by T. E. Woods
Lydia would wait to see who came looking for them.
—
“Oh, thank God!” Allie jumped off her bed and rushed at Lydia with her arms lifted, as though ready to fall into an embrace. “You were gone for so long.”
Lydia sidestepped her attempt. “Sorry if I scared you, but out here you can’t be sure. There’s the occasional wolf, and even a bear from time to time.”
“But I heard gunshots!”
Lydia nodded. “Just a few warnings to scare it away. I think it was a wolf.”
Allie looked past her, as though straining to see through the house walls into the black night. “Are they going to come back?”
“Probably,” Lydia answered. “But I’ll be ready for them.”
Chapter 26
“Who are you?” Allie sipped her third cup of coffee. She had accepted Lydia’s offer of two over-the-counter sleeping pills after the near-invasion the previous evening, and she was still a bit sluggish despite the fact that it was nearly noon. “What kind of person goes after wild animals in the middle of the night?”
Mort shoved a bowl of fruit in front of his daughter and urged her to eat. “You’re safe, Allie. That’s all that matters.” Lydia had let Allie tell him the story of Lydia fending off what had now, in her telling, become a pack of rabid wolves. She felt no need to tell him the truth. Mort was by the book. He wouldn’t stand idly by knowing she’d tossed two dead bodies into Puget Sound. Even if the invaders had come for his daughter.
Allie kept her attention on Lydia. “And what’s with that gun? I mean, that was serious, Lydia. I get that you’re out here in the wilds, but have you ever heard of a shotgun? Are you, like, paranoid or something? Maybe one of those survivalist people? Is it even legal for a person to have that kind of weapon?”
Lydia sat silently. Allie had seen. Lydia’s hope that she could survive in this world was based in her belief that she’d be able to protect herself. Her history taught her graphically and repeatedly that no one else would. She’d built a home designed to be impregnable, stocked it with state-of-the-art communication and surveillance equipment, armed it with the capability to stop a small army, and held herself apart from the world.
And now Allie’s curiosity could prove her safety was an illusion.
She pushed away from the table and headed to her bedroom.
—
Lydia stepped out of the shower, dried off a hand, and reached for her ringing cell phone.
“I have a Will Sorens on the line, Dr. Corriger.” It was her answering service. The operator’s voice was crisp and efficient. “He says he’s not suicidal, but that if he didn’t speak to you he might become homicidal. Shall I put him through?”
Lydia fleetingly wondered what this operator heard on a routine basis that allowed her to treat a threat of murder in such a rational manner. She tried her best to wrap a towel around herself while holding on to her phone. “Go ahead.”
Five seconds later she heard the rush of traffic in her ear. “Dr. Corriger? Are you there?”
“I’m here, Will.” Lydia left her bathroom and sat on the edge of her bed, letting the comforter absorb the water dripping off her body. “Are you driving?”
“I’m on the side of the road.” He sounded frantic. “I’m not in any shape to drive.”
“Before we get into anything, I want you to calm down, okay?” She walked him through a brief deep-breathing exercise. When his voice was steadier, she asked him to tell her what had happened.
“I was driving to work. God, I can’t believe that I’m getting dressed, brushing my teeth, and going about all these normal things when the whole world is crashing down! How am I supposed to think about websites and program updates while Emma’s not safe?”
“We do what we need to, Will.” Lydia slowed the pace of her voice. She needed to keep him composed. “And right now I need you to stay focused. Tell me specifically what has you so worked up.”
“The radio.” She heard him take another shuddering breath. “I listen to the news on the way to work. Every day. I guess it’s just a habit. Maybe I should listen to music. That might be better.”
His thought process was racing. “Let’s not worry about your routine right now, Will. What about the radio is upsetting you?”
“There was an update on the Kenton Walder story. That’s what the announcer called it. ‘The Kenton Walder story.’ ” Lydia heard a loud thump and imagined Will had just slammed his fist against the dashboard. “Emma’s my girl. She’s the one in danger. It’s not the Kenton Walder story!”
