by T. R. Ragan
There was a pause and Hayley took the bait. “So why aren’t you in med school?”
Kitally kept her attention on the neighborhood. “I would get bored.”
For the next thirty minutes, while they both watched the house, Hayley figured Kitally probably had a million questions for her, but she remained silent for the most part. It was a long while before Kitally straightened in her seat, then reached over and grabbed her leather bag from the backseat.
“What are you doing?” Hayley asked.
“I’m going to take a look around and figure out where we want Tommy to place the cameras.”
“Maybe I should go instead.”
“I’ve been following you around for months now. I’m a quick learner.” Kitally opened the door and slid out of the car. “I’m going to check out the backyard. I’ll be right back.”
Hayley wasn’t going to stop her. Ten minutes after she watched Kitally disappear around the back of the house, though, she began to feel a little antsy. Then, through the front window, she saw someone walking around inside. It took her a moment to recognize Kitally. What the hell?
Kitally had broken into the house.
Shit.
They hadn’t talked about breaking and entering. Now was not the time or place. What the hell was she doing? Kitally was going to wind up getting them both into serious trouble.
Hayley got out of the car and made her way across the street, thankful that there weren’t any barking dogs in the area. Keeping her eyes on the window as she approached, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. There were two people now. A tall, lanky person hovered over Kitally. His hand shot out and he struck her down.
Hayley ran to the back of the house. It took her a moment to unhook the latch on the gate. She growled with frustration and pushed the gate open. Her knee banged against a wrought-iron table as she rushed around the corner and made her way through the sliding glass door.
Two bodies rolled across the floor. Before Hayley could take action, Kitally jumped to her feet. In one swift motion, she pulled a humongous knife from her bag and raised it above her head with both hands.
“No!” The man covered his face with both arms.
“Stop!” Hayley shouted. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? This guy popped out of nowhere and hit me. I’m going to have a mark on my face.”
“What is that thing in your hands?”
Kitally held the blade inches from the cowering man’s head. “It’s a machete. Pretty cool, isn’t it? This beauty can prune, chop firewood, clear brush, and cut down small trees. If our ancestors had had these types of tools, they—”
“Don’t let her slice me in half,” the man pleaded.
“Kitally, think about what you’re doing. Are you planning on killing him with that thing?”
“It depends.” She didn’t look away from the guy, but now she looked frustrated. “You use knives. Why can’t I?”
“Knives, not machetes. And I’ve never killed anyone before.”
The guy was shaking. He looked to be in his midtwenties, though his long, straggly hair and thick beard made him appear older. He looked as if he might have spent the last month living in the woods. “Can I sit up?”
“Don’t move a muscle,” Kitally warned.
“I think you should probably do as she says,” Hayley told the man.
“If I can’t kill him, should I just cut off his family jewels?” Kitally asked.
With a long, ponderous sigh, Hayley pulled out her cell phone and made a call.
Lizzy and Kat McBane both arrived at the house at the same time.
Hayley kept an array of items in her car, which came in handy at times like this: stun guns, handcuffs, pepper spray, Mace, and batons. After handcuffing the man, Kitally detained him with threats of chopping off his body parts with her machete.
Hayley watched Kat, a petite woman in her sixties, hurry up the walkway. “Put away the machete, Kitally, and take a seat on the couch. Let me do the talking.”
A gasp escaped Kat the moment she laid eyes on the mountain man.
Lizzy followed close behind. “Do you recognize him?” Lizzy asked.
“I think it’s my nephew. Jeffrey, is that you?”
“Afraid so. Could you tell these crazy girls to release me? They threatened me with a machete.”
The woman looked from Kitally to Hayley. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on here?”
“We work for Lizzy. We were determining where to put the cameras when we saw someone snooping around inside your home. Fortunately, your sliding glass door was open and we were able to get inside,” Hayley lied.
“Jeffrey,” the woman said, “what are you doing here?”
When he failed to respond, Hayley answered for him. “I took a look around and it looks to me as if Jeffrey has been living in your attic. He used your blankets and clothes to make himself a bed. There’s other stuff up there, too, including enough food to last him a few weeks.”
“Should I call the police?” Lizzy asked.
Kat McBane looked dazed. “Jeffrey,” she said, “how long have you been living in my attic?”
“About a month. Mom and Dad kicked me out of the house. I had nowhere else to go.”
“All you had to do was ask.”
“Should I unlock the handcuffs?” Hayley asked.
The woman raised a hand to her forehead and began to pace, ignoring Hayley’s question. “Why did your parents kick you out of the house, Jeffrey?”
“They caught me smoking weed in the shed.”
Kat stopped pacing and shook her head in disbelief. “Your parents have always been too strict. Your mother smoked her share of dope back in the day. A little pot never hurt anyone.”
Her nephew was still on the floor, but he managed to sit up.
Kat stood over him. “You can stay here with me—in the guest bedroom, not the attic. But before she removes your handcuffs, you’re going to have to promise me you’ll cut your hair and get a job.”
