Deadline (Love Inspired Suspense)

by Maggie K. Black

  Kenny’s younger brother stood there, shivering in a sleeveless white T-shirt. The fifteen-year-old’s face was a sickly shade of yellow in the glare of the pavilion’s fluorescent lights.

  “Meg! What did you do to my brother? Why is he in jail?” Stuart was drunk, probably high, definitely scared, and trying to hide it all under a whole lot of bravado. Poor kid. He was used to following around in Kenny’s shadow, and the news that the police were actually keeping him in jail and threatening him with adult charges was probably a major shock to the teenager’s system.

  Her feet slowed. “I didn’t do anything to your brother, Stuart. He’s been arrested. But I’m sure the police are going to take good care of him. Nobody’s going to hurt him. He just needs to be honest with them and everything will be okay.”

  Stuart grumbled something under his breath. He stepped back from the door. His shoulders fell.

  Jack’s hand brushed her elbow. “Should we call the police?”

  She watched as Stuart walked down the platform a few steps, then turned around and walked back.

  “Look at him,” she said. “He’s just a scared kid. He’s not carrying a weapon and I’m not about to open the door.”

  Besides, Jack could probably take him with a single blow if he needed to.

  “Stuart.” She stepped up to the window. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  “They wouldn’t let me see him.” He sniffed. “Or my dad. Or mom. Just some lawyer.”

  Wow. So they really were clamping down hard. “I’m sorry. That must be hard. I’m sure they’ll let him see your parents tomorrow.”

  “My dad says that the lawyer said you accused Kenny of helping a serial killer!” His voice rose. “A serial killer! One who attacked you and killed old man McCarthy and a bunch of women! My brother wouldn’t do that! He wouldn’t help no serial killer!” He hit the glass with both hands. It shook under his weight. “He said they could lock him up for a long time! Like the rest of his life. For being an accessory. My brother’s no accessory to nothing!”

  No wonder the teenager was terrified. The police had played hardball with his brother, the news of which had then gotten filtered through a lawyer, his father and finally into a fifteen-year-old bundle of aggression who’d fueled himself up with drugs and alcohol.

  She tried to take another step toward the glass, only to find herself stopped by Jack’s grip on her elbow. “Okay,” she said. “I understand why you’re scared. But all your brother has to do is tell the police the truth and he’ll probably end up with nothing more than a drug charge.”

  Which probably wouldn’t do Kenny any harm.

  “Did you do it?” Stuart was practically screaming now. “Did you tell the police that there was a serial killer on the island? And that you knew all about it?”

  “Sort of. But it’s not like—”

  “Why would you do that?” His voice bellowed through the night air and over the empty beach. “Why would you lie? Why would you hurt my brother like that?”

  Her eyes glanced back to Jack’s face. It was grim. As much as she didn’t want to add to this kid’s problems by calling the police on him, if he didn’t calm down they’d have no choice.

  “Do you know who hired your brother?” Jack’s voice was steady. “If you did, and you tell the police, they might let your brother go.”

  The teenager’s head shook as if there were water in his ears. “Maybe. I don’t know. He told me not to tell anyone anything. To just say it was some reporter guy.”

  Jack took a deep breath. “Listen, I’m the reporter your brother fought with.” Jack walked toward the door with a calm authority that sent shivers down her spine. “I’m not out to hurt you or Kenny. I promise. If you tell the police everything you know, I give you my word that I’ll tell the police I’m dropping the charges against him for attacking me.”

  Stuart’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not gonna talk to the police.”

  “Then talk to me.” Jack raised both hands in front of him, palms up. “You tell me what you know and I’ll tell the police for you.”

  “And you’ll tell the police to let him out of jail for cutting you?”

  “I can’t control what the police are going to do. But I promise to talk to them about dropping the assault charges, yes.”

  Stuart’s lip jutted out. She could see his tongue rolling over his teeth as though he was debating whether to swallow what he was hearing. “What about wrecking the store?”

  Meg took a deep breath. “I’ll talk to my brother. You know Benji, Stuart. He’s a good guy. He believes God gives everyone second chances.”

  “And my brother won’t be mad?”

  “I don’t know,” Meg said softly. “But trust me, please. I promise you, telling the truth is the best thing for everyone, including your brother.”

  Stuart clenched his eyes shut. Meg held her breath.

  “Okay. Fine.” Stuart nodded. “I’ll do it.”

  “Thank You, God.” Jack reached for the door handle.

  A gunshot cracked the silent air. Stuart’s body wheeled suddenly. The teenager screamed. A second shot. Stuart fell backward over the balcony. Jack’s arms flew around Meg, pulling her down.

  Glass exploded around them.

  SIXTEEN

  She was cold on the inside, with the same numbing chill that had first slipped inside her limbs when she paced the hospital floor waiting for news of her brother. Her limbs felt frozen to her side. Her mind was a pool of black, floating with disjointed images and sensations.

