Don t Look Back

by Margaret Daley

  Lord, help.

  Jameson stumbled into something, the noise paralyzing Cassie. The killer had to have heard.

  Jameson didn’t break stride. He pulled her, and she hurried after him, her leg brushing against what Jameson had obviously run into.

  Passing into another room at the back, Cassie glanced toward the entrance and saw a dark outline of a tall man in the doorway. Quaking, she hastened her step inside before he spied her.

  “Put your hand on my back. Follow where I go,” Jameson whispered against her ear, so softly he wasn’t even sure she heard until she nodded.

  Jameson slowed his pace as he felt his way around the perimeter, one arm out in front in case he encountered another obstruction in their path. If his memory served him, there were a series of low cabinets in an office along the back wall where Cassie could squeeze inside. Then he would try to take care of their pursuer, or at least draw him away from her. He had to protect her at all costs.

  He touched the edge of the cabinets, patted his hand along the wooden surface until he found a knob to open one. Then he leaned close to her.

  “Get inside and don’t come out until I tell you.”

  She hesitated as though she wanted to say something.

  “Now,” he whispered against her ear, then pushed her down.

  She wedged herself into the small cramped cabinet, and he closed the door.

  Momentary relief chilled the sweat on his brow. Then noises from the outer room, as though their pursuer didn’t care that they heard him, made Jameson realize the man had nothing to lose.

  Taking the same route back to the office entrance, he hurried his pace. The police were at least fifteen or twenty minutes away. A long time when a man possibly wearing night vision goggles was hunting them with a rifle.

  His eyes accustomed to the dark, Jameson peered around the doorjamb into the large outer area. Moon rays streamed through a hole in the roof and dabbled across strewn boards from a wall collapsing.

  A tall figure, shrouded in blackness, stood before a gap in the wooden panel. He lifted his rifle and pointed it toward the hole.

  “Come out. You can’t escape me.”

  That voice. He’d heard it before. He’d met their pursuer—recently!

  “I know you’re in there. I see your blood.” The man knelt before the dark chasm, rifle poised and ready to fire.

  Jameson crept forward, praying he didn’t make any noise as he moved toward the killer.

  “You’re making me mad,” the raspy voice taunted.

  A shot went off in the stillness. Jameson jerked back.

  Squashed into the tiny space, Cassie flinched at the sound of a gunshot. Tears instantly sprang into her eyes.

  Jameson! No!

  Lord, please don’t let it be Jameson. Please. Please. I beg You.

  She started to shove on the cabinet door, ignoring the pain impaling her with each movement. She had to help him.

  “If that didn’t find its mark, I’m sure my next one will,” the killer cackled.

  More prepared for the blast of the rifle this time, Jameson kept creeping toward their assailant when the second shot went off. Although it seemed forever, no more than a few minutes had passed. If he could reach the killer, he might be able to tackle him, and if Kevin was in the hole, save the young man.

  “Okay. Okay. I’m coming out.” Pain drenched Kevin’s voice.

  A minute crawled by, and still Kevin hadn’t appeared in the opening of the hole, illuminated in moonlight. The tall man inched closer to the wall and jammed the rifle into the darkness. A shot echoed through the space where the young ballplayer hid.

  A groan sent chills down Jameson’s spine. He couldn’t wait any longer. He’d have to risk rushing the killer even though several yards separated them.

  Their pursuer bent farther toward the gap, his head inside the hole. Jameson made his move, sprinting forward. In his haste he knocked over something in the darkness, its sound echoing through the room.

  Only three feet away, the tall man yanked away from the crevice and sprang to his feet with the rifle grasped in his hands. In the faint moonlight silhouetting the killer, Jameson saw night-vision goggles covering nearly half of the pursuer’s face.

  Two feet.

  The man locked on Jameson immediately in the blackness and raised his weapon. Jameson swiveled to the side and went in low. The explosion of the rifle shattered the quiet.

