by Lena Gregory
Rage contorted his face. A vein throbbed at the side of his forehead.
Maybe that was the wrong question to ask.
“Do you know how many years I kept our affair secret, settling for twice weekly visits to the local hotel for an afternoon tryst with the woman I’ve loved my whole adult life? When she married someone else, I accepted it and tried to move on.” He pressed a hand to his forehead and shook his head. “I couldn’t get over her. When her husband died, I waited an acceptable amount of time before approaching her. She thought it was too soon and was afraid she’d appear callous about her husband’s death, so I accepted her terms.” He paused.
Cass wasn’t sure if he’d continue and was contemplating what to say when he spoke quietly.
“I knew something was going on with her. She’d been acting strange, canceled a few of our . . . dates. When I followed her to the theater that night, I had a feeling she was cheating on me, but I had no idea . . .” He shook his head.
Cass almost felt sorry for him. What must it be like to be that much in love with a woman like Marge Hawkins?
“I walked in and found her with Kyle Benedict, from the theater board.”
Cass’s eyebrows shot up. Marge had not one lover but two?
“I know. Can you even believe she would cheat on me with him?”
Cass shook her head. She was having a hard time believing any of this.
“Well, imagine my surprise when I walked in and found her in that little weasel’s arms. I was furious, but I wouldn’t have killed her. Honest.” He lifted his free hand, palm toward her. “I would have walked out right then and there if she hadn’t sent him away.”
A tear slid from the corner of his eye to run down his cheek. “She sent him home, and I thought she was going to apologize, beg my forgiveness, tell me we could be together . . .”
“What happened?” Cass couldn’t help herself. She was completely engrossed in the story and had to know how it ended. Oh . . . wait . . . She did know how it ended. She blew out a slow breath.
“She told me she was going to marry Kyle. That dorky little rat . . .” Something like a growl erupted. “I snuck around with that woman for years, only for her to sit there with that smug attitude and tell me she was marrying someone else. Again.” He swiped at the tear dripping off his chin with more force than necessary. “I lost it.”
Cass had to admit, he seemed to sincerely regret killing her. Of course, that didn’t help anyone now. “Do you think if you explained what happened and told them you were really sorry, the court might be lenient?”
Langdon chuckled, not an amused chuckle, but an I’m going to kill you chuckle.
The blood in Cass’s veins turned to ice.
“Let’s go,” he said. “It’s getting too crowded out there. I don’t want to hear another word.”
She tried to project a sense of bravado, while her insides quivered. “What are you going to do if I don’t come with you? Shoot me right here in the middle of the police station?” There. She had him. As long as she didn’t leave the office with him, she was fairly safe. Probably.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
She sucked in a breath.
“Hands up, Cass.”
She lifted her hands. Blood rushed in her ears.
He moved closer, gun held steady.
This was it. She held her breath.
He reached behind him.
She squeezed her eyes shut, then . . . nothing. She slitted one eye and peeked out.
He stood in front of her, holding something that looked like a gun wrapped in a handkerchief. “Do you know what this is, Cass?”
She shook her head, unable to force words past the fear lodged in her throat.
“The weapon that killed Marge and that other woman. Right now, there are no prints on it. Three seconds after I shoot you, your prints will be all over it. About two seconds before the first of my officers breaks down that door. I’ll act like you pulled a gun on me and I shot you before you could shoot me.” He grinned. “It’s a no-win situation for you.”
“How will you explain why I killed Carmen?”
He lifted a brow, perhaps surprised she knew the woman’s name. “Maybe she saw you kill Marge. Who knows? It doesn’t really matter. I guess that’s a secret you took to the grave with you.” He smiled. “Makes for wonderful speculation for the gossipmongers, though. Don’t you think?”
“Is that why you killed her?”
He laughed. “Nothing quite that dramatic. But she did see me with Marge a time or two, and after the murder, she kept looking at me suspiciously.”
He killed a woman because she looked at him wrong? Panic raced through Cass’s every nerve ending, prickling her skin with goose bumps.
He slipped the gun in her jacket pocket and took a step back.
“Don’t get any ideas. I’m not stupid enough to put a loaded gun in your pocket . . . Of course, that’ll be part of the tragedy. The weapon wasn’t even loaded, but how could I have known that? Now. Walk out that door and straight to your car. Get in and turn it on. Do you understand?”
She nodded dumbly.
“And, Cass. If anyone speaks to you, say hello and you’re sorry but you’re in a hurry. That’s it. And whatever you do, don’t pull that weapon out of your pocket, because mine probably wouldn’t be the first bullet to slam through you.”
She exhaled slowly, struggling to keep her legs from collapsing, and followed his orders.
* * *
“Turn here.” Langdon used the gun to gesture to a dirt road on her right.
She glanced in her rearview mirror one last time, praying for someone to see her. Very few cars traveled the mostly deserted road at that time of the morning. And none of the drivers appeared to pay any attention to her.
She bumped along the rutted path, keeping one eye on the road and the other on the weapon trained at her side. “Could you point that thing somewhere else before it goes off by accident?”
