by Karen Harper
He followed her through the house and down the hall. Trey’s door was barely ajar. Thank heavens, silence from within. The door to the girls’ room stood open. The dim night-light glowed golden. They both slept peacefully, faceup, in the matching twin beds with a small table and unlit lamp between them.
Hoping he’d stay in the doorway, Claire mouthed and gestured, “Wait there.” He stopped one step in.
She tiptoed between the beds and carefully lifted the doll from where it lay outside the covers by Lexi’s feet. She hadn’t tucked it in, hardly had it near her. Smarter girl than a smart doll, once things were explained to her.
She turned back to take the doll to Will, wanting to get him out of here, out of the room, even out of the house. But she saw he had come farther and stood at the foot of Jilly’s bed, just staring raptly at her. And he was crying.
Despite the fact he held the gun, though not pointed at anyone now, she tugged at his arm to leave. Should she lash out at him now? Go for the gun? But no, not here at least.
He sniffed hard and pushed her, still holding the doll, from the room.
“I take it the others will be back soon,” he whispered as they stopped in the kitchen, and she put the doll on the counter. He seized a terry-cloth towel from the rack and wrapped the doll in it one-handed, still holding the gun. He whispered, “Wrap it in more towels, maybe tin foil.” She thought the wind and thudding rain probably muted their voices for the recording device in the doll, but she did as he said. And, after all, since Will was possibly behind the doll, what did he care anymore? But then perhaps he had someone monitoring it for him, since he obviously still held a normal day job—if anything was normal here anymore.
He motioned her down to the other end of the kitchen. “I’ve written a note to leave for your husband,” he told her, his voice still a mere whisper. She had to almost read his lips.
“But you said you’d explain things to me, then leave.”
“I am leaving and I will explain, but I must show you things, not just tell. You will then be the witness, the conduit, the testifier to justice and their destruction.”
She pictured little Trey again, sleeping, peaceful, and the girls, so sweet. Will had said Darcy was sweet.
“I’m not leaving this house with you.”
“You must. You must to understand, to keep Darcy safe in the future in case he doesn’t think she’s forgotten enough.”
“Will, who wants her to forget?”
“You must go with me now. Your children will be all right, for surely your husband and others will be back soon.”
“You—Then, you are the one who’s been listening through this doll?”
He hesitated a moment. “I wish I could have gotten one for Jilly, too, but Darcy told me some backstory about Lexi’s being kidnapped once—before Darcy disappeared, of course. I don’t want you wounded, hurt and bleeding on our journey, so don’t even think of trying to take this gun. You come now, or I’ll take the girls, too. Claire, I swear, I’ll have you back safe soon.”
“Back soon, like Darcy? Drugged? Memory erased?”
“I will tell you one more time. I did not—would not—hurt Darcy. Now you must come with me willingly or—or another way. Yes, I arranged for the doll here and figured, from things Darcy had told me, your daughter would be the best recipient. And Darcy mentioned your nanny, Nita, was pregnant and that seemed a good conduit to get the doll here. I needed to keep track of what you were doing to trace Darcy, so I could help, lay my own plans and trap. I paid a friend to monitor the doll for me, and I don’t want him to hear anything else through it now. Claire, we are leaving immediately—now!”
She thought to bluff him, to refuse. But she feared he might take Jilly then, even Lexi, and they’d both been traumatized too much.
She stared as he fished a business-size envelope out of his jacket pocket and propped it up on the counter. She saw printed on it Nick Markwood.
“That’s not supposed to be from me, is it?” she asked.
“I signed it. It explains you will be back soon with enough information to free Darcy’s husband from those charges and to have the mastermind of all this ungodly butterfly and dolphin research—and Darcy’s drugging—arrested and put away for life, if he’s alive then.”
“Do you mean Lincoln Yost? Has he made money from his research from someone rich and powerful—surely not you?”
“An excellent guess, but a bit off. We must go now. If you don’t, we’ll go get the girls, and they don’t need to see where we’re going. They wouldn’t understand, and it would terrify them even more than it evidently haunts Darcy.”
Claire realized the portrait in the hall would testify to who had been here, even without the note. So Will had discovered who took Darcy and he wanted her to know, to see, perhaps, where he was holding that person captive?
She grabbed her purse where she’d left it in the kitchen and an umbrella—the one Darcy had come home with. At least she hadn’t taken her cell phone out of her purse. After locking the door with a gun pointed at her, trusting Nick would be home soon to care for the children, she went out into the storm with Will.
* * *
“It’s a monster, and it’s going to hit Naples, at least damn near,” Jace told Mitch as the most recent storm readings were relayed to them in the cockpit and then back to NOAA so public announcements and warnings could be prepared. “I don’t care what they say, I’m tempted to call Brit when we land and tell her to hunker down. Wish we could just parachute out, not have to fly this big baby back to Tampa, then sit it out there in case we’re needed again.”
