He thought of how sweet she’d been to him lately, how she’d made him meals and covered him with the blanket this morning. He was like an old man at only forty-eight, wandering around the house with his mind turned to mush. She’d be better off without him.
He thought through his options for suicide. Ideally, he would find the murderer and kill him, then turn the gun on himself. But what if he never found the killer? Could he go on, knowing he was out there somewhere?
The knowledge that he didn’t have to endure the pain much longer was the only thing that made life bearable. So how would he do it?
He had to think of Krista. He didn’t want her to find him, so he couldn’t do it at home. He’d do it somewhere else, in a way that was least traumatic for whoever did find him. He thought of driving down to Galveston and shooting himself on the beach. But what if a child came along and discovered him? That would traumatize them for life.
Maybe pills were the way to go. He could just fall asleep in a hotel room somewhere. But where would he get the pills? And what if someone found him and revived him? Pills could cause him some kind of lifelong disability that would linger and make life even worse.
He could drive off a bridge, but that might kill others. No, he didn’t want Krista to have to live with that too.
The thought of his suicide’s effect on others was getting in his way. There was no way to do it without hurting someone. For the first time it seemed mean, and he’d never been a mean person.
Ryan Adkins’ name on TV snatched his attention away from his fantasy. He turned up the volume.
“We’ve just learned that two of our guests this morning, Ryan Adkins, formerly of GrapeVyne Corporation and Krista Carmichael, sister of Ella Carmichael who was found dead in Houston a few weeks ago, were in a car accident on the way to our Houston affiliate. We’ve also gotten a report that Ryan’s house was burned in a fire this morning. We have no information on the condition of Ryan or Krista, but we’ll keep you updated as we know more.”
David’s heart bolted. He grabbed the phone off the wall, tried to think of Krista’s number. What was it? He dropped the phone and reached for his cell phone, pressed his speed dial. It went straight to her voicemail.
He grabbed the phone book and tore through it, looking up the number to the closest hospital. He dialed it, then asked the lady who answered if Krista Carmichael had been admitted. After a delay while she looked, the woman told him she hadn’t.
He didn’t know what to do. He tried Krista again, but it still didn’t ring through. Quickly, he looked in the blue pages for the number to the police department. Which precinct would work this case? He finally just called the one closest to the television station.
When someone answered, he blurted, “This is Krista Carmichael’s father. She was in an accident. I’m trying to find her—”
“Hold on, I’ll transfer you to the officer working the case.”
The case. He held on, waiting, praying that Krista had survived.
“Detective Sanders.”
David’s voice came out hoarse. “This is David Carmichael. I’m looking for my daughter Krista.”
“Yeah, she’s here with me.”
“Then…she’s alive?”
“Yes, she’s fine. Want to talk to her?”
“Yes!”
His heart almost leaped through his chest as Krista took the phone.
“Dad?”
“Krista, I heard on TV—”
“Dad, I meant to call you, but then the thing with Ryan’s house fire distracted me…We were run off the road and someone tried to kill us.”
“Who did this?”
“We’re trying to figure that out now.”
“Krista, you get away from him! I’m coming to get you.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll wait here for you.”
He hung up the phone and dropped into his chair. Was he going to lose his last family member? He didn’t know if he had the strength to deal with that.
He threw on some fresh clothes, then headed to the police precinct. As he drove, sorrow crushed him, and the joy of finding Krista alive wasn’t enough to pull him out of it. A sense of more impending doom floated over him like a thunder cloud.
The nightmare wasn’t over yet.
Forty-six
When the police finished questioning Krista, she went home with her father. Tension rippled as she got into his car. Was it rage? Fear? Despair?
She hooked her belt. As he started the car, she looked out the windows, wondering if any black trucks lurked nearby. No one seemed to be watching them, and no one was in any of the cars parked along the streets.
“I’m still shaking,” she whispered. “I was so scared.”
David’s jaw muscle popped. “I don’t want you around that man.”
“Ryan? Dad, he didn’t cause this.”
“No TV, no speaking engagements. Just keep a low profile for a while.”
“But Dad, there are other girls out there who might fall into predators’ traps. I have to tell them—”
“No, you don’t have to tell anybody anything!” he shouted. “Let someone else tell them.”
“But God gave this to me! It gives purpose to Ella’s death.”
He slammed his hand on the steering wheel, making her jump. “There is no purpose! This wasn’t part of some grand plan by God, for anyone’s good. This was pure evil, and that evil is still breathing on us. You think you’re immune, just because you’re trying to do the right thing? You’re not immune.”
“Dad, this just makes me more determined to fight.”
“They have guns, Krista! Grenades, bombs. They’re out of your league!”
She watched him for a moment. The pain on his face was etched deep, and there was more gray in his hair than he’d had a month ago. He was a man in physical anguish, and his emotional scars were raw. “Dad, I’m sorry I caused you more pain.”
Tears sprang to his eyes. She wondered if it was wise for him to drive. “Then don’t do it again,” he said. “I don’t want you going on television. Do you hear me?”
