Save Me from Dangerous Men--A Novel

by S. A. Lelchuk

  He’d want to leave either two bodies, or none at all.

  I ran. All out, straight toward them. My heart banged, my breath rasped.

  She took a backward step away.

  He stepped forward, hands gripping her shoulders.

  I ran faster.

  Another step back. Now she was only a few feet from the edge.

  I was close enough to see the wind whipping at her raincoat. Her mouth moved as she said something I couldn’t make out.

  They saw me.

  The man’s hands fell from her shoulders and he stepped away from her.

  She edged away from the ocean.

  I slowed to a fast jog, gave them a look of casual curiosity, just someone wondering what on earth two people were doing standing around in this weather. Threw a little wave as I passed by. A friendly hello. A gesture that said I’d remember seeing them.

  The man turned and started hurrying in the same direction his partner had gone.

  Karen Li started walking quickly toward town.

  I was of no more use to Care4. But I had saved a life. It seemed a good trade.

  I found her back in town, getting into her car. I crossed the street and walked over. Still in my muddied jogging gear. The rain still coming down hard.

  “Karen,” I said. “I think we should talk.”

  23

  “You’ve been following me. Haven’t you?”

  We sat on the wide front porch of the hotel where I had first changed into my jogging gear, barely more than an hour before. Below us stretched the Pacific, gray water joining an equally gray sky in an invisible horizon.

  Karen Li was drinking hot tea with lemon. Both her slender hands wrapped around the ceramic mug as though seeking its warmth. I was reminded again how pretty she was. The pale, delicate face, not much makeup. Dark, expressive eyes and whitened teeth that looked orthodontist perfect. We sat in a pair of rocking chairs off to one side of the porch. I had changed out of my wet running gear and back into my original clothes.

  “You’ve been following me,” she said again. “For how long?”

  I sipped coffee from my own mug. I had ordered a strong French roast and was drinking it black, as always. The coffee, brewed by the hotel café, was good. Good coffee wasn’t a guarantee at hotel restaurants. It was always nice to encounter it. “Longer than today.”

  “Are you the only one who’s been following me?”

  “As far as I know. I can’t answer that definitively.”

  She raised her mug, drank. Still looking out to sea. “Who hired you?”

  “Ask me a different one.”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I can guess.”

  I said nothing. Watched a couple walk out the front door of the hotel. They started down the stairs, the man’s arm around the woman, whispering something. She laughed, nestled into his arm as he raised a jaunty blue umbrella. They looked happy. An anniversary, maybe, or a spontaneous getaway. I thought of Ethan and wondered if I’d hear from him.

  “Why did you want to talk to me?” Karen wanted to know. “If you were hired to follow me, doesn’t that defeat the point? Now that I know about you?”

  It was a fair question. “I don’t know much about you. But best I can tell, you’re swimming in deep water. May be time to get out.”

  Her dark eyes flashed. “What do you think you know about me?”

  I considered my response. An odd situation. She was right. I was working for Gregg Gunn. He had paid me. At the same time I wasn’t going to let someone die on my watch. Twenty grand didn’t buy that. Nothing did. Karen Li was giving something to someone. And I’d tell Gunn what I’d seen, as I’d been hired to do. She would also stay safe. I wasn’t about to stand by and let the woman in front of me get pushed off a cliff. “They’re concerned,” I said. “About their information. Their secrets. Which is logical.”

  She looked at me, confused. As though trying to figure out exactly what I meant. “You think you know about their secrets? You have no idea. Whoever you are.”

  “So tell me.”

  She laughed. A brief, rueful laugh. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Get another person dragged in. Were you telling me to get out of the water? Or had you wanted to jump in?”

  “Those men. You were with them in San Francisco. You gave them something. What was it?”

  She set her cup down. “You were there?”

  I said nothing.

  “Forget it,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m even talking to you. I don’t know why I’m sitting here.” She ran a hand through her black hair, made as if to stand.

  “Sit down, Karen.”

  “You’re telling me to sit?”

  “I’m asking you to sit. You asked me a question. I’ll answer it.”

  She sat back in her chair, slowly, defeated. As if the prospect of getting up, of walking off the porch into the chilly, wet afternoon, was suddenly too much to even contemplate. “Fine,” she said. “Answer my question.”

  “You’re talking to me because something has scared you. Badly. I don’t know everything. I know it’s connected to the people you work for and to the men you met today. But you’re talking to me for one reason only. You’re in danger. And you know it.”

  I gave her a hard look, challenging her to disagree.

  She was silent. Biting her lip, the mug back in her hands. “It’s not only me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her face openly weighed how much she wanted to say. “It’s not only me,” she said again. “What I’m trying to stop—people will die. A lot of people. Innocent people. And if I can’t stop them, it’s going to happen soon.”

  “Stop who?”

  “Care4, of course. My company.” She said the last word with special emphasis. Like she was describing the type of cancer she had.

  “If you’re not trying to sell their secrets, how’d you get caught up in this?”

  “Selling secrets? That’s what they told you? You think I’m doing this for money? My God. You know how much easier it would be for me to just walk away?”

  “Why don’t you, then? Why take these risks?”

