Oh Lord, why are the good-looking ones always the most dangerous?
She started picking her way along the shoreline. “Now, come on. Civilization, such as it is, is this way.”
He picked up the life ring and slung it over one shoulder. “Would you like my boots?”
“No, thanks. They’re way too big for me and there’s no point us both getting sore feet. Besides, my little brother and I grew up here. We practically spent our childhood running around barefoot.” At least he hadn’t offered to carry her. She wasn’t sure she could handle the embarrassment, or the rush it would bring to her already exhausted chest.
“The good news is that we’re not that far from town,” she went on. “We’ll pick up my car at the ferry and then drive to the police station in the middle of the island. It’s about half an hour away. I’ll need to check in with the wedding party too. But under the circumstances, a quick phone call to the bride will just have to do, until we’ve talked to the police. I wish we’d been able to let the police know before everyone disembarked.” The serial killer had probably just walked off the boat into the general population.
Jack frowned. “Why would we have to drive halfway across the island to get to a police station?”
“The closest town doesn’t have a police station. You’re in Northern Ontario now. Most towns up here are barely more than a few stores and handful of streets.” She slid over a fallen tree. “But there’s a very popular diner just on the edge of town. There’s a good chance we’ll find a cop in there. We’ll try that first. Even if there isn’t a cop there, we can at least call the station and ask if they want us to come in or if they’ll send someone to us.”
Although the last thing she was going do was incite island-wide panic by walking into the diner and announcing a possible serial killer had just arrived on the ferry. The gossip mill would be abuzz before she’d even manage to get creamer in her coffee. No, there was a way to handle things in a place like this. Go to the police. Have a quiet word. Trust them to handle it. Jack had said the Raincoat Killer liked his victims isolated. Well, this whole island was full of isolated places. But it was also full of people who understood hunters.
“What can you tell me about the victims?” she asked. “Were any of them connected to the island?”
“Not that I know of. Kristy Hooper was studying musical theater and the performing arts. The killer appeared to have broken into her dorm room through the fire escape, possibly looking to rob her. The police think she came home and interrupted him, so he hit her over the head with a lamp. Two different witnesses saw someone in a raincoat on the fire escape that night.
“About a month later, a florist, Eliza Penn, was run over in a back alley leaving work. The car was stolen. Security footage showed the killer wore gloves and a raincoat.
“Then just two weeks ago, another student, Shelly Day, was stabbed. Her landlord found her. I went on a walk-through of the crime scene. It was pretty violent. This one had the clearest security footage too. The killer actually walked right into the lobby of her apartment building, in a raincoat, waited until someone was leaving and grabbed the door to let himself in. Of course, there’s no footage of the actual murder, but the timing matches up with the time of death, and everyone else shown entering the building has been accounted for. Someone let a potential serial killer into their building and didn’t even notice.
“That’s when I stormed into the police station and urged my contacts it was time to go public, and warn people this killer was out there. They said the evidence was circumstantial and they didn’t want to create a panic. So I went to my editor, Vince, and talked him into running the story. I thought I was saving lives.”
His words were flat, matter-of-fact, like a newsman reading off a press release. Was there something more to this than he was telling her? She caught a depth of emotion in the recesses of his eyes. Sadness. Frustration. Along with the unspoken question How are you connected to all this?
She wished she knew.
The trees gave way to an unpaved road. A dilapidated convenience store came into view. Its windows were covered in posters for unsavory movies and advertisements for pornography, live bait and lottery tickets. Two teenaged boys sat on the front step, a mass of badly done body piercings and haphazard tattoos, passing a bottle in a brown paper bag back and forth. Kenny and Stuart Smythe. Kenny was eighteen and had been expelled from the island’s only high school for fighting and selling drugs. His brother, Stuart, was three years younger and rapidly heading in the same direction. A lot of people were looking forward to the day the young men hopped a bus off the island to find trouble in a big city, somewhere else and far away.
She wasn’t. As long as they were here, in the fishbowl of a small community, there was a chance someone would get through to them. At least, that’s what she prayed.
Meg smiled politely at the boys and kept walking.
Jack touched her elbow. “Shouldn’t we use their phone?”
She shook her head. “Trust me, we’re better off heading to the diner.”
“Hey, Meg!” Kenny hollered behind her. “You look like dirt! You and your boyfriend fall off a boat?”
Right, Jack was still carrying the life ring. Stuart snickered. Meg kept walking.
“Hey, dude!” Kenny’s voice was slurred, either from alcohol or his infected lip piercing. “Who are you? Why are you covered with mud?” More laughter. When stupid kids were that drunk and high, they thought everything was funny. “You sure you want to be seen in public with a girl that messed up? You do know her little brother killed a guy?”
White-hot anger shot like an arrow up Meg’s spine. No, she was not going to give them the satisfaction of a response. They were just stupid, drunk, drugged-up teenagers who didn’t know what they were talking about and were just trying to get a reaction. Her fingers clenched into fists. Angry tears filled her eyes. No wonder she still felt trapped by the past. Kenny and Stuart had practically been babies when Benji nearly died in that accident, fourteen years ago, and yet here they were, catcalling her about the terrifying moment that had filled her nightmares ever since.