  Stuart screaming. Glass falling. Jack pulling her to him, tightly, telling her it was going to be okay. The sound of sirens. Flashing lights. Stuart’s body on a stretcher. A blanket being draped around her shoulders. Jack refusing to let her go. Sitting in the back of a vehicle. Her brother’s voice. A pillow underneath her head. Something warm and comforting over her. Then the gentle sound of flames crackling.

  She opened her eyes and waited as the images around her began to come into focus. She was lying on the couch in her own living room. Harry was curled up beside her. The dog’s head was on her legs. His soulful eyes watched her face. Jack was crouched by the fireplace, nursing a fire to life.

  “Stuart!”

  In an instant, Jack had crossed the floor and was kneeling by her side. “Meg, it’s okay. The paramedics got to him really fast. He’s in the hospital.”

  “Is he alive?”

  “Last I heard, unconscious but still alive.” Jack’s hand brushed her cheek. “How are you?”

  “Okay.” She stretched her limbs, linking her fingers together and extending her arms down toward her toes. Harry tumbled off her and onto the floor. “I thought I heard Benji?”

  “You did. I called him right after I hung up with nine-one-one. The paramedics wanted to take you to the hospital, but he helped me convince them you’d feel better sooner if we brought you home.”

  At least she could be grateful for that. She pressed the tips of her fingers together, then rolled her shoulders back.

  “Your brother went downstairs about half an hour ago.” Jack sat down cross-legged on the floor beside her. “He sat on the couch with you for a while and talked to you while you dozed a bit. Then I told him to go sleep and that I’d stay up with you for a bit. It’s after midnight.”

  “I don’t really remember all of that. It’s like I’ve been only half-awake.”

  “You were in shock, hon. That was pretty understandable and a very normal reaction. You saw someone you know nearly get killed. It was pretty horrendous, especially on top of everything that has already happened over the past few days.”

  “Someone shot Stuart.” The words fell from her lips like iron.

  “Yeah. Someone did. Two shots. The first caught him in the shoulder and knocked him off the balcony. Se
cond took out a window.” Jack’s tone was soft, but his words were direct and unflinching. “The shots came from below. Probably a handgun. The police think someone was hiding in the darkness and listening in on our conversation. Probably whoever hired his brother to pretend to be the Raincoat Killer. Whatever reason someone had to get Kenny to attack us and then implicate me, obviously they meant business.”

  Memories of the past few hours were filtering back into her brain now. Disjointed. Like snapshots from a nightmare. She pulled her knees into her chest and rested her chin on top of them. One moment she’d been standing there, asking this teenager to open up to them and trust her. The next, he was shot. She stared into the fire. The fragments flying through her memory paused, on one crystal-clear sensation—Jack’s fingers brushing through her hair as he held her to him tightly. He’d been there. With her. He’d held her tightly through the whole ordeal, without once letting her go. “You stayed with me, every single second.”

  “Of course I did.”

  “But you’re a crime reporter and that was a crime scene!” Her words flew out in a rush. “You didn’t have to stay with me. You could have tried taking statements. You could have followed the ambulance to the hospital. You could have gone to the police station to see what you were able to find out, or...”

  His hands reached for hers, enveloping them. “But I didn’t.” Light and shadows danced along his jaw. “Because you needed me and that was more important.”

  “But this is all my fault.” Her voice came out as a whisper.

  “Honey, none of this is your fault.”

  “Yes, it is.” She pulled her hands back and wrapped them around herself. “If I’d let you interview me about being attacked by the Raincoat Killer, on the night it happened, your paper would have run it immediately, right?”

  He nodded slowly. “It would have been up on our website within the hour, yes.”

  “Then other press would have picked it up?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “Then the entire island would have been gossiping about it by this morning, which means no one would have been able to bribe Kenny into dressing up in a raincoat like that. The Smythe brothers are criminal, but they’re not stupid enough to intentionally get mixed up in something big like that. Especially not for a measly couple hundred dollars. Then Kenny wouldn’t be in jail and Stuart would never have been shot.” She hugged her knees to her chest. A tear rolled down her cheek. “They saw us after we swam to shore. They even asked me why I was muddy. If only I’d told them the truth...”

  “Meg. Don’t do this.” His hand brushed against her arms.

  “Interview me.”

  His spine straightened. “What?”

  “I think you should interview me. Right now. I can’t expect this story to stay secret forever. You said so yourself. This whole thing is spinning out of control. More people have gotten hurt, and the longer I try to keep what happened to me a secret, the greater the chance that someone else is going to die.”

  He knelt beside her, peeled her hands away from their desperate clutch on her legs and held them tightly in his, “Are you sure?”

  Her lips quivered. “No, I’m not. I’m terrified.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not good at this.” She shook her head. “At words. At telling people how I feel or explaining what happened. Don’t you get that? You say that telling our stories can help free us and other people. I’ve now seen what happens when people try to keep quiet and hide things they shouldn’t. But saying the wrong thing is equally dangerous. If you stick a microphone in my face, who knows what I’ll say? I get muddled. I get flustered. I get my words wrong, and say the opposite of what I mean sometimes. What if I say the wrong thing? What if I make everything worse?”

