Crimson Eve

by Brandilyn Collins

  Sometimes I feel so guilty for what I’ve done to Scott. I just have to shove it back down. No way can I let myself think about it. I just have to go on and make a life for the three of us. This is really, finally going to work out. Just like I never went to Bryson in the first place. Just like it should have been.

  Lisa, the nurse in Dr. Hughes’s office, is still so nice. The first time I had an appointment after hearing about Mrs. My-Husband’s pregnancy, Lisa was all worried for me. She could tell I was upset, even though I tried to hide it. After my appointment was done, she came outside in the hall and hugged me. Told me she was proud of me, and that I’d make a good mother. She promised she’d be my friend after the baby comes. Not just a nurse but my friend.

  I need someone like her.

  My old friends have all fallen away. I hardly even talk to Mary Kay anymore. It’s my fault, I know. I can’t tell anyone the truth about what happened, and all the lies make me pull away from people. I just have to try hard not to pull away from Scott too. I need Scott. Rebecca needs a father. And he’s still been so wonderful to me. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt.

  As for my mom — forget it. She tolerates me, that’s all. I think she hates my baby already. She’ll never lay a hand on Rebecca, that’s a promise.

  Not that many more weeks, and I’ll have my baby. She’s all that matters anymore. If I can be a good mom, maybe I can make it up to God for all the lies I’ve told. For everything I’ve done. And maybe He’ll stop punishing me.

  Just a few weeks. I can’t wait to hold Rebecca. She’ll be the one good thing to come from all of this. And she’ll get all the love from her mother that I never got from mine. All she deserves and more.

  Hurry up, April, and come!

  SIXTY-TWO

  It took twenty minutes for Brandon to tell his story to the cop — a tall, broad-shouldered guy with suspicious brown eyes named Officer Criggen. Brandon had to be careful what he said. Tricky thing, remembering what you told the police if it all wasn’t on the level. Twice, he almost blurted out the truth about where he’d taken Carla. Worry tugged at him. Carla had no one to help but him, and he was stuck here for hours.

  The entire time he walked the new car aisle with the policeman and Shawn, as he pointed out the dents in the Chrysler and reconstructed the events, Brandon thought about Carla. One thing he could honestly tell the police — he had no idea why she was in trouble. “I asked, and all she’d say is, ‘It’s a long story.’ ”

  He told Criggen his attacker’s name was supposedly Thorn-by — at least that’s what the guy told Carla. And that he was driving a rented black Durango.

  The policeman wrote it down. “We’ll check that out with local car rental agencies. Just may lead us to him.”

  “All right.” Vengeance beat in Brandon’s chest. Thornby wasn’t going to get away with this. No way.

  Officer Criggen pulled on gloves and went through Carla’s car, checking her papers. From there he confirmed her full name. That much Brandon had told him, knowing he’d soon discover it anyway.

  Before the officer left, he radioed into headquarters to run Carla’s name. He came back to Brandon and Shawn with the news — a missing person’s bulletin had recently been filed on her.

  Missing person. Brandon stared out the showroom window. He imagined family and friends who missed her. How scared they must be —

  Leslie Brymes.

  The name echoed in his brain. Leslie. Carla’s friend. And a reporter. Sounded like Carla trusted her. Still, Carla refused to call her, for fear of bringing her trouble.

  But he could.

  Brandon smiled.

  Yeah, he could. He should. If ever Carla needed a friend, it was now.

  And, of course, there was that other part Brandon had to admit. He wouldn’t mind introducing himself to the hot Leslie Brymes. Nope, he wouldn’t mind that at all.

  SIXTY-THREE

  Leslie hung up from talking to another of Carla’s friends — who like the rest knew big, fat zero — and dropped her head in her hands. It was almost five o’clock. Her interview with the developer of the new hotel was supposed to happen two hours ago. Of course she’d cancelled it, on the fast track to find Carla. Instead she’d found nothing. Every hour that passed only made her feel sicker. She knew Carla was dead. Knew it as surely as she’d found Vesta Johnson’s body last March in her car.

  Why? Why would anybody want Carla dead? And why would Carla talk to sweet Bailey in such a mean way when Bailey had tried to help?

