The Raincoat Killer hit the boardwalk and stumbled to his knees. He tumbled off the deck, dragged himself up out of the sand and tore across the beach like a terrified rodent.
Jack’s feet hit the boards. He leapt, landed hard on the Raincoat Killer’s back and brought him to the ground. The killer swung backward and caught Jack in the chin. Pain shot through the reporter’s jaw. But Jack gritted his teeth. He slammed the killer’s face into the sand. Rolled him over. Yanked off his hood.
And stared into the ugly, bloody face of local teenager Kenny Smythe.
* * *
Did this mean the Raincoat Killer was nothing but a petty teenaged drug dealer from Manitoulin Island? Or that a local teenaged criminal just happened to dress up in a raincoat, sneak into Benji’s store and threaten Jack with a knife?
“None of this makes any sense.” Jack shook his head at the thin, dark-haired Toronto detective named Owen Ravine, now sitting across the table from him, hoping the so-called crime expert would be able to shed some light on the increasingly murky situation. Detective Ravine frowned. Jack dropped his head into his hands and stared down at the table in front of him.
When he’d seen the drug-addled teenager, down in the sand, begging for mercy, it had taken all the self-control Jack possessed not to punch him. Instead he’d restrained both Kenny and himself, until young Officer Burne had stepped in and taken over. It was only then that he’d seen the wall of faces watching from the second-story balcony. Meg was staring down at him. Her hands clutched the railing. The look on her face inscrutable. Then she’d disappeared into the crowd.
Officers Stephen and Malcolm Burne forced Kenny into the back of a cop car. Detective Ravine kindly requested Jack join him for a chat in an empty room on the pavilion’s main floor.
The wiry Toronto detective had very long fingers and jet-black hair that grayed slightly at the temples. Jack had heard of him but wasn’t sure he’d ever met him. While Ravine did look vaguely familiar, the reporter had seen enough senior detectives at enough crime scenes that after a while they all kind of blended into one. While they tended to know more about investigations than your average cop, they were also a lot harder to get information from, making them less useful as potential sources. Jack preferred beat cops—they saw a lot, and were more willing to talk. He couldn’t remember the last time he was actually alone with a detective.
Hopefully this one would actually be willing to listen.
“At the moment, Mr. Brooks, the young man is claiming he was framed.”
Jack’s head jerked up. “He what?”
Detective Ravine shrugged. “Kenny Smythe claims that someone approached him a few hours ago, asking to score some drugs. Things get a bit sketchy after that, because apparently Kenny took a lot of those drugs himself. But apparently this person also offered him a couple hundred dollars to dress up in a raincoat, sneak into the sports store, find Meg Duff and scare the life out of her.”
“He confessed to attacking me at the sports store?”
“Yup. But he says you laid hands on him first, and he was only acting in self-defense.”
“He had a knife!” Jack leapt out of his seat.
The detective waved him down. “Relax. I’ve reviewed the surveillance tape. It’s pretty clear what went down. He’s lucky he made it out with just a bloody lip.”
Jack landed hard on the plastic chair. “What was he doing at the pavilion?”
“Again, his train of thought is a bit hard to follow, probably from the mountains of cocaine he appears to have taken to dull the pain after your fight. It appears he became enraged his contact didn’t get in touch to pay up and went storming around the island in a stupor trying to find him, which is how he ended up at the pavilion. Where you—” he looked down at his notes “—and I quote, ‘viciously jumped him like a crazy person.’” He smiled a thin-lipped smile.
Jack didn’t smile back. “At least tell me you know who hired him.”
“He claims it was ‘Jack Brooklyn, the reporter from Toronto.’”
“You’re kidding.” Jack glanced at the ceiling and muttered a prayer for patience. “The thug didn’t even get my name right.”
The detective couldn’t possibly believe Kenny was telling the truth. Why was someone coming after him? Why try to discredit him this way? Jack closed his eyes. Lord, You are the one who can see order in the chaos. There has to be a pattern here. There has to be a truth hidden in this darkness. Help me find the truth that I need to see.
