by Lis Wiehl
“Now you do it.”
But the girl didn’t move. Just stared at Elizabeth with her huge green eyes.
“It’s easy, Makayla,” Elizabeth urged in a perky voice. “Just take a deep breath, put your head under the water, and blow! Like this!” Demonstrating, she pushed air out through her lips until they flapped comically.
Kids like this Makayla were old enough that they had learned they could get away with not always doing what they were told. They didn’t know how good they had it. If Elizabeth had talked back to Grandma when she was growing up, if she hadn’t jumped the second her grandma said “Jump,” she would have earned a slap across the face or a trip to the closet, or both. But now, just because a kid didn’t like something, they expected to be able to get out of it.
And it was clear that Makayla didn’t like putting her face in the water. Even if it was one of the skills they touted in the brochure: Participants with water-related anxiety will learn how to be comfortable and confident in water, to enter and exit safely, submerge face, exhale underwater, float, tread water, swim basic strokes, and more.
At the rate Makayla was going, she wasn’t going to achieve a single one of the goals. Then again, the girl wasn’t exactly an official participant. Elizabeth had told Nicole to write the check directly to her. What the front office didn’t know about, they couldn’t take a cut of, nor withhold money from for taxes.
If challenged, Elizabeth would explain that Nicole was an old friend, and the lessons were only a favor. She would make no mention of payment.
But so far, no one had challenged her.
Meanwhile, Makayla’s fingers were gripping the gutter so tight that her fingertips were white. Elizabeth put one hand on her shoulder.
“It’s okay, Makayla. Nothing can happen to you,” she said for the thousandth time. Like the girl was capable of listening. Gently, she put her palm on the top of Makayla’s head and pressed it down toward the water. “Now blow!”
But the girl stiffened, throwing her head back. The feel of her tangled wet curls brought back a memory. A memory of when Elizabeth wasn’t Elizabeth, but Sissy.
CHAPTER 41
Barbur Bargain Motel
With five lanes of traffic rushing by, it was unbelievably noisy. It would be easy to start shouting. Easy—and wrong. Cassidy’s mike was only six inches from her mouth. Which meant it was in essence only six inches away from the listener’s ear.
Any time a reporter started shouting, it made her look insecure and unsure. Which Cassidy definitely didn’t want anyone thinking.
In her IFB earpiece she heard Brad Buffet’s voice.
“Tonight—the mystery of the missing reporter. All of us here at Channel Four have a very personal stake in our top story, because it concerns one of our own: Channel Four’s intern, Jenna Banks. We now go out to crime reporter, Cassidy Shaw, to fill us in.”
Cassidy took a deep breath. “This is Cassidy Shaw, reporting to you live from the Barbur Bargain Motel in Southwest Portland.” She gestured at the yellow crime-scene tape that crossed the doors of the two rooms Jenna had rented. Further setting the scene were the three police cars parked in the lot behind her.
“Portland police say they found personal items belonging to Channel Four’s own intern, Jenna Banks, in a bloodstained room here at the Barbur Bargain Motel.” Nicole had asked Cassidy not to publicly disclose that Jenna had rented two rooms. “Jenna is missing, and police suspect foul play and are asking for your help.
“About all we know, Brad, is that Jenna Banks came to this rundown motel on Friday evening. We believe she was planning to meet someone about a story she hoped to cover. She checked in Friday night, but she never checked out.”
The last line had sounded good when Cassidy wrote it, but now never checked out sounded like something from an ad for a cheesy horror movie. Cassidy made her face sterner.
“Managers at this motel, which has been the scene of several prostitution busts, found Jenna’s purse and keys in a room. Her car was in the parking lot. Police have towed it to see if it contains any clues. They also found other evidence in the room. There was blood on one wall, and they say the pattern is consistent with a gunshot wound.”
“Now the police haven’t been able to tell us definitively that this is Jenna’s blood, have they?” Brad asked. His voice cut in and out.