  Her voice was coiled with anger. “If you really knew me, you’d know why. If you knew anything about me, you’d get it. Some things are worth taking risks for. My parents taught me that in a way you won’t ever understand.”

  “I think I might,” I said. “Give me a chance. Tell me. How’d you get caught up in this?”

  “You actually care?” she asked, still upset. “You really want to know?”

  “I’m asking because I do.”

  Some of the tautness left her voice, and her eyes softened. “It started with an e-mail. That’s all. Just an e-mail with a weird subject line.”

  “An e-mail?”

  “Someone accidentally CC’d me on a chain I wasn’t supposed to see.”

  “All this from an e-mail? That seems extreme.”

  “It wasn’t so much the e-mail. If it was just the e-mail, I probably would have forgotten about it. We get hundreds and hundreds each day. It’s impossible to even read all of them.”

  “What was it, then?”

  “Their reaction. It was like they panicked. They shut down my account, reset the password, told me it was routine maintenance even though that was obviously BS. Then when I was finally able to log back in, the e-mail had been deleted. Only that one. That was weird enough, but it didn’t get scary until a few days later, when some of their lawyers called me in and read me the riot act. It didn’t matter how many times I explained I hadn’t done anything wrong—they didn’t seem to believe me. It got worse. After that meeting I started to feel like I was being watched. Finally, I decided that if they were so suspicious, I should learn more about what was worrying everyone so much.” She finished simply. “Sometimes I wish I could take that back. Because the more I learned, the more I understood about what Care4 is actually doing.”

  “You mentioned a weird subject line. What was it?
”

  She gave me a quick, guarded look and then stared back at her mug. “Is this a trap?”

  “No trap. I’m just asking.”

  “‘In Retentis.’ That was the subject line.”

  I took that in. “You said people would die. Who is going to die?”

  Her face changed, becoming almost hostile. “What do you care? You were hired by people who hate me. And you think you might know some things. But I promise you—whoever you are. You don’t know the half of it. You don’t know a tenth of it. About what you’re doing, or who you’re working for, or what you’re getting into.”

  “We both work for the same people,” I observed.

  She laughed again, that short, humorless laugh. “I know them a lot better than you do. And they’re a lot more dangerous than you realize.”

  “Yeah? Tell me about them.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can help you.”

  “Why do you want to help me?”

  “Because you need help.”

  “You’re actually going to help me? That’s what you’re saying?” Her voice was a mixture of defiance and its opposite quality. “You’re going to save me from these dangerous men?”

  I finished off the last of my coffee. “If you want me to try to help you, Karen, you tell me what you’re wrapped up in. And if you don’t want my help, I’m out of town in the next five minutes. Either way, I’m done following you. You want me to leave you alone, say the word.”

  She was quiet. I had nothing else to do so I counted to myself. Almost a full minute went by before she spoke. “I’m staying at the Narwhal Cottages.” She pulled a wallet out of her purse and opened it. I saw her California driver’s license in a translucent plastic sleeve next to tiers of colorful plastic cards. She pulled aside a red Bank of America card and a yellow Hertz card and a blue Visa and then found what she was looking for, handing me a business card bearing the silhouette of a whale. A little horn extended from its forehead.

  “Meet me there at ten o’clock tonight.”

  “Who’s going to die?” I asked again. “What did you mean when you said that?”

  She seemed to ignore the question. “The whole company is focused on one thing right now. If you want to know what’s going on, you have to understand that.”

  “What one thing?”

  She raised her mug and then put it down again. It was empty except for a pale wedge of tea-stained lemon at the bottom. “Care4 has almost arrived at a milestone they’ve spent years trying to reach. They’ve staked the company’s whole future on this—and they’re almost there. They’re doing final internal troubleshooting as we speak. It’s set to go live on November first.”

  “November first? That’s barely over two weeks away.”

  “Exactly.” Her eyes turned from the empty mug to me. “Once that happens, all of this will be too late to stop.”

  “Stop? What do you mean, stop? Who will it be too late for?”

  Momentarily quiet, she appeared to make a decision, and then her words came in a rush. “It will be too late for the people who are—”

  There was a sudden shattering sound.

  Our heads jerked around to the noise and Karen half sprung out of her chair. A waiter had dropped a plate that had broken against the porch. The loud noise seemed to have jarred Karen away from her thoughts, away from what she had been about to say. Her face closed off, regained its wariness. “No more now,” she said. “I’ll explain everything tonight.”

  “Why not now?”

  She had been so close. On the verge of telling me. And if what she said was true, that left almost no time to act. The sooner I learned what Karen Li knew, the better.

  She looked cautiously around as the waiter used a dustpan to sweep up the ceramic fragments. “I don’t even like being outside like this, talking to you. We shouldn’t even be here. It’s too risky, too easy to be heard. They had you follow me—how do I know there aren’t others, too?”

  I looked at her with sympathy. There were small lines of worry and tension in her face and her hands were unsteady. I wondered how much she’d been sleeping. Her attitude wasn’t uncommon. People who learned they were being followed tended to flash into paranoia that was hard to pull away from. To a woman as frightened as Karen Li, this quiet seaside town might seem rife with more menace than a battlefield.

