by Maris Soule
“You need to pull over. Take a deep breath.”
“I don’t need your fuckin’—” she started, then nodded and took a deep breath.
Katherine turned off the siren and lights and eased the cruiser forward and into the nearest parking spot. “God, I almost hit her,” she said, leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes.
“But, you didn’t.” He gave her a minute to unwind before he went on. “It wasn’t me, Katherine. I didn’t contact any news media. But I’m not surprised they’re here. Lately they’ve been following everything Tom does. His rapid departure from China must have alerted someone.”
“Well, they just made finding Misty more difficult.”
“But not impossible?” He hoped not. “You said there was something you wanted to do . . . ?”
She looked at him, and he could tell she was debating whether to tell him anything. He knew he’d lucked out managing to get in the cruiser with her, but they were still close enough to the police station for her to order him out.
“The Explorer,” she finally said. “The one that pushed the Bane kid’s truck off the road. They’ve brought it here. I want to see if there’s anything Gordon missed when he looked at it. Anything besides that tuft of fake fur. We know it was here in Skagway, on my street, yesterday afternoon and parked in Dyea shortly after that. If Bell picked up Sarah after I left home, he had to take her somewhere and then return the Explorer to the campground. That doesn’t give him a lot of time to be driving around.”
“Think he has them at that campground?”
Katherine shook her head. “It’s been checked. No signs of them. Rangers have scoured the area. We—”
The ring of her cell phone cut her off. She frowned and glanced at it, then immediately answered. Vince couldn’t hear what was said, but, before Katherine clicked off, she had the cruiser in gear and was backing out of the parking spot. Once again she hit the siren and lights.
“What’s up?” he asked as she steered away from the police station.
“Damn TV people,” she grumbled and turned onto a cross street. “Damn all of you.”
“What happened?”
“Your boss’s idiot wife told one of the media people that I was involved in Misty’s kidnapping, reminded them that Bell had kidnapped me seventeen years ago. Once they figure out where I live, they’ll head there. My poor grandfather . . .”
CHAPTER SIXTY
The rain had stopped by the time they reached her grandfather’s house. There was a tan Chevy Tahoe parked in front, but no vans with TV logos on their sides and no newspaper reporters lined the sidewalk. Quickly Katherine pulled up in front of the garage.
“I need to get my grandfather out of there,” she said, barely putting the cruiser in Park before opening her door.
Vince exited from his side almost as quickly. “Where are you going to take him?”
“I don’t know.” She jogged toward the side door. “Just somewhere where they won’t bother him.”
“Poppa,” she called the moment she entered the house. “Poppa, it’s me. We need to go somewhere.”
The drip of the sink faucet and the hum of the refrigerator were the only sounds she heard.
That he didn’t answer didn’t worry her, not at first. Quickly she walked through the kitchen and into the living room. That he wasn’t in his usual easy chair did surprise her, and she turned back toward Vince. “He isn’t outside, is he?”
“I’ll look,” Vince answered, turning back toward the side door.
Katherine checked her grandfather’s bedroom, then knocked on the closed bathroom door. When he didn’t answer, she tried the knob. The door opened easily, but there was no sign of her grandfather.
Although she didn’t expect to find him in her room, she opened her door. For a moment she simply stared into the room, seeing the open dresser drawers and the box of ammo, and cans of pepper spray and mace spread across her bed. Slowly her brain absorbed each item, her gaze finally locking on the box she usually kept on the top shelf of her closet.
“He’s not outside,” Vince said, coming up behind her.
“He’s been in here,” Katherine said, understanding the significance of that box. “Darn him.”
“What?”
“He found his car keys.” She shook her head and turned to leave, nearly running into Vince. “Move it!” she yelled and pushed him aside. “He might still be in the garage.”
She didn’t remember hearing a car’s engine when they pulled up, but she’d been so intent on getting inside and getting her grandfather out of the house, she hadn’t really listened. Would he remember how to start his Durango? Would he remember how to open the garage door? He wouldn’t be trying to kill himself, would he? Just yesterday morning he’d mentioned not being around when his roses bloomed. Was he trying to tell her he was going to take his own life?
Every negative thought she could imagine flashed through her head as she rushed to the door that opened to the garage. She was afraid of what she might find . . . but she wasn’t prepared for what she didn’t find.
Her grandfather’s Dodge Durango was gone.
“Where?” was all she managed to say.
“Maybe he heard about the TV guys,” Vince said, also looking into the empty garage. “Maybe he realized they’d come here and decided on his own to leave.”
Katherine shook her head. “I don’t think he could figure that out, not on his own. Not even on his better days.”
She stepped back, closing the garage door as she did before turning toward Vince. “I’m even surprised he went through my things to find the car keys. He’s always respected my privacy, even when I was little.”
“Maybe someone helped him,” Vince suggested. “Perhaps a neighbor. The owner of the Tahoe parked out front?”
“I don’t—” she started, then stopped herself and edged past Vince to head back to the kitchen. “It’s a Chevy Tahoe,” she stated, more to herself than to him. “A tan Chevy Tahoe.”
Katherine wasn’t sure if Vince understood what she was thinking, and even she forgot what she was getting at when she looked out the kitchen window. The Tahoe was still parked in front of the house, but, while they’d been inside, a van with a TV network logo on the side had pulled in front of the SUV and another SUV, this one with a Canadian station’s logo, had parked behind it. Two other SUVs were parked across the street, and a half dozen men and women, some holding microphones, others carrying large cameras, were heading for the patch of grass that made up her grandