Return to Mystic Lake

by Carla Cassidy

  “Maybe he’s intentionally torturing us,” Marjorie said. “Maybe he knows we’re holed up here just waiting for an attack to happen and so he’s decided to wait us out.”

  “Maybe,” Jackson said absently. He stared out the window, obviously lost in thought.

  Why did he have to be so handsome? Why couldn’t they have sent her an overweight, belly-scratching, beer-burping agent to work as her partner? Why did it have to be Jackson?

  He looked at her, his eyes a fathomless midnight blue that let her know his thoughts were deep and dark. “I can’t help but believe that the case in Bachelor Moon and this case are related.”

  “But nobody else seems to want to make that connection, and then there’s the difference of the attacks on us,” she replied.

  “The cases themselves are virtually identical. Missing people obviously taken unaware, no clues left behind, no ransom communication from the kidnapper...nothing varies from case to case except the two attacks on us.” His frown deepened.

  “So, you’re back to believing that maybe the attacks weren’t about the case, after all, but somebody who wants one or both of us dead for another reason.” She leaned toward him, trying not to notice the familiar scent of him. “But neither of us can think of anyone who would want to hurt us.”

  “I know, I know,” he exclaimed irritably and got up from the table to pace the small confines of the room. “I feel like I’ve lost all my instincts as an agent, like I’m floundering in a vast sea and not seeing the rock right in front of my boat.”

  Even though she knew it was the worst thing she could do, she got up from the table and walked over to where he’d finally stopped pacing and stood by the refrigerator.

  His arms were folded across his chest, his eyes hollow as he stared at her. She placed a hand on one of his arms, wishing she could take away his frustration, wishing she had the answers that would take that hollowness out of his eyes.

  What she really wanted to do was take him by the hand and lead him into her bedroom, fall into bed with him, where they could both escape the frustration and sense of time being stopped by losing themselves in each other.

  But she knew that wouldn’t help anything; it would only make matters worse. Instead she laid her hand on his arm and gazed deep within his eyes. “Jackson, we’re doing what we think is right. Whether somebody is trying to kill us for personal reasons or because of the case, we’re here, and eventually they’ll get tired of waiting and will make a move. We just have to be patient.”

  He uncrossed his arms and she dropped her hand to her side. “Patience isn’t something I consider a virtue,” he said dryly. “In fact, I find it a real pain.”

  She smiled at him, grateful to hear a bit of humor in his voice. “Maybe we need to decide what we’re going to cook for dinner,” she suggested, hoping to lighten his mood even more.

  “I’m not in the mood for food at the moment,” he replied. He walked back over to the window. “Besides, we’re out of milk.” He turned suddenly. “Isn’t there a convenience store at the corner?”

  “Actually, it’s two blocks away.”

  “I think I’ll drive up and get a gallon of milk.” His eyes were no longer hollow but instead held a glint she hadn’t seen before.

  “What are you up to?” she asked warily.

  “Nothing. Just a fast trip to the store, that’s all.” He grabbed the car keys from the counter. “I’ll be gone five minutes. You know the drill, keep the doors locked, the security system engaged and I’ll be back before you know it.” He set the keys back on the table. “On second thought I think a quick walk will do me good.”

  He didn’t wait for her reply, but headed for the door, his footsteps heavy and determined. She followed behind him and locked the door, then engaged the security after he left.

  Instantly she felt two things...an immediate loss of energy and life in his absence, and a bit of relief that his frantic energy was momentarily gone.

  She walked back into her bedroom and watched on the monitor, spying him as he walked down the driveway and then disappeared from her sight.

  Just watching him walk away from the house shot a tiny stab of pain through her heart...a precursor of what was to come when the case was solved and he went back to his home in Baton Rouge.

  She left her bedroom and went back into the kitchen. Maybe she’d surprise him and she’d do the cooking for dinner tonight. She opened the freezer door and stared at the packaged meats, trying to make up her mind between pork chops and chicken breasts. She finally settled on the pork chops. She pulled them out of their packaging and placed them in a baking dish, and at that moment the doorbell rang.

  She nearly jumped out of her cotton underwear at the sound. It was too soon for Jackson to be back already. She raced to her bedroom and looked at the monitor that viewed the front porch.

  A man stood there, a man who looked like an older version of Jackson. As he knocked, she raced from the living room to the front door.

  “Who is it?” she called.

  “My name is Jerrod Revannaugh. I’m looking for my son, Jackson, and was told that he was here.” The voice was deep, smooth and Southern.

  She hesitated a moment, fingers paused over the security keypad. There was no question in her mind that the man on her front stoop was Jackson’s father. He not only sounded like his son, but looked like an older model of Jackson.

  All she knew was that father and son had suffered some sort of falling-out years before, but surely Jerrod Revannaugh wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to make some sort of connection with Jackson.

  Decision made, she punched in the numbers that would disarm the security and then unlocked the door and opened it. In person, the resemblance between Jackson and his father was nearly breathtaking.

  Surely she had nothing to worry about in letting him in to wait for Jackson. She had no idea what had caused the break between father and son, but it had to be a good thing that Jerrod was here.