  “If not now, when? And can you prove what you’re saying?”

  She nodded. “I have something hidden. Not here,” she added. “It’s not safe with me. My house isn’t safe. The people I know aren’t safe. But if you show me I can really trust you, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “Narwhal. Ten o’clock. I’ll be there.” Seeing the anxiety in her eyes, I added, “And if I can, I’ll help you.” I squeezed her hand.

  I got up, headed down off the porch toward town. In spite of the urgency, if she was telling the truth, I didn’t want to push too hard for what she knew. I had been following her, after all. I had accepted money from the people she was most frightened of. The woman was in a scary situation and it had taken a visible toll. If she was going to trust me, part of that meant respecting her terms rather than pressing hard for everything at once. I’d show up at ten, as she wanted, and if she really was in danger I’d get her out of town and somewhere safe.

  Her voice called after me. “One more thing.”

  I paused on the stairs. “Yeah?”

  “Whatever you think. Whatever you’ve guessed. It’s much worse.”

  24

  The Narwhal Cottages were reached by a long, curving driveway that slanted up from Highway 1. I left the Harley at the bottom of the driveway. The big engine was too loud. Especially grinding up a winding incline, people would hear it and remember it. With some effort I eased the heavy motorcycle off the paving into the trees. Glad I had chosen the blacked-out model. No chrome made it harder for headlights to pick up. Not invisible, but hard to notice and easy to miss. It was a cold night, but the exertion of walking fast up the steep driveway warmed me. The rain had let off and misted into a heavy fog. Swaths of cloud swirled over a dim moon.

  When I reached the top of the driveway I was far above sea level. On clear days, the view of the Pacific was surely stunning. Now, not even the stars were visible. There was a house off to one side, probably where guests could check in, maybe containing a restaurant as well. Farther on, cabins of varying sizes were set between the trees. Each had a chimney. To allow for the romance of a fireplace. Behind a few of the cottages I could see redwood hot tubs. A couple could open a bottle of wine, sit in the warm bubbling water under the stars. I thought again of Ethan. Imagined us, someplace like this, doing something like that. It sounded good. It sounded like a fantasy and not much more.

  Post–Labor Day meant the off-season. Rates lowered, fewer check-ins. Each cabin had an adjoining parking spot and almost all the spots were empty. Mid-week, bad weather. Not many guests. I found Karen’s convertible parked at the last cabin, farthest from the driveway. It was surrounded on three sides by tall trees. A tradeoff. No ocean view, but the most privacy.

  Whatever you’ve guessed, it’s much worse.

  I wondered if that was true. A lot of people who found me were badly scared of something. Sometimes they were right to be scared. Sometimes their fears were exaggerated. I liked to form my own impressions. The small cabin looked uninhabited. Blinds down, no light visible, no smoke from the chimney.

  I knocked softly. No response.

  Knocked again. Still nothing.

  The night was quiet. Far below I heard an engine, a car passing on Highway 1. The noise grew, then faded without slowing. I turned the knob slightly. It was unlocked. I opened the door. The cabin was dark. I walked in and shut the door behind me. Felt around for a light switch and flicked it up. A rustic, homey décor came into view. Wood-paneled walls, a closed door leading to the bedroom, a kitchenette off to one side next to a bathroom. Music was coming from a radio. Some ’40s pop song, a fuzzy big-ba
nd sound, a man crooning about love and heartbreak. On a desk, there was an open bottle of red wine next to a black corkscrew bearing the same little Narwhal logo that was on the card she’d given me.

  All normal.

  Except no Karen Li.

  I walked around the living room. Looked around. No sign of her. I checked the bathroom, saw an electric toothbrush, a few containers of makeup and facial lotion, contact lens solution, a hairbrush. Someone was staying here. Drops of water beaded the sink. The faucet had been used in the last hour or two. Maybe she was eating a late dinner at the restaurant. So close to the cabin she wouldn’t have bothered to lock the front door.

  I took another look at the bedroom door. My neck prickled. The door was closed but not latched shut. It couldn’t latch. Not anymore. Someone had forced it. A heavy blow, probably a kick. I saw scrapes where the brass lock had dug into the soft wood of the doorjamb.

  The song continued. Romantic verses of moonlight and love-struck couples.

  I opened the door. The small room was empty. A big queen bed in the middle of the room. No one had slept in it. The sheets were still perfectly arranged. A closet set into one wall was empty except for a black raincoat, hanging like a silhouette.

  No Karen Li.

  I shivered, feeling a gust of cold air. Coming from a window set at head height on the opposite side of the room, across the bed. The window was closed. I took another look and saw that one of the panes had been broken. That was where the cold air was coming from.

  I walked around the bed and then I saw her.

  She lay slumped against the wall under the window. Whoever had hit her had used something blunt and hard. The left side of her face was fine. The thin eyebrow, the snub nose and eye, although now bloodshot and unfocused. The right side of her face was different. Ruined. Blood matted into her black hair. I swallowed hard as I saw the white of bone through what would have been her cheek. Blood had pooled over the wood floor. I bent to check her pulse. Knowing there was no point.