by Lisa Jackson
Chloe stared at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just . . . lots to do, and I’m making lists in my head. Let’s get those shoes on and head to school. We’re late.”
“Again?”
“Yep.” She turned Chloe around and down the hall to search out her shoes, then race-walked back to her own bedroom, gathered up the envelopes, and shoved them in her purse.
In the kitchen, she snagged Chloe’s lunch box and was standing by the door to the garage when her daughter appeared, her shoes on the wrong feet. Quickly, Elizabeth exchanged them and then said, “Let’s go,” much too brightly.
Chloe frowned at her, but didn’t make a comment as she buckled herself into her seat.
Driving through the familiar streets, Elizabeth kept checking her rearview mirror, her thoughts whirling in her head. Who left those notes on the doorstep? Who would be so bold? And who wrote them? Someone who said they were in love with me, but what kind of love was that?
Who?
“Chloe, that man you heard in your head who said he loved me? The one who did bad things? Do you know what he looked like, by any chance?”
“I don’t see him.”
“Okay.” It was stupid to question her daughter. She was grasping at straws.
Hands slick on the wheel, she thought about Gil Dyne whose wife had maybe committed suicide and who’d taken a real interest in her. And Peter Bellhard. He still was calling and trying to connect with her. She’d hoped he would give up, but apparently he wasn’t a man to take no for an answer.
When people love each other, they stop at nothing.
That was the tone of the letters, she realized, shooting a glance in the rearview mirror at her daughter. Just exactly like the words that had come out of Chloe’s mouth.
She dropped Chloe off at school and checked her in. They were late enough that she didn’t see any of her friends. After handing her off to the preschool teacher, Elizabeth said, “I’ll pick you up later,” and then hurried away, her purse feeling inordinately heavy with the notes inside. She realized she’d left her briefcase at home, but didn’t care.
At the office, Elizabeth shoved her purse under her desk then called Rex on her cell. As the call connected, she again thought of the sexy dream where Rex was her lover. When he suddenly picked up, she felt a thrill race through her.
“Hey, Elizabeth,” he said, obviously recognizing her number.
She damn near fell apart at the sound of his voice, but she held herself together. “Something’s happened,” she said quietly, just in case Pat or Connie or someone else decided to cruise by. “I’d like to meet with you again. The sooner, the better.”
“What is it?” he demanded, his voice was sober.
She swept her gaze to where she’d stuffed her purse. “I got some letters. Left on my front porch. I want you to see them.”
“Who are they from?”
“Anonymous.”
“Left on your porch?”
“In the middle of the night. I stepped on them this morning. They’re . . . disturbing.”
“I’m working from home today. You mind coming over here? It’s private. Ravinia’s out trying to re-up her minutes.”
“What’s your address?” Realizing she might be overstepping her bounds, she added, “I mean, if you have time.”
“I’ll make it.” He rattled off an address in Costa Mesa. “You okay?”
“I think so. Yes.”
“You want me to come to you?”
“No, no, I’m fine.”
“Where are you?”
“At the office. Chloe’s at preschool.”
“You want to drive over now?”
“Yes.” With that she grabbed up her purse again and hurried back to her car.
Rex met Elizabeth at the door and was reminded once again how beautiful she was, but he ignored it as he led her to the kitchen. She spread the letters on the table. He avoided touching the missives, all written in a clean, sharp hand, and all with messages of a twisted, one-sided, obsessive love. Dangerous love. Possessive love. One even going so far as to explain the “dark side” of love.
Whoever wrote them was one sick fuck.
And obviously involved in the recent killings.
He read the words over again.
I watched you tonight. Are you receiving my mental messages. . . we will both be transcended . . . soon the unveiling will happen . . . It’s just us against the world.
Rex’s guts clenched. Whoever wrote these was stalker-esque and obsessive. “You have no idea who sent these or dropped them off?” he asked and noticed how pale she was, how worried.
