by Alice Sharpe
Shells crunching behind her stopped a millisecond later.
Expecting that Gloria had sent Eduardo after her to make sure she got home safely, she whirled around so fast she almost fell over.
A tall shape ran down the path toward her. She started to tell Eduardo to go home when she realized this man was much taller and thinner than Eduardo. And then the moonlight hit the object in his hand and Kate stifled a scream.
She spun on the balls of her feet and ran.
She knew this path by heart and she knew it petered out up ahead as it met the broad sweep of grass leading up to the house. She could think of nowhere on that gentle, moonswept slope to hide until she got almost to the deck. Her sandals weren’t made for running; she knew she would never make it.
On her left was a shoreline of small rocks and then the black water of Florida Bay.
No cover there, she thought, unless one considered the water itself. She’d never been swimming here, but she had been boating, and she knew it was shallow toward the shore but quickly deepened.
Kate stopped thinking. Stumbling over rocks, slipping on slime, she forged ahead without stopping. Her breathing was so loud it pounded in her ears. At any moment, she expected an arm to grab her around the neck, a blade to slice through the back of her sweater and pierce her heart.
When the cold water splashed as high as her knees, she lowered herself flat on her stomach. Splashes behind her signaled the killer had entered the water. She pulled herself along, fighting to keep her head down, cursing the moonlight that played across the surface ripples. The cool temperature of the water went all but unnoticed in her haste to put a safe distance between herself and the monster with the knife.
When the water was deep enough, she swam as fast as she could underwater, instinctively traveling as far from her last position as her inhaled breath would take her, kicking off her sandals as she swam, thinking, thinking as her loose clothes grew heavier and hindered her movement.
She could try to make it back to the Priestly house, to their dock. If she could get out of the water unseen, Eduardo or Gloria could help her.
The attack came after you left the Priestly house, an inner voice shouted against the drumming of her heart. Are you crazy? You can’t go back that way!
There was an old pier north of her house. She could swim to that. It was a long swim, but the lethargy that had claimed her since coming back home was gone, washed away by water the color of ink and the determination that whoever was stalking her wasn’t going to win.
She would get to dry land, she would reclaim her babies, she would move as far away as humanly possible.
With or without Mac.
She’d worry about how to get back to her house once she made it to the pier. First things first.
She surfaced, trying hard not to gasp for air, though her lungs ached. As she dog-paddled in place, she tugged off her sodden clothes, desperately raking the shoreline for a sign of her pursuer as she fought stubborn buttons. She finally recognized a tall shape in front of the palms, out in the water.
Did he have a gun, too?
She didn’t know.
As her assailant switched on a flashlight and played the beam across the water, Kate let the last of her garments slip away. Then she took a deep but noiseless breath, closed her eyes and slithered silently into the depths, away from the light. She swam north.
IT WAS LATE AND THE TWO TACOS Mac had bought at a drive-through and eaten in the Coopers’ car sat heavy in his stomach.
As he drove back to his motel, questions kept buzzing his brain. Had Kate really run out on her kids? Was she really a gold digger? A stripper?
Why had she kept secrets from him?
He tried to drum up a scenario that fit. She’d admitted that after her husband died, she wanted to leave Boward Key. Was it possible she had decided to do so, only without her children? Had she approached her father-in-law and asked for an advance on her inheritance so that she could make a break? When he refused, had she gone off on her own, maybe thinking she’d get settled and then retrieve her boys? Had she then met up with foul play that landed her in Billington or had some old crony of hers chosen that moment to track her down?
That fit in with the Elvis impersonator groping her in the bar right after he warned her to go home. Hadn’t she wondered aloud, way before her memory started coming back, if she was tied up with unsavory people? Had she known this guy two years ago?
Since her memory returned, had she reconsidered her decision to abandon her children? Was she embarrassed to admit she’d done so? Was she scared that she’d made such a giant mistake that she might never get them back? Or did the fact that she seemed to have forgotten the pivotal few moments before everything went awry mean she’d also forgotten her own decisions and actions?
Or was she lying to him?
When it came to Kate, he hated trying to create worst-case scenarios, but she had asked him to kidnap her children from their grandparents. He had to gather information and no matter how he felt about Kate, he had to find out who she really was, not who she thought she was or who she wanted to be. Or who she wanted him to think she was.
He rubbed the back of his neck as he pulled into the motel parking lot.
Having thought the worst, now he could think in other directions. How about the two guys in Macon, Georgia?
Okay. One of them had tried to abduct her. Apparently, if he took Kate’s word for it, this guy had been the first person she saw when she woke up back in Indiana. Why hadn’t he just killed her then, if that was his plan? The second time, in that parking lot, maybe it had been too close to other people, too dangerous even for a knife. But the first time, in that abandoned alley? Why hadn’t he knifed her as he had apparently knifed Jake?
And how had she gotten into the alley in the first place? How had she ended up in Jake’s clothes and why had Jake then been murdered?
He was getting ahead of himself. He turned off the ignition as he thought about the Elvis impersonator.
