wanted to know could find out. But Bobby stays top of the list.”
“That makes me feel sick, sick and disloyal. And it’s logical.” Pausing, she squeezed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and fingers. “He’s good enough to have taken the shots—if he worked at it, took his time. He’s got a lot of potential. He still makes mistakes, though—rushes, or doesn’t make the right choices in the darkroom. That could explain why some of the photos aren’t as high-quality as others.”
“What’s wrong with them?” Curious, Lexy slipped some of the prints out again.
“Some of them have hard shadows, or the framing’s off. See here?” She pointed to the shadow falling over her shoulder in one. “Or this one. It’s not crisp, the tones aren’t well defined. Some are mottled in a way I’d say means he used fast film, then overenlarged. Or some are thin—underexposed negatives,” she explained. “And others just lack creativity.”
“Seems pretty picky to me. You look good in most all of them.”
“They aren’t as carefully composed, certainly not as artfully composed, as the others, as the ones taken in Charlotte or on Hatteras. In fact ...”—she began to frown as she went through them again, shot by shot—“if I’m remembering right, it looks to me as though the later the photo was taken, the less professional, the less creative it is. As if he’s getting bored—or careless.
“See here, a first-year student with some talent and decent equipment could have taken this shot of me in the hammock. The subject is relaxed, unaware, the light’s good because it’s filtering through the trees. It’s an easy shot. It’s already laid out. But this one, the beach shot, he should have used a yellow filter to cut the glare, soften the shadows, define the clouds. That’s basic. But he didn’t bother. You lose texture, drama. It’s a careless mistake. He never made them before.”
Quickly, she pulled photos out of the other envelope. “Here’s another beach shot, from Hatteras this time. Similar angle, but he used a filter, he took his time. The texture of the sand, the lift of my hair in the wind, the position of the gull just heading out over the waves, good cloud definition. It’s a lovely shot, really, a solid addition for a show or gallery, whereas the one from home is washed out.”