“Yeah, right. Pie in the sky, like they say, but we have a job to do,” Mitch muttered, nodding so hard his tinted goggles bounced on his nose. “And if the phone lines and cell towers go down, it may be a while before we know things. At least—after all you and I’ve been through, facing the enemy, combat—it’s good to know we have people we love, ones we want to go home to.”
* * *
Nick drove himself and Heck into the garage. Heck had decided to leave his car parked up tight against the back brick wall of the law firm, hoping that would provide some shelter from possible flying debris, so Nick had brought him here to join the others who would be arriving soon.
“Boss, I’m really worried that Gina decided to stay in Miami for this big blow. At least it looks like it might not be as bad there. She’s really dedicated to her hospital work. Something else I haven’t told you and Claire—I’m gonna give her a ring for her birthday next month, ask her to marry me. If she can’t or won’t move here when she’s ready for medical residency, I may have to move there—but I could still work for you, consult, drive here if I need to.”
“I’d hate to lose you,” Nick told him as they got out of the car and the garage door closed behind them to stop the rush of wind. How Nick wished South Florida had basements with protection and flooring overhead. The price—one of them—you paid to live in paradise.
“But it’s more important that you and Gina be together, live together,” he tried to assure Heck. “Claire and I have been through so much apart and together. We’ll ride out this storm and any others on the horizon together, and I’m sure you and Gina will, too.”
Nick popped his trunk and took one of the boxes of food and supplies Heck had put there. They each carried a box into the house, set them down on the island in the kitchen, then Heck went back out for more. Nick looked in the Florida room, but it was quiet there. This late, Claire probably had checked in on Trey—who would be in la-la land for the night. He was a very talented sleeper, and Nick wished he still had that in him.
He saw an envelope propped up on the counter with his name printed on the front. It wasn’t Claire’s writing. Whose and what?
“Just put this down here, too, boss?”
“Yeah, fine. I’ve got to go find Claire and check in on the kids. She probably fell asleep in the girls’ room or is with Trey,” he added, glancing at the kitchen clock.
Only nine thirty, but yeah, the kids would have been tucked in by now.
“Make yourself at home, Heck,” he said, taking the letter out of the envelope. It wasn’t sealed. “Be back in a sec. Get something to drink out of the fridge.”
He headed for the library and noticed the large item wrapped in heavy plastic in the hall. He turned on another light. It was that portrait of Will Warren’s grandmother that looked like Darcy, so he must’ve stopped by.
He hit the lights in the library and opened the letter, skimming to the bottom for the signature. Yes, Will had dropped that off. This was not printed by hand but typed. It must explain about the portrait, ask them to keep it safe.
He read just a few lines and raced out into the hall. Down to the girls’ room. No Claire. The kids sleeping. No doll for once.
He opened Trey’s door. The little guy was lying on his back, breathing in regular rhythm. Safe. The kids were safe.
He tore toward the master bedroom. She had to be there, maybe in the shower. No one in the bathroom, not in bed. He even looked under the bed, in the closet.
“Claire,” he whispered, but he knew now, he sensed, she wasn’t here. Ken Jensen, not to mention everyone who would be here soon to sit out the storm, would not believe this. He didn’t believe this.
He skimmed the letter again.
I know who took Darcy and he will pay. After Claire understands and can explain, I will see that she returns safely and soon with information about what happened to Darcy and information to free Steve from the murder charges.
It is the only and best thing I can do for Darcy. When I am gone, assure Darcy and Jilly that I love them, that I would—and might—die for them.
Do not try to contact me. I will not have access to my phone, and if it sounded, it could give me away.
I do not need the doll anymore to watch over Jilly and Darcy’s family. I have found answers another way. Someday, some way, I will send Jilly more than the living toy I sent Lexi.
In haste to get this over, to see it all end,
William Warren
28
Claire now wished she’d fought Will for the gun. He held it on her, insisted she put handcuffs on and lie in the back seat of his car. If only Nick would get home now!
Will tied her feet together and strapped her down with all three seat belts. Raising her voice to be heard above the drumming of rain and the whap, whap of windshield wipers, she asked him where they were going.
“You’ll see. It will all make sense then. It’s an important step, one of our two stops tonight before I take you back home. I need to concentrate on driving in this rain, but it will be our friend, our ally—the element of surprise, though I must admit, I planned the timing. When we are there, I’ll explain. I’ve arranged to get that watchdog Jedi Brown out of our way. As for your being tied, I just don’t want you to change your mind about helping me.”
Help you? she thought. And they must be going to Clint Ralston’s house, if Will had managed to get Jedi out of their way. She knew it was a huge risk to come with Will, but he had always seemed trustworthy, and he said he had answers. At least she had kept him from bringing the girls out into this dark storm to learn and face the horror of what had happened to Darcy.
After what she judged to be about twenty minutes, he parked the car and turned off the motor. By looking up, watching overhead traffic lights at intersections and recognizing some tall buildings, Claire had guessed they were now in a residential neighborhood a few blocks off the Tamiami Trail toward the Gulf of Mexico. At Clint Ralston’s home?