She knew she could do whatever she pleased. She was an adult, after all. But she didn’t want to hurt him more or cause him anxiety or stress. And she believed in the commandment to honor her parents. He was the only one she had. And she was all he had.
She was quiet for a moment.
“Krista, please. What would I do if something happened to you too?”
She couldn’t deny him. “Okay, I won’t.”
He blew out a breath of pained relief. “And whatever you do, don’t fall in love with that guy.”
“I have no intentions of falling in love.”
Forty-seven
Ryan waited outside the interview room as the police interviewed Ian. It was going on too long. Were they trying to pin this stuff on him? How could they even think his friend would do something so deadly?
Two hours passed as Ryan paced the stained concrete floor. He hoped Krista was safe. The police had someone watching the Carmichael house, so maybe the guys who’d done all this would leave her alone.
He sat back down, elbows on his knees, and dropped his face into his hands. His house, his car, everything he owned…
How could this happen?
He thought of the board members who’d been so delighted with him until recently. They’d respected him, appreciated him. He’d played golf with Henry, stayed in Marvin’s Colorado condo, had dinner in all their homes. He knew their wives, their children. Would one of them really hire a killer to eliminate him?
The interview room door opened, and Ryan looked up. Ian came out, looking like he always did—unwashed and unkempt, and utterly sleep-deprived.
“You okay?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah,” Ian said. “That was big fun. It’s just hard to beat a murder attempt, a robbery, and an interrogation, all in one day.”
“Got that right,” Ryan said.
“They questioned me like I was the one
who broke into my own house. And why would I firebomb your house, Ryan? Why would I try to kill you?”
“I know. It’s nuts.”
“Whatever. Let’s just get out of here.”
“In what?” Ryan asked. “I don’t have a car anymore.”
“Well, I do. My car’s out front if you’re not afraid to be seen in it.”
Ryan thought about that for a moment. “I think we both need to get new cars. You’re in as much danger as I’m in. Maybe we need to head over to a car dealership right now.”
Ian couldn’t argue. Ryan followed him out. As they both got into Ian’s red Mercedes Cabriolet convertible, Ryan looked at his friend. “We’re homeless millionaires, man. Who woulda thought?”
“You’re homeless. I’m not.”
“True.” Ryan settled in his seat. “So what did they take?”
“Anything that even looked like I might have stored files there. They cleaned out my file cabinet, took my backup backup external hard drive. If this doesn’t have Willow written all over it, I don’t know what does.”
“So after we buy cars, we’ll check into a hotel and get on the Internet. We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”
They were quiet as they drove to the car lot. When they pulled in, Ryan glanced at Ian. “Not telling you what to buy, but I’m getting a car as nondescript as I can. No more Jaguars. They’re too easy to identify.”
“But I really, really like my Cabriolet.”
“If you want your car to blend into a hotel parking lot, I wouldn’t get one.”
“Even if it’s a different color?”
“I’m just saying…”
Ian sighed. “I hate these people. They’re ruining my life.” He pulled into the space at the front of the lot. “I’m going to ruin theirs as soon as I can.”
It took two hours to buy the cars, which Ryan thought was ridiculous, since they were both paying cash. But the paperwork went on forever, and then the dealer insisted on detailing the cars before they drove off the lot.
Ryan had chosen a black Pathfinder, opting for an SUV for added protection from the next person who tried to run him off the road. Ian couldn’t downgrade quite that much. He chose a white Lexus SUV, something he could get excited about. When they finally owned their new cars, Ian cleaned all of his belongings out of his beloved Cabriolet, and loaded them into his new vehicle. “So where are we going to bunk tonight?”
“How about the Hampton Inn near Rice?”
“No way, man. Hampton Inns don’t even have room service.”
“Room service could get us killed.”
He sighed. “All right, whatever. I’ll follow you there.”
When they reached the hotel, Ryan sent Ian in to get the room, since no one was likely to recognize him. Ryan had been the front man for GrapeVyne, the one who’d done countless interviews over the years. He didn’t want some hotel clerk spreading gossip that Ryan Adkins was staying in his hotel. That could get them killed too.
While he waited for Ian to get the key, Ryan called NBC. They were enthusiastic in their agreement to put him on for the next day. He didn’t know if Krista would join him. Her father would probably handcuff her to keep her from going anywhere with him again. But he thought he’d give her the chance if she wanted. He called her as he waited for Ian.
She sounded glad to hear from him. “Ryan, is everything all right with Ian?”
“I guess so. They let him go. We just bought some new wheels. Checking into a hotel now.”
She was silent for a moment. “Are you sure you can trust him?”
He bristled. “Yes, Krista, absolutely. I trust him like he was my own brother.”
“But there are a lot of coincidences. The police seemed suspicious.”
“It’s their job to be suspicious. But I know him. He’s my best friend. I have nothing to fear from him, and neither do you.”
She didn’t answer.
“But listen, NBC wants us on tomorrow.”
Again, quiet built a wall between them. “I can’t do it, Ryan.”
“Come on, Krista. It’ll be so much more powerful with you.”