He stared at her for a minute. “I’d prefer to shoot you on the beach, but if you try anything, I can just as easily shoot you in the car.” He lowered the gun but didn’t put it away. Instead, he held it against his leg, barrel pointed at the floor.
Could she open the door and jump out before he could lift the weapon and shoot? Maybe. But then what? It was full daylight now, so she couldn’t hope to disappear into darkness. She blew out a frustrated breath. Better to go along with him for now. The immediate sense of danger began to dim as her mind raced to find a way to escape.
“All right. That’s far enough. Pull into that clear area over there.”
The clear area he pointed to was a small clearing of sorts, covered in low brush and bushes. She winced as the branches scraped loudly along the undercarriage. If she managed to get away from this lunatic, Bee would kill her for sure.
“Stop the car.”
She did as instructed.
“Now get out.”
Cass turned off the car and climbed out. Her insides had pretty much liquefied. Her hands shook so badly she fumbled the keys and dropped them on the floor, trying to pull them out of the ignition. She started to reach down for them.
“Don’t worry about it—you won’t need them again.”
A jolt of fear pierced her heart. She climbed from the car, mind racing, heart hammering wildly against her ribs. No sign of a weapon. No one in sight. Stay calm. Breathe. In and out, in and out.
There had to be a way out of this if she could stay calm enough to think. He led her through the woods. Tangles of thorns tore at her clothes, but she pushed her way through. They emerged from the woods a few yards from a rusted storage shed behind the Bay Side Hotel.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I can’t very well shoot you in broad daylight, now, can I? I also can’t risk being s
een with you. At least all those years of passing this piece of garbage shed as I snuck in and out of the hotel will come in handy.” He opened the door—which screeched loudly in protest—looked around, and propelled her through.
“Sit down.”
It was now or never.
“I said sit down. Now.”
Wait. He’d said he couldn’t shoot her in broad daylight. Did that mean he was going to leave her alone there? A flare of hope burned through her. “You’re not going to leave me in this place, are you?” Please, say yes. Please, say yes.
He squinted as if trying to figure out what game she was playing.
She swallowed hard. With a tremor in her voice and tears in her eyes, she tried to show real fear. It wasn’t hard. “There might be . . . rats . . . in here.” She whispered, as if afraid the rodents might hear her.
A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll have plenty of time to find out. Now, sit down.”
She sat.
“Lean against the leg of the workbench and put your arms behind your back.”
She did as he said.
He pulled her hands together on the far side of the bench leg and taped her wrists together, then secured them to the leg. He taped her ankles and wound a strip around her head to cover her mouth. Since the workbench was securely fastened to the floor, she wasn’t going anywhere. All thoughts of pounding against the thin walls until help came vanished.
“Sorry to run, but I have to be at the station when the missing person’s report comes in. Bee being . . . well . . . Bee, I’m sure it won’t take long for him to panic.”
Violent tremors shook her as he closed the door behind him.
She worked desperately to remove the tape. The sweat pouring down her face and arms should have made it easier to work the tape off, but it held tight. This stuff really does hold anything.
She tried to envision what was happening now. Bee would have surely tried to call her cell phone at some point. Wait. Where was her cell phone? In her bag on the seat of Bee’s car. Of course, Langdon must have taken the car back to town, or at least dumped it somewhere closer to the station.
Cass sighed and returned her attention to freeing herself. When she was completely exhausted, after not having slept at all the night before, she gave up trying to escape and started searching for a weapon.
There wasn’t much in the dilapidated shed. A few old, rusted paint cans—one of those might make a good weapon if it was full . . . and if she could reach it. But her chances of reaching them without getting free were nonexistent. They were just too far away.
Real fear gripped her. It might be time to face the reality she might die tonight.
What would Bee do when she didn’t answer her phone? Would he assume she was with Tank? Would he look for her? He’d probably stay with Ellie.
All right. She was going to have to get out of this on her own. Something caught her eye. Half-buried in the dirt floor. The handle of a screwdriver. She remembered the damage Jay had done to Ellie’s hand. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing, which was what she had now.
Could she reach it with her feet? She stretched her feet as far as they would go toward the screwdriver. Well, the handle anyway. It was only a distant hope that the pointy part was still attached.
She scooted her bottom away from the workbench as far as she could and stretched her legs again. Almost. Sweat sprang out on her forehead. She toed off her shoes and reached as far as she could, pointed her toes and rotated her legs in as best she could with her ankles taped.
She gripped the edge of the handle between her toes. Pulled it toward her. It slipped out of her grasp. Ugh . . .
She scooted back against the workbench and dropped her head back to rest. Exhaustion beat at her. The stress of the past week sat like a weight on her shoulders. She closed her eyes and gave in to the pressure. Deep sobs racked her body.
She was going to die.
An eddy of blackness swirled in her periphery, tunneling her vision until there was nothing left but merciful darkness. Escape.
27
The first thing Cass became vaguely aware of was pain. Excruciating pain in her—well, pretty much everywhere. She tried to ease her position, to alleviate the worst of the stiffness in her joints. The memory of being tied up surged through her like a bucket of ice water being thrown in her face.
