by Nina Pierce
“What are you doing here?”
Crystal jumped as an older doctor waddled into the room. Other than trespassing, she wasn’t technically doing anything wrong. The guilt of getting caught brought heat to her cheeks nonetheless.
“I was leaving for the day and wanted to check on one of my patients.” A lie. Hopefully this doctor wouldn’t question the credentials hanging from the pocket of her white coat.
John Tilling stirred at their voices, but didn’t wake.
“I don’t recognize you. Are you a new resident?” The white-haired gentleman with the piercing blue eyes offered her an out.
“I am.”
“Have you been assigned this case?”
“I haven’t, but I understand…” She flipped open the chart, scanning the latest notes, praying she’d find what she was looking for. “That Mr. Tilling is suffering from selenium poisoning.”
“Hmmff.” He pushed past her and studied the paper flowing from the EKG. “More likely a bad ticker and old age. But no one seems to agree with my diagnosis.”
She wanted to disagree, but arguing with a doctor on staff didn’t seem prudent.
“Oh, Dr. McCarty. Stopping in to see your patient?” The doctor entering the room smiled at them both. Crystal immediately handed the dark-haired woman John’s chart.
“Dr. Dixon.” The older gentleman acknowledged the Chief of Staff with a curt nod of his head and a plastic smile. “John seems to be holding his own with your new therapy.”
At the sound of his name, John’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked several times, bringing the people around his bed into focus. “Ah, my two favorite physicians and my guardian angel.”
He reached out and Crystal gently wrapped her fingers around his gnarled hand.
“I hear I have you to thank for my diagnosis.”
This was not the low profile she had intended to keep here at the hospital. “Dr. Dixon’s the one you need to thank, Mr. Tilling. She ran all the tests.”
“Sarah’s being a bit modest, Mr. Tilling. All the credit goes to her.” The chief of staff flipped pages in the chart. “Actually I’m surprised to see you here, Sarah. Didn’t you say you were headed back to Boston tonight?”
Crystal had told Dr. Dixon that very fact earlier this afternoon at her acceptance interview. Her residency with Bangor Hospital would begin after the first of the year. But she had no intention of leaving Delmont until she finished her business with Peter. “Actually, I was just leaving. I just wanted to see how Mr. Tilling was doing.” She hoped the lie wasn’t as obvious at it sounded.
“Well, you two seem to have some business to discuss,” Dr. McCarty said. “And three doctors appear to be a bit of a crowd.” He scooted around Crystal, stopping momentarily at the door. “John, I think they’ve got you on the mend. I’ll see you in another couple days. And then we’ll make arrangements to get you transferred back to Delmont by the weekend.” With an absent wave over his shoulder, Dr. McCarty left.
“Too bad you have to leave, Sarah.” Dr. Dixon replaced the chart at the foot of the bed and smiled. Crystal had instantly liked the Chief of Staff and was looking forward to beginning work with the friendly woman.
“I’m sure the rest of the Tilling clan would like to thank you,” Dr. Dixon said.
“Thanks aren’t necessary.” Crystal smiled, knowing the Tillings would meet her soon enough.
* * * *
Meghan set the last of the Christmas bouquets in the cooler and used the safety handle to secure the new door. The workman had installed it yesterday while she was at the hospital. One day was all it had taken. She had no idea why she’d waited so long and let such a dangerous thing fester. There was no way anyone was getting locked in there again. Least of all her.
Grabbing the broom, she swept up the pile of debris that had accumulated over the busy afternoon. It seemed everyone in Delmont was hunkering down for the storm that was expected tonight and had shown up at her business earlier in the afternoon. Chelsea had even stayed late to help with the onslaught. Now, at quarter after five, the quiet had settled with the sun. Peter would be here shortly to pick her up.
Peter. He had acted very odd this morning after they’d come home from the hospital. She was sure she why he’d dismissed her advances. He’d shut down so quickly after she’d thanked him for the flogger. Maybe it was too much too soon. They’d only begun to explore the interesting possibilities of bondage and submission. After the spankings the other night, curiosity had her wondering how something other than Peter’s hand would feel heating her skin. Finding the flogger this morning in her car had eased the tension of the potentially disastrous event of being locked in the garage.
Meghan sighed and retrieved the dust pan, sweeping the bits of ribbon and flower stems up and depositing them in the trash. Still, Peter had been oddly insistent she ride with him to and from work. The car situation had shaken him more than she expected. Though she was grateful he’d be the one driving in the snowstorm, she would rather they’d headed back to bed and gone to work in separate cars.
The swish of the front door caught her attention.