“Unfortunately for him,” Ravine said, “a man named Benji Duff swears you can’t have been wandering around the island hiring drug addicts today, because you spent all afternoon researching leads in his office.”
Jack opened his eyes. A picture began to form in his mind’s eye, as if he were peering down through the water in the lake, at the stones that now lay at his feet.
What if his research had actually uncovered something, and he just hadn’t realized it? What if he’d stumbled onto something important, gotten too close to the truth and had accidentally tipped off the real Raincoat Killer? What if the killer had then retaliated by hiring a local drug dealer and thug to go after Meg?
The picture in his mind grew murky again. Even if his theory was correct, it still didn’t explain why.
“Please tell me you’re taking this seriously. Tell me you’re going to find out who hired Kenny, and what link that person might have to the Raincoat Killer murders.”
“Trust me, Mr. Brooks, we’re taking this very seriously.” The detective leaned back. “We will find out who hired him. He’s called in a lawyer, so it may take a few days and some deal making. But we’ll find out eventually. Unfortunately for Kenny Smythe, he just turned eighteen a few weeks ago, so we pressed the fact that he was facing an adult sentence pretty hard. Hopefully that’ll get through to him.” He slid his business card across the table. “In the meantime, this is my personal cell phone number. I’ll be assisting local officers up here for as long as it takes to sort this entire mess out thoroughly. Feel free to call me directly if you come up with any new leads you think I should be chasing. You’ve opened a whole new can of worms for us in the last few days, and the chief back in Toronto has put me in charge of sorting them out.” His chair scraped back. “But we’ll get it sorted, and the truth will come out in the end. Don’t worry. We’ll find out who hired this kid. We’ll find out if any of this is related to the murders in Toronto, or the other incidents on the island. Just be patient and let justice take its course. It all might just take some time.”
Time. That was the one thing Jack was sure he didn’t have.
FIFTEEN
The pavilion’s second-story restaurant was deserted. Meg had sent the catering crew home early and the cleaners weren’t expected for almost another hour. The main lights were off, but small bulbs still glowed over the buffet table. Half-empty plates lay on tables. Two full dessert trolleys still stood by the wall. She walked over, picked up a plate and took a forkful of cake. It was delicious.
Footsteps behind her. She turned. Jack was standing in the doorway.
“You want chocolate cake, lemon slice or pear tart?”
“Excuse me?”
She pushed one of each onto a plate, then walked over and handed it to him. “The caterer gets paid whether we eat it or not. I just have to hope that Rachel’s grandmother doesn’t refuse to pay. Otherwise I’ll have to cover it out of pocket or risk getting sued by the caterer.”
“I suppose they could sue Kenny Smythe and me instead.”
“Don’t even joke.”
He took a bite of tart, chewed it thoughtfully and then swallowed. “This is good. Really good. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast.” For that matter, neither had she. “So, how up to speed are you on what’s been happening?”
“You mean the Rai
ncoat Killer?” she asked. She turned her fork slowly on her plate. “I know Kenny Smythe confessed to attacking you in the store and that he’s been arrested. He’ll probably be stuck sitting in that cell for a long time too. Local police have probably been just itching for him to turn eighteen.” She sighed. “I also know the police still have no clue who attacked me on the ferry, as it probably wasn’t Kenny. I know they’re still not ready to believe us when we say that McCarthy’s death might not have been a suicide. I also briefly met that detective that came up from Toronto, Owen Ravine?” She shrugged. “I don’t quite know how to put this, but I’ve stopped feeling like any of the police up here are really listening to me. It’s like they’ve all gone from people I’ve known my whole life to virtual strangers.”