She kept walking. Jack didn’t.
“Come on. Trust me, it’s not worth it.”
Jack’s boots planted themselves firmly. “Gentlemen, I think you should apologize to Ms. Duff.”
Stuart glanced uncertainly at his older brother. Kenny laughed. “Oh yeah? And what if we don’t?”
Jack’s stare grew harder. A grin that was anything but cheerful crossed his lips. Here was a man who’d probably seen more than his fair share of rude, drunk teenagers and wasn’t the slightest bit bothered by seeing two more—or, apparently, by the prospect of putting them in their place. For a second it seemed as if Kenny was actually going to try and stare him down. But Stuart scrambled backward up the steps and pulled his brother by the hood until he followed him.
“Whatever.” Kenny shrugged. “Sorry if you can’t take a joke. But just so you know, Meg, your brother just got arrested for stealing McCarthy’s dog.”
The door clanged shut behind them.
“Poor idiots.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to them, please. I just hope they get the help they need before they end up in serious trouble.” She kept walking. Jack matched her pace. “Thank you for standing up for me. I just didn’t have it in me for another fight. Their father owns the store and he’s just as bad, which is why I wasn’t about to use his phone. I guarantee that if you called the police on them for underage drinking, by the time the cops got here the boys would be gone and their dad would swear he hadn’t seen them all day.”
The dirt road turned to pavement beneath their feet. Small stores and businesses lined the street ahead of them. She couldn’t see the docks, but judging by how busy the street was up ahead, the ferry must have arrived on schedule. They passed a couple of people, strang
ers. She smiled, nodded, but didn’t make eye contact. Two muddy people walking down the street, one of them carrying a life ring, were sure to set tongues wagging. The smartest move right now was to get to the police and file a report. The diner was only steps away, just across the street. It was a main hangout for cops, but even if there were none there, she was sure the owner would let her use the phone discreetly. Not to mention probably pouring her some coffee.
“Meg. About your brother. Does he actually have a criminal record?”
She stopped so suddenly he nearly fell on top of her. Her eyes darted down the street in both directions. Was anyone close enough to overhear him? Not that she could tell. “You’re not seriously going to listen to those two, are you?”
He sighed, and for a moment she could almost see an imaginary microphone appearing in his hand. “Look, I promise I won’t include it in my article unless it’s relevant to the story. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t at least research the possibility your brother could be connected to what just happened to you.”
No. This couldn’t wait. It had to be said, and it had to be said now.
“Come here.” She stepped backward into an empty lot, and behind a Dumpster. “We’d better get this out before we go into the diner. Because I’m not about to say this twice.” Her hands snapped to her hips. His eyebrow arched, but she didn’t dare let herself back down.
“Now, you listen here, Jack Brooks, crime reporter from Toronto. I’m still not entirely sure why you’re up here on the island, or what you’re trying to accomplish. But I do know one thing for certain—I have more than enough to deal with in my life right now. So if you start going around stirring up trouble for me and my brother, please believe me when I say I won’t have anything to do with you.”
FOUR
Fire flashed in her eyes. Jack felt his chest tighten, as the depth of her emotion tugged at something deep inside him. Compassion? Concern? For the first time in his career, the journalist found himself struggling to find the right words to fit his thoughts. All he knew was he could feel the urge to wrap his arms around her surging through his veins, making him want things he could never have. Like the feel of her head tucked safely into the curve of his throat as he promised her he’d never do anything that would ever hurt her.
Don’t let yourself get emotionally compromised, Jack. You still have a job to do and your future depends on your ability to stay objective. Even if you did just save this woman’s life.
His career was hanging by a thread; he’d just witnessed an attack he believed to be by the very serial killer whom he’d risked everything to expose. Plus, he’d promised the Lord, years ago, he’d never again let his feelings compromise the truth of a story. No matter how strong those feelings might be.
“My little brother is one of the kindest, most generous, most bighearted men you’ll ever meet.” She was practically hissing. “Benji loves God and other people more than anyone I know. He’d practically treat our home like a free hotel to every sports nut coming through the island if I let him.”
Oh, if he had a nickel for every woman he’d heard arguing that her brother, son or husband was really a good guy, while the man was being dragged off by the police for committing some violent crime for the umpteenth time.
He took a step back and crossed his arms. “I’ll ask you again, does your brother have a criminal record?”
“No!” Her voice rose. “Years and years ago, when Benji was only fifteen, he and a friend named Chris Quay were in a terrible snowmobile accident. Chris died. Benji just barely managed to pull through. Yeah, the police questioned him, because that’s what happens when a kid dies. The fact that they followed procedure doesn’t make it anything other than what it was—a horrible, tragic accident. But in the minds of some people, that was enough to taint his reputation for the rest of his life.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t! You’re from the big city, where nobody knows their neighbors’ business, let alone cares if the person filling up their gas tank ever got questioned by police for reckless driving.” She ran both hands through her hair and let it fall back around her heart-shaped face. “But it’s a whole other world on the island. Do you know how many people live in most of these towns? Hundreds. That’s all. And most of the families have been here for several generations. Reputations run deep, because families tend to know each other through work, or school, or because their grandparents built some important building.” She pressed her hand against her chest and took in a deep breath.