The man had told Kate that B.O. wanted her home and then he’d fired at the abductor, presumably to make sure Kate had a chance.
Why?
How did an Elvis impersonator, who happened to also know Kate, end up performing in a roadside inn they themselves hadn’t know they were stopping at until the last moment? He must have been following them. So, assuming that Elvis and the abductor were separate agents, which one of them drove the car with the wacky headlight? Had there been a whole parade of Indiana cars traveling from Billington to Boward Key?
Who were these men? For whom did they work?
And what did they have to do with Kate or the elder Priestlys?
He pushed his room key into the lock, opened the door and stood there without turning on the light. Then he closed the door without entering.
There were no answers for him inside that room.
The answers were a mile away, in Kate’s head. He needed to talk to her—not tomorrow morning, but right at that moment, before her in-laws brought the children home from Fort Myers.
He desperately needed answers.
Chapter Eleven
Mac rang Kate’s doorbell. When that didn’t work, he tried banging with his fist. He was about ready to go to the car, retrieve his gun from the glove box and shoot the damn lock when Nellie opened it at last.
“I want to speak with Kate,” he said.
“Ms. Katrina has been asleep for hours,” Nellie said.
“Then we’ll wake her.”
The housekeeper seemed to grow roots into the floor. “We most assuredly will not. If you must see her, come back in the morning, though if you ask me—”
“Thing is, I’m not asking you,” Mac said, and with a firm push, snapped the door out of her hand. As she protested his audacity, he took a chance that the bedrooms were situated on the north side of the house and started down what looked to be the appropriate hallway, Nellie nipping at his heels.
“Of all the unmitigated gall,”
she sputtered. “I’ve half a mind to call the police.”
“Ask for Officer Dryer,” Mac said. He stopped in front of two closed doors and said, “Which one?”
Nellie was so angry with him that she refused to indicate which door was Kate’s. He tried one knob, and pushed open the door to find two cribs and a plethora of neatly arranged stuffed animals and plastic trucks. He tried the other and found the master suite.
“I can’t believe your nerve,” Nellie said, still right behind him.
He stopped in front of a huge bed draped in cream and shades of tan, with fluffy pillows and roses everywhere. If this wasn’t a marital bed, he’d eat all six frilly throw pillows, and a stab of red-hot jealousy poked right through his gut. Ignoring the jealousy, he regarded the tousled but empty sheets, the hand of solitaire laid out and half played on the lace coverlet, the framed photograph of Kate’s sons lying face up on a pillow. “Where is she?” he said.
Nellie had already opened the folding doors to a walk-in closet crammed with clothes and now she was turning on the lights in what appeared to be a huge attached bathroom. She turned startled eyes to him. “I don’t know. She went to her room some time ago. I just assumed…”
They both looked at the glass door leading to the patio.
“Call the Priestly house and make sure she isn’t over there,” Mac directed, and for once, Nellie didn’t protest. He checked the door. It was unlocked, and a jolt of alarm rattled him. Had someone entered this room and forced Kate to leave?
He shouldn’t have left her alone!
Nellie was off the phone in a flash. “Gloria said she was there almost two hours ago, wanting to see the children. She told them the Priestlys had taken them up to Fort Myers. I already told her that. Why did she go bother Gloria?”
“Because she’s worried sick about her kids,” Mac said, impatience making his voice brusque. “It’s not a long walk between the houses, is it?” He felt a little better knowing she had apparently walked to the big house under her own steam.
“Just a few minutes. Maybe she decided to take a stroll.”
“Or a swim?”
“Not out there,” Nellie said.
“You stay here, I’ll go look for her.”
With that, he let himself out the door and crossed the patio. As he stepped onto the grass, the door behind him opened and Nellie hurried outside. “Take this,” she said, handing him a flashlight. “Dr. Priestly lives south of here. There’s a path along the shoreline.”
“Thanks,” he said, and took off at a run.
THE MUSCLES in Kate’s arms and shoulders throbbed with fatigue. When she finally saw the gray silhouette of the old fishing pier jutting out into the bay, she felt like crying with relief.
Eventually, she reached the pier. She knew from the times she and Danny had visited here that it was too unstable to climb on, even if she could have figured out a way to shimmy up the rotting log supports.
No one fished here anymore, and the beach wasn’t particularly attractive for late-night strolls, facts for which Kate was grateful as she waded through the mud and turtle grass. Of course, it wasn’t tourists or fishermen she was nervous about.
Common sense said her attacker would never dream she’d swim this far north, that the shoreline was too broken up by buildings for him to have followed her without knowing her ultimate location. She still felt uncommonly naked standing there, and it wasn’t just because she’d stripped down to her underwear.
How was she supposed to get home?
Was it safe to even go home?
What did she do now?
MAC HAD SELDOM in his life felt as helpless as he did at that moment.
He reviewed the two options he thought he had. He could call the police and tell them that the woman they were already convinced was a total flake was now missing…again. He had no proof she hadn’t left of her own volition. Nellie couldn’t find the clothes she’d been wearing, so presumably, she’d still been wearing them. Ditto, her shoes. He’d searched every inch of the shoreline, from Kate’s property to the Priestly house, and he hadn’t found one iota of evidence that anything untoward had happened to her. Gloria confirmed that Kate had knocked on the door hours before and that she’d been distraught when she left.
