Storm Warning

by Dinah McCall

  Within the hour, his phone rang. He pulled over to the side of the road before answering, in case he needed to make notes.

  “Sullivan Dean.”

  “Agent Dean, this is Myrna. I have some information for you.”

  He reached for a notepad. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Miss Shapiro’s credit card was used two more times. Once last night at a place called Tallahatchie River Landing. A cabin was rented under the name Leigh Foster, which happens to be Miss Shapiro’s mother’s maiden name. Then again, only a hour or so ago, at a grocery store in a place called Wingate. One would assume she’s gone to ground.”

  Sully grinned. Despite never having worked in the field, Myrna had the lingo down pat.

  “Got a location for this Tallahatchie River Landing?” he asked.

  “Of course.” She gave him the coordinates.

  As she finished, he added, “You’re good, Myrna. If you ever get tired of answering the boss’s phones, maybe you’d like to be my partner.”

  “No.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not that bad.”

  “Of course you’re not, sir. Will there be anything else?”

  “Not for now. I’ll let you know if something else comes up, okay?”

  “Yes,” Myrna said, and then hung up in his ear.

  Sully’s worries eased yet another notch as he pulled back onto the highway. He knew where she was! Now all he had to do was get there.

  Ginny locked herself back in the cabin as she carried the last bag of groceries inside. The one saving grace of this place was the tiny kitchenette just off the bedroom. Being able to both eat and sleep in the same place made the landing the perfect hideaway. The absence of phones in the room was also a plus. If she needed one, she would use her cell phone, which she’d left in the car. Or, in case of an emergency, there was the pay phone at the office. At least this way she wouldn’t turn over in the night and answer a ringing phone before she was awake enough to remember that it might get her killed.

  The cabinets were small, but large enough to hold the food she’d just purchased. Milk went in the refrigerator, along with some eggs, juice, a small sack of vegetables and a couple of packages of lunch meat. Besides the ice cube trays in the tiny freezer, there was just enough room for a quart of chocolate ice cream. She emptied the last sack, putting her meager assortment of canned goods to the right of the sink. As she was about to shut the door, she noticed a piece of paper stuck to the bottom of one can. Curious, she peeled it off, only to realize it was her credit card receipt, which she needed to save.

  She turned toward the table and reached for her purse, intent on putting this receipt with the others she’d gathered during her trip, when she suddenly stopped. Her eyes widened and her heart started to thump as she stared down at the receipt. With shaking hands, she dug through her purse and pulled out the others, quickly spreading them on the table. The evidence of her mistake was right before her eyes.

  “Oh God, oh God…what have I done?”

  Unwittingly, she’d laid a paper trail that was as good as any road map, beginning with the receipt from the gas station nearest her house, then south to a Git and Go in Arkansas, to Collins, Mississippi, to her final destination—the Tallahatchie River Landing—and a grocery story in Wingate. She might just as well have pinned a target to her back.

  In a panic, she ran toward the window and peered out through the curtains. There was no one in sight. Except for the manager, a man named Marshall Auger, who lived on the premises, she was still the only customer. But how long would that last? Should she go? If she did, where? This place had been ideal until she’d messed it all up.

  She glanced back at the bed, wondering how long it would take to get packed and how much of her groceries she would have to leave behind. As she stood, a familiar sound penetrated her panic. She spun around, looking frantically up at the sky and the gathering clouds. Another impending thunderstorm. Was this streak of inclement weather never going to end?

  Not trusting the single door lock to keep out the world, she shoved a chair beneath the knob and then plopped down on the bed. Leaving now was out of the question. That horrible lassitude she endured during storms made driving almost impossible. She was in enough danger as it was. Adding to the problem by having a wreck was out of the question.

  She wanted to cry. Instead, she lay back on the bed and rolled up in a ball. Her eyes were wide and fixed on the door, her body trembling. For the time being, she was here, whether she liked it or not.

  Sometime later, it began to rain. Not the wild blowing rain from the night before, but a slow, steady downpour that raised the level of the Tallahatchie to new and frightening depths.

  Sully pulled up to the office of the Tallahatchie River Landing and killed the engine. He never realized how tightly he’d been gripping the steering wheel until he tried to turn loose of it. His fingers were cramped, as were his legs, but he was here. Even though it was dark, he could see the outline of a car at the far end of the row of cabins. Ducking his head, he got out on the run and then found himself standing on the stoop and pounding on the manager’s door to get in. He waited a minute, then pounded again. When a light came on inside and then a grizzled bear of a man opened the door to let him in, he bolted through the doorway without waiting for an invitation.

  “Name’s Marshall Auger,” the old man said. “You’re out kinda late, ain’t ya?”

  “Got caught in the rain,” Sully answered. “I need a place to stay.”

  “You alone?” Marshall asked, peering over Sully’s shoulder into the dark.

  “Yes.”

  “Extra charge if you got someone with ya,” Marshall persisted.

  Sully looked up, his hand on his wallet. “I said I was alone. If you want to check, feel free. The car’s not locked.”