“So, you’re saying your brother wasn’t arrested for stealing a dog?”
Both her hands shot up in the air, as if she were fighting the urge to punch an imaginary enemy. “No! My brother’s a bit scatterbrained sometimes. But he’s never been arrested for anything. Including stealing.”
“But the young man just said—”
“I don’t know what Benji did today. I haven’t seen him since breakfast. But I guarantee he did not steal anyone’s dog. Especially not Bert McCarthy’s! The man’s in his eighties and probably made it through his whole life without once giving anyone the benefit of the doubt. Three years ago, we had this really heavy, unexpected snowfall in October. Benji was coming home from the shop and didn’t have his snow tires on. He got halfway down the hill by McCarthy’s, hit black ice, and spun out. Took out a huge chunk of the fence. Benji apologized several times. He felt absolutely terrible. He paid for all the repairs and then some. But still, McCarthy wanted the police to charge him. The police wouldn’t. So McCarthy took it through civil court. When the civil court determined Benji had more than paid what he owed, McCarthy took it up through the court of public opinion.”
Jack frowned. If she was being honest, then this would be on public record. All it would take was a quick background check. “Well, I’m sure your brother will tell me his side of the story when I interview him.”
She barked out a laugh. “No. I’m sorry, Jack. But you will never interview Benji. I already told you, I don’t want you writing about us. Not because I’m not grateful for the way you helped me, but because I’m not about to open myself up to gossip any further than I already have. I just want to put this whole thing behind me. Not have every nervous bride who searches my name online, for the rest of my life, wondering if she really wants someone linked to a murderer as her wedding planner.
“If you want to incite mass panic by announcing there’s now a serial killer on the island, I can’t stop you. But you’re just a reporter, not the police, and as far as I’m concerned, what I need right now is a cop.” She started past him, then stopped again. “And while you’re at it, please leave the life ring here. I appreciate that you didn’t want to leave it in the woods. But it’s bad enough that we’re walking through town wet and muddy, without having to look like the survivors of a shipwreck.”
* * *
Jack watched her walk away, across the street toward the striped awning of the diner. Frustration boiled in his veins. Who was she to doubt his professional ethics? Or to tell him what he could and could not write? He sighed. This whole mess was so much more complicated than she realized. The fact of the matter was he didn’t need her permission to write about what had happened on the ferry. He’d been there. He’d seen it. He’d come face-to-face with her would-be killer.
And he’d already risked his career to see this killer exposed.
No, her reluctance to see her name in print wasn’t actually going to stop him from writing this article. It didn’t matter, couldn’t matter, how beautiful her face was, or what kind of heartstrings it tugged in him when she looked up into his eyes. He had a responsibility to report the truth, and that’s what he was going to do. Besides, it wasn’t as if he needed quotes from her. Once they both filed their police reports, all he had to do was report whatever the police said, and then he had a story.
De
ar Lord, please help her to understand it isn’t personal. I’m just a man with a job to do.
He checked the life ring for damage and found a crack as long as his palm. The ferry wouldn’t want it back. He tossed it into the Dumpster. Then he followed her across the street.
She was standing in front of the diner window. When he noticed that her shoulders were shaking, his heart dropped. Was she crying? Had he really upset her that deeply? He stepped closer, his heart lifting unexpectedly as the bubbly sound of laughter filled his ears. Her eyes were alight with joy at a joke whose source he couldn’t begin to guess.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “You know how Kenny said my brother was arrested for stealing a dog?” She tapped her fingers on the glass. “Look.”
Two men were sitting in a booth by the window. One was a middle-aged, uniformed cop with a bushy red mustache. The other was built like a lumberjack with a short brown beard and blue eyes that twinkled as he glanced up and saw Meg. Her brother? Probably. A Siberian-husky puppy sat on the seat beside him. The men took turns feeding it bits of donut.
“Come on. Come meet my brother.” She ran through the doorway, sending the bells chiming and crashing as she went, and Jack had to grab the door with his fingertips to keep it from closing on him.
Benji pushed the dog onto the floor, where it slid under the table. Meg dropped into the booth beside her brother.
“Sis!” Her brother’s voice boomed through the room. “You look half-drowned. What happened? Why didn’t I see you get off the ferry? And where on earth are your shoes?”
Meg glanced around the crowded diner. The light dimmed from her eyes, replaced by a look so serious the smiles instantly faded from the men’s faces. “How about you settle up the tab, and then I’ll fill you in somewhere quieter than this?” She turned to the cop and lowered her voice even further. “I have to file a police report. I’m afraid something happened on the ferry.”
Deadline (Love Inspired Suspense) Page 3