With one finger Cassidy pressed the IFB more tightly to her ear. The earpiece allowed her to hear questions from the anchor, instructions from the producer, and all the other sounds of the newscast. The curly cord—a tan color that was more or less her skin tone—ran down from Cassidy’s ear and was clipped to her back.
“Well, Brad, the information from the crime lab as to whether the blood matches Jenna’s DNA will not be available for a few more days. But as you can imagine, this is terrible news for all of us at Channel Four. We are hoping and praying that Jenna will be found alive. Her parents are flying in from Florida today to be closer to the search.
“This is where you, our viewers, can help us. Have you seen Jenna Banks? Police are looking to talk to anyone who might have seen her Friday or Saturday.”
Cassidy knew that folks at home were now seeing the photo of Jenna with her boyfriend, who had been cropped out. A few of the men had seriously argued for the cheesecake shot of Jenna in the bikini, but the women in the story meeting had overruled them in no uncertain terms.
“Jenna is twenty-two years old, five foot seven, and 125 pounds.” This last was Cassidy’s best, envy-tinged, guess. “She has blue eyes and long blonde hair.
“Police also want to know if you drove past the Barbur Bargain Motel on Friday or Saturday. Did you see anything suspicious? Did you hear a gunshot? Did you see someone being forced or carried into a car? All of us at Channel Four ask that you think back. And if you go to our website, you’ll find more photos and more information about Jenna and her disappearance.
“Jenna is a college senior, majoring in broadcasting, who has been interning with us for a few weeks and helping us with stories. In fact, we have some footage of her.”
This part had been prerecorded to be used within a live shot. Cassidy should have heard Jenna’s voice saying “Hi, there,” in a seductive voice as she leaned into some poor sap’s Honda Accord. But in her IFB, there was only silence. With her free hand, she pressed the earpiece deeper into her ear.
Nothing. The IFB had just gone from being crucial to being a useless piece of plastic. She had to get them to order her a new one. Cassidy resisted the urge to swear. It was never safe to assume you were off-mike.
Dead air was lost money. Eric had drilled that into them.
“Well, it seems we’re having a technical glitch,” she said, crossing her fingers that it wasn’t just on her end. Whenever she had a live shot, Cassidy made sure she had her exit line memorized so she could go to it immediately if she needed to. This seemed like one of those times.
“All of us at Channel Four are hoping for Jenna’s safe return. Again, authorities ask that if you have seen Jenna, please call the number on your screen or call 911. This is Cassidy Shaw, reporting live from the Barbur Bargain Motel. Back to you, Brad.”
CHAPTER 42
New Seasons
Sunday night with the woman Clark knew as Korena had been like a dream. He spent the next three days reliving it over and over. In the middle of ringing up a customer’s order, he would imagine kissing her soft lips again. Biking to work, he saw her manicured hands on his body.
Clark barely ate, and slept in snatches. The sheets still held her smell. He was lost. All nerve endings. Aroused, flushed, sweating, skin tingling. He didn’t know where his memories left off and his fantasies began.
“Sweet dreams,” she had said before leaving Clark’s apartment.
“I’ll dream about you,” he had told her. And he did. Asleep and awake.
All he could see was Korena’s face. Her body. Had he been too quick? Had he kissed her enough? Had he done everything right?
He didn’t know where she lived, although it must be in the neighborhood. Why hadn’t he written down the information on her check? Before he went to work on Tuesday, he biked blocks and blocks, looking for her car, but he never saw it. She must be at work, but he didn’t know where that was, or what she did. It was embarrassing when he thought of how he had monopolized the conversation. He didn’t even have her phone number.
Clark wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, undress her, touch her. To lie with her head on his shoulder while she haltingly told him her problems.
Sure, Korena was a little older than he was. It just meant that she wasn’t a silly girl. That she was old enough to look past his face—and his zits were only temporary, the way Korena said—and see him for who he really was.
