True Vision

by Joyce Lamb

  Grimacing and coughing, she pushed him back and tried to sit up. He helped her with a hand behind her elbow, watching her carefully for signs that she might pass out again. Sure, that’d give him the chance to hold her close again, but he wasn’t a complete asshole.

  Though she grimaced as she gingerly rolled her shoulder, she seemed relatively okay.

  “Did you see that son of a bitch run me off the road?”

  “Actually, no. I saw him trying to strangle you, though.”

  “Yeah, a freakin’ ninja.” She giggled at that, then winced and started to cough. “Ah, crap, that hurts.”

  Noah looked over his shoulder for the flashing lights of help, not sure what worried him more, the coughing and wincing or the giggling.

  “Help me up, would you?”

  He turned back to her just as she latched onto his arm and tried to pull herself up. “Uh, shouldn’t you wait for someone to take a look at you?” he asked.

  She shook her head, and her forehead creased. “It’d be easier if you just helped.”

  Sighing, he got to his feet and drew her up, steadying her when she swayed against him. He couldn’t stop himself from catching her closer for just a moment, glad that she was so warm and whole, if a bit shaky. He noticed that she leaned, too, before she started brushing at the stains on her khaki shorts. When she glanced over at her totaled car, she dropped her hand to her side as though realizing how silly it was to worry about something as simple as dirt.

  “Damn.”

  Noah’s thought exactly. “Not to be an alarmist or anything, but I think someone’s trying to kill you.”

  She turned her head to look at him, her gaze steady and faintly accusing. “And here you are.”

  He cocked his head and grinned. “Yes, it’s been my plan all along to repeatedly knock you senseless in hopes that you’ll tell me what you don’t want me to know about your family.”

  She narrowed her eyes and put a hand to her temple. “Jesus, I couldn’t even follow all that.”

  He grasped her chin to turn her head so he could examine the darkening bruise on her cheekbone. His stomach flipped at the thought that it could have been so much worse. “How’re you doing? Dizzy?”

  “No. Pissed. Look at my car. That bastard.” Then she pulled away from him, her light eyes piercing. “I don’t suppose you got a license plate number.”

  “No, sorry. I thought you were getting help, not getting attacked.”

  “But you saw the ninja, right? I’m not going nuts?”

  “I think we can both agree it wasn’t a real ninja. Probably someone in a Halloween costume.”

  “He had one of those baklava things on his head.”

  He looked at her blankly. Baklava? And then he laughed. “Balaclava.”

  “That’s what I said. There was only a slit for his eyes.”

  “Same attacker as the other night?”

  “Unless there’s a band of raging ninjas on the loose.” She squinted at him, obviously struck by another coincidence. “How’d you get here? This isn’t a main road.”

  Busted. “Uh, well, I was kind of following you.”

  “Kind of?”

  He shrugged, gave her his most sheepish smile, suddenly feeling as lame as he sounded. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “And you thought following me would change that?”

  “I figured it was worth a shot. I don’t have a whole lot to go on, you know. The guests at the hotel saw nothing and know nothing. You’re all I’ve got.”

  Charlie chewed her lip for a moment, thinking, then gestured at a flat rock several steps away. “I need to sit.”

  As he led her to the rock, noting she wasn’t quite steady yet, he wondered where the hell the cops were. She would have been long dead by now if he hadn’t been here. He could hear sirens in the distance, but it still irked him that they were so slow.

  He shifted his attention to Charlie as she lowered herself to the rock with a long, shaky sigh. When she stretched her left leg out in front of her, he noticed the bruise forming on the outside of her knee. It must have hit the door on impact, like the side of her head. It made him feel a little sick.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

  She glanced up at him, narrowing her eyes against the sunlight at his back. “I could use a stiff drink.”

  He chuckled, amazed at how well she was taking this second attempt on her life.

  “It’s weird, right?”

  He shook his head. Focus. “What’s weird?”