  “Meg? Do you trust me?” Dark eyes looked deeply into hers, tender, protective, filled with a depth of unspoken emotion that made her heart leap painfully inside her chest.

  Did she trust him? This man who had not only risked his life to save her, but refused to let her go when chaos rained down around them.

  She nodded. “I do. I trust you.”

  “Then trust me with this. You’ve got to know I’m nothing like the reporters that went tramping through your flower bed and trampling over your life, just to stick a microphone in your face and trick you into saying things you never meant to say. I would never do anything to hurt you.” She tried to look down at her feet again, but he tilted her face up, until her eyes met his. “Trust me with your story. Let it all pour out like a giant mess of sand, and rocks, and clay. I will search through it for the gems. I will polish your words. I will shape them. Not just because it’s my job, but because it’s my privilege. To take your words and make them beautiful.”

  Sobs broke over Meg’s body like a wave. The sadness and fear, which had hidden somewhere inside her for so very long, burst through her body, pushing her off the couch, onto the floor and into the safety of Jack’s arms. “But it was my fault. It was always my fault.”

  His arms tightened around her. “What was?”

  “Benji’s accident. It’s my fault he was out on Chris’s snowmobile that day. My fault he got hurt. My fault Chris died.” Fresh tears filled her eyes again. His fingers stroked through her hair, gently, firmly. She swallowed hard. “Remember how I told you I used to sneak up to the pavilion to watch the daredevils? Chris was my favorite. I had the biggest schoolgirl crush on him. He was gutsy, and a risk taker, and the absolute opposite of everything I’d been raised to be.

  “He asked me out on a date. I was seventeen. I wanted to, but I had to say no. My parents wouldn’t let me, because he had a reputation for being reckless and driving dangerously. He’d already been in two car accidents. They didn’t want me to get hurt.”

  She sat back, just enough to look up into his eyes. His arms slid down her body. His hands rested gently against the small of her back.

  “He kept asking me out. Over and over again. Surprising me places. Following me. He was tenacious like that. He didn’t give up when he wanted something, especially because he knew I liked him too. And I fell apart. Completely.” She wiped the back of her hand over her eyes. “I didn’t know what to do. So I told Benji. He was my little brother and my best friend. He found me crying in my room one day, and demanded that we talk about it. So I told him everything. Absolutely everything.

  “He was only fifteen! But he seemed so grown-up, trying to take care of me and fix everything for me. He was already into extreme sports anyway. He figured if he got to know Chris better and if they became friends, then maybe he could convince Chris to back down a bit. And if he was in our house more as Benji’s friend, then maybe my parents would see he wasn’t such a bad guy, and then I could date him....” She sniffed. “He was doing it for me. But I was his big sister, Jack. I should never have told him all that. He was too young to know what to do about it. I should have been looking out for him. I should have protected him.”

  Jack’s lips brushed over her forehead. “Oh, honey, you do try to take on responsibility for the whole world, don’t you? You know it’s not your fault. If Benji was just a kid at the time, then so were you. And even if Benji was trying to help by becoming friends with Chris, the responsibility was still on the two of them to be safe when they went off together. They are the ones who chose not to wear helmets and to ride off the trails. The truck driver is the one who didn’t stop in time. All the fallout to your father’s business and all the irresponsible press coverage was due to other people’s choices.”

  “I missed Chris a lot after he died.” She sniffed. “I felt guilty about it too. Because I liked him, even though I knew I shouldn’t. I never told anyone that. I was afraid to talk about him to anyone in case they could tell I’d had a crush on him. I pretended I didn’t really know him. It was easier that way. Seeing Wesley around has brought it back a lot h
arder than I was expecting. He’s only a couple of years older than Chris was when he died. That’s what I was trying to run away from when I went out to the deck on the ferry. Those memories. The guilt.” She sat back and ran both hands over her eyes. “You must think I’m such a mess.”

  “No, I think you are exquisitely human, and that I am a very lucky man to have met you. I think you’re probably exhausted from taking care of a lot of people and carrying a lot of worries all by yourself. But don’t you see, you’re not alone, and you don’t have to be.” A tender smile brushed his lips. “I think that we should pray for God to help you see how very loved and very precious you are. And then, after that, it’s about time we finally have that interview.”

  SEVENTEEN

  A phone was ringing—the loud, insistent noise shattering the last remnants of a deep sleep that had been all too short. Meg opened her eyes and blinked. Sunlight was streaming through her bedroom window. What time was it? Almost ten. She blinked. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in that late. The phone call went through voice mail.

  She and Jack had talked into the early hours of the morning. His thoughtful questions peeled back the layers of her memory, bringing her thoughts and feelings about the Raincoat Killer out into the light.

  Her hand brushed along the side of her neck. She’d never felt so listened to.

  Picking up the phone, she noted that the missed call was from Rachel. In her voice mail, the young bride was irate and demanding, verging on hysterical. Apparently she’d just gone past the pavilion and noticed one of the windows had been boarded up. “I’m supposed to be getting married tonight! That’s supposed to be where my reception is! I thought my fountain of flowers was arriving this morning. What are you going to do about it?”