  Cassie struggled to her feet, gripping the edge of the cabinet to keep herself upright. With her wet, sticky shirt plastered against her shoulder and left side, she tried to get her bearings in the ebony curtain before her.

  I can do this.

  She bolstered her flagging energy with thoughts of helping Jameson. Another shot echoed through the air, followed by a groan. Jameson! Its sound demolished what strength she had mustered. She faltered and nearly collapsed to the floor. Catching herself with both hands on the end of the cabinets, she clamped her scream of pain inside her throat.

  Her mind swam with dizzying circles of darkness. She swayed. Her right hand tightened around the edge of the wood as she sucked in swallows of air. She heard someone say something, but the pounding in her head intensified to a roar, blocking all sound but the rapid beat of her heart.

  A few seconds later that roar was pierced by another blast.

  She gritted her teeth and pushed herself away from the cabinet, running her right hand along the wall, as Jameson had done earlier, to make her way toward the doorway. She would go down fighting, not cowering in the corner.

  Focused on saving Jameson, she stepped into the outer room. Grunts and scuffling noises came from the far side along the part of the wall that had collapsed partially. Was Jameson fighting with the killer?

  Cassie crouched and felt for some kind of weapon she could use. Although she had a flashlight, it wasn’t big enough to do much damage. Her hand grabbed hold of a slab of wood. She rose with it in her grasp and hurried toward the sounds. Nearer, she saw two bodies rolling on the floor; occasionally a shaft of moonlight revealed the pair. When Jameson ended up on the bottom, the tall man straddling him, alarm propelled Cassie faster.

  The killer hammered his fist into Jameson’s face. “Old man, you’re a dead—”

  Cassie swung her club and struck the man on the side of the head. The killer stiffened, then slumped forward, covering Jameson.

  Cassie scrambled toward him. “Jameson, are you okay?”

  He shoved their assailant from him and sat up. In the moonlight Cassie felt, more than she actually saw, the glare directed at her, her jolt of adrenaline exhausted. She sank to the floor.

  “You were supposed to stay hidden.”

  She heard the words, but they seemed so far way. She opened her mouth to say something, but the dark void consumed her.

  FOURTEEN

  J ameson caught Cassie as she crumpled. In the distance sirens announced the arrival of the police within the next few minutes.

  With a trembling hand he felt for her pulse at the side of her neck. Please, Lord, don’t let anything happen to her. He prayed the same thing over and over as he located her beating pulse.

  He cradled her against him, not caring that her blood soaked him. “You will not die on me. Do you hear?” His panic-laden voice came out in a rasp as he smoothed her hair from her face, willing his strength into her. Why hadn’t she stayed where he’d told her?

  She could have been shot again. She could still die.

  He knew she’d lost a lot of blood. His panic and worry mushroomed while the screech of cars coming to a halt meant the cavalry had arrived.

  Possibly too late for Cassie and Kevin.

  Light poured into the abandoned building as the police streamed in.

  Jameson blinked at the sudden brightness that assaulted his eyes. He shielded his face and said, “I’m over here. There are several people hurt.”

  More sirens filled the night. Chaos suddenly descended on the mill.

  One man
came forward quickly. “Jameson?”

  “Jim?” Jameson sagged, embracing Cassie against him.

  “Yeah, it’s me. I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.”

  “I guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t listen to directions.”

  Jim stepped over to the sprawled figure on the floor a few feet away and shone his light in the man’s face. The detective bent down and removed the goggles.

  “You know, this shouldn’t surprise me one bit.”

  Jameson twisted around to get a better look at their assailant.

  Cassie didn’t want to open her eyes. Her lids weighed a ton. She shifted on the softness beneath her, causing her sore body to scream in protest. The dark peacefulness called to her, and she felt herself sinking back into the black void.

  “She’s waking up.”

  The sound of her mother’s voice, full of distress, lured her back. She didn’t want her mom to worry anymore. But she ached everywhere. She wanted to surrender again, but warm fingers grasped her hand and pulled her the rest of the way to alertness.