“I don’t have any transportation.”
“Well, I guess we’ll have to find you a used car. Until then, you can use my old bicycle to get around.” Kat gestured for Hayley to undo the cuffs.
“Or take a bus,” Kitally told him.
Hayley removed the cuffs.
Jeffrey pushed himself to his feet.
“Do we have a deal?” Kat asked her nephew.
As they shook hands, Hayley noticed that Jeffrey’s hands were pale and slender, as if he’d never done a day’s work, while his aunt’s hands appeared tough and well used. Hayley found herself wondering if this deal of theirs, sealed with a handshake, could actually come to such an easy, uncomplicated end. She seriously doubted it.
“Come on,” Lizzy told Kitally and Hayley. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Thanks,” Kat said. “I’ll take it from here. You’ll bill me?”
“Sure,” Lizzy said. Her gaze fell on Jeffrey. Hayley guessed she was having her own doubts about this little reunion. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call the police?”
“That won’t be necessary. Jeffrey is a good man. He just hasn’t had anyone tell him so. We’re going to be fine.”
“I’m glad. Call me if you need me,” Lizzy said before she followed Hayley out the door and down the brick path where Kitally waited.
CHAPTER 15
Seth decided to use his Honda tonight. It was the end of October, the time of year when darkness came early. Gloomy clouds hovered overhead, blocking any sign of stars or moon. Despite the weatherman’s report of no rain today, a light drizzle covered his windshield.
David Westlake had worked later than usual tonight.
Seth kept his eyes on the towering building where Westlake’s law firm was one of many tenants
. The structure had a steel frame and countless windows, but wasn’t the tallest building in Sacramento by any means.
And there he was now, the man of the hour. Westlake wore the same coat he had been wearing when he’d delivered a package to Madeline’s office. As Seth had practiced, he pulled the Honda ahead to a pinch point Westlake would have to get past to get to the parking lot.
The attorney walked with the confidence of someone who was used to getting what he wanted. Seth pulled past him, stopped and rolled down his window, waiting for Westlake to draw even with him.
“Hey, Mr. Westlake, I need your help.”
With both hands deep inside his pockets, Westlake stooped over and looked into the open window, wincing at the rain hitting his face. “Make an appointment.”
“I’ve been calling for days. Your calendar is full for the rest of the month. Hear me out, please. It will only take thirty seconds of your time.”
Westlake sighed. “There are plenty of personal injury attorneys in the area.”
“I’ve been told you’re the best. My sister deserves the best.”
The compliment perked him up. “A car accident?” he asked.
Seth nodded. “Hit by a drunk driver, leaving her with spine and neck injuries, broken bones, and burns.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” Time for the kicker. “You might be interested to know that the driver turned out to be a successful businessman worth millions.”
Sure enough, the lawyer’s eyes lit up like a boy’s on Christmas morning.
“Listen,” Seth said. “You’re up in the lot, right? Let me drive you to your car. That way I can give you the name of the driver and the hospital where my sister is staying and you can decide if you want to take on the case. If your answer is no, I promise you won’t hear from me again.”
David Westlake straightened, peering into the dark toward his car. The rain was coming down harder now, blowing into his face.
Seth had been watching David Westlake for days. He knew the lawyer parked at the far corner of the lot. Westlake was in good shape. He probably liked the exercise, and he also clearly liked easy cases that paid big. In the end, just as Seth had figured, Westlake was just another greedy asshole. It took the lawyer less than a minute to think about it. He opened the passenger door and climbed in.
Like taking candy from a baby.
He hit the child lock, and then plunged a needle into Westlake’s neck before driving off.
The etorphine immobilized him instantly. Westlake slumped back into the seat.
Forty-five minutes later, Seth turned onto the same dirt road off Highway 50 and into the same woods in which he’d buried Chris Porter. It was different tonight, though. The rain was relentless, turning the road into a veritable mudslide. Seth’s heart rate soared out of control, making him wonder if he was having a heart attack.
He slowed to a crawl and opened the window. Even through the downpour, he heard traffic in the distance. He closed the window and continued onward, hoping his tires wouldn’t get stuck.
David Westlake moaned.
Shit. He should have thought this through a little better. Idiot weatherman had said no further rain until the weekend. Fucking liar. Teeth clenched, Seth kept his eyes on the road. Just a little bit farther.
BAM!
Westlake had throttled him, slamming the left side of his head into his window. The car swerved and crashed into a tree, the force throwing them both violently into the dashboard.
Grunts and moans were the only sounds. He twisted around in his seat, scrambling to release his seatbelt, but Westlake had hold of him. The lawyer was on top of him, both hands on his face, trying to gouge his eyes out.
He bit down on Westlake’s finger until he felt bone.
Westlake howled like a wild dog.
Click. With his seatbelt unlatched, he could finally maneuver. Westlake was still half-drugged, which gave him the upper hand. Curled into a ball, he used both feet to push the lawyer off him, then struggled to open the compartment between the seats. He pulled out a .38.
Westlake knocked the gun out of his hand.
