Shattered

by Olga Bicos

  26

  It was happening again. Just like before.

  Just like Nina.

  Ryan followed the Lincoln speeding down the road. They’d taken Geary to the Great Highway, a straight stretch of road that ran parallel to the coast. In no time at all, they’d left the bay city behind, heading out of town.

  He’d tried to stop her. Twelve years ago, he’d done just the same, screaming at Nina to listen. Not to do anything stupid.

  But with Holly, he hadn’t thought she was in any danger. Her driver hadn’t even taken the same route out of town. He and Nina had blown through the Presidio, raced the lights at 19th.

  No, he hadn’t thought Holly was in danger. But when he’d seen her face as she’d run past, he’d sure as hell followed her. This thing with him and Daniel was eating her up. He’d wanted to comfort her, to tell her it was okay. Whatever it took, they’d work it out.

  Daniel hadn’t stuck around to confront Ryan, disappearing instead into the safety of the crowd. When Ryan caught up with him, he had Emma on his arm and was holding court with the reporter. He’d toasted Ryan, daring him with his smile to step up and make a scene. Ryan had been thinking the bastard couldn’t hide forever when Holly had run past.

  His biggest fear was that she was giving up, her endless optimism drained. The thought made him shove his way through the crush of bodies, trying to catch up. He realized he wouldn’t know what to do if he’d extinguished that ball-of-fire personality. He didn’t want to be the source of that incredible loss; he’d come to count on her tenacity.

  When he couldn’t reach her, a strange panic rose inside him. Outside, he saw her step inside a waiting Town Car. Determined to follow, he’d headed for his own car parked on the street. He hadn’t wanted to wait and call her later when she reached the apartment. Wasn’t sure she’d even take his calls, not by a long shot.

  Only, at some point he realized he must have been acting out of instinct. Because now the Lincoln was heading toward Pacifica, setting off these alarm bells in his head. Just like Nina.

  Ryan sped up, getting closer to the sedan despite the fog and road conditions. The fact was, a lot of things about the evening seemed eerily the same. The fight. Holly running out the door. All of it triggered something—a memory. Making him run after her. Making him scared.

  When the Lincoln turned for Highway One, his fears went into overdrive.

  Now the car ahead of him was starting to swerve, almost as if the driver were teasing him. Catch me if you can! He could see the rear lights weave in and out of the fog, the car dangerously close to the soft shoulder. Highway One coiled above a ragged coastline. During the day, the sedimentary rock twisted and warped into strange shapes. But in the fog, he saw nothing but the past.

  Jesus, he couldn’t let it happen. Not again.

  He’d been drunk that night with Nina. I don’t love you anymore, Nina. Maybe I never did. Hurtful words that only some teenager buoyed by alcohol would dream of saying. But now, he was stone-cold sober. He knew someone was playing a game, and he had no idea how far they’d take it. That smug grin on Daniel’s face, as if he’d known all along what was coming next.

  Ryan couldn’t let him hurt Holly. Not Holly.

  He pressed the gas pedal, coming closer, almost on the car’s bumper. Suddenly, he could see her there, pounding on the rear window. Trapped.

  The blood roared in his head. He kept his foot on the accelerator, wondering how to stop the car ahead without killing them both. He tried to imagine some maneuver to keep her safe. He couldn’t allow fear. He needed to think about the next curve.

  That night, Nina had wanted to scare him, fishtailing across the road. She’d probably thought it was some great joke. Scare the crap out of him; make him pay. She’d been that mad, that crazy and that drunk.

  Sometimes, he believed she’d miscalculated. She hadn’t meant to skirt so close to the edge, hadn’t thought it would cost her life.

  Other times, he’d think she’d been suicidal, only too happy to bring it all to an end. That he’d pushed her there with his anger. My fault.

  But tonight, this was different. Staged, in a way that made his hands lock around the steering wheel. If he was going to stop the Lincoln, he had to make his move soon. They were coming up on the place where Nina had driven off the road. He knew the exact spot, knew it was close.