  She batted her eyelids, the bright daylight assaulting her. “Mom.” Was that her voice that cracked?

  “Honey, I’m right here. So is Jameson. We’ve been so worried about you. You’re safe now, at the hospital.”

  Her mouth parched, Cassie tried to swallow to moisten her throat, but she had no saliva. This time when she opened her eyes she inched them up to a mere slit. “Wa-ter.”

  Jameson came into view with a plastic mauve cup in his grasp. His face, lined with fatigue, sent relief through her. He was all right. His hand quivered as he brought the drink to her lips. For a second her gaze honed in on his wedding ring that he still wore. She looked away, not having the strength to deal with the hopelessness its sight generated in her.

  The cool liquid slid down her throat, momentarily satisfying her thirst. She tried to smile, but it hurt, so instead she murmured, “Thanks.”

  He didn’t say anything, but stood back and let her mother move in again.

  “You gave me a terrible fright, Cassie. I thought I’d lost you like Sc…” Tears shimmered in her mother’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you and Scott.”

  “I’m fine, Mom.” She hoped she sounded reassuring, because she certainly didn’t feel it.

  “Well, my dear, you don’t look fine.”

  A dull, throbbing pain spread out from her shoulder. For a few seconds she couldn’t remember why she hurt. Then she remembered what had happened at the sugar mill. She peered around her mother at Jameson, who stood hovering by the door.

  “Kevin?”

  “He’s still in surgery, but the doctors think he’ll make it. I should go check on him.” His face was unreadable.

  Her mother glanced from her to Jameson. “Here, let me find out how the surgery is going.”

  Before Jameson could stop her, her mother strode past him and out the door, leaving him and Cassie alone. He stared at her for a long, strained moment. He could still remember holding Victoria while Cassie had been in surgery to repair her shoulder. He’d felt so helpless, and emotions he’d experienced with Liz came crashing down on him all over again.

  When he loved, he loved too deeply. He couldn’t go through another loss like Liz. For twelve years, his life had been on hold. Lately he’d just begun to live again.

  “Who did this?” she finally asked.

  He didn’t come near the bed but stayed by the door, poised and ready to take flight. “Will Blake was the one who attacked us.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. But what’s he got to do with Scott’s death?”

  “According to Jim, Will has a very good alibi for Scott’s murder. He was in Chicago at the time, so I’m not sure he has anything to do with your brother’s murder.”

  “Then why was he after us?”

  He laughed, but he felt no humor in the situation. “It’s funny how quick you want to cut a deal when you’re caught in the act. Three counts of attempted murder carry a long sentence.”

  “What kind of deal?” Her forehead furrowed, Cassie adjusted the bed so she sat up more.

  He wanted so desperately to walk to her and smooth away the lines. He clenched his hands at his sides and didn’t move. Glancing down, he caught sight of his wedding band, and all it symbolized to him overwhelmed him for a moment.

  “Jameson?”

  “It seems Will is involved in a point-shaving scheme with the assistant basketball coach, Quinn Nelson. They were partners. Jim is bringing the coach in as we speak.”

  She massaged her temple. “Was that what was going on in the back room at the mart?”

  “Maybe. Jim sent some uniformed officers to raid the place before they cleared everything out. I have a feeling this has far-reaching effects. Will does more than point-shaving. He’s a bookie for all kinds of illegal gambling.”

  “More people involved?”

  “Probably. At the very least, Will’s brother is running numbers to places in Savannah. The police there are picking him up. I have a feeling he’ll talk, too.”

  “But who killed Scott if Will didn’t? His brother? Coach Nelson?”

  “Possibly. Or someone else?”

  She frowned. “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I do know Quinn isn’t that smart to keep something like this quiet. This point-shaving has been going on for at least five years. According to Will, since your brother’s junior year.”

  “But that year the Tigers won almost all of their games.”