  “I’ve just had an incredibly crappy couple of days, and it’s like I don’t even care anymore. I mean, it’s ridiculous. I’ve f-ed up just about everything I can possibly f-up, and the sad thing is that the person who wants to kill me today is nothing compared to the multitudes of people who’re going to want to kill me next week.”

  “You’re not making much sense.”

  She buried her face in her hands. “I’m so screwed. You have no idea.”

  He knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Just hang on. Help is coming.”

  “Not the kind of help I need.”

  “What kind do you need? Maybe I can—”

  She raised her head, suspicious again. “Are you serious?”

  “Well, I need something from you: your family history. Maybe I can provide the something you need.”

  “You’re all about payback, aren’t you?”

  Payback. Same as revenge, right? He’d been here before, and it was a dark, dark place. But he couldn’t help it. It was Laurette. “Yeah, I’m a firm believer in an eye for an eye. Sue me.”

  She considered him for a long moment. “You really cared about her.”

  He thought he saw tears well into her eyes before she glanced away and into the sun. The light worshipped her, flashing the red in her dark hair and washing her skin golden. He had to concentrate to draw a full breath into his lungs. “Yeah,” he said. “I really did.”

  She sighed and dragged a hand through her hair, wincing as her fingers caught in a tangle. “You’re right. My mother has a sister. I think her name is Rena.”

  He closed his eyes and let out a breath. Finally. A solid connection. “That’s Laurette’s mother’s name.”

  “I don’t know anything about her. I can’t even remember anything about the photos I saw of her. And I can’t ask my mother, not in a way that would be productive, anyway.”

  He thought of her face, bruised and swollen. Damaged by the woman who gave her life. “I want to talk to her.”

  “No.” She shook her head, emphatic. “She’s spent her whole life running from . . . whatever she’s running from. I won’t let you, or anyone, hurt her.”

  His chest ached. So protective of a woman she’d needed protection from. “A woman is dead. Maybe your mother wanted to make sure her secret stayed secret.”

  “She’s got her issues, but she’s not a killer. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.”

  “You’re not objective.”

  “I’m probably the most objective one sitting here, actually. You don’t think I’d like to turn you loose on her, make her pay for every time she smacked me into a wall?”

  “I think she’s your mother, and you’re a good daughter.”

  “I just ratted her out to you, though, didn’t I? Knowing you wouldn’t let it go.”

  “You did the right thing, Charlie. Isn’t that what you do?”

  “Yeah, and then people lose their jobs and health insurance and livelihoods and everyone ends up broken. Doing the right thing sucks.”

  Her voice cracked, and she looked away. The need to comfort her overwhelmed him. Sighing, he rubbed her back, felt her shuddering. “Are you okay?”

  She closed her eyes. “I don’t think so.”

  Before Noah could respond, a fire truck and two cop cars arrived at the scene.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Damn. Shit. Fuck.

  He ripped the balaclava off his head and
tossed it into the passenger seat. That guy clinging to Charlie Trudeau had to go. Bastard kept getting in the way. What was his deal anyway? Following her around, sticking to her like glue, showing up in the middle of nowhere right when he had his hands around her delicate little throat, popping the eyes out of her head.

  Jesus, he’d gotten excited. The moment had been at hand, he was finally going to win, and he’d actually gotten a hard-on. Then that big oaf had started screaming her name and running toward them, killing the moment like a bucket of ice. Fuck.

  Taking deep breaths, he eased his foot off the accelerator. A speeding ticket would make his whole goddamn week.

  Time was running out. Any day now the other one’s body would be discovered. And he needed Charlie Trudeau out of the picture before that happened. The minute it hit the news that that bitch was dead, Charlie Trudeau would know who and why.

  And it’d all be over.

  Especially for him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It had to be Dick, Charlie thought. He wanted her dead. He’d thought it clear as day in her flash when he’d slammed her against the wall: I’m going to kill that bitch. She’d ruined him and now he wanted her dead. But something didn’t fit. What was it?

  She adjusted the ice pack she held to her cheek and watched Noah and Logan conversing a few yards away. Noah gestured up the street, clearly describing what he’d seen.