Or he could wait.
He didn’t like either choice and settled on a third. After getting Nellie and Gloria to promise to call if Kate showed up, he went back to his motel. It was only a mile or so, and the monster SUV lurking in the closed part of the garage was still there. It made sense she’d walk.
The streets back to the motel were depressingly empty, as was the porch in front of his room. He had the door open and was half-inside when his cell phone started ringing. Heart slamming against his ribs, he answered.
“You should see the results of the latest poll,” Bill Confit said, his voice booming with confidence.
Mac sat down on the bed, facing the door he’d left ajar. It took a second to get past the fact that the caller wasn’t Kate. He said, “I take it you’re way out ahead.”
“Way out. If things keep going like this, the election will be a landslide.”
“That’s great, Bill.”
“And if it is, young man, the first thing I’m going to do is go to the city council and ask for Chief Barry’s resignation.”
“You’ll be doing the city a favor,” Mac said, distracted by his continuing worry about Kate. What should he do next? Give up and call Dreyer? “Listen, Bill, I need to get off the phone—”
“No, you listen,” Confit said, suddenly serious. “If all goes according to plan, I want you to take over as chief of police.”
Mac was sure he’d misheard Confit. His mind had been drifting….
“Mac? You still there?”
“I guess I’m speechless,” Mac said. “Bill, I’m flattered you think I could handle the job—”
“Of course you can. You’re the last honest man in Billington. Don’t let me down. This city needs you.”
Despite his worries about Kate, possibilities ran through Mac’s mind. Ways to clean up the police department, ways to build bridges to unite the divergent sections of the community. And along with these lofty goals came the allure of vindication. He’d no longer be the whistle-blower, the outsider, the man who had sabotaged his chance to fit in by speaking out.
“You think about it before you say another word,” Confit said. “Call me when you get back to town. Night, Mac.”
Mac clicked the phone off and sat there for a moment, stunned. Him a police chief? How could he ever say no to such an opportunity? Why would he?
As he sat there and speculated on the whimsy of fate, he gradually became aware that a car had pulled into the spot in front of his room. Headlights illuminated the drawn curtain. He heard voices. A door slammed. The headlights receded as his door swung fully open.
He knew immediately that the svelte shape standing in front of him was Kate.
He was up and at her side before she could utter a word.
“What happened to you?” he asked as he flicked on the weak overhead light and took a good look at her. Her hair was wet, she was wrapped bosom to knee in a red-and-white checked cloth. A fine layer of mud covered her bare legs and feet and streaked her arms and hands.
“It’s a long story,” she said, clutching the cloth to her chest as she swung his door shut.
Conflicting emotions bombarded him. Joy at seeing her alive and well. Fury that she’d put him through hell for the last hour and a half. Concern that something had obviously happened to her. Disappointment that he’d had to learn about her past from a stranger instead of directly from her. And there were more emotions bubbling below these, as well. Too many to name, let alone acknowledge.
For a moment, relief won. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. When she looked up at him, he kissed her lips, relieved when she relaxed enough to kiss him back until her very compliance seemed to reawaken the anger that had never been far from th
e surface.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded as he held her at arm’s length. “Do you have any idea how much worse you’ve made things? Why didn’t you tell me you were a stripper in Vegas when you met your husband? Why didn’t you mention that you habitually left your kids with their grandparents? Is it true you have a recreational drug habit?”
Some of the steam seemed to dissipate as accusations dressed up like questions tumbled from his mouth.
But there was more. “And how about that fancy underwear you look so lovely in, huh, Kate? If your husband didn’t love you, why did he buy you stuff like that? Why did he have your portrait painted? Why did he hang it above his sofa?”
Staring up at him with tired looking eyes, she said, “I see someone told you…about me.”
“Officer Dryer.”
“And what were you doing talking to a police officer?”
“Trying to find out about your father-in-law, whom, I might add, is up for sainthood.”
She twisted away from him and paced his carpet, leaving muddy footprints in her wake. “So this Dryer told you all about my sordid past. How I married Danny for his money, how I wormed my way into poor Dr. Priestly’s life.”
“More or less,” Mac admitted.
“And how my revered in-laws have had to fill in for me because I’m such a dismal mother. How even now, they have Charlie seeing some allergy specialist up in Fort Myers.”
Mac nodded.
She stopped dead in her tracks and said softly, “Isn’t it odd how the police know all these details? Almost like the good doctor keeps them informed, isn’t it? Why do you think he does that?”
“Maybe they’re friends,” Mac said.
“Sure,” she said.
Mac was beginning to wish he’d approached Kate with compassion. He was almost sure it had been one of those subterranean emotions he’d ignored. Anger had been the wrong approach. Anger had been what she expected from him. Not what she wanted, but what she’d come to expect from men. He could tell that now. Too bad he hadn’t been able to tell that five minutes ago.