  “You don’t have to lose to make money on the team. That’s the beauty of point-shaving.”

  “No wonder Scott was determined to get to the bottom of it. He lost his chance at an NBA career because of them.” Cassie fumbled for the cup of water on the table next to her and took a deep drink.

  “We’ll know more after Jim questions Quinn. It’ll be interesting to see if he has an alibi for Scott’s murder. He’s the one I think had the most to lose.”

  “Scott thought highly of the coaching staff at the college. If he knew about Coach Nelson, this would have devastated him.”

  “I think he knew. That’s probably why he wanted to talk to us. When the truth comes out, this will open a wider investigation of the team. Everyone will be scrutinized. It could lead to sanctions against the program.”

  Cassie rubbed her hand across her forehead. “Poor Scott.”

  “We’ll probably never know how he stumbled across the point-shaving scheme, but I think it had to do with his visit to the mart to talk to Will about Paige. I think he saw something that made him dig for some answers. Then when he talked with Kevin and Tony, he put two and two together.”

  “So his investigation into the identity of the skeleton is what started this.”

  “And I don’t think this is the end of it. The police still haven’t identified the woman.”

  “I wish we could find Scott’s notebook. There might be something in it to help the police.” Cassie stifled a yawn, but her eyelids drifted closed for a few seconds.

  The yearning to hold Cassie overwhelmed Jameson. He stepped back against the door. She was tired and so was he. This wasn’t the time to tell her they shouldn’t even be friends. He couldn’t be Cassie’s friend and not want more. And wanting more left him too vulnerable.

  “I’d better go so you can get some rest.” He grasped the door handle.

  “Jameson, please don’t leave. We need to talk.” Cassie closed her eyes again, but they immediately popped back open.

  “There isn’t anything we need to discuss. You’re safe now.” He yanked the door toward him. “I’ll see you…” He fled out into the hospital corridor, not wanting to lie to her.

  He didn’t know how he could see her and not want to be with her, and yet the panic, guilt and distress he’d experienced at the sugar mill and later in the waiting room plunged him back to a place he never wanted to live in again.

  Lord, what do I do?
>
  He quickened his pace toward the exit. He’d been in the hospital too long. He needed fresh air. He hated the smells associated with this place. He’d smelled them each time he’d visited Liz. For twelve long years they had been a part of his life.

  Outside he inhaled the crisp November air. He couldn’t seem to get enough. His lungs craved the light scent of pine. Slowly, the antiseptic odor faded from his mind.

  He headed for his car, which Jim had delivered to the hospital for him. Behind the wheel, Jameson gripped the steering wheel but didn’t put the key into the ignition. Staring out the windshield, he saw nothing of the parking lot. His thoughts reeled with images from the night before. Totally exhausted, he couldn’t rid his mind of them. He relived the fear and guilt all over again.

  Feeling Cassie’s sticky blood. Smelling it. Pushing her into a space too small for her, knowing the cramped area would put pressure on her wound. Cause her more pain. The pure terror when he’d glimpsed her right before she swung the board.

  Heart hammering, Jameson rested his head on the cold plastic of his steering wheel. What he would give to surrender to sleep right here in the parking lot. He needed to drive—

  A rapping sound on his window drew his attention. Reverend Rogers stood by Jameson’s car with concern in his gaze. Jameson couldn’t even lift his hand to open the door. Cassie’s minister did.

  Reverend Rogers leaned down. “You look exhausted. You shouldn’t be driving. Let me take you home.”

  “That’s okay. I can—”

  “I insist. My car is right over there.” The man pointed to the next row.

  Jameson didn’t have the energy to argue. The past eighteen hours had finally caught up with him, and if he was truthful with himself, he knew he shouldn’t drive, either.

  A minute later he ensconced himself in the passenger side of the minister’s car, leaning his head against the cushion. “I appreciate this.”

  “I was coming up to see Cassie when I saw you. I thought she’d come out of the surgery and would be fine.”