  He punched the accelerator, swerved to the right, going around the outside. One of the wheels slipped off the paved road, making the steering wheel come to life in his hands as the dirt sucked at the car’s tire. Ryan eased his foot off the gas, shifted gears, then floored it, trying again to swerve around the Town Car. If he could get ahead of the guy and slow him to a stop…

  Right then, the sedan turned into him. Bam! Ryan fought the steering wheel, trying to keep on the road. Shit. He hit the brakes.

  When he got control back, the Lincoln was long gone.

  Nina had died near a place called Devil’s Slide just ahead a mile or so. But he could swear he heard the scream of tires. He could almost smell rubber burning.

  Too late!

  He drove the last mile like a crazed man. He found the car shrouded in fog parked on the dirt shoulder. He pulled over and ran to where the Lincoln waited underneath a windswept cypress. The night he’d found Nina, her Mercedes had slammed past the safety rail and rolled down a steep embankment. But tonight, the car just kissed the ledge. See, Ryan? X marks the spot.

  Nina’s car had been totaled, the driver’s side window shattered where she’d hit her head. They’d had to bring in a winch just to get the damn car back on the road.

  He couldn’t open the door to the sedan, could barely even see inside with the dark and the tinted windows. But he knew that if Holly was inside, she wasn’t moving.

  Grabbing the sleeve of his jacket, he broke the driver’s side window with his elbow, watched as the glass shattered under the blow. He tried not to remember Nina and her blood-drenched face when he’d found her. He reached in and opened the automatic lock.

  Holly lay slumped in the leather seat. She’d been knocked unconscious.

  He checked her pulse, scared to move her. “Come on, honey. You can do this for me. I promise to make it 154 reasons, just be okay.”

  He tried to be as gentle as possible as he helped her sit up. Her eyes flickered open. She had a gash on her head but seemed otherwise unhurt. She stared at him, the moon behind him shining in her eyes.

  “Ryan?”

  “You’re okay, honey,” he whispered, stroking her face. “You’re going to be fine.”

  The fog felt like rain, the mist was that heavy. The world was barely visible, but he could see Holly. How beautiful she was. How much he wanted her. Like no one else in his life.

  At the same time, he was thinking about what had just happened. Someone was playing a game, bringing her here, putting her on this joyride. He could feel the adrenaline taking over, making his hands shake as he helped her out of the car.

  She gasped and coughed for air like a drowning victim. He held on to her, waiting for it to pass. Finally, she seemed to get her breath back. She wrapped her arms around him, disappearing into his embrace.

  “The driver told me Harris sent him to take me home. Harris has been so worried about me. It sounded like something he would do.”

  She pulled away, looking at him. Whatever she was going to say next, he could almost see her punch the mental “Edit” button in her head. She must have seen how scared he was because she stopped talking altogether.

  So he told her, trying to set her straight. “They’re going to hurt you. To get to me.”

  “Ryan. Your family wouldn’t—”

  He kissed her, as if trying to prove it to both of them, leaving no doubt. This was wrong, this thing between them. Cursed. And it didn’t matter that she was different or even the complete opposite of Nina.

  She’d fallen into the trap he’d been trying to escape his whole life. And it was going to get her killed.
/>   But Holly didn’t seem to be on the same page. She stared at him in disbelief.

  “How can you kiss me like that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “As if you want to hold me and push me away at the same time?”

  Which was exactly right. How much he wanted her—how important it was that she stay away.

  “Come on.” He took her to his car and helped her inside. Once he had her seated, he folded his handkerchief and pressed it to where blood had begun to ooze at her temple.

  “He slammed on the brakes. I hit my head. Against the window, I think.” She was holding his hand so tight.

  “You might need stitches. Or an X ray or something.”

  “I don’t want to go to the hospital. I want to go home.”

  “Well,” he said, reaching for the keys. “So much for the things we want.”

  Samuel stumbled into the room, his arm around Nina.

  “I thought that woman was you.”

  “You were that drunk?”

