Nowhere Safe

by Bush, Nancy

  He screamed and yanked back from her, grabbing at his ear. She went head down and barreled into him, tripping on her pants, falling hard atop him as he flew backward, his head coming down with a crack.

  Quickly she scrambled back, grabbed her pants, pulled them up. Glancing down, she saw he was remarkably still. Leaning over, she saw his head had hit a flat stone and he was out cold. She checked his breathing, hoping against hope that she’d killed him. No such luck.

  She straightened. She had to get out of here. She had to get these ties off her hands, but first . . .

  She ran lightly to the car, opened the back door. Her belongings were strewn about and she returned them quickly to the backpack. She had more zip-ties, however, and she brought them to Ugh and bound his legs, then rolled him over and bound his hands behind his back as well. It was her turn to take him to a location of her choice, but to get him to the car she was going to need her hands free of her own bindings. After a moment of thought, she ran to the basement and down a set of concrete stairs. The door was locked.

  “Shit.”

  He’d been heading that way, so he must have a key, she realized. Quick as she could, she returned to him, searching his pockets to no avail. She sat down, breathing hard, thinking, worrying.

  The keys were still in the ignition.

  Climbing to her feet, she hurried to the car once again. Sure enough, the keys were dangling down. There were a number of extra keys attached to the ring. Grabbing them up, she ran to the basement door and on the third try it opened.

  She groped around for a switch and her face ran into a hanging string from an overhead bulb, causing her to gasp before she caught herself. Pulling the string, she looked around in the sudden illumination. In the center of the large, rectangular room a set of stairs led to the upper floors. She hoped the old man wouldn’t hear her.

  Along the back wall were tools and she hurried toward them. Her eye scanned the wall. A box cutter. Snatching it up, she sawed away at the plastic until it gave. She dropped the box cutter, thought better of it, picked it up again and added it to the picks in her pocket.

  Switching off the light, she hurried to the outside door just as the one at the top of the stairs opened, throwing a square of yellow light into the blackness. “Ulysses . . . ?” he quavered. “Eleanor called. She heard you. . . .”

  Lucky ran out the door and up the stairs. Ugh was groaning awake. With a strength born of fear, she hauled him to the Lexus and into the backseat. Slamming the door shut behind him, she circled to the driver’s door, stuck the keys in the ignition, and threw the car into reverse. Mud flew from the rear tires and as she slewed around and finally got aimed the way she’d come in, she saw a series of lights flick on in the nearest house. Eleanor, most likely. The house was set well back from the road but within easy earshot of Ugh’s father’s place.

  Then she was on the main highway, driving with control and determination. She was going to get out of Quarry and over the mountains to the beach. The Pacific drew her like a mother.

  And she was going to send him directly into mother’s arms.

  September stopped into the station before heading home. George was already gone, naturally, but Wes was still at his desk. “Crime techs found blood spatter in the Livesay entryway,” he said. “Looks like it might be Livesay’s.”

  “So, she was attacked,” September said, disheartened.

  “That’s what it looks like. A lot of shit happening in a short time at one school,” he observed.

  September nodded. A lot of shit, she thought. Stefan sure as hell wasn’t responsible for Claudia Livesay, so maybe she was on the right track when it came to Lucky after all. Maybe she had found another target at Twin Oaks. Someone who Ani/Lucky felt needed to be permanently removed.

  Ugh woke up before Lucky was halfway to the coast and started flinging himself around in the backseat. She wished she had her stun gun, or even Mr. Blue’s .38. Something, to get him to calm down, but her hands were on the wheel and she was laser-focused, her sight narrowing to the ribbon of road in front of her, dark as pitch through the mountains except for the occasional light outside a far-off cabin or along a curving bridge.

  He swore at her, a string of filthy epithets that went on for miles. Then suddenly he slammed his head into hers. Pain exploded inside her skull. She held the wheel with an effort, the tires sliding, and screamed as she crossed the asphalt to the other lane and back again.