“None.” She took a seat at the table, her back to the sliding glass door. She glanced outside and said dully, “You have a nice house. I like the backyard.”
“I’m thinking of selling. Know any good real estate agents?”
She blinked at him, clearly deep inside her own head, processing. She could scarcely get past her fear and he didn’t blame her.
“Anyone you know who could have written them?” he asked, spreading his hands above the scattered pile.
“No,” but after a moment she reluctantly named two possible candidates. Gil Dyne and Peter Bellhard. “The tone of the letters doesn’t really sound like either one of them.”
Rex made a note to check them out. “What about people you meet who aren’t friends, in other social or professional settings?”
“I have my Moms Group of friends and their husbands. That’s where I met Gil. I have some clients, none of whom come to mind. Oh, and I recently went to a grief group, but that’s all women.”
“What about someone from your past? Old boyfriends? Lovers?”
“There really wasn’t anyone but Court,” she said, shaking her head.
Rex tried to explore that angle some more, but Elizabeth had nothing much to add. He was scheduled for surveillance again today, and going into the office later, but he’d cleared his schedule after she called. Nothing he was doing trumped her safety, and from the looks of these notes, she wasn’t safe. “You’ll have to hand these over to the police.”
“You think that’s a good idea?” she asked anxiously.
“It shows there’s another player, and maybe that player left some of his DNA around.”
“What if there is no DNA? What if the police think I sent them to myself?” Her voice was rising.
Rex said soothingly, “Let’s not borrow trouble.”
“I don’t think the police are on my side. They could twist this around on me.”
“You’ve got to trust someone.”
She looked at him through moist, blue eyes. “I trust you.”
That look got to him. He could feel every protective fiber in his body come alive. “I’ll call Tatum. No, I should call Driscoll. Don’t want to antagonize the man any further by going around him.”
“Why did he send them? What does it mean? And why write so many?”
“Whoever it is, is making their play. You’ve got a stalker, Elizabeth, and that person is ratcheting up, growing bolder. More dangerous.”
Her bones seemed to melt as she sank farther into the chair. “You think he killed all those people? Officer Unfriendly and GoodGuy and maybe Court? Mazie? I don’t know.”
“This guy’s MO reminds me of John Hinckley Jr. The nut case who shot President Reagan to impress Jodie Foster.”
Her face turned ashen. “Oh, God. No . . . no . . . he killed Detective Thronson, too. It doesn’t make any sense!”
“Who says it has to make sense? You’re talking about a psycho. And this note . . . where is it? Here we go.” He read, “Did you see, Elizabeth? Have you been watching? He got what he deserved and now he abides in whatever special hell is reserved for scum like Channing Renfro. I know there are others working against you. I’ve heard them, seen them, sensed them. But don’t worry, we’ll take them out together, one by one. I’m right behind you, love. Your savior, your soldier.
You don’t see me yet, but you will when I’m ready.
All for you, my love . . . all for you.”
Rex stopped reading and said, “This is a confession. Whoever wrote these notes is behind the deaths. We have to go to the police.”
Elizabeth seemed about to acquiesce when his doorbell rang. She started.
“Stay here,” he ordered, then walked to the front door and peered through the window for a view of the front porch.
Staring back at him was Ravinia.
Dressed in her uniform of dark jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, a jacket and backpack slung over her shoulder, she motioned that she didn’t have her key. She’d taken off on foot this morning to re-up her minutes, but it looked as if that hadn’t worked.
Rex hesitated. Did he really want her to see the letters? Did he want her involved in Elizabeth’s case?
She glared at him. Her expression said it without words. Well, are you going to let me in or what?
Chapter 33
Ravinia sent Rex a speaking look as she walked past him into the kitchen. She knew he was trying to freeze her out in the homicide investigation surrounding Elizabeth and it irked her. Add to that, she’d failed to find a place near Rex’s house in order to get her phone up and running again. And she’d realized he’d set up a rendezvous with Elizabeth while she was gone.