Damn it. The thought of losing control of the situation sent him into a frenzy. He jumped on top of the lawyer, could smell the man’s cologne as he pummeled him with his fists.
Out of breath, he opened the passenger door and fell out into the muddy earth. Then he twisted around and grabbed hold of Westlake’s coat, pulling him outside with him. He was running out of energy, but there was no time to stop and catch his breath. Adrenaline kept him moving. He climbed over Westlake, crawling, really, his clothes wet and heavy as he dragged himself back into the car to find his gun.
Westlake grabbed hold of his leg and twisted. The pain was excruciating. The .38 was just out of reach. Clenching his teeth, he tried to kick and pull his leg out of the man’s grasp, and managed to gain a few inches.
His fingers fell around the revolver.
He turned and fired, blasting the man in the shoulder at close range.
Westlake fell backward into the mud. The rain battered them both as he clutched his wound. “Why are you doing this?”
“Madeline.”
“Madeline Blair?”
“Yes, Madeline Blair,” he said through gritted teeth. “I recognized your voice on the radio. You fucking pervert. I’m her protector. Nobody’s going to bother Madeline while I’m around.” He raised the gun.
“Don’t shoot! Listen! That whole story about Madeline having a stalker is a lie. It was Madeline’s idea. I didn’t want anything to do with it.”
“Crazy talk.”
“You have to believe me. I have a wife . . . and kids. I would never hurt Madeline.”
“Why would she make up something like that? You’re not making sense.”
“Her ratings . . . she did it for her ratings.” Westlake groaned in pain. “She didn’t want to lose her job. It’s the truth. I swear.”
A sick feeling washed over Seth. “Madeline would never deceive her listeners.”
“She was desperate. Her career is everything to her.”
It couldn’t be true. Madeline would never do something so deceitful.
“She asked me to call in. I didn’t want to do it. We’ve been friends since college. I was only helping a friend.”
“Shut up. Just shut up.”
Water dripped down Seth’s face. Getting to his feet, he circled the area, trying to assess the damage to the car. He needed to think.
If Westlake was telling the truth, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t let him go now. It would only be a matter of time before Westlake brought the police to the area and they found Chris Porter’s grave. He walked back to where the lawyer lay in the mud.
“I’ll give you money, anything you want,” Westlake said. “Please.”
Seth blinked several times, took a breath. “I’m going to let you go.”
Westlake took a deep breath of his own, even closed his eyes, so didn’t see Seth raise his gun and fire a bullet into his brain.
He wasn’t a killer. He didn’t want the man to suffer. It was self-defense. He couldn’t spend his life in jail for being a hero. He only wanted to save Madeline.
“Madeline.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t ready to think about Madeline. Not yet. Not now.
A small river had formed in the middle of the dirt road. His plan to drive farther away from the highway was out of the question now. Working fast, he removed his coat and his shirt and tossed them both into the backseat. He grabbed the shovel from the trunk, took it deeper into the woods, and started digging.
Every muscle ached as he dragged the body toward the hole.
Minutes felt like hours as he refilled the hole with dirt. He was glad when he could no longer see the body. With that done, he rinsed off in the rain
before putting on his shirt.
Once he was in the car again, he realized getting rid of the body might have been easier than finding a resting place for the car would be. It was slow going, but he headed up the road. His plan was to ditch the car, maybe fill out a police report and say it had been stolen.
He rubbed his forehead.
That wouldn’t work. He needed to give this more thought.
The tires whirred, unable to grab hold of the soft terrain. When he’d looked at a map of the area on the Internet, he’d seen a lake. But when he got there, he realized it would never work. There wasn’t a steep enough slope to send the car down into the water.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
It wasn’t easy, but he managed to turn the car around. For a moment, he merely peered into the darkness. Should he leave the car in the woods and try to cover it with bark and leaves? That was ridiculous. Exhausted, he laid his head against the steering wheel. Westlake’s words were like a barrage of shells assaulting his mind. Could it be true? Had Madeline made up the story about having a stalker? No. No. No.
He refused to believe it. The man had called in to the show and said disgusting things. Of course Westlake would lie about what he did. He had his reputation to worry about.
Seth’s breathing calmed. He would take it one day at a time, listen to her show as he always did. He would give her the benefit of the doubt. But if she talked about any more messages or gifts being left at her house, then he would know she was lying.
Decision made, he took his foot off the brake, headed back down the way he’d come, slow and steady. Time to go home. Tomorrow he would take the car into a body shop and have the front end fixed.
CHAPTER 16
Hayley turned off the engine, looked at Kitally and said, “Leave your bag in the car.”
Kitally did as Hayley asked but she didn’t look happy about it. Hayley didn’t care. After the B&E and machete business at Kat McBane’s place, she wasn’t taking any chances.
Walking side by side, they approached a beautiful two-story home that belonged to Robin Santos. Her husband hadn’t been seen in three months. “I’ll do the talking,” Hayley said before knocking. “We’re here to ask a few questions, then we’re leaving.”