She jerked to sit up and was rewarded with a wrenching in her shoulder. She ignored the stabbing pain. Through slim cracks in the shed walls, the sunlight was fading. It was almost dark. Panic clawed its way up her throat.
She had to reach the screwdriver.
Cass scooted away from the workbench, and her shoulder screamed in protest. She stretched her legs as far as she could and pointed her toes. A deep breath in. Hold it. She gripped the handle between her feet and inched it painstakingly slowly toward her. As she pulled it closer, she unearthed the pointy end—intact but rusted. Yes! If she couldn’t incapacitate him, she could at least give him tetanus. When she was finally able to sit up straight, she took a breath.
But how could she get it to her hands? They were taped securely behind her back. Twenty years of dance lessons were about to pay off. She twisted her legs beneath her, pushing the screwdriver toward her hands.
She grabbed the wrong end, turned it around, and grabbed the handle. Relief left her weak, but she didn’t dare take a moment to rest. Langdon could be back at any moment. She flipped the screwdriver around again and held it close to the tip. If she could just work the point through the tape, she’d be out of there.
A noise by the door killed her hope. The door was flung open, and a bright light seared her eyes, temporarily blinding her. She squinted against the attack and worked frantically to shove the screwdriver into the back of her pants. It slid easily into her pocket. No good. He’d see it when he cut the tape . . . if he cut the tape. If not, she was dead anyway. She jammed the screwdriver into her waistband and pulled her shirt over it.
Langdon crossed the room without a word, cut the tape from her wrists, and pulled her to her feet.
He turned her around and cut the tape from her ankles. “Don’t say a word. Understand?”
Cass nodded, and he cut the tape around her mouth and ripped it off, taking a handful of hair with it. She rubbed at her head. Every part of her body had stiffened and she tried to work out the sore muscles, but there was no time.
“Walk.” He shoved her forward and she stepped into her shoes and walked in the direction he propelled her.
Sheer terror clutched her throat, threatening to strangle her. Nausea turned her stomach and forced bile up her throat. She swallowed it back down.
They walked in silence, trampling through the underbrush by the light of his flashlight. Clouds sat overhead, blocking Cass’s vision of the moon and the stars. Also blocking any light they might provide. She contemplated the gun in her pocket. Should she keep it? Her prints weren’t on it now, but they would be once he killed her. What good would it do to drop it? It was wiped clean, so it didn’t have his prints on it. It wouldn’t prove anything. No sense risking his anger to drop it, she decided.
“Stop right there.”
They’d come to the edge of the woods. Langdon halted their progress just inside the tree line. He stepped in front of her, poked his head out, and looked up and down the beach.
It was now or never. She reached behind her and grabbed the screwdriver. Her palms were sweating so badly it almost slid from her grasp. She gripped it tighter. Sucked in a breath. Please, God, help me.
She plunged the screwdriver into his right shoulder.
His scream tore through the night.
She launched herself into the woods, running blindly, tripping over roots and branches. He’d have to drop the light or the gun to pull the screwdriver from his shoulder. She desperately hoped it was the gun.
Crap. The bullet ricocheted off a tree way too close to her.
Cass’s lungs burned. She tried to weave as she ran. Another bullet whizzed by. She went down. Hard. She lay in the tangle of bushes and thorns, sucking air and dirt into her straining lungs. Blackness pressed down on her and threatened to suffocate her.
The sound of Langdon crashing through the woods came closer. She held her breath and wished herself invisible. He tore past her, not five feet away, cursing up a storm.
She obviously hadn’t hurt him as badly as she’d hoped, but he must have dropped the light because he was stumbling around in the darkness. She belly-crawled forward, inch by inch, staying as silent as possible. She strained her ears to keep track of him. When he moved off toward her right, she risked scooting herself forward a little quicker.
The dried leaves crunched beneath her with every twitch. It would have to be autumn. She started to creep forward again when she noticed the silence. Uh . . . oh. Where was he? Her labored breathing was incredibly loud. She struggled to hear past it. Nothing but deafening silence.
A deadly game of cat and mouse. The hunter and the prey. But sometimes the prey got away. She clung to that thought.
She focused her gaze straight ahead to where the forest was brightly lit. Too brightly lit. What was going on?
Okay . . . You can do this. She eased herself forward another inch. No sound of a maniac crashing through the woods. Thorns scratched her face, grabbed at her clothes, and tore her hands and arms as she used them to drag herself forward. Drag. Stop. Listen. Nothing. Drag . . .
Her efforts continued to be met only with silence. Had he given up? Run away? Hidden? Set a trap a little farther up? Her shoulder screamed in protest with each pull forward. She ignored it.
She stared at the light dancing through the trees, teasing her. She was almost there. Was Langdon lying in wait?
She’d gotten so turned around she wasn’t sure where she was. She scrambled forward the last few feet, barely resisting the urge to get up and run. The woods opened up. Bright, portable floodlights bathed the entire hotel parking lot with something near full daylight. Cars sat haphazardly scattered throughout the area she could see. People rushed to and fro. What the . . .