  If only there was more Leslie could do right now. But for the moment they were all stuck in a waiting game. Tanya Evans was on her way to Kanner Lake. There she would talk to Chief Edwards. Leslie could only hope she’d manage to hear Tanya’s full story too. This not knowing was driving her crazy.

  Leslie swallowed a lump in her throat. Still, she longed to know the truth more for Carla’s sake than her own career. The lessons she had learned during the March murders had been hard won and humbling. Driven by stark ambition to succeed, Leslie would have done anything to get a story. She’d reacted that way when the infamous actress Edna San went missing from her lake estate fifteen months ago. But in March, when her own friends were killed, Leslie had recognized the darker side of her ambition. She’d shoved it aside to help the investigation, her craving for justice far greater than “getting the story.” Not to mention she’d also learned more than she ever cared to know about the evil that existed in this world — an evil that sent her careening straight into the arms of Jesus. Where else could a person go in the midst of such darkness?

  “God,” Leslie whispered, “it’s dark again. Please help. I don’t know what to do.”

  It was so quiet in the office. Jared was out, seeing what he could discover about Carla. Which must not be much, or he’d have called. Part of Leslie wanted to run home, jump into bed, and throw the covers over her head. Hide from hearing the truth she so feared. She and her roommate, Paige, could rent a silly movie, stuff themselves on popcorn with lots of butter . . .

  Leslie raised her head. Her face felt cool in the absence of two warm palms. Her eyes roamed over the worn office — Jared’s desk and computer, the stacks of past newspaper editions, the grey metal file cabinets — as if seeking an answer in the clutter.

  Her desk phone rang. She grabbed the receiver, hoping for something. Anything.

  “Kanner Lake Times, Leslie Brymes.”

  “Leslie, hi. My name’s Brandon. You know somebody named Carla Radling?”

  Panic and wild hope seared her chest. She hunched forward, gripping the edge of her desk. “Do you know where she is?”

  “Yeah. I saw her a little while ago.”

  Leslie’s shoulders slumped. Her hand rose to her mouth, instant tears welling. Questions crowded her mind as to who Brandon was, or how he knew. But those could wait. All she cared about now was Carla. “Where is she, is she okay, what happened? Everybody’s looking for her!”

  “Whoa, whoa. She’s okay. Sort of. I’ll tell you everything.”

  And he did.

  Sometime during his story, the reporter in Leslie made her pull a pad of paper near, begin taking notes. By the time Brandon finished, she’d covered two pages. Two pages of very crazy stuff.

  Brandon told her where Carla was hiding. The name she’d used to register, and her room number. Three times he emphasized how no one else could know. “She keeps saying she can’t trust the cops. I can see why, after that state trooper stopped her.”

  Leslie bit her cheek. Could that be true? Maybe the trooper’s stop had just been coincidence . . .

  At any rate, how did all this fit with what Leslie had heard from Tanya Evans?

  “I’m going over there in about three hours to take her suitcase,” Brandon said. “But I figured she could probably use some company now. Do you think you could at least call her or something?”

  “Call her?” Leslie’s words pinched. “You kidding — I’m over there now! Brandon, I can’t thank you enoug
h. I was so afraid she was . . .” The word caught in her throat.

  “Hey. No problem.” Brandon made sure Leslie’s caller ID had recorded his cell number, and Leslie gave him hers. “Will you call me when you get to Carla?” Brandon said. “Just let me know she’s okay. Oh, and she’ll need some food. She hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”

  “Okay. We’ll keep in touch. And if that Thornby guy comes back, you need to let me know. As well as the cops, of course.”

  “Yeah, don’t worry.”

  Leslie plunked down the receiver, her heart in her throat. “Thank You, God, thank You, thank You . . .”

  Grabbing her cell, she punched in 411 for the number of the Hampton Inn.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  Tony had never felt readier for blood.