Lydia wished she could see him…to have more input than merely the troubling sound of his voice. “Walder’s well known in Olympia. His name draws interest. What did the reporter say?”
“That his accuser had been taken to the hospital following a suicide attempt. That his accuser was undergoing psychiatric evaluation at a secure facility.” Lydia heard the loud thump again, this time accompanied by a short blare of his car horn. “They’re making my girl sound like a lunatic.”
“Did they mention Emma’s name?”
“No. They said since the accuser was a minor they were withholding it. They kept saying accuser, accuser, accuser.”
Lydia was disgusted. The feeding of the insatiable human appetite for gossip too often masqueraded as news reporting. “Remember, Emma’s safe. No one will harm her while she’s in the hospital. Are you seeing her regularly?”
“I’m there every day. At least twice. First thing in the morning. I bring her breakfast. Then always right after work. She tells me about her day. We cry a lot. I promise her things will get better. God, I hope I’m not lying.”
Lydia did, too. “When will she be released?”
“They’re saying tomorrow. Darlene…Dee…hell, I don’t know what she wants to be called these days. Anyway, she wants Emma to go back to that house of horrors out on Cooper Point. We had a blowout about it last night at the hospital.”
“Did Emma hear you?”
“No. I’d gone up around nine thirty. I’d been to see her after work yesterday, but I was missing her so much. I decided to surprise her. Of course, I get to the floor and the charge nurse warns me that Emma’s mom and her husband are there.” Will’s agitation grew again. “Can someone explain to me why my daughter’s rapist is allowed to come and go as he pleases?”
“Calm down, Will.” Lydia repeated the phrase until she heard a stable breathing cadence on the other end of the line. “Emma’s charges are under investigation. Kenton Walder hasn’t been arrested. And he’s only allowed to be around her with supervision. Emma’s safe.” Lydia knew Will would only be convinced when Kenton Walder was behind bars.
“Anyway, the nurse starts talking to me about the plans for Emma’s release. Darlene happens to come out of Emma’s room, with that bastard Walder right behind her. She makes a beeline for me and announces Emma’s going to be discharged to her. I say like hell she is. She’s coming home with me. Darlene says I’ll hear from their lawyers, and I start mouthing off about what she and her lawyers can do.”
“That couldn’t have done much to help the situation. They might have called security on you.”
Will huffed in disgust. “It was Walder who stepped in to put a stop to things.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He yanks Darlene by the arm and tells her to be quiet. Tells her to respect my position as Emma’s father.” His voice started to shake. “My fucking position? Excuse me, Dr. Corriger. You don’t deserve talk like that.”
“Forget it.”
“But my position? Like I’m some prop in their little drama?”
Lydia let him rant a few moments before bringing him back on topic. “How did it end?”
“Walder tells Darlene to let Emma go home with me. Says it would be best for Emma to have her time with me until this matter—that’s what he called it—until this matter could be resolved.”
“Did she agree?”
“Not at first. But you can se
e he has a way of shutting her down I never had. She tells me to look at what a prince of a man she’s married to. That despite these awful lies Emma is spreading he still has the class and dignity to put her feelings first. She tells me to take a good look at what a real man looks like. God help me, I wanted to shove my fist down both of their throats right then and there!”
“What did you do?”
“I left. I called Emma and told her she was coming home with me.” His voice cracked. “She asked me if she could stay with me forever.”
“She loves you.”
“And this morning I hear this radio report. Making my baby sound like a crazy person. I can’t stand it, Dr. Corriger. I want Kenton Walder dead for what he’s doing to Emma.”
Lydia had no words of comfort for him. Emma had two parents at war. One was an underpaid state employee and the other was the wife of one of the richest and most popular men in town. What would justice look like in this case?
“Go home, Will. Take the day off. I’ll write you an excuse if you need it.” She hoped her soothing tone gave him some solace, in place of the words that failed her. “Make your place ready for your daughter. Get yourself ready, too. Then come see me.”