  “Aren’t I always?” he said, laughing with her. “You should have seen Vanessa. My God, if she’d had a gun. I tell you darling, I’d be a dead man.”

  Nina made a dismissing sound, not the least afraid. But he stopped her, turning her to face him.

  “I think she knows,” he whispered.

  “She doesn’t,” Nina said, dispelling his fears. “She can’t.” She guided him to the bed. “Not that I would care. If you loved me, you wouldn’t keep your wife. And here you are, admitting that you kissed another woman.”

  “I thought she was you.”

  This time, perhaps because of the excitement, he was able to actually make love to Nina.

  “Why do you stay with me?” he asked, stroking her hair.

  She lay her head on his chest. “Because I love you best. Remember? Better than Ryan or Daniel. Don’t I say it enough?”

  He stopped to look at her, his breath caught in his throat. He could barely make out her features in the dark.

  “I almost believed you that time,” he whispered.

  She kissed him gently. “Be quiet, Samuel. Be a good boy and just shut up.”

  27

  You have to stop him. Next time, he might kill her.

  Lieutenant Amy Garten replayed the message, a recorded phone call delivered in the wee hours to Homicide. She paid special attention to the voice—the inflection, the choice of words—comparing it to her memory of another time.

  She sat at her desk, tapping her pen against the pad of paper where she’d been jotting notes. She remembered the case, basically because it had stuck in her craw over the years, leaving her with the impression that they’d never gotten it right. At the time, Ryan Cutty hadn’t been that much older than her own son.

  She shifted her gaze to the newspaper next to her notepad. She’d folded the page into a tight square, displaying the article. Now, twelve years later, another anonymous call resurrected Lieutenant Garten’s misgivings about the death of Nina Travers, timed as it was with today’s curious mention in the paper.

  Cutty House Channeling The Past?

  After years of financial floundering, the beleaguered Cutty clan may have finally found their golden goose. Architect extraordinaire Holly Fairfield has been hired to revise, reinvent and revive the old homestead. But is there a more sinister truth behind the family’s flagging fortunes? Could there be a Cutty Curse? In a bizarre coincidence, sources whisper that Miss Fairfield—who bears an amazing resemblance to the late Nina Travers—almost lost her life in a car accident identical to the circumstances surrounding another tragic death in the Cutty history. Which begs the question: Is the Cutty’s golden goose about to be cooked?

  The article went on to discuss selected details about the investigation twelve years ago, making it sound like a bad soap opera. It was one of those stories easily resurrected in print, the public having a quenchless thirst for the tragedies of the rich and famous.

  Lieutenant Garten took another stab at the recording, listening to the voice. She’d sent a copy to the lab for comparison, but she’d give odds they matched. A woman. Young. Had to be the same person. Only, this time, the source wasn’t pointing the finger at Ryan Cutty.

  Ryan Cutty didn’t kill Nina, but someone thinks he should pay just the same. Someone close to the family. He wants to see Ryan suffer. That’s why he’s doing this. To get to Ryan.

  Interestingly enough, Amy had arrived at a similar conclusion all those years back. Ryan Cutty hadn’t killed Nina Travers, but someone wanted to make it look as if he had—hence the phone call to Homicide. Someone with a grudge. Someone who wanted to sprinkle a little tarnish on the Cutty reputation.

  Still, a lot had happened since then. Cutty House was no longer one of those places synonymous with a visit to San Francisco, like the Golden Gate Bridge or Fisherman’s Wharf. The family itself seemed to have fallen on hard times. Hadn’t she read somewhere that they’d shut the place down? And now the paper mentioned some kind of curse?

  And Ryan Cutty, he’d moved on, right? No longer part of the family business, what was left of it, anyway.

  Which might in itself be a pretty good motive to try and dig up some dirt from the past. If the Cutty clan was on the brink, why not give a little push? The events didn’t need to be connected. A crime of opportunity.

  You have to stop him. Next time, he might kill her.

  “Well.” Lieutenant Garten picked up her phone. “Not on my watch.”

  The next morning, Harris read the headline to Gigi’s column: Cutty House Channeling The Past?