“My dad is freaking out. I could buck his authority, but he’s so fragile. I don’t want to give him any more reason to be upset.”
“What if we can get a police escort or something? If I do that, would you be willing to come?”
“No. He doesn’t want me on TV. He thinks it’ll bring more trouble on us. We’ve had enough, Ryan. I know it seems cowardly…”
“Hey, wait a minute,” he cut in. “Nothing about you is cowardly. This isn’t about your lacking courage.”
She sighed. “Maybe it is. I’m not feeling very strong or courageous right now.”
“Well, neither am I.”
Ian came back out, brandished the key cards, and slipped into his own car. “I’ll call you later. Ian’s got our hotel keys.”
“Be careful, Ryan.”
“I will. I have some shopping to do this afternoon. I have to buy my second computer in two days. And clothes, shoes, underwear…” As Ryan spoke the words, the reality of it all came crashing down on him. “I don’t have anything left, except money.”
“Get a gun, Ryan,” she muttered.
“Yeah, good idea.”
She paused, and he could hear her breathing. “I’m so sorry.”
He knew she really was. “It’s okay. I’ll call you later.”
Ian pulled around to the back door, the one Ryan assumed was closest to their room. His friend got his laptop and the bag he’d packed when he discovered his ransacked house. At least he had clothes. They followed him into the elevator, and found the small suite Ian had booked.
The moment they got into their suite, Ian plopped down on the couch and flipped his computer open.
Forty-eight
Megan sat at the back of the lecture hall, her leg propped on a folding chair. She tried to concentrate on what the lecturer was saying. Dr. Landrum was one of the best English professors in the university, and she’d waited years to be in her class. Now the professor made about as much sense to Megan as Charlie Brown’s teacher.
Never before had she sat in class zoning out like this. She’d always loved learning. While her friends in high school passed notes, texted, and flirted with each other, she’d been distracted by the algebra problems on the board or the literature her teachers analyzed. Homework hadn’t been a chore; she’d found it a pleasure.
Though she’d always maintained a very active social life, Megan had goals and aspirations, and her hard work was paying off with the job she had waiting for her.
But now, she found herself distracted by the backs of the students’ heads. There were probably a hundred people in this class, some of them older. Some of the men had brown hair like the killer…the same shoulder breadth. Though she felt certain she would recognize her assailant again, was it possible that he’d disguised himself and slipped in among these students?
She tried to shake those thoughts free and focus on her teacher.
Her phone, lying on her desk, lit up, signaling that she’d gotten a text. She glanced at it.
Miss you, Megan. Enjoyed our time in the woods.
She gasped and went rigid. The next text flashed up.
Karen was almost as good as you, though she wasn’t fond of me.
She felt her throat closing, her heart racing, her hands sweating. She grabbed her crutches, intent on getting out of there and finding someplace safe. How did he know her number? She’d changed it. Only her closest friends had it. How would he have gotten it?
She got to her feet, dropped a crutch. Bent to pick it up.
“Miss Quinn? Are you all right?”
She shoved the crutch under her arm, then stuffed her books into her backpack.
“Miss Quinn?”
The class turned to stare as another text bubbled up.
I’ll see you again soon, Megan. Sooner than you think.
She pulled her backp
ack over one shoulder and tried to crutch toward the door. But the pack kept sliding off, throwing her balance off.
“Someone help her,” Dr. Landrum said.
A couple of guys got up and came toward her, but she hobbled faster. “No, I’m fine. I just…need some air.”
They retreated and she got into the hall, stopped and adjusted her backpack. She tried to breathe as she groped for her phone. Trembling, she called Detective Pensky.
Forty-nine
The police’s suspicions of Ian had niggled on Krista’s mind since she’d left the police station. Could it be possible that he’d had something to do with the shooting or the fire? Her phone rang, making her jump. Megan Quinn’s name flashed on her screen. She’d probably heard what happened.
Krista clicked on the phone. “Megan.”
“He texted me again,” Megan blurted. “I’m at the police station. This is a new phone number, Krista. How did he get it?”
Krista felt sick. “What did he say?”
As Megan told her, Krista closed her eyes. “Who did you give the number to?”
“Just my very closest friends.”
“How did you give it to them? Face-to-face, or did you text it to them?”
“I sent it through my GrapeVyne email—privately, to just five or six people. It was the last thing I did before I deactivated my account. They promised not to give it out to anybody, and I trust them.”
Krista closed her eyes and tried to think. Even Friends on GrapeVyne didn’t have access to each others’ private email accounts. How could the killer have gotten her phone number?
“I’m coming to the police station, Megan. How much longer are you going to be there?”
“I don’t know, it could be an hour or two. They have me looking at more pictures while they try to figure out where the text came from this time.”
“All right, I’m on my way.” Krista clicked off the phone and shivered as she thought of Ian again. Too many things were stacking up against him. He had access. Even though he’d been fired, he could have hacked into GrapeVyne and viewed Megan’s emails. He would have been able to see the cell number she was having her GrapeVyne emails forwarded to. He had known when Ryan was leaving to go to the television interview. He’d been there when the house was bombed.
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