“Think that will help?”
“Just come, Will. You might be surprised at what I’m capable of.”
Chapter 27
The last place Lydia wanted to be was at work, but she had decided it was best to carry on as though last night’s invasion hadn’t happened. If she had any hope of learning the identities of the two bodies currently being carried by the tides, she’d have to create enough curiosity to get whoever sent them to dispatch a scouting party.
With Mort at her place keeping tabs on Allie, Lydia was able to focus on her morning’s roster of patients until Zach Edwards came in for their supervisory session. She continued the charade of normalcy. “Have a seat. How was your evening?”
Zach rolled his eyes. “Never ending, I’m afraid. I spent four hours last night trying to stay awake at the Washington Center.”
“What took you there?”
“Patty—that’s my girlfriend, Patty Goines. She dragged me to that thing with the six one-act plays. If you haven’t seen them, let me spare you a night of agony. They’re just what you’d expect from first-time playwrights. Pompous, self-indulgent, and filled with symbolism I’m sure the writers think is profound, but really was just plain tedious.”
“I didn’t know you were interested in live theater.”
He shook his head. “I’m not. Patty was a performing arts major in college. She works at a preschool. Volunteering to paint sets and schlep costumes is as close as she gets to Broadway these days. She got the tickets free. What’s a guy to do? It’s important to her.”
“You’re a good boyfriend.”
Zach groaned. “And if three hours of watching people pose on a stark stage with perpetually lost expressions wasn’t enough, Patty insisted we go to the reception afterward. There went another hour with watered-down wine, stale crackers, and a whole lot of family members and drama teachers fawning all over these guys.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe one of these guys is going to be the William Shakespeare of our generation. All I know is I’d much rather have been at home in my pajamas watching reruns of Star Trek.”
Lydia pointed back to her desk where the flash drive of his sessions sat. “Well, if theater isn’t your game, let me tell you what is. I’ve listened to your sessions this week. Good job. I’m especially impressed with the way you handled Eric Schuell and Brianna Trow.”
“He’s my unemployed depressed guy and she’s my woman with the depression that’s masked as overall GI distress. I think they’re both making progress.”
Lydia agreed. “You’re getting them moving and they’re feeling better. I especially like how you sidestep that trap of letting them tell you again and again how bad things are. You’re doing a great job explaining all the things they can do to manage their symptoms.”
Zach smiled. “I tell them what you tell me, Dr. Corriger. ‘You won’t think or feel your way out of this. You’re going to have to act your way out.’ Eric is attending job-interview-skills classes. That’ll go a long way toward lightening his mood. Brianna’s getting back in touch with her friends. She’s realizing that if she doesn’t focus on her pain, it goes away.”
“Keep up the good work. Now, let’s talk about Heather Blankenship. I see she canceled her session with you. Is it because you called CPS? What did they have to say?”
For a fleeting moment, Lydia detected a look of defiance flash across Zach’s face. He’d wanted to hold off contacting the agency, but Lydia had insisted.
“They’re overworked down there, as you know,” he said. “They agreed with me. As long as her uncle…he’s the one who’s abusing her—”
“Careful, Zach,” Lydia interrupted.
He bowed his head. “Sorry. I’ve really got to work on that.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Her uncle is the one Heather says is abusing her,” he continued. “CPS agreed with me that as long as he’s out of town there’s no need for emergency intervention. They’ve opened a file on the case. Next time I see Heather we’ll work on giving her the skills and the courage to talk to her parents. I hope you’re not upset that she canceled this week.”
“Relax. You’re a fine therapist. We all get cancellations.” She glanced at the clock. “Anything pressing you want to discuss?”
Zach ran his eyes over his patient list and shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. Things are going well…despite my blunder with Heather.”
He handed her a thumb drive of his latest sessions. “Oh! I almost forgot. I wanted to ask you if you’d heard any more from Kenton Walder. How’d he respond to the report we submitted?”