And even though she was twenty-five, she didn’t know what real love was. It was clear that her ex-husband had used and abused her. It was a miracle that the girl could still smile, still laugh. That her heart hadn’t shrunk down into a hard little ball.
Every time Clark thought of the bruise on the soft inside of Korena’s upper arm, he wanted to find her ex-husband and punch him. Hard. When he remembered her sad voice saying that the creep didn’t usually leave bruises, he felt sick.
What did he do then? Slap her? Punch her in the gut? Force her to have sex? Clark tried to ask, but Korena had refused to say much. But he was pretty sure it was something awful. And if this guy was her ex-husband, then why wasn’t he leaving her alone?
“Hey. You rang that up twice!”
Clark blinked. He was standing behind the register, although he barely remembered coming to work or the after-work rush. An old woman wearing a clear plastic rain bonnet over her brown plastic wig was practically snarling at him.
“Sorry.” He voided the second entry and then went back on automatic pilot.
The next person in his line had only a blue-and-white tube of arnica ointment. She was wearing a gray hoodie, and her head was down. Clark had been fantasizing about Korena so much that later he was ashamed he hadn’t instantly recognized the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her hips. But he didn’t. So it was a shock when she raised her head. The skin around her left eye was puffed and purple.
He gasped. “What happened?”
Korena’s mouth opened. Her lips worked, but not a sound came out. She looked like she was ready to fly apart.
“Hey, Linda,” Clark called to the other checker, “I’m taking a quick break.” Not even asking for permission. Just telling her how it was going to be.
Clark stepped out from behind the counter and picked up the tube of arnica, even though he hadn’t rung it up yet. He put his other arm around Korena’s trembling shoulders and guided her to the back of the store and out past the loading dock until they were hidden between two stacks of empty wooden pallets. She opened her mouth to speak, but again, no words came out.
“Sh, sh.” Clark reached out his finger to wipe the tears from her cheek. At the sight of his approaching hand, she flinched. His heart broke.
Someone had defiled her. Had hurt her. He couldn’t fathom it. It would be like kicking a kitten. Gently, Clark put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to him. She crumpled against his chest.
“He says he’s going to kill me,” she whispered when she could finally draw a breath. “Oh, Clark, what can I do? What can I do?”
“Who said that? Who did this to you?”
“Who do you think?” Her voice was tinged with bitterness. She stepped back and wiped her face with the edge of her sleeve. “Joey Decicco. My ex. He knows I’ve been with someone. He says if I don’t come back to him, he’ll kill me.”
Clark yanked his cell phone from his pocket.
“What are you doing?” Her voice rose.
“Calling the police.” He flipped it open.
Korena wrenched the phone from his hand.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Her lips were pulled back to expose her white teeth. “Do you think I haven’t been to the police before? Joey’s best friend is a police sergeant. If you call them, the only one who will get in trouble is me.”
“But this is domestic violence.”
“So? The cops don’t care. They just think I’m airing my dirty laundry in public. They want it to stay behind closed doors.” She let out a shaky sigh. “The only reason I came here was to tell you that I can’t see you anymore. I can’t see you ever again. Because if I do, Joey will kill both of us for sure.”
“No.” The word was torn from Clark’s throat.
“He’s killed people before. His whole family died in a fire. Joey was pretty badly burned. I used to feel so sad for him, losing his family like that. But after we got married, I learned the truth.” Her red-rimmed eyes drilled into Clark’s. “Joey set the fire on purpose. He was jealous of how his baby brother got all the attention, and he didn’t like his stepfather. He wanted his family to die.” She shivered. “I married a murderer. And since then, there’ve been other, other . . . incidents. I’ve already put you in far too much danger, Clark. I can never see you again. Or you’ll be next.”
“You don’t really think he would kill me?” Clark was still having trouble believing the idea that her ex-husband would kill anyone.