  He didn’t think much of it. The reporter could have done better. Watching his sister at the dining-room table, the articles he’d printed from the computer way back when covering every inch of surface area, he thought he could help with a follow-up. Something like: Enraged Brother Takes Out Cutty Sharks.

  He shook his head. Man, he was tired.

  Holly had gotten up early to start what Harris had christened “Project Nina.” Her research began last night after she gave up on the idea of sleep. Harris had been in bed, the door open, listening to the sounds of the house as he stared at the ceiling. He’d been so in tune with Holly, he knew exactly when she’d gotten up, was actually relieved when he heard her pad barefoot down the hall to the kitchen. Tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop, he’d followed her out, thinking he could at least make the coffee.

  She hadn’t taken the painkillers they’d prescribed at the E.R. The pill was still sitting on her nightstand next to a glass of water.

  Now, Harris poured her a fresh cup of coffee. He’d read the La Plume woman’s article first thing. The reporter implied Holly was Nina risen from the dead to save the family heritage that had once been her destiny. The column gave details about Holly’s accident. It amazed Harris that they already had the damn story in print when his sister had come home from the hospital just a few hours ago.

  Harris had been at the apartment when Ryan showed up with Holly, a line of steri-strip bandages at her hairline. The guy had stayed silent standing next to her as Holly tried to explain what had happened, his expression practically begging Harris to point a righteous finger and shout, “Your fault!”

  Luckily, Ryan hadn’t stuck around. He hadn’t done anything too stupid, either, like tell Harris to take care of Holly for him or kiss his sister goodbye—which might have forced Harris to take a swing at the guy. Seeing them together, Harris knew exactly why Holly had decided to ignore all his good advice and stay on to do battle. This wasn’t about the house anymore.

  He took a drink of coffee. The light streaming past the window announced a bright shiny day. Another jolly holiday…

  “I know it’s here.” Back at the dining-room table, Holly threw her hands into the air. “The answer is here.” She jabbed a finger at the pad where she’d been taking notes, comparing all the articles. “Nina. She’s the answer.”

  Harris stared into his cup, wondering if there was enough caffeine in the world to get him throu
gh this. He put down the coffee, came around and sat next to Holly.

  “Hol, listen to me. What answers do you think you’re going to find in that trash you’re reading? Was Nina’s death an accident or murder? Are you next? You already have your answers. Right here,” he said, pointing to her heart. How many times did he have to say it? “Time to pack up. To go home.”

  She shook her head. Her eyes were so red he couldn’t tell if she was tired or if she’d been up crying half the night.

  “I can fix this, Harris. I know I can.”

  She was pleading with him and it hurt so much to listen. He remembered what Emma had said. She can save us from Nina’s curse.

  Which pissed him off even more. They were using her—Emma, Daniel, even this Ryan guy.

  He couldn’t understand how his sister had landed in this freak show called Cutty House. Him? Sure, he’d screwed up his life. He’d done the deed and paid for his sins. But how does a complete innocent like Holly end up knee-deep in this kind of crap? Just because she looked like some dead woman?

  “You don’t have to fix this, Hol,” he told her. “Actually, you can’t fix this.”

  She put down her pen. She looked terrible. Pale, with dark circles under her eyes. The steri-strips reminded him of how close he’d come to losing her.

  “What else am I supposed to do?” she asked. “I can’t just walk away.”

  “But here’s the thing. You can. You should. Walk away, Holly. Run, in fact. Look, have you ever considered that Daniel planned last night?” Seeing a crack in her resolve, he tried to pry it open and shed some light. “A new angle for the East Side Café? The mysteries of the past repeat themselves, come one, come all?”

  Seeing her shake her head, he took the next step. Pushing aside her coffee cup, he picked up her hand in his. He wasn’t above a little pleading himself.

  “Is this what you want, Holly? Someone just tried to kill you.”

  “No,” she said, emphatic. “They wanted to scare me off. This isn’t about me, Harris. It’s about Ryan. Because they want to hurt him. Through me.”