by Nancy Bush
“He asked me to call him on his telephone,” Catherine stated.
“He has a cell phone. A mobile phone,” O’Halloran said with a nod. “But since you’re here, I can go over what he wanted to talk about with you.”
Catherine waited, her hands in her lap. She didn’t like being there. Didn’t like sitting in a chair like a schoolgirl in front of a disciplinarian.
“The detective’s name is Langdon Stone, and he’s working on a homicide case.”
“Homicide,” Catherine repeated, startled.
“The victim’s name is Rafe Worster. He was traveling with a young woman who is in her third trimester of pregnancy. This woman was also attacked, but her injuries weren’t life threatening. However, she has not spoken since the attack. From what I understand, she’s been in and out of a catatonic state.”
Catherine, under control again, said, “I know the young man.”
“You do?” O’Halloran looked surprised by her admission.
“He worked for us as a gardener and handyman. We haven’t seen him in a number of weeks.”
“And the girl?”
Without hesitating, Catherine said, “No. I don’t know her.”
There was a knock on the door and one of the other officers took O’Halloran into the hallway for a brief consultation. The sheriff returned shortly and picked up where he’d left off.
“Detective Stone thought she might be from your…family,” he said.
“I’m sorry. No.”
O’Halloran looked at her hard. Catherine could tell he didn’t believe her, but she had no intention of admitting that Natasha was one of their number. She felt a twinge of conscience about the baby Natasha was carrying, but there were good reasons to keep denying Natasha’s existence. The need to keep everyone safe superseded everything else.
“Could you give me a little background on your group?” he asked. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard your last name.”
“I’m surprised,” Catherine said dryly. “As your local historical society has a document purported to be an authentic history of my family.”
“You’re saying it’s not authentic?”
“It’s not accurate.”
“What is your last name?”
“Rutledge. It’s not a secret.” Catherine got to her feet.
“The pregnant Jane Doe has gone missing from the hospital,” he said, trying to forestall her.
Catherine felt a chill slide down her spine, but she kept a stone face for the sheriff. “Was there anything else the detective wanted to know?”
“He would like to talk to you personally.”
She lifted her chin and met O’Halloran’s curious gaze. They’d known of each other for years but had never really gone head-to-head on any issue; there had been no need. “I will see the woman doctor,” she said. “You can tell him that.”
She then strode determinedly out of the room and out of the department, her bun of gray hair, stiff back, and long dress drawing a number of looks from other personnel. Catherine was used to it. They didn’t understand. How could they?
None of them knew of the evil that constantly tried to envelop them all. None of them knew of all the devices she used to keep it at bay.
Claire left her office for the hospital after Jamie Lou flounced away. Darlene and Alison, the aide, were busy in the morning room with Thomas McAvoy, who’d taken exception to something Big Jenny had done. Jenny just stood and blinked at him, which brought up a spew of invective from McAvoy.
“Where’s Gibby?” she asked Greg.
“Wanted to stay in his room. Guess he’s upset that Cat’s missing.”
“He calls her Tasha. Says that’s her name,” Claire said.
“Well, whoever she is, she’s not here. We’ve gone through every room.”
“How did she get out?” Claire shook her head, not accepting.
“Like the detective said. She musta had help.”
Finally Darlene and Alison broke up the altercation between Thomas and Jenny. Maribel took over Gibby’s chair, but since he wasn’t around, she lost interest and started wandering, touching all the books in the bookcase.
“Darlene…” Claire called her to one side. The heavyset nurse looked at her askance. “Gibby said Tasha was scared of them, and that they were mean, and that she told Gibby that she had to leave.”
“He thinks everybody’s mean because we don’t give him his way all the time,” Darlene said.
“Anyone in particular at the hospital? Someone Tasha might think was mean, too?”
She thought about it. “Gibby doesn’t like Thomas.”
Claire looked over at McAvoy, who was seated at a table, hunched over, waiting for lunch though it was several hours away still. “What about someone on staff?”
“We’re all mean. He doesn’t like Greg, either. Or any of the other orderlies, physical therapists. None of the men.”
Claire knew it to be true. “I thought maybe there was someone or something specifically. Hmm.”
She left Darlene, wondering what to do next. Call the police and report Tasha as missing? Was she? Did she leave under her own power? How?
She was debating on whether to call Lang again when her cell buzzed. She checked caller ID to find the man in question on the phone. “Hey,” she answered. “I was just going to call you.”
“Learn anything new?”
“Not really.” She related her conversation with Darlene and told him Gibby wasn’t up yet.
“Well, I’ve got something for you,” he said, and in turn told Claire about Catherine’s unexpected appearance at the department and how she knew Rafe, but negated knowing anything about his companion.
“You’re kidding!” Claire said.
“It’s a lie,” he stated, sounding like he was holding on to his temper with an effort. “Jane Doe is part of their cult; I’m sure of it. I don’t know what the hell Catherine’s deal is.”
“Do you think that’s where Tasha is now? Back at Siren Song?” Claire heard the hope in her voice.