Setting the broom in its holder by the office door, she went out to greet her customer. Just as well someone had come in. She needed something to pass the last hour.
“Hello again, Meghan.” Sarah wound her way slowly through the decorated trees, her mouth curved in a smile that set off alarm bells in her head. “Do you remember me?”
The ominous question crawled across the back of Meghan’s neck, raising the tiny hairs as it went. “Sarah, is it?” She swallowed hard, trying to remember where she’d left her cellphone. The way the woman moved through the shop as if scoping it out put Meghan immediately on edge.
“Not many customers tonight?” Sarah lilted her voice up to turn her statement into a question.
“People are always dropping in.” Meghan was pleased her voice was steady. She wanted to sound like she wasn’t as truly alone as she felt. “My fiancé is coming to pick me up in a minute or two.” She paused, not sure how to make the lie convincing. “I mentioned you were the other day asking about him and he wondered what school you went to.”
Sarah had walked the perimeter of the shop, craning her neck around the counter, checking the back work area. “That doesn’t matter at the moment.” She shot a glance out the front window. Only her car was parked in the lot, the bright beams of the front headlights making eerie shadows on the arrangements displayed there. “I’m not interested in your fiancé.”
Meghan had no idea why she referred to herself in the plural. “Oh, did you stop in to pick up some bridal bouquet books?”
“No, Meghan, I came for you.”
Chapter 11
Peter pushed the SUV as fast as he dared through the blinding snow. The storm had started only thirty minutes ago, but the lazy flakes floating to earth had quickly become a wind-driven blur of white. The weather stations had said only flurries and scant accumulation, but already an inch of greasy snow had collected on the road, making the driving that much more hazardous. Peter’s headlights tunneled through the darkness from his office to the floral shop, turning the flakes of snow into a dizzying vortex of white points.
His gut told him something was terribly wrong. He’d called Meghan twice this afternoon, but Chelsea had said she was too busy to talk and would call him back. She hadn’t. Now the friggin’ battery of his cell had died, and he had no way of calling Meghan to tell her he was on his way. He plowed restless fingers through his hair, hoping his discomfort was nothing more than paranoia.
But his suspicions that Crystal, posing as this Sarah woman, was likely in Delmont had been confirmed when he’d called the club where she worked. Posing as one of her regular clients, he’d inquired about making an appointment for a private consultation with Mistress Crystal for tomorrow evening. He’d been informed she was on vacation for the week with family and wouldn’t return until the weekend.
Where the hell was she now? And what
did she want from him?
He looked down at the flogger on the seat next to him. This was not what he’d intended when he’d sought out the Internet relationship with Crystal. Why would she follow him to Maine and start digging around in his real life? He hadn’t even talked to her face-to-face.
Obviously, she’d found out where he lived. Peter’s stomach clenched. Instinct told him it had been her at the hospital coming out of John’s room. He never would have forgiven himself if she’d done anything to harm the man.
But he had to wonder if she was somehow behind all of Meghan’s recent accidents.
Tonight he’d tell Meghan everything and decide if her recent misfortunes were more than coincidences. Perhaps they should go to the police. But if he did that there would be an investigation, and the whole thing would embarrass the Tillings. They didn’t need that right now with John in the hospital. No. He’d have a talk with Ayden. Deirdre’s fiancé might be DEA, but surely he’d know how to handle a potential stalker.
Worry coiled tight in his gut, pushing acid into his throat as he pulled into the parking lot of Tilling Gardens and Plants. The dashboard clock read 5:42, but the lights were already turned down for the evening. Peter shoved the SUV into park and jumped out, sliding through several inches of snow to the front door. If anyone had been here, their footprints had been swept away.
He tried the door. Locked.
Perhaps Meghan had closed the shop early and was waiting for him out back. He cupped his hands around his eyes, peering through the glass. There were no lights on in the work area.
He didn’t want to believe something had happened to her, but as the minutes continued to accumulate without word from her, so did his fear.
* * * *
Meghan sat in the backseat of Sarah’s car, trying to make sense of this insane situation. Sarah drove recklessly through the storm to an unknown destination.
A thick rope bound Meghan’s wrists uncomfortably behind her back and she was having a hard time getting comfortable. The seat belt Sarah had fastened too tightly around her, now dug into the soft flesh of her neck. Panic clawed at her throat and tightened around her chest, making it hard to catch her breath. Meghan shivered uncomfortably, both from the cold and the terror gripping her heart. She hadn’t been allowed to grab her winter coat, and the thin red cotton T-shirt she wore did nothing to stave off the winter air.