“That’s probably because of me.” He finished the tart, then tried the cake. “Like I mentioned before, I have to fill you in on something that’s happening in Toronto, in relation to my job, how the police there reacted to my initial story, and the fallout ever since.” He groaned. “I don’t even know where to start. I’ve been questioned by police so many times in the past forty-eight hours I can hardly string my thoughts together, let alone try to put them in a coherent sentence.”
“I know how you feel. Can it wait until after the wedding tomorrow? Or at least until we’ve both had a good night’s sleep? At least until my head stops buzzing? Right now everything feels like white noise.” She set down her plate. “Come on. Let me show you something.”
She crossed the room to a small door in the wall, felt for a light switch and then led him up a narrow spiral staircase to the small observatory deck on the pavilion’s top floor. She switched off the light again. The island spread out beneath them in all directions. To their left, the gentle lights of town faded out into the woods beyond. On the right, the bay spread out below them like a roll of blue-black velvet. A scattering of boats floated over the surface like candles.
She leaned on the window ledge and stared out into the night. “Welcome to my favorite hiding spot. I’ve always loved coming up here, looking out at the beach, watching people out on the water...” Her voice caught in her throat. “When I was a teenager, I used to really love watching extreme water sports—before Benji’s accident. But I knew if my mom caught me down on the beach, she’d stand there and lecture me loudly about how dangerous and reckless they were. So I used to sneak up here just to get a bird’s-eye view of the daredevils zipping along on personal watercraft and water skis, or flying past me on parasails.” She frowned. “Hard to believe now, isn’t it?”
She could feel Jack step toward her. The space between them shrank. The heat of him seemed to radiate through her back. Comforting. Strengthening.
“It wasn’t that my mom actually didn’t want me parasailing or waterskiing or anything like that. ‘Not until you’re older.’ She didn’t outright forbid me. But I knew if I did it would upset her. So I didn’t try. My mother carries this sense of fear around with her everywhere she goes, like an invisible scarf wrapped around her neck.
“I promised myself I’d never be like her. When Benji, my little brother, bucked Mom’s disapproval and just went ahead and tackled every extreme sport that he could, even though he was only a kid, I was so proud of him.” Her shoulders shook as she could feel the threat of tears building in her eyes. She blinked hard but not before one managed to slip down her cheek. “Now my little brother has turned out to be exactly the man he always said he’d become. And I’m the woman I promised myself I’d never be.”
His hand brushed her shoulder, turning her toward him. The darkness of the skies outside reflected in his eyes. “Come here.” His voice was husky. “You could probably use a hug. I know I could.” He spread his arms to make room for her. She stepped inside them, letting her head fall against the strength of his chest.
What was it about having his arms around her that made her feel so safe, so comforted...even made her feel small? Both her father and brother were big men. Yet, for as long as she could remember, she’d felt the need to care for them, to be the glue that held everything in place and the cornerstone that kept the house from falling.
Her mother had hovered around her father like a hummingbird. Fretting over how the dinner was cooked or the house was cleaned. Never pausing long enough for something as simple as a hug. Then, with Benji’s accident, her mother had fallen apart. So Meg had stepped up. Made the meals. Done the shopping. Opened the mail, placing the bills in a tidy pile on her father’s desk. Hid the newspapers when they arrived. While her brother’s physical strength and bulk might have eclipsed her physically by the time they were teenagers, he was still her little brother. He brought out her protective instincts. She even did his laundry.
But Jack was a man. All man. In a way she couldn’t put a finger on, and didn’t know how to explain in words. His unshaven cheek brushed against the top of her head, ruffling her hair. His lips hovered over her forehead, tenderly, affectionately. What was she thinking bringing a man like him, alone, into her private, dark sanctuary? Jack was the kind of man who acted impulsively, instinctively. Who’d catapulted off the ferry to save her. Who’d chased Kenny down the beach without a second’s thought. But she wasn’t like that, was she? No, she planned ahead. She thought things through. She never let herself get caught off guard.
So what was she doing here, with him, alone? And why couldn’t she muster the resolve to pull away?