  Marshall eyed the downpour and then the water running out of Sully’s hair onto his face and shrugged.

  “It’ll be twenty-five dollars a night, plus tax.”

  Sully slid a hundred-dollar bill onto the counter.

  “How long you stayin’?”

  “I’ll let you know,” Sully answered.

  Marshall pocketed the money and then handed Sully a key.

  “I’d like the last cabin, please,” Sully said.

  “Done taken. How about the one next to it?”

  “Yeah, all right,” Sully said. “As long as there’s not some family with a bunch of kids,” he added.

  “Nope. Just one woman. Real quiet.”

  Ha. Got my answer without even asking. “Okay, then,” Sully said, and picked up the key.

  “Ain’t no phones or TVs in the rooms,” Marshall added. “This here’s a fishin’ camp, so if you was expectin’ somethin’ else, you’re outta luck.”

  “Just a place to sleep,” Sully said.

  “Sweet dreams,” Marshall said, baring yellowed teeth as he grinned a goodbye.

  Within moments Sully was back in his car and driving down the row of cabins, only he didn’t stop at the one he’d been given. Instead, he drove down to the last and parked directly behind the car. A quick check of the license tag told him it was hers, and for a moment all he could do was sit and stare at the cabin. Praise the Lord, he’d found her.

  He started to get out, then hesitated. The windows were dark. She was bound to be asleep. Should he wake her now and risk scaring her even more, or should he wait until morning? Instinct told him to do it now. Too many people had died for him to worry about etiquette.

  As he walked toward her door, he kept picturing her as she’d been in the photo with her parents. Happy and laughing. Then he shrugged the thought aside. At least she was still alive. Doubling up his fist, he began to pound loudly.

  Ginny came awake with a start, clutching the covers up to her chin. Someone was pounding at the door! She lay without moving, her heart hammering against her chest. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe they would just go away.

  The noise stopped and she felt a moment of hope,
but moments later, the pounding was renewed, and this time she thought she heard someone calling her name. That wasn’t right! She’d signed in at the office under her mother’s maiden name, Leigh Foster. But she’d distinctly heard him say Virginia Shapiro.

  In a panic, she rolled out of bed in one leap and began searching the room for something to use as a weapon. Just as her fingers curled around a fireplace poker, she heard him again.

  “Miss Shapiro! Miss Shapiro! Please let me in!”

  Creeping toward the window, she peeked through the curtains. All she could see was the dark outline of a man standing on the stoop.

  “Go away!” she yelled. “There’s no one here by that name.”

  The pounding stopped. She crept to the door and laid her ear against the wood, praying for the sound of receding footsteps.

  Sully exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the water running off the roof and down his neck.

  “Miss Shapiro, I’m Sullivan Dean. Georgia was my friend. She sent me the same information she sent you. I’ve been looking for you for the better part of two days. Please let me in. We need to talk.”

  Ginny moaned. Oh God, could this really be the man to whom Georgia had referred in her letter? If only she dared believe.

  “How can I trust you?” she asked.

  Sully sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “Maybe if you’ll turn on the porch light, you can see my badge.”

  “Badge?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sully said. “I’m an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Please, ma’am, if you would just—”

  The light nearly blinded him. Sully covered his face with one hand, allowing his vision to adjust as he reached for his badge. To his right, the curtain slowly parted, and he had a vague impression of dark eyes in a pale face. Then the curtain fell shut. He caught himself holding his breath.

  “Oh Lord, please let this be all right,” Ginny muttered, and slowly opened the door.

  Sully saw her then, standing in the shadows of the cabin with a poker in her hand. In spite of the deadliness of her makeshift weapon and her height, he was more than a little startled at how frail she looked.

  “Miss Shapiro?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I come in?”

  Ginny hesitated, then stepped aside, still clutching the poker.

  Sully turned on the light as he entered, then shut the door behind him. Water puddled instantly at his feet and began to run toward the corner of the room.

  “If you have a mop or something, I’d be glad to—”

  Ginny shook her head, then motioned toward a nearby chair.

  “Please…sit down.”

  “I’ll get it wet, too,” he said.

  “I imagine it will dry.”

  He sat.

  Ginny ran a nervous hand through her hair, suddenly remembering that she’d been asleep. Lord only knew what she looked like. Tapping the end of the poker against the floor, she glanced nervously at him and then looked away.

  Sully stared, studying her sleep-softened face and wondering what it would be like to wake up beside someone who looked like that every day for the rest of his life.

  “Would you—”

  “Do you mind if—”

  They spoke in unison, both starting and then stopping at once.

  Sully swiped a hand across his face. “You first.”

  Ginny hesitated. “I’ll get you a towel.”

  Sully watched her walking from the room, and when his thoughts began to center on the length of her legs, he looked away, reminding himself that he’d come to help her, not sleep with her.

  Ginny handed him the towel and then stepped back, still wondering if she’d let in a murderer instead of a savior.

  Sully toweled his hair first and was drying his face when she spoke.

  “If Georgia was your friend and she’s already dead, then why did you come looking for me?”