  And then the thing that didn’t fit registered. Dick couldn’t have been the one who’d attacked her. The ninja was smaller, more athletic. Younger.

  Dick Jr., she thought. She’d seen him in the flash at the dealership. Dick Sr. had thrown the newspaper at him and roared, “How could you let this happen?” Dick Sr. blamed his son. And now his son was fixing the problem. Her.

  Hammer smashing into bone streaked across her memory. The scent of wet paint. Consuming rage. Curly black hair. Familiar curly black hair. How did she know that hair?

  She jerked as it hit her. Lucy Sheridan, Dick’s receptionist at the dealership. Charlie’s source for the contract switcheroos. Dick must have figured it out by how nervous Lucy had gotten when Charlie showed up, then he’d sent his son after her. Oh, crap.

  She pushed off from the tailgate of the ambulance and hurried over to Noah and Logan.

  She had her mouth open, ready to tell them what she knew when it struck her that she’d sound like a nut job. She couldn’t possibly explain how she knew these things. I’m super empathic. Ask me how.

  Both Noah and Logan looked at her, waiting for what she’d come over to tell them.

  “Uh, I think I’m ready to go,” she said, and made a vague gesture at her head. “Headache.”

  Noah’s eyes, so kind, the color of Florida pines, narrowed with concern as he reached out and trailed a finger down the side of her face. “You hit your head pretty hard,” he said softly.

  She shivered at his touch, resisted closing her eyes but didn’t resist leaning into his touch, amazed at how easy it was. She could get used to this. Him. “Yeah, it’s pounding.” Not a lie.

  Logan cleared his throat. “Before you go, I need a list of people who might want to hurt you.”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “I’m a reporter. It’s a long list.”

  “So there are other stories you’ve been working on that would piss off murdering psychopaths.”

  “Yeah, I had a couple in the works. A local builder who’s been taking kickbacks from price-gouging suppliers. Not that that story was going anywhere. The builder’s a major advertiser at the LAG, too.”

  “Do the advertisers know that the LAG won’t expose them because of their business relationship?”

  “They don’t now that Dick’s sins have been aired.”

  Logan sighed, shook his head. “Fine. How about we start with the top three on the people-who-want-Charlie-Trudeau-dead list?”

  “Dick Wallace would be number one.”

  “Any chance he was the driver of the Suburban?”

  “Too small,” Noah said.

  Logan arched a brow at him. “You know Dick Wallace?”

  “Met him earlier, when he had Charlie pinned against the wall by the throat.”

  Logan’s eyes darkened. “Son of a bitch.” His gaze swung to Charlie. “You went over there after your story hit the streets?”

  Charlie almost stepped back from the menace in his face. “He started an ad boycott against the newspaper that’s probably going to kill it. I had to do something.”

  Noah murmured an almost inaudible “Ah” that had her glancing at him before Logan blew out an exasperated breath. “And you think you can bargain with a guy like Dick Wallace? Come on, Charlie. You’re smarter than that.”

  “I admit it wasn’t a shining moment for me, but . . . look, this is beside the point. Shouldn’t you be questioning him instead of chewing me out for being an idiot?”

  Logan shook his head. “Yeah, fine. You’re right. I’ll question him myself.”

  “While you’re at it, you might want to see what Dick Jr. was up to when I was run off the road. His build is similar to the ninja’s.”

  “Great,” Logan said. “My boss is going to be a real happy camper when Dick calls him up to complain about his whole family being harassed.”

  “He’s a crook, Logan,” Charlie replied. “He should have been shut down years ago.”

  “He has connections in the community, Charlie. Solid connections. You pissed off more than Dick Wallace with that story.”

  “So no one is supposed to tell the truth about a guy who has connections? What, is Lake Avalon part of the Soviet Union now?”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “Shit,” Noah said through his teeth, cutting him off. Charlie and Logan both glanced at him in surprise. And then Noah, eyes suddenly narrowed with purpose, took Charlie’s arm and stepped between her and the other cop. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. I think we can all agree that Dick needs a good look. In the meantime, Charlie should lie low. Maybe check in at the Royal Palm until we get a handle on the threat level.”