  “You want to die? You want to kill us both?” she shrieked at him.

  “My ear,” he cried, then swore some more before finally, mercifully, lapsing into silence. She could feel his rage. It wasn’t an aura like his lust, but it was dense and hot and filled the car.

  She turned south off Highway 26 to 101 and drove steadily toward Deception Bay. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to do when she got there, but it felt right.

  Just as she slowed at the entrance to the jetty, Ugh suddenly reared up and grabbed her face with one hand, his fingers digging at her eye. “You think I didn’t have a knife, bitch!!!!” he screamed, pulling the weapon out with his other hand.

  She lurched forward as he struck downward, freeing herself from his grip, jerking the wheel back and forth, flinging him away as the knife grazed her shoulder and plunged into the seat. The Lexus tore through the gate. A piece of painted white metal flew into the window, scarring it all the way with a bang before it flew off.

  “Stop!” he shrieked, struggling to reach her as she wrenched the wheel one way, then the other, aware of the dangerous edges of the jetty on either side, the wheels spitting up rocks, the car careering like a drunken beast.

  The end of the jetty was in sight. It was all she could see. All that was there. Ugh was struggling to grab her. She felt his hands digging at her, undoubtedly grasping for the knife again. But all she saw was the ocean.

  The Lexus roared toward it like a rocket.

  At the last moment a figure appeared in front of the car. Lucky gasped in shock. Dr. Parnell Loman. Her stepfather. Her abuser.

  She drove right at him.

  And then suddenly she was airborne, the restless Pacific rushing up to meet her.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ulysses Graham Harding had always imagined he was meant for great things. He couldn’t believe someone as insignificant as this woman would have the brio to try and take his life.

  As the Lexus smashed into the waves and rocks below, he was thrown into the front seat beside her at the same moment the windshield burst open and water rushed in, engulfing them.

  He was swept out in a back flow and found himself floating in frigid water, relatively unhurt. His would-be killer was floating out of the vehicle also, a limp rag. Probably dead. Good.

  He let the tide take him out, away from the shoals and the Lexus that was being tossed by waves and slammed into boulders. Poor Daria. Her baby was being beaten to death.

  There were lights on the jetty. Headlights and flashlights. They’d been seen crashing into the surf.

  He ducked into the frigid water, knowing he wouldn’t last long in its deadly cold, but also knowing he had to get far, far away. He couldn’t be found. Couldn’t be associated with Lucky, whoever she was.

  Eventually, he hauled himself from the tide and across rocks and sand to a stretch of beach that led to two oceanfront cottages, neither of which was occupied. Shivering so much he could hardly function, he managed to scrounge up a decent sized rock and hurl it at what looked like a bathroom window. It crashed through and he stripped off his shirt, wrapped it around his hand so he could reach inside the shards of glass and find the latch.

  Once the window was open, he squeezed himself inside, heading straight for the shower to warm his hypothermic body. His damn head hurt now that he was out of the cold, and his ear ached excruciatingly, but otherwise he was in one piece.

  He checked the closets. Though there were clothes, there was nothing even close to his size.

  But there was a washer
and dryer.

  Stripping naked in the dark, he put his shirt, pants, socks, and boxers in the dryer. He’d managed to hang on to his shoes by some minor miracle.

  While his clothes were drying, he considered his predicament. It wasn’t quite as dire as it could be. There was Beth out there, living in Cannon Beach. She could pick him up in twenty minutes, if need be.

  There was no phone at the cabin and he wouldn’t want to use one here anyway.

  As soon as his clothes were dry, he put them back on and then went into the bathroom and examined his face. Not too bad. A scratch by his eye and that damned mark from the stun gun. He turned to look into his ear and thought he saw more blood.

  Bitch!

  His shirt was a mess of stains but it couldn’t be helped.

  Before he left he wiped every surface that he’d touched, then he let himself out the front door, locking it behind him.