  From a parking place near a Mexican restaurant at a long diagonal across Sprague, he kept an eye on the Spokane Chrysler lot. Not easy from this distance, but he couldn’t risk getting any closer. Tony had only one job until Jilke showed up — keep the car salesman in sight. Which could get tricky if the kid took some customer for a test drive. Good thing Tony had changed cars. He’d found a nearby Enterprise agency, ditched the Durango in a strip mall parking lot, and rented a white Ford Taurus. If Carla had come crying to Blond Boy for help, she’d have told him about the black SUV. Car salesmen knew cars. The kid would have spotted the Durango on his tail in no time.

  Tony had watched a policeman come and go from the dealership. Taking notes, examining the dented Chrysler on the lot. Blond Boy no doubt gave a physical description of his attacker. Not good.

  Jilke’s plane arrived in Spokane at 5:58. He’d rent a car, drive out to Spokane Valley, and pick Tony up. By that time it would be around 6:30 — an hour and a half from now. Tony could only thank whatever gods existed that business on the Chrysler lot was slow. Ninety minutes with no test drives — that’s all I need.

  Tony knew Jilke was mad enough to kill him. But he needed Tony to hunt down Carla Radling — and now a second woman. Tanya Evans, a.k.a. the mysterious “Ellie from the past.” Meanwhile Tony could practically taste the vengeance of strangling Jilke. But he needed the man to secure his family’s safety. Nothing was more important than that. With his bare hands Tony would tear apart Carla, Tanya, Blond Boy, and half of Spokane if he had to. Anything to get his family back.

  But once their targets were dead, he knew this love/hate dance between him and his boss would be over. Only one of them would be left standing.

  And it wasn’t going to be Paul Jilke.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Perched on the edge of the bed, Carla reached for the phone to call a cab. Before she could pick up the receiver — it rang.

  She snatched her hand back and stared wildly at the phone. A second jangle chewed through her head. Her brain flashed crazy thoughts of third time’s charm gone bad. First Bailey, then Brandon — now Thornby?

  Steeling herself, she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.

  Silence.

  “Carla? Is that you? Talk to me, it’s Leslie.”

  Leslie!

  Carla’s jaw creaked open. “H – how did you find me?”

  What a stupid question. The minute the words left her lips, she knew.

  “Well, it sure wasn’t thanks to you.” Leslie’s tone pulsed with frustration. “How could you do this to us — don’t you know all your friends are looking for you?”

  “I couldn’t . . . I didn’t — ”

  “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now that I’ve found you. Listen to me. You stay right there. You hear? I’m coming to get you.”

  “No!” Carla’s stomach tightened. The emotion of the past twenty-three hours rushed her in a cold wave. The running, her fear, reading the diary. Hadn’t she been through enough? She couldn’t watch her friends die too. “You can’t. I won’t let you put yourself in danger.”

  “Don’t worry about me; sounds like you’re the one in trouble.”

  “But I can’t go back home, Leslie; he’ll find me there.”

  “Fine then, we’ll camp out in your lovely hotel room.”

  “You don’t — ”

  “Carla, be quiet! I’ve got things to tell you, things you’ve got to know. An old friend of yours is on her way from Seattle. She has something desperately important to tell you. Sounds like it’s some kind of confession. She’s the one who called Java Joint this morning, saying her name is Ellie. Her real name’s Tanya Evans.”

  Tanya Evans.

  The name twisted a knife in Carla’s heart. She hadn’t thought of that name in well over a decade, but the mere mention popped sweat on her forehead. As if some tornado whisked her up and plunked her back sixteen years, she could hear the soothing voice, smell the hospital room, feel the racking pain.

  She slumped over, head resting at an awkward angle against the headboard.

  “Carla, you okay?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was a whisper. “No.”

  Leslie hesitated. “Who is she?”

  Carla swallowed. “Somebody I knew only one day. And never saw again. But it was a very . . . important day. Hard. Terrible.”

  “Oh. Can you think why she’d want to talk to you?”

  Something desperately important to tell you . . . confession. The words finally registered. What could —

  A horrific thought pierced Carla.

  Rebecca.

  Stunned, Carla pushed upright. No. No. The idea was so heinous, so nauseating, it snatched all breath away. It couldn’t be true. Not possible.

  Her gaze fell on the blue window curtains and snagged there. “No. Can’t think of a reason.” The words came out thick, pleading to be true.