Her eyes closed. His hand slid along her neck, burying his fingers into her hair, twisting gently through the tendrils at the back of her neck. An unfamiliar ache tugged inside her chest. What would it be like not to be in control? To let go of the reins?
She tilted her face toward him. He kissed her. Sweetly. Gently. Asking nothing from her in return but the willingness to let herself be held. A deep sigh spread through her body. Her body melted into his. Her limbs let go of the tension that had held her in its grip for so long.
She wanted this. She’d always wanted this. To be able to let go and let someone else catch her, support her, hold her, even for a moment, knowing he wouldn’t push her or take from her, leaving her depleted and empty.
But could she really entrust him with that? Yes, he’d saved her life. She owed him that much.
But how was kissing her now any less impulsive or reckless than chasing after a serial killer or jumping overboard? Jack was impulsive. He’d kissed her impulsively. Nothing more.
Hot tears pushed their way to her lids. She pushed him back. “I’m sorry...” she gasped. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
He stepped back. His face paled as if she’d verbally slapped him. “You can’t what?”
Couldn’t let herself be with him and couldn’t stop herself from falling for him.
“I can’t have a relationship with a man who just goes through life thoughtlessly, and recklessly throws himself into danger. Who goes bungee-jumping off cliffs and chases killers down the beach. Not after what happened to my brother.”
His expression hardened. “And what happened to your brother, Meg? Last time I checked, Benji was just fine. Yes, he was hurt fourteen years ago. Terribly hurt. I’m not about to trivialize what happened to him or what you all went through. But he healed, Meg. He grew up. He went on and built an amazing life for himself. While it’s like you’re still there, standing in the snow, staring at the crash, waiting for someone to give you permission to get on with your life.”
Tears cascaded down her cheeks. She didn’t even try to wipe them back. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? Are you telling me you wouldn’t react differently right now if I promised to give up sports, all sports, for you? What if I promised to give up being a crime reporter too? What if I promised I would just sit quietly and safely behind my desk and never take another risk for the rest of my long, boring life, just because you asked me to?”
Her eyes shot up to his face, unexpec
ted hope leaping in her chest. “Would you?”
“No. And that’s my point.”
A gasp slipped through her lips. “How dare you?”
“I’m sorry.” His voice softened. “Look, Meg, yes, I have been living like a bachelor. I own a motorcycle, not a car. I take on the toughest possible assignments. I venture into war zones and gang territories. I go there because other people can’t, and the stories need to be told. All too often other reporters can’t hack it or they have families to come home to, and I don’t. I’m not in a position to consider making a commitment to anyone right now. My job at the newspaper is way too shaky—thanks to the Raincoat Killer story. And yes, I’m every bit as into extreme sports as your brother and every bit as serious about safety gear, as well.” His fingers brushed away tears from the corner of her eyes. “But when I’m in a secure enough place that I can ask someone to be my partner, my wife, some of that would change. I would have to consider her and our children in every risk I took and every decision I made. She would be my priority.
“But with me as her husband, Meg. Her partner. Someone worthy of her trust and her respect. Not as some fragile thing she thinks she has to hover over and fret over, like your mother hovered over your father, or how you hover over your brother. Not with a woman who’s going to question and second-guess every single choice I made. Your brother may be willing to accept you mothering him. I wouldn’t. No man who’s worthy of winning your heart ever will. And until you move past your fears, you’ll never be ready to find the kind of happiness and life you deserve.”
A flame of heat rose to her cheeks.
Loud banging sounded from downstairs. Someone was knocking on the door leading to the second floor of the pavilion. The cleaners! She heard a voice calling her name. She pulled away from Jack and ran for the stairs. The sound grew louder. The door must have locked behind Jack when he’d come through. She ran down the stairs, even as Jack called for her to wait. She tumbled back into the second-story dining room and was partway across the floor when she realized it wasn’t the cleaners at the door, but Stuart Smythe.
Deadline (Love Inspired Suspense) Page 12