“Please… please tell me why you’re doing this.” She asked of Sara’s passenger who was calling the shots at the moment.
The blue eyes that stared back at her were cold and without emotion. “Oh, Meghan, my dear, I’ve got such wonderful things planned for you.” The syrupy voice dripped malice. “I’ve had just about enough of the Tilling clan, and since your father refused to die, you will take his place in my plans.”
She had never heard him speak this way—had no idea misery could turn a person into a killer. But the gun Doc McCarty pointed at Sarah communicated so much more than words.
* * * *
“No, Meghan doesn’t know any of this.” Peter paced around the kitchen of Deirdre’s farmhouse, unable to handle the jittery pull of his frayed nerves.
Ayden sat calmly at the table, his hands folded in front of him. The man’s police training was obvious as he sat listening without apparent judgment to Peter’s account of his salacious activities over the past several months. Deirdre on the other hand, was acting like an overprotective sister, berating him each time he shared another piece of the last few weeks.
“I intended to tell her everything tonight.” Peter said.
Deirdre scoffed and rolled her eyes. Ayden glared at her and asked, “You sure she’s taken Meghan?”
It had been over forty minutes since Peter had found his house empty and had come here. An hour since leaving the shop. How far could Crystal get in this weather?
“I’m not sure of anything at this point.” The words came out louder than he expected. He’d told Deirdre and Ayden everything—well, nearly everything. “I just don’t want to involve the police. Isn’t there something you can do to mobilize a few people and search for them? Put up road blocks or something?”
“This isn’t television, Peter. It’s not as easy as all that,” Ayden said calmly.
“Then what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Holy shit, Peter, you go surfing for some second rate hooker on the Internet…” Deirde stalked up to him, her nose only a breath from his. “Then show up here telling us you’ve put my sister at risk?” Her finger pounded into his chest with each word.
He didn’t retaliate. She was right. He’d screwed up.
“Deirdre.” Ayden’s even tone stopped her tirade. A subtle nod of his head and she dropped back into the chair next to him in a huff. “Peter, why do you think this woman is even here?”
Peter didn’t want to show them, but he had no choice. He returned to his coat hung on a hook by the back door and pulled the flogger from the sleeve where he’d hidden it. “This belongs to her.” He threw the offensive object on the table as if it were an evil talisman. “I saw her use it at the club the last week. Check the handle it’s engraved with her initials.”
“How the hell—”
“Deirdre enough.” Ayden laid his hand on her forearm. “Peter, how did you get this?”
“She left it in Meghan’s car.”
“A fucking flogger?” Deirdre jumped from the chair. “I knew it! You’re cheating on my sister with a fucking masochistic whore!” Her hand moved so fast, Peter was unprepared for the sting of pain as her fist connected squarely with his jaw. “You cheating bastard. I’ll have your balls—”
Peter was sure she would have been good with her threat—or worse—if Ayden hadn’t jumped from his chair and grabbed her from behind. He swung her flailing hands and feet away from Peter.
“Deirdre, this isn’t helping Meghan,” Ayden said as he set her on the floor. His hands had a firm grip on her shoulders as he bent, daring to face her angry glare boring into him. “Calm down and let’s figure this out. Once we find your sister, I’ll help you skin him myself. Until then…”
“You both have it wrong,” Peter said softly, his hand cradling his sore jaw. “I haven’t been completely honest.”
“What? Is your little girlfriend pregnant?” Deirdre yelled over Ayden’s shoulder.
Ayden clamped his hand over Deirdre’s mouth.
“Oh, fuck you, Deirdre. I didn’t sleep with her.”
Both of them turned to him. Their confused looks would have been comical if the situation wasn’t so serious.
“I’m pretty sure Crystal’s my biological sister, Sarah Rayburn.”
* * * *
Sarah had no idea how she’d gotten herself into this mess. All she’d wanted was to find the family she’d lost as a child. Who would have thought her search for her older brother would find her here on a desolate back road in Maine with a crazed old man holding a gun to her head?
Snow fell so hard she could barely see, let alone keep the Beemer on the road. Meghan was doing a good job distracting the old geezer. Hopefully, in the end the woman could convince him not to harm them. Sarah had no idea how she and Meghan were both tied to this man, but perhaps talking with him could shed some light on how a kindly country doctor could tip over the edge of lunacy.
“You love my parents, Doc,” Meghan said.
A derisive laugh puffed his cheeks. “Your father stole my life forty years ago.” He waved the gun. “Turn here. And you need to slow down, Dr. Sarah. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you two.” He laughed, a maniacal sound that rent the air.