She would have gone on being piqued if Elizabeth hadn’t given her a watery smile, turned her palm to the pile of envelopes on the counter, and said, “Looks like I have a stalker.”
Ravinia dropped her backpack with a thunk and reached for one of the letters.
“Be careful. We’re turning them over to the police, see if we can find any DNA that isn’t ours after we manhandled them,” Rex said.
Her hand froze midair and instead she leaned over one of the nearest letters. They were all laid out, so she could see them without touching them. She read them one by one, and felt the hair lift on her arms at their fervent tone. She read them a second time and frowned. Something about them struck a chord in her. What was it? Something she should recognize, something just out of reach. “They’re weird.”
“Obsessive,” Rex said.
The phrases burned in her brain. “This person feels they can communicate with you mentally. Can they?” She gave Elizabeth a look, wondering if she’d been holding back on her.
“No,” Elizabeth assured her.
“You sure?” Ravinia asked.
“I’m positive. I know these notes say that the writer’s sending messages, but I’m not getting them. Maybe it’s all a lie anyway, designed to make me feel like I’m going crazy. If so, they’re succeeding.”
“Have you felt anything at all? Like maybe there’s just something in the wrong frequency?” She could speak from experience on that one.
“No,” Elizabeth insisted. “Nothing.”
Ravinia gave up and glanced down at the cards. “These seem off.”
“Ya think?” Rex said.
“They sound wrong for Declan Jr. and he’s the one out there you need to worry about.” She suddenly had a thought. “Detective Dunbar’s the one you should talk to. She dealt with Declan Jr., and I bet she would help.”
“Who’s Detective Dunbar?” Rex asked.
“I called her last after you left,” Elizabeth said at the same time.
“She knows Declan,” Ravinia said, ignoring Rex who clearly didn’t like being left out of the conversation. “She knows him too well. He tried to kill her.”
“He tried to kill a police officer?” Elizabeth asked, looking to Rex in alarm.
“He wants us all dead,” Ravinia told her. “All of us connected to Siren Song. All of us who are related. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He’s the reason I came to find you. To make sure you’re safe. That’s what Aunt Catherine wants. To make sure you’re safe. But you’re not safe. This . . .” She waved a hand to the letters. “Maybe it’s him. I don’t know. But you should really get away from here as soon as possible.” She snapped her fingers. “Go to Siren Song. Meet Aunt Catherine, and you can talk to Detective Dunbar in person. She’s with the Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department which is right there,” she added for Rex’s benefit.
“You just said this Declan is a killer,” Rex stated flatly.
“But he’s not there anymore. He’s somewhere else. That’s why Aunt Catherine was worried about you,” Ravinia repeated, exasperated. “With everything that’s happened to you, he’s probably here.”
“I can’t just go,” Elizabeth said, though her tone suggested that she was rolling the idea around. “I’ve got Chloe to think of. And Detective Driscoll would take it as a sign of guilt.”
“Chloe can go with you.” Ravinia was firm. “I don’t care what that detective thinks. It’s not true.”
“She’s right,” Rex said, shocking Ravinia and making Elizabeth’s head turn. “This killer’s making his move. You need to go somewhere safe.”
Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “I can’t just drop everything and go to Oregon. For how long? Driscoll will come after me and lock me up, and who’s going to take care of Chloe? I can’t be away from her. I can’t.”
Ravinia stared down at the handwritten notes. They were giving her a headache, messing with her mind. She walked to the sink and stared outside to Rex’s backyard. “Siren Song is a safe place and it’s far away. Aunt Catherine has made it like a fortress. She’s in charge. And she’s your mother.”
“We’re not sure about that,” Elizabeth said.
“You’re not sure about it. I am. Besides, Aunt Catherine’s a strong woman. Not afraid of looking evil right in the eye and doing whatever she has to, to protect us. All of us.” Ravinia dragged her gaze away from the window and stared at Elizabeth. “The same goes for you. Maybe even more so.”