“I’m serious. He guessed that I had been with someone. I was too slow to answer a question. And then he knew. He knew. He wanted me to tell him who it was. And when I wouldn’t, he hit me.” Gingerly, Korena touched her face. “I’m lucky that all he did was give me this black eye.”
“So that’s it?” Clark couldn’t believe this. “You’re just going to walk away from what we have? You’re just going to let him keep hitting you? You’re not, you’re not a slave.”
She sniffed back tears. “You don’t understand, Clark. I don’t have any other choice. I divorced Joey, but it doesn’t make any difference. He still thinks I belong to him. And he won’t let me get away. Ever.” She managed something close to a laugh. “In his twisted way, Joey loves me.”
“That’s a load of . . . horse manure. He doesn’t love you.” Clark was sure of it. “He wants to own you. That’s not how you show you love someone. By hitting them?”
“He says he can’t help himself. That I make him act the way he does. And he’s right. I knew he would go crazy if I spent time with you. And I did it anyway. He’s always said if he can’t have me, no one can.” She shrugged. “If I go back to him, maybe he won’t get so mad anymore.”
“There’s got to be some other way. I love you.” When he heard the words come out of his mouth, Clark knew they were true. “Korena, I love you and want to be with you forever.”
“But it can’t be, Clark. Don’t you see? It can’t be. I want to be with you, too, but it’s impossible.” A tear ran down her cheek. “You just need to forget about me. Forget about me and go back to your life.”
Clark couldn’t believe what was happening. His dream was turning into a nightmare. “And then what? What happens to you? What happens the next time he hurts you? Maybe he won’t stop at just your eye.”
She raised her chin. “At least you’ll be safe. That’s all that matters to me.”
“Well, it’s not all that matters to me. Not by a long shot. I should be keeping you safe, not the other way around.” He swallowed. “Korena, I, I want to marry you.”
Her mouth pulled down at the corners, and she gave him the saddest smile in the world. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do. I know I’m young, Korena, but I promise you, I’ll take care of you. And I would never, ever hurt you. You’re all I’ve ever needed.”
“Oh, Clark.” She took a shaky breath. “When I met you, I knew I had found my soul mate. I feel the exact same way.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s too late for me. Joey will never leave me in peace. Sometimes”—she lifted her eyes to his, tears beaded on her long lashes—“sometimes I think I should just kill myself. There’s no point in going on. Not if it’s going to alway
s be like this.”
“No.” Clark couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You can’t do that! You can’t kill yourself.”
She shrugged. “Why not? I have nothing to live for. I can’t have a normal life. Joey won’t let me. I’ll always belong to him, and he’ll always feel that he can do whatever he wants to me.”
Rage ran like fire through his veins. “A guy who can just torment a wonderful girl like you—he doesn’t deserve to live.”
She lifted her tearstained face to Clark’s, her eyes wide. “Do you really think that?”
CHAPTER 43
Northwest Portland
Don’t say a word or I’ll kill you,” Joey had told Sara when he pressed the gun into her ribs as she unlocked the front door.
She’d let out a gasp and pulled her son in close, pressing his face against her side. The kid let out a little whimper.
“Hurry up,” Joey ordered, looking behind them. The street was deserted. “Unlock the door. I want to get inside.”
Sara did as she was told. She kept the boy’s face pressed against her waist, and the kid shuffled blindly forward. Once they were inside, Joey kicked the door closed, stepped back, and leveled the gun at her.
“Noah,” she whispered, tilting her head and squeezing the kid’s shoulder, “you need to be absolutely still. Do you hear me?”
There was an almost imperceptible nod.
“And don’t look. I need you not to look.”
His words were muffled by her waist. “Like hide and go seek?”
“Kind of, baby. Just keep your face there until I tell you.”
Joey should have said something right away, interrupted her. He could feel that he was losing momentum.
Sara lifted her head to face him and looked straight into his eyes, as if the gun wasn’t even there.