  He was in the town of Deception Bay, he realized, and he walked into the center of the town and into a pizza parlor called Sammy’s. Approaching the counter, he said to the teenaged girl behind it, “Dropped my cell phone in the water, looking at that wreck off the jetty. Any chance I could use the phone?”

  “Is it a local call?”

  “Yep.”

  She considered a moment, but waved him behind the counter and to the wall where a phone was mounted. “Don’t talk long. We get orders.”

  “I’ll be quick.” He winked at her and she half smiled.

  His luck was holding. Beth was home and said she would be more than happy to come and get him. She had to be over forty, a little on the old side, but his imagination could turn her young again. It would have to. He didn’t have any little blue pills, and Beth was going to want payment.

  Thirty minutes later she was walking into Sammy’s. Ten minutes after that he was giving it to her in the back of her car with her hooting and hollering and saying how long it had been since she’d been a backseat babe. Graham had his mind fixed solely on Lucky. It was Lucky beneath him, and she was screaming for mercy. He damn near smashed his hand over Beth’s mouth, like he’d done with Daria, but he just managed to balance on the knife’s edge between fantasy and reality, holding himself back until the deed was done.

  Then she was driving him back to Laurelton. It was no problem, really. She wanted to take him.

  It was problematic that she knew where he lived, but then, he was good at problem solving.

  By the time he finally got Beth to leave, it was damn near dawn. He’d shoved Daria’s body back into the garage before she could see and locked the door, but he still had to bury her in the garden. But it was Friday. A school day. If he tried to take off another day it was bound to look suspicious. It was going to be hell getting through all his classes, but after he did, no one would dare to think he could have anything to do with the crash off the jetty.

  Switching on the coffee maker, he went to the bathroom and took another shower. When he got out, he dug through Daria’s makeup drawer and found a tube of flesh-colored makeup. Putting a dab on his finger, he smeared it on the stun gun marks. It took a few tries to cover it up, and if someone looked closely they’d realize he was wearing makeup. Better that than the marks, though. He also covered up the scratches on his face, too, and in the end was pleased with the results.

  Back in the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out the carton of half-and-half. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he added a liberal dose of cream and then sat down at the table, drinking the coffee, enjoying the moment, staring outside at the raspberry vines, a smile creeping across his face. He’d done it! He’d fooled them all. All he needed to do now was move the bodies and no one would ever suspect.

  “I got away with murder,” he gloated to the empty house, swallowing down the rest of the cup.

  September walked into the station with a smile on her face that just wouldn’t quit.

  “What now?” Wes asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Not nothing. You were at the hospital with Jake,” he said.

  “He’s being released today.”

  “And?”

  She shook her head, unwilling to reveal what had been said between them, how Jake had leaned forward, grabbed her with his good hand and tumbled her over the bed until she was half lying on him.

  “What are you doing?” she’d demanded.

  “Kissing you,” he’d answered, and then had made good on that promise with a long, lingering kiss that reached down to September’s toes.

  “You taste minty,” she’d said, when it was over.

  “You think I’d kiss you with mung mouth?”

  “I considered it a possibility, but you notice I didn’t stop you.”

  She’d tried to pull back then, but he’d held on to her and she’d lifted her brows, gazing into his gray eyes, questions in hers.

  “Do you remember what you said before?” he asked.

  “I say a lot of things. You gotta give me more.”

  “You said you would say yes when I asked you.”

  September had thought about playing dumb, but had immediately scratched that idea in favor of getting to the truth. “So, are you asking?”

  “September Rafferty, will you marry me?”

  “Detective September Rafferty,” she’d corrected him, fighting to keep a straight face.

  “Detective September Rafferty, will you marry me?”

  She’d been shocked, thrilled, scared, but in the end had said, “All signs point to yes. . . .”

  Now, remembering, she just couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. She was thinking of heading home, making sure the place was ready for when she went to pick him up. D’Annibal had already told her to take time off.