  Logan put away his notebook and pen. “That’s a good idea. I’ll arrange the room and get you the key.” He looked at Charlie. “Maybe you should take a trip to the ER to get checked out.”

  Charlie started to argue. “I’m fine—”

  Noah’s fingers tightened on her arm. “I’ll take her to the ER and home to pack,” he said to Logan. “Think you can have someone bring a room key by her place?”

  Logan nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “Great, thanks.” Noah steered Charlie toward his car, his movements surprisingly brusque.

  She reluctantly fell into step beside him, biting down on the surge of indignation. Decisions had been made as though she had no say. And she didn’t have time to go to the ER. She had things to do, such as check on Lucy Sheridan.

  “Being mad is a waste of energy,” Noah said as he opened the passenger door for her.

  She stopped in front of him, tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “I don’t like being pushed around.”

  He cocked his head. “Yeah? What about almost being killed? You like that? Are you one of those people who gets off on cheating death?”

  “No. Of course not. I’m just—”

  He backed her against the car door. “You walked into that guy’s place of business, knowing he’d want a piece of you, and cornered him. What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t thinking. I already admitted that. Jesus, why are you so bent about that anyway?”

  “You know what I’m bent about?” He stepped closer, and her back hit the car door. That didn’t stop him from getting closer, angling his head so that he was in her face, bracing his hands on the door frame to trap her. “I’ve been chasing my tail since I got here, trying to find something, anything, to explain why my friend was run down on a Lake Avalon street. My friend, who had no enemies, who’d pissed off no one before or after she got here, who did nothing but what norma
l people do when they go on vacation. I’ve been questioning people right and left, trying to figure it out. And you know what? It’s so clear to me now. So fucking clear. Laurette wasn’t the target in that hit-and-run. You were.”

  Charlie sucked in a sharp breath. “What? No, I—”

  “And that pisses me off,” he cut in. “Because a good woman is dead. A really good woman, and she’s dead because you stepped on the wrong toes in your quest to do the right thing. Sometimes, doing the right thing is wrong, Charlie.”

  He shoved away from her and turned his back, shaking his head. “Jesus,” he said under his breath.

  Charlie watched his back, still stunned. She was the target in the hit-and-run? Was that possible? Of course it was. She and Laurette looked similar. Laurette was struck near the newspaper, an area of Lake Avalon where the killer could have assumed he’d find Charlie.

  Dick must have found out about the story before it ran and tried to stop it. Oh, God. And now Lucy Sheridan, her source, might be dead, too. A hammer buried in her skull.

  Noah dropped his head back and let out a long breath. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that.”

  He’s sorry? Why should he be sorry? Everything he’d said, oh God, everything . . . “I deserved it.”

  He lowered his head to look at her. “You did your job.”

  “It wasn’t worth what it cost.” She drew in a shuddery breath. She’d been so blind, so stupid and stubborn and self-righteous. “It cost so much more than I ever thought it would. I’m so sorry about that. About Laurette.”

  He swallowed, looked away. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s not your fault.”

  She laughed softly, not the least bit amused. In fact, she couldn’t recall a time when she’d felt worse. “I do stuff that gets people killed and fired and destroys livelihoods, and you think it’s not my fault? It’s all my fault.”

  He gave her a small, sympathetic smile, but instead of offering platitudes, he gestured at the car. “Let’s get you to the ER.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Half an hour after Noah delivered her to her anonymous room at the Royal Palm, Charlie walked outside to the car she’d rented at the front desk. She’d showered and changed into fresh khaki shorts and a clean white tank top. Her hair was in a ponytail and stuffed under a navy baseball cap, and dark sunglasses hid her eyes. As disguises went, it wasn’t much, but between the red Sebring convertible, the cap and the shades, she figured she’d blend right in with the tourists.