  He paused, considering the fear in her voice. He supposed he understood it, although in a way it hurt his feelings to think of how frantically he’d been searching for her, and here she was questioning his motives.

  “She asked me for help, and I was too late to save her. She obviously cared about you, and I cared for her.” His voice broke and he looked away, unwilling for her to see his emotions so close to the skin.

  But it was too late. Ginny had seen the quick flash of tears in his eyes and heard the tremble in his voice. It was enough. She took a step forward, briefly touching Sully’s shoulder before moving away.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “But you see…I’ve been so scared.”

  Something in her eyes brought him to his feet.

  “I know,” he said softly. “I came as fast as I could.”

  Suddenly Ginny was crying and Sully was holding her.

  “I’m going to get you all wet,” he said gruffly, and tried to step back.

  Ginny hiccuped on a sob, her gaze fixed on his face. The condition of his clothing was the last thing on her mind.

  “You won’t let me die?”

  He cursed beneath his breath and pulled her back in his arms, this time, wrapping her completely within his embrace.

  “I swear on my life, I won’t let you die.”

  Ginny stiffened as the weight of his words settled in her mind.

  “That might be more difficult than you think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She gestured toward the table where the receipts were lying.

  “The credit card receipts. I didn’t think.”

  “Yeah, I know about them,” he said. “It’ll be okay.”

  “You know?”

  He almost smiled. “How do you think I found you?”

  She cast a nervous glance at the door.

  “It’s not that easy,” he added, wanting to assure her. “I have more access to that sort of information than the ordinary person.”

  “And what makes you think the person responsible for what’s happening is ordinary?”

  Sully sighed. “I didn’t mean that as facetiously as it sounded. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted,” she said, and then added, “I think I owe you one, too.”

  Sully’s brows knitted. “For what?”

  “I have yet to thank you.”

  This time he did smile, but only a little. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

  “Oh, but you have,” Ginny said. “You’re here.”

  He stared at her then, seeing her almost anew. Her dark shoulder-length hair and rather startling blue eyes set in a heart-shaped face were unforgettable, of that there was no doubt. But it was the thrust of her chin that was the most telling. The lady was no quitter.

  “Yeah, so I am,” he said, then lightened the moment by looking down at his feet. “This puddle I’m standing in is growing deeper by the minute. I think I’d better go change my clothes before I float us both down the river.”

  Ginny looked startled. He’d just gotten here, and now he was talking about leaving.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, hating the tremble she heard in her voice.

  “Next door. I rented the cabin next to you. You’re going to be okay now, Miss Shapiro, but if you get scared, all you have to do is yell. I’m only seconds away.”

  Loath for him to leave, she blurted, “I could fix you some soup.”

  Sully hesitated. He wanted out of his wet clothes and into a bed in the worst way, but he could tell she wasn’t ready to let him go.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “How about if I get settled in and into some dry clothes? Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be back.”

  Embarrassed now that she’d all but begged him to stay, she felt obligated to add, “Okay, but only if you really want something to eat. If not, I’ll be fine.”

  She was trying so damned hard to be brave, he couldn’t help but admire her.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But I think I could really go for that soup.”

  Her eyes widened
in relief, and there was a smile on her face as she turned toward the kitchen.

  “I won’t be long,” he added, but she was already dragging out a pot and digging through the meager contents of a utensil drawer in search of a can opener.

  He didn’t bother running back to his car. There was no way he could get any wetter. Instead, he strode through the rain, got his bag and then walked over to the next cabin without bothering to move his vehicle. If someone drove up looking for Ginny, seeing two cars instead of one would definitely give them pause. It might be the difference between life and death for both of them.

  The hinges squeaked as the door swung inward. He flipped on the light and grimaced as he shut the door behind him. The place didn’t look a damn bit better than hers did, but he hadn’t come for the accommodations. Tossing his bag on the bed, he quickly located the bathroom and began stripping off his wet clothes as he went. Less than ten minutes later he had showered and dressed and was headed back out the door.

  The rain was letting up, but he still ran toward Ginny’s cabin, his boots splitting the puddles as he went. He knocked quickly, then turned the knob. To his relief, she’d left it unlocked. He came in on the run.

  Startled by the noise, Ginny turned, then relaxed when she saw it was him.

  Dean. Sullivan Dean. She was still trying to get used to the thought of his name.

  “The soup is done. Do I call you Mr. Dean, or Agent Dean or—”

  “Sully. Call me Sully.”

  “If you’ll call me Ginny.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, Harry Redford said you wouldn’t answer to anything else.”

  Ginny’s eyes widened. “You know Harry?”

  “We met,” Sully said briefly. “He’s concerned about you.”

  Ginny began dishing the soup into bowls.

  “He’s a good man to work for. I like him.”

  Sully nodded. “Smells good.”

  Ginny set the bowls down on the table. “It’s just vegetable beef out of a can. All I did was add water and heat it. Want some crackers?”

  “Sure,” Sully said. “Can I help?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve got it. Do you take anything in your coffee?”

  “Just black,” Sully said, as she set the cup near his bowl.