  “Mr. Revannaugh, I’m Marjorie Clinton,” she said as she stepped aside to allow him into the small living room. “Jackson just went down the street for a minute and should be back anytime.”

  “Well, then, I’ll just have to hurry a bit, won’t I?” He gave her a charming smile and then stuck her in the side of the neck with a needle.

  She yelped at the sting, and immediately the effects of whatever he’d given her took hold. Her legs turned to rubber and she reached out to grab him around the neck to keep herself from falling to the floor.

  Without effort, he scooped her up in his arms. “It’s okay, darlin’, I’ll take good care of you.”

  Her last conscious thought was that she hated Jackson’s father...because he’d called her darlin’, and the only man in the world she wanted calling her that was Jackson himself.

  * * *

  JACKSON WALKED BRISKLY, breathing in the air that smelled of fresh-cut grass and sunshine instead of the sweet floral scent of Maggie.

  They were out of milk, but his walk had two goals. Retrieve the gallon of milk and make a phone call where he knew Maggie wouldn’t be able to hear him.

  Maybe he was being paranoid, but he couldn’t shake the fact that the attacks they had survived had been somehow personal in nature. There was only one person in Jackson’s life who might have a motive to kill him, and that was his father.

  Last Jackson had heard, his father was behind bars at the state prison just outside Baton Rouge. Jackson knew he was there because he’d been one of the people who had been responsible for putting him away.

  Jerrod Revannaugh had been a con man for all of Jackson’s life. He could have easily been one of Maggie’s stepfathers, a man who scammed women out of their life savings through fraud and deception and danced away unscathed...until the last time.

  At sixteen years old, Jackso
n knew what his father was, and he’d walked away from him without a backward glance. Jackson had gotten on with his life and rarely thought about the man who’d raised him, a man who had attempted to instill the same lack of morals in his son.

  They’d met again six years ago, when Jackson was contacted by law enforcement officers who were investigating the death of an elderly woman. Although it appeared to be a tragic slip and fall in a bathtub, the fact that her much younger husband had been married five times before to older women who’d found themselves nearly destitute after encountering the same man made them suspicious. The dead woman’s husband was Jackson’s father.

  Jackson clenched his fists at his side as he reached the convenience store. Instead of going inside, he walked around to the side of the building, pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number he’d called several times over the past couple of years.

  The murder charges hadn’t stuck in the case against Jerrod Revannaugh, but a dozen counts of fraud by deception had, and he’d been sentenced to six years in prison.

  When his call was answered, he asked to speak to the warden and then identified himself. “I’m calling to check on prisoner 22356,” he said. The pause on the other end of the line tensed every muscle in Jackson’s body. “What’s up, Warden?” he asked when the pause went on too long for comfort.

  “Somebody should have contacted you. Prisoner 22356 was released at six o’clock this morning.”

  Jackson nearly dropped his phone. Jerrod was out of prison, and he definitely had a reason to hold a grudge against Jackson, who was a prosecution character witness in the trial.

  He hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket and then went into the store and bought the milk. As he walked back to Maggie’s his head whirled.

  Jerrod was Jackson’s dirty secret, a secret he hadn’t shared with Maggie because of her past with her mother and men like Jerrod. He was afraid of being judged, afraid that she would somehow believe the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

  Jerrod was a threat to him, but if Jerrod had been released from prison in Baton Rouge early that morning, there was no way he could be behind the shooting at the motel or the chase by the shooting motorcyclist.

  Unless he had an accomplice. Unless he had somebody on the outside who would be willing to do his bidding for part of the fortune Jackson guessed his father had hidden in some offshore account.

  As he thought of all the people they had spoken to, all the people who had been potential suspects, the name Edward Bentz exploded in his forehead. He was a man who had traveled back and forth from Kansas City to Baton Rouge over the past couple of weeks...in the time that Jackson had been here working on the case.

  Was it possible Edward had been behind the attacks? He’d certainly been vague about where he’d been during to two incidents. They should have dug deeper, they should have looked harder at him.

  Suddenly he couldn’t get home fast enough. Knowing that his father was out of jail put a whole new spin on things, and he needed to come clean to Maggie.

  If there was anything that would put a halt to any feelings she might have for him, surely it would be the fact that he came from the same kind of men who had scammed her mother out of her fortune.

  Still, it was information she needed to know, because Jackson had a feeling he’d realized the answer behind the attacks on them...his father wanted him dead, and Maggie would have just been collateral damage.

  He started to unlock the front door, but realized it was already unlocked. Had Maggie forgotten to lock it when he’d left? Damn, he needed to remind her that locks and security systems didn’t work if they weren’t used.

  “Maggie?” he called as he walked toward the kitchen. She wasn’t in the living room or in the kitchen. He put the milk in the refrigerator, noted the pork chops in the baking dish and then went in search of her, assuming she was probably back in her bedroom.

  “Maggie,” he called again. This time when there was no response, his heart began an irregular rhythm of anxiety. Her house wasn’t big enough for her not to hear him.