“Why don’t we shift you to a hotel for the time being,” Rex said. “Think about what you want to do, but get out of your house. I want you to talk to Cunningham, get your defense started.”
“I have a job . . .” Elizabeth said. “And I can’t afford a hotel.”
“We’ll work that out. You just need to be safe,” Rex said.
“But if I call Driscoll with these letters . . . maybe he’ll realize someone else is out there and go after him. Driscoll seems entirely capable.”
“But what about you?” Ravinia demanded. “And Chloe?”
“I can’t think,” Elizabeth muttered, climbing to her feet. “I have to go to the office.”
“I’ll go with you,” Rex said.
She held up her hands. “I’d rather have you take the notes to Driscoll. I don’t want to see him or talk to him. I have appointments at work. Thanks for the offer, but I can’t afford a hotel and I’m not letting you pay for one.”
“I’ll go with you, then,” Ravinia said, echoing Rex.
“No. Thank you.”
Ravinia saw the way Elizabeth looked away from her and realized that, though she seemed to trust Rex, she didn’t share that feeling about her. Elizabeth hadn’t completely accepted Ravinia’s tale of their family. It was damn frustrating.
“Call me every hour,” Rex told her, which pissed Ravinia off all the more.
She didn’t have a working cell, and she had a feeling Rex would try to shake her loose from him. Well, she was going to be like a burr, she determined, as Rex walked Elizabeth to the door. She saw the way he touched her arm and that kind of pissed her off, too. They were bonding in all kinds of ways, and yet Elizabeth treated her with extreme caution.
She’s wavering. I can feel it. Not only has Elizabeth fallen for that stupid private detective, but she’s actually considering leaving the area, leaving me. I can’t let that happen. What’s wrong with her? Didn’t she read the notes I penned for her? Doesn’t she understand the depth of my love? That we’re destined to be together? That I would do any damn thing to be with her.
My fists curl in frustration and a headache pounds behind my eyes. I can no longer suffer this loneliness. I
have to stop her.
Feeling sick, I lean against the freezer, my hands braced against the top of the big chest. I need to stop her. I can’t believe that she won’t wait for me, or come to me. She must’ve gotten my messages . . . I thought she would respond in kind but so far . . . nothing.
My heart is breaking.
My soul is shredding.
She can’t leave me. Not now. Not ever.
I force myself to take several deep breaths as I conjure up my beloved’s face. I long to touch her. To kiss her. To seal our love . . . our special love.
I can wait no longer. I head upstairs to the kitchen to find my keys and slip the ring into my pocket.
Today, I will go to her. I know where she’ll be.
Today is the first day of our forever.
The day crept by. As she called Rex every hour on the hour, Elizabeth began to feel foolish. He had taken the letters to Driscoll who’d been noncommittal about his thoughts, but it made her feel better to know they were in the rumpled detective’s hands. While she’d talked with Amy Ferguson and, of course, Marg and Buddy, who wanted to see yet more houses—a plan she’d put off until next week—Rex had been following up on Gil Dyne and Peter Bellhard. He’d interviewed both men and had struck out. Though he was leaving the door open, Elizabeth could tell he didn’t feel either man was capable of writing such heartsick notes, and well, she felt the same.
She was meeting Detective Driscoll at Rex’s place as soon as she picked up her daughter. Ravinia had gotten on Rex’s phone once, reiterating that she felt Elizabeth should go to Siren Song ASAP. Well, maybe, but first the detective.
She was late, as ever. If she didn’t get to the preschool by six PM she was charged an exorbitant rate every fifteen minutes past the hour. She understood, but it didn’t mean she didn’t push the limit sometimes. It was two minutes to six when she finally wheeled into the lot.
Vivian was just leaving. She waved at Elizabeth and called, “What are you doing this weekend?”