  As if hearing her thoughts, the lieutenant came out of his office and said, “The Tillamook County SD wants someone to check on one Daria Johannsen, the owner of the black Lexus that took a dive off the Deception Bay jetty last night. They’ve been calling her, but she hasn’t answered.”

  “I’ll do it on the way home,” she offered.

  He nodded and added, “They found some things in the car. Some zip-ties and what looked like a water-logged placard with twine looped through two holes.”

  “Holy . . . mother of God. Ani? ” September stared at him. “Is she using the name Daria Johannsen?”

  Wes called from his desk, “Uh-uh. I’m looking at the picture on Johannsen’s driver’s license from the DMV data bank.”

  Both September and D’Annibal went to Wes’s computer. A middle-aged woman with short, frosted hair and a wide smile stared back at them.

  “Did anyone survive the crash?” September asked.

  “No bodies yet. Probably one or more’ll wash up sooner or later,” the lieutenant answered grimly.

  “An eyewitness puts a woman at the wheel,” Wes said. “TCSD is giving us updates, but my money’s on Ani going off the jetty.”

  “Maybe you should go with her,” D’Annibal told Wes.

  “I got this,” September said. “If there’s a problem, I’ll call.”

  She left the station, thinking about making a stop at the market as well. Maybe she should pick up steaks again . . . show Jake she wasn’t half bad at barbequing herself.

  She was lost in pleasurable thoughts about the night ahead when the Johannsen drive appeared on her right. The house was situated down a long, curving asphalt driveway and she wound down it slowly, pulling up to the sprawling ranch next to a station wagon already parked in front.

  Slipping her gun from her messenger bag, she placed it into the holster at her hip. She was lax about carrying it when she was with a partner, something she’d been reprimanded on and always swore to do better. But when she was on her own she was more careful. Grabbing her cell phone, she stuffed it in her jacket pocket, then she stepped out of the car. She realized her heart was beating hard in her chest. What if Wes was wrong about Ani going over the edge and she was here, lying in wait?

  Cautiously, Septe
mber walked toward the breezeway that separated the garage from the main house. At the back door, she peered through a small window that looked across a mudroom into a bright, yellow kitchen.

  A man’s trousered legs were splayed on the floor beyond the counter’s peninsula, his upper torso blocked from her view.

  Her already pounding heart speeded up. Something odd there. Looked as if he’d passed out and lay in the position he’d landed.

  She tried the knob and the door opened beneath her hand.

  Grabbing her cell phone, she called Wes and said softly, “There’s a man lying on the kitchen floor. Maybe unconscious. I can see him through a window.”

  “At Johannsen’s? Don’t go in. I’ll be right there.”

  “He might need help.”

  “Damn it, Nine. Listen to me.”

  “You sound just like Auggie,” she said. “I’m just going to check on him. Hold on . . .” She shoved her cell into her pocket, then pulled out her gun. Pushing open the door, she led with the Glock, moving cautiously into the kitchen, aware that she was ignoring all protocol, all senses heightened. If Ani was here . . .

  She hesitated a moment, counting her heartbeats, waiting, listening. The man was either unconscious or dead, she thought. He wasn’t making any sound. Stepping in as quietly as she could, she hugged the cabinets, moving further inside until she could dare a glance over the counter at the man. A chair was knocked over and he was lying on his back, his eyes wide open, staring at some nameless horror.

  She blinked in recognition. He was from Twin Oaks. Something Harding. One of Claudia Livesay’s daughter’s teachers.

  She inhaled on a soft gasp. And he sort of looked like Kevin Costner.

  The hairs on her arms lifted. He’d been Ani’s target. That’s what it was. She had been Alicia Trent, and she’d gone to the school looking for him.

  Immediately she went on red alert. Was she here? Was she?

  Grabbing her cell phone, she asked in a whisper, “You still there?”