“It’s in the hands of the legal folks now.” Lydia stood and Zach did the same. “Your report was solid. We’re out of it as far as I’m concerned. We’ve done all we can for Mr. Walder. Now let’s hope the justice system does right by Emma.” Lydia made an exaggerated look at her watch. “Anything else?”
Zach grinned and tucked his files under his arm. “Nothing, Dr. Corriger. As always, you’ve given me more than I hoped for.”
Chapter 28
SEATTLE
Patrick Duncan stared out the eleventh-floor window and struggled to see the waterfront he knew was two blocks away. The grey clouds were low and a heavy mist deposited glistening prisms on the glass. It’s not even a proper rain. Just wet, dripping damp turning everything colorless and flat. He wondered how his Olwen survived a childhood here. She was the essence of dazzling light. Colors were invented for her. He thought of her blue eyes, the hue of a tropical sea. Her hair the inspiration for an island strand. I’m coming for you, Olwen. I’m here. He held his hand, set in a cast, behind his back and turned.
“So what you’re telling me is you’ve failed.”
Arnie Harb had come highly recommended. Patrick had been assured the private detective was thorough, discreet, and not afraid to use whatever means were necessary to accomplish his assignment. Patrick needed someone with Seattle contacts to help him find Olwen.
“We’ve got her landing in Miami five days ago.” Arnie spoke from memory. Patrick appreciated the absence of a paper trail documenting the detective’s investigation. “There’s some indication she may have spent a couple nights in a motel on the airport strip, but I can’t be sure if the guy who saw her was being straight with me, or if he was just dancing to whatever tune I wanted to hear in exchange for the fifty bucks I was offering. After that, we got nothing.”
You wasted the money. Olwen would never sleep in such a place. “Rental cars? Trains? Planes?”
“It’s unlikely she flew,” Arnie answered. “She’d need a valid ID for that. She didn’t rent a car. That’s certain. But buses, trains…she could be anywhere by now.”
Patrick glanced out the window. “She’s near. I can feel her.” He inhaled so hard his nostril
s flared. “I can smell the scent of her skin.”
Arnie seemed unimpressed. “She’s got family here. But the house she grew up in just got sold. New family’s moving in. Couple of guys with a couple of kids.” He shrugged. “It’s a new day, I guess. Daddy’s got himself a houseboat down on Lake Union. Pricey digs. Could it be your girl was sending money home?”
Patrick stepped forward and stopped just inches from where the gumshoe stood. He pulled himself to his full height and held the detective’s stare. “Never refer to Olwen as ‘my girl.’ Understand?”
Arnie shrugged. “Got it. Still, houseboats down there run a pretty penny.”
You have no idea how pretty my pennies are. Nor any notion of how loyal my Olwen is. “I’m sure her father has managed the financial side of his life well. Olwen has always described him as a good and obedient servant of the city.” Patrick crossed the room to the wet bar and poured himself two fingers of rum over ice. He hoped the taste of the islands would calm him, but the sting coursing down his throat only intensified his fear he’d never see her again. “Have you been to the houseboat?”
Arnie nodded. “No sign of Daddy. No sign of his daughter. Place is crawling with folks, though. Guy’s got a lot of help moving him in.”
Patrick had no interest in Mort Grant’s relocation plans. “What about the Russian?” He’d been pleased to learn Olwen left the island of her own accord. His darling understood the threat his impulsive actions against Tokarev’s whore placed on her. She’d taken action to remain safe. She must be furious. It was unlike her not to contact him, if only to assure him she was out of harm’s way. I’m here, my love. Forgive me. “Do we have any indication he’s gotten to her?”
“Russia’s a huge country, Mr. Duncan. And Tokarev’s a powerful man. He can move about pretty much as undetected as you can. But I don’t think he’s got her. If he did, you can bet your ass you’d have gotten a package from him by now.”