Will got out into the rain, opened the door at her feet and leaned in. He unhooked the seat belts and freed her feet. She didn’t see the gun now, but he must’ve had it on him.
“The blessing of this storm,” he told her, “is that no one will be expecting us at the facility once we leave here.”
“What facility? And where is here?” she demanded, looking around. Through the blur of rain on the car windows, as she sat up, she could see large houses looming, some with lights, some not.
“Barely two blocks from where the bastard held that memorial service for his brother. By the way, Steve did not kill that man, just roughed him up. I didn’t kill him, either, before you and Nick found him—really. I did shove him, but it was an accident that he fell between the boat and dock, when he was going to toss me in. I swear it, Claire.”
Despite the fact that she was sweating, chills racked her. Will had killed him—but not? She’d learned when people protested so vehemently—and swore it was true—they were often lying. And why was he so desperate to help Darcy? Again she agonized over whether he could have loved her, wanted her, then gone on a rampage when someone hurt her. If so, he’d done a better job finding who was responsible than she and Nick had, than Ken Jensen and the police, too.
Before she could ask him another question, Will went on. “Clint, alias Stanford Clinton, lives in walking distance of Doctors Pass. It was easy for him to have someone in his own boat loose those butterflies he got from somewhere. I suppose he was trying to cast blame on Tara or me for that butterfly release, but he’ll pay the price now.”
“Clinton arranged it from his own boat, had someone do that while he and Jedi were in plain sight at the service? And Clint Ralston’s real name is Stanford Clinton?” Despite the handcuffs, she grabbed for his wrist and held tight.
“The other way around. Stanford Clinton is the name under which he runs his quite secret business. In a local facility, but with elite, rich customers from all over the US, even a few wealthy Germans who winter here and were taken in by his—well, his sales pitch of eternal life.”
“Eternal life? He’s a con man? He took Darcy, then handed her over or used her for his company’s work somehow? Testing drugs on her?”
“Calm down. Think it through. I knew you would believe me, speak for me later when I’m gone.”
“Are you saying someone else took Darcy? But whatever Clinton’s name is—we’re at his house?”
“The street behind his house,” he said calmly, ignoring her other questions. “Wouldn’t do, even in this big storm, to park right in front or even on his street. I’ll get him and bring him here through the backyards. He thinks I have information he needs on the falcate orangetips from when I was researching my book. But actually, I knew so little about their potential until I talked to Tara, then to Linc Yost, too. But I must go. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait in the trunk, since I can’t take you inside his mansion with me.”
“Will, even if Jedi isn’t there, doesn’t Clint have a family at home?”
“I believe he’s sent them north out of harm’s way, the fool. I’ll explain later—when he shows us his palace of horrors. You know, this storm is perfect for covering my tracks, a perfect setting for all this, worthy of a detective or gothic novel, one I could tell a tale about at story time. But I’ll be with you, Claire. I’ll protect you even if I wasn’t able to save Darcy from all she went through.”
“Will, wait!” she cried as he pulled her out into the driving rain. “Don’t lock me in there. What if you don’t come back?”
“I will. I will, that is, until I don’t.”
She was trying to process all that he had said to have some sort of comeback or plea not to leave her, to let her go home. He was speaking in riddles as if they were in some alternate universe where he was an all-knowing alien and she a visitor.
“Will, just tell me one more thing, then—please. Was Darcy just your friend? What was she to you that you outsmarted Nick and me, the police, all of us, and that you are taking revenge—I mean, seeking justice—for her?”
“In time,” he told her, and gave her a boost up and lifted her legs in. “I swear to you I will be back shortly, and then you’ll know and see it all.”
“No, don’t leave me in here!” she cried as he closed the trunk lid over her to trap her in an even darker dark.
* * *
At first, Nick went berserk. Trying not t
o wake the kids, he tore into every room in the house and looked everywhere again, though he knew Claire wasn’t here. He explained to Heck, who turned on the outside lights, then searched Claire’s car in the garage. Nick spread out the letter on the kitchen table, reading it again and again, searching for clues as to where they had gone. He needed to call Ken for help, but this seemed too impossible, too terrible.
“He must have forced her to leave,” he told Heck, and collapsed in a chair. “Unless she was crazy enough to go with him. Maybe he threatened the kids.”
“Maybe she knew you’d be back soon.”
“She’s been dying to keep looking for answers at any cost—but to leave the kids?”
He shook his head and shuddered. Claire off on some crusade again, wanting to right wrongs, or caught up in something over her head? Was there a curse on their marriage, on his love for her?
He jumped up. “Will may have turned off or ditched his phone so he can’t be called or traced. His note said not to try to contact him, but he didn’t say not to try to contact her. Unlike when Darcy was taken, I haven’t seen her phone anywhere, but her purse is gone—like Darcy’s.”
He punched Claire’s automatic number on his cell. It rang, rang. His gut twisted. He almost broke into tears. Her recorded voice came on: “Hi, this is Claire, but I’m unavailable right now, so please leave me a message—”
He punched it off. “I’ll try again in a minute,” he muttered. Again and again.