“No. I don’t think Catherine went out of her way to get her back, if that’s what you mean. Since she’s denying even knowing her.”
“I’m really worried about Tasha.”
He grunted in agreement. “So here’s the kicker: Catherine’s willing to meet with you.”
“What?”
“She must feel more comfortable with women. You were right. So, I was wondering if sometime today you could go to Siren Song? I’m sure Catherine’s lying and I want to know why. Keep this thing going. Keep the pressure on. Something’s strange about it all.”
“Very strange,” she agreed. “Are you planning to come with me?”
“Yeah, but I have a feeling I won’t get inside the gates.” He then added that he was at the tail end of a relocation to Tillamook, but would be available in the afternoon. “What’s your schedule look like?”
“I can rearrange a few things,” Claire said, after a moment of thought, “and be out of here by three. Should we meet at my place?”
“See you then,” he said, and hung up.
Claire studiously ignored the anticipatory thrill that ran through her like hot liquid.
Tasha lay snug in Cade Worster’s bed while he slept on the living room couch. She’d stripped off Gibby’s clothes and wrapped herself in a tattered quilt in a log cabin style—Tasha had hand-sewn clothes and quilts and pillowcases all her life—and fallen into tortured slumber.
In her dreams Catherine was chasing her. Catherine, the mother, though she was really her aunt. But Nathaniel had been Catherine’s son, Tasha was pretty sure, though Catherine denied it mightily. Now Nathaniel was gone except in her nightmares. In them he rose from the grave and stared at her out of eyes that were black holes of death.
In her dreams he was an apparition now, appearing before her, silently accusing. Tasha turned and ran and nearly tripped over silly Lillibeth in her wheelchair.
She felt Nathaniel’s cold breath
on the back of her neck and screamed herself awake.
Blinking, frightened, unsure of where she was, she felt another contraction. The real thing or false labor? Whatever it was, it hurt.
Where am I? she thought wildly. Then, Cade’s house.
She relaxed a moment. Just. Because there was danger here, too. She could feel it. Rita would find her. Rita would come to Rafe’s cousin’s home. It was logical, and Rita might be crazy but her obsession made her smart.
Tasha had to keep away from her.
Carefully she slid off the bed, the quilt around her naked skin, and tiptoed to the back window. It was daylight outside. Dark and dreary but getting on toward noon, she thought.
Where was Rita? This community wasn’t that large. Rita would find her.
She had to convince Cade to save her. Take her away. Like Rafe had tried to do.
She had to escape.
Before Rita found her.
Rita glared out the kitchen window at the dark day.
Late for work.
Because of that blond whore who’d run off with her baby. Again!
Beside herself with fury, Rita phoned Halo Valley, pinching her nostrils together and wheezing to Lori about how she’d come down with a virus. This god-awful weather. Should she talk to one of the doctors? Possibly Dr. Avanti?
She was told that Avanti wasn’t in yet, either. Lori then spilled about the missing patient, whom they were now calling Tasha.
Rita’s blood ran like ice. “Why Tasha?” she asked, worrying that Lori might hear the little quiver in her voice.
“Gibby says he talks to her and that’s what she calls herself. We’re taking our cue from Dr. Norris.”
Dr. Norris…
Rita hung up and stood staring into space for a full minute.
“Rita!” Delores yelled from the bedroom.
Rita didn’t hear her, didn’t even process. She’d spent hours the night before looking for that wretched little bitch. She’d been mud-soaked, drenched with rain, cold to the bone, and it had taken half the night to get warm and clean and her mind was a muddle of fury.
Tasha had tricked her into believing she was in labor. She had tricked her.
Tricked her…
Rita could scarcely see. Her vision was red. Filmed. Blurry. She wanted to kill her. Needed to.
Rita was going to kill her and take Rafe’s baby.
“Rita!”
Tasha took Rafe away from her.
Rafe. Her one true love.
Rita Feather Hawkings’s one true love.
“Rita, for God’s sake. If you’re not going to work, make some lunch! You’re starving me!”
Rafe had a few close friends. No family, really, lucky him. She shot a dark look full of menace down the hall.
Except for Cade. Cousin Cade.
“Rita!” Delores banged the television remote against the wall.
But the house was empty.
Rita was gone.
“Let’s take two cars,” Lang said as they stood beside their respective vehicles in Claire’s driveway. The rain had abated earlier in the morning but the steel clouds hung low in the sky, threatening to open up at any moment. It was three thirty, as both of them were running a little late. “If Catherine lets me in, great. A bonus. If not, I’ve got a couple of things I could do.”
“Okay.”
“Any further ideas on how Jane Doe got out, if she did?”
“She’s not hiding in any closets or cupboards. She must have had help.”
“Who would help her?”
Claire had a funny tickling of her memory, but couldn’t place it. She shook her head, then said, “I went with Dinah to meet her father last night. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but with everything else it just didn’t seem important.”
“How was it?” Lang asked, so Claire gave him a quick rundown on what Herman Smythe had said about Siren Song. Lang listened intently and when Claire finished, said simply, “Interesting history.”