  Silence. Carla knew she hadn’t convinced Leslie any more than she’d convinced herself. She pressed a hand over her eyes, wanting to shut out the room, the world.

  “Okay. Well.” Leslie took a breath. “Tanya’s driving. She’ll hit Spokane about six-thirty. I’m in touch with her by phone, and I’ll direct her to where we are. I’ll be with you by then. Also — you should know somebody’s after her too, but it looks like she gave them the slip in Seattle.”

  After her? Someone Bryson had sent?

  That would only be true if Tanya knew something . . .

  The thought stabbed again. Carla doubled over, chest against her legs. She froze there, feeling the rush of blood to her head, the spin of her mind back in time.

  Rebecca.

  She could hear the sounds of that day — the tap of steel instruments, Dr. Hughes’s footsteps in and out, her own grunts and screams. Saw the IV bag, Tanya’s misty eyes, her own knees up and spread, shaking, her skin goosebumped. Felt the misery and grief that ground her up and spit her out.

  Carla hunched over like a broken puppet, shoulders drawn in, arm wrapped around her legs. At that moment, everything she’d thought vital in her world dried up and blew away. Suddenly none of it — not exhaustion or hunger or fear or even saving her own life — made a difference. Only one thing remained: the pulsing, writhing need to know. Whatever else happened, whether she lived or died, Carla wanted only to hear what Tanya Evans had to tell her.

  “Leslie.” Her voice croaked. “Just get her here. Now.”

  SIXTY-SIX

  I couldn’t write before this. Today is my seventeenth birthday.

  Rebecca was born last Tuesday. March 31. Three weeks earlier than the due date Dr. Hughes gave me.

  I saw him just the day before. I was having lots of Braxton Hicks contractions and didn’t go to school. Scott took off work to drive me to Dr. Hughes’s office for a checkup. He examined me and said the baby didn’t look ready to come yet. I was so disappointed. I just wanted it to be over with! Lisa squeezed my hand. “It won’t be long now.” She gave me a big smile. “When you get to the hospital, I won’t be there, but the nurses on staff will take good care of you.”

  I hugged her hard.

  All that night, more contractions. The next morning I stayed home from schoo
l again. I knew the baby was coming. I called Dr. Hughes around nine, and he told me to come into his office. Scott left work to take me.

  This time Dr. Hughes said it was time to go to the hospital. The next thing I knew, I was in a delivery room bed. I was so scared. I had wanted it all to be over, but now that I was in labor, and the pains really came hard — I was just petrified. The only good thing was I had a wonderful nurse. Her name was Tanya. She said she’d never leave my side. She held my hand and helped me through the pain. Tanya was so caring, it almost seemed like she felt the contractions as much as I did.

  Scott stayed in the waiting room. He couldn’t stand to see me suffer. And I really didn’t want him there, watching and worrying. I’d put him through enough. Tanya would help me.

  Labor went on and on. For the first few hours, I had contractions at pretty even intervals, but they didn’t get any closer together. Dr. Hughes said I wasn’t moving fast enough, and he wanted to give me Pitocin. He took Tanya out of the room to talk. When she came back she looked upset. I asked her what was wrong, but she said it was nothing — she just didn’t like to see me in pain.

  She put an IV line in me and started the Pitocin. She said it made contractions come faster. We both hoped the anesthesiologist would get there before the contractions got too bad.

  About an hour and a half later — boom. The contractions came hard and fast. I was amazed how sharp the pains were. Not aching and low like cramps, but cutting like a knife. In the front and also in my back. Every time one peaked, I screamed. I mean it, I was panicking. I didn’t know pain could ever be that bad, and I wasn’t going to live through it.

  I just kept telling myself it was for Rebecca. She would make it all worth it.

  Dr. Hughes checked me often. Tanya kept holding my hand. I saw worry in her eyes for me.

  Finally the anesthesiologist came and gave me an epidural. After that, the pain stopped. It was so weird. I felt numb below the waist. I also felt — I don’t know. Strange. Like I wasn’t totally there. I think it was just all the hurting and tiredness. I’d hardly slept at all the night before. I felt like cotton was wrapped around my head.