  He paused at the bathroom long enough to check that she wasn’t in there and then headed on to her room. Empty. His heartbeat accelerated.

  He knew there was a door in the kitchen that she’d told him led down to a basement she used for storage. He raced back to the kitchen, flung open the door and thundered down the stairs into a small basement that held nothing but a couple of boxes labeled Winter Clothes.

  Gone.

  She was gone.

  There was no way she would have left the house alone. She knew the dangers of being outside without having him along as backup.

  He raced back up the stairs and went to the video equipment in her bedroom. He knew the security tapes were looped and he could replay them to see if anyone had come to the door.

  His hands trembled as he punched the buttons to rewind the tape and he gasped in shock as he saw his father on the front porch. “Don’t open the door. Please, Maggie, don’t open the door.” He whispered the words desperately even as he saw the front door open.

  He froze, watching the monitor and moments later his father walked out of the house, carrying an obviously unconscious Maggie in his arms.

  Instinctively he grabbed his gun, wishing he could shoot his father’s image and make him drop Maggie. He wanted her safe, away from the man Jackson knew was a sociopath.

  The monitor didn’t show Jerrod getting into a car—he simply walked out of sight with Maggie in his arms. Jackson remained immobile, unsure what his next move should be, as terror threatened to burst his heart right out of his chest.

  He knew he should be doing something, searching for her, but he didn’t even know where to begin. Edward Bentz...Mystic Lake.

  Edward Bentz had to have the answers. There was no doubt in Jackson’s mind that the mild-mannered traveling salesman had been his father’s minion. Jackson had to get to Mystic Lake. Hopefully, Jerrod would keep Maggie alive as a bargaining chip, for Jackson knew what his father wanted most was to kill Jackson.

  Within minutes he was in the car and driving faster than he’d ever driven in his life toward the small town. If Bentz wasn’t in his rented room, then Jackson would head straight to Roger Black and see to it that every law enforcement official in Mystic Lake was looking for Bentz and the newly released prisoner who had Maggie with him.

  Dammit, he should have realized what was going on the minute it entered his mind that the attacks on them might be personal. But he’d been certain his father was still locked up and he hadn’t thought of Jerrod being devious enough to hunt Jackson clear across the country to a case he was working.

  He hadn’t tried anything like this in all the years he’d been behind bars. Why now? Why not now? he countered. Who knew what drove Jerrod Revannaugh besides naive, lonely, wealthy women?

  Maggie. His heart cried her name and the love he’d never felt for any woman before filled his soul. Maggie. She had to be all right. He had to find her and make sure she survived this horror he’d brought to her doorstep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Maggie came to and with a dazed semiawareness realized she was bound at her ankles and wrists, and tape covered her mouth, making it impossible for her to scream for help.

  Dark... She was in the dark in a small space that smelled of oil and gasoline, and through her groggy hangover she realized she was in the trunk of a moving vehicle.

  As the full implication of her predicament exploded in her brain, panic fluttered her heart and surged bitterness up the back of her throat.

  She swallowed against it, knowing that panic would accomplish nothing. She remained still, lying on her side, and took several deep breaths in and out through her nose.

  Think, Maggie, don’t panic, she told herself. Thankfully her hands were bound in front of her with
what felt like duct tape. She knew the futility of trying to slip or rip the tape away. She assumed her ankles were bound in the same way. She tested the strength of the tape, attempting to pull her ankles apart, but there was no give at all.

  He must have been watching the house, she thought. When he saw Jackson leave, he took the opportunity to engage her. She’d been a naive fool, thinking that maybe he was there for some sort of happy reunion with his son.

  She should never have opened the door to him. But she had, and now she was in the back of the trunk of a car carrying her to an unknown destination for some unknown purpose.

  Her heart raced faster. One thing was clear. Jerrod Revannaugh didn’t intend for her to walk away alive from whatever he’d planned. Not only had he kidnapped an FBI agent, but he’d introduced himself to her, allowed her to see his face.

  She was already a dead woman.

  The minute she’d opened her front door, she’d signed her own death certificate. The only thing she didn’t know, that she couldn’t understand, was why this had happened.

  Why her? She’d never met Jackson’s father before, knew virtually nothing about him. So why had he taken her instead of just waiting and dealing with Jackson?

  Somehow she knew she was a pawn between father and son. Jerrod probably believed that Jackson loved her, that she would be a useful tool to get his son to do something. What he didn’t know was that Jackson didn’t love her. And now she understood why he was probably incapable of loving somebody too deeply. Who knew what kind of childhood he’d had with a man who could drug and kidnap a woman?

  She shoved away thoughts of Jackson, thoughts that caused pain as her love for him remained undiminished by the current events.

  She had to figure out a way to get out. She’d read somewhere of a case of a woman who’d been imprisoned in the trunk of a car and she’d managed to punch out a back taillight and get another driver’s attention.

  Disoriented in the darkness, the first thing she did was scoot around the small space, trying to get her bearings. She was sideways in the trunk and she tried to position herself so that her fingers could search for a trunk release inside.