“Seemed a lot more relevant before Tasha disappeared. I was going to bring up some of it to her, see if she reacted. I don’t know.”
“We’re definitely calling her Tasha now?” Lang asked.
Claire nodded.
“Okay.”
He then went to his truck and led the way back to the lodge, driving the nose of the gray Dodge past the scrub pine and mountain laurel and making room for Claire to park beside him. Climbing from their respective vehicles, they came to stand by the gate, both Claire’s shoes and Lang’s boots squishing into the mud.
“A strange way for us to keep meeting,” Claire observed.
“A strange cult of people,” Lang observed.
“Why won’t she admit to knowing Tasha? Is there any chance we could be wrong? That Tasha’s not from here?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “But she was with Rafe, and she fits the description of a Colony member, and no one else has come forward to claim her.”
“She’s close to having that baby.”
“We’re going to find her. Someone had to help her.”
“Who?” Claire asked.
“Someone who knew she was at Halo Valley.”
Another flash of quicksilver memory that Claire almost grasped. “She came from Laurelton General.”
At that moment a figure stepped through the front doorway and into the rain. Not Catherine. A younger woman, her blondish hair scraped into a bun at the back of her neck, her slim figure encased in an ankle-length waisted dress with a gathered skirt. Her shoes were practical. Black soft-soled leather slip-ons.
Claire realized, “Tasha had similar shoes. Those are Easy Spirit, maybe Eccos, or something like them.”
“Guess they don’t make their own shoes,” Lang observed.
“Tasha’s from the Colony.” Claire was positive.
“Got no argument from me.”
The woman walked up to the gate and Claire realized she was much older than she’d first assumed, closer to Claire’s age. She had pale blue eyes and a generous mouth, and the resemblance to Tasha was unmistakable.
“Catherine would like the doctor to come inside,” she told them, then pulled out a large ring of keys and threaded a long one into the lock, giving Lang a warning look as she did so. He stepped back as a matter of course, reading the unspoken command. She then swung the heavy gate open and Claire stepped through.
“I’m Isadora,” she said, then with a hard clank she shut and locked the gate again, inviting Claire to walk ahead of her across the flagstones to the front door.
As she started out, Claire sent Lang one silent glance before turning her attention to her feet and heading to the lodge.
Chapter 19
As soon as she was out of sight Lang wanted to call her back. He felt unnaturally apprehensive. What if the damn cult swallowed her up and never let her out?
Irrational. Crazy. Dr. Claire Norris was going to be fine.
But he couldn’t deny the tightness of his chest. The anxiety that had him in its steel grip.
He had to do something. He’d told her he had things to do. But damn if he could remember even one!
“Hellfire,” he muttered, turning to his truck. He didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to stay. He sat in the cab, immobile, and swore violently and pungently, finally switching on the ignition. She had her own car. He’d arranged it that way. There was no reason for him to feel this way.
They were only women. She was safe.
But every one of his nerve endings was alive. His emotion concerning her was so intense he felt almost physically ill. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, feel his body moving with hers in that age-old dance. His head was full of thoughts of having her in his bed, being inside her, feeling her skin, her mouth, her tongue.
It was fear that sent these messages down his nerves, changing to pent-up desire.
If she came out safely—when she came out safely—he was going to his damnedest to make her his. Dr. Claire Norris. His onetime enemy.
It was staggering, but he wanted her more than anything.
Cade Worster was both enamored with and dumb-founded by the pregnant girl. “It’s Rafe’s baby?” he asked, just to be absolutely certain. He’d found her some of his clothes and she’d dressed in them, her other pants and shirt being caked with mud and soaked with rain.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s Rafe’s.”
Her admission left him shaking his head and trying not to stare. Cade’s clothes were bigger than Gibby’s and she had to roll up the legs of the pants even farther and cinch the waist with a belt. The arms, too, needed to be folded back at the cuffs several times. He gave her a pullover cotton sweater that had seen better days.
The effect was she looked younger than her years, too young to be having a baby.
Tasha sized up Cade quickly. “Rafe’s ex-girlfriend is trying to take my baby,” she said.
“Rita?”
So he knew. It worried Tasha greatly. “Yes.”
“She the one who attacked you at the rest stop?” Then, “Holy shit,” when Tasha nodded. “You’re not saying she killed Rafe!”
“Yes, she did!”
“No…she was nuts about him.”
“She’s completely mad,” Tasha assured him. “She would do anything to get what she wants. She wants to kill me, too.” She went on to tell him how Rita had sprung her from the mental hospital. “I was planning to leave, to get away from her. But she just kidnaped me before I could!”
“You need to call the police,” Cade said.
“No!” Tasha was horrified. “They’ll send me back to the lodge and Catherine. I can’t go back there. I can’t!”
“Well, where were you and Rafe going?”
“Anywhere. Portland, maybe. We just wanted to get away! To be together and raise our baby…”
“Where’s Rita now?” he asked.
“Looking for me,” she said gravely.
“There was a policeman who came by, asking about Rafe. He wants to help. You need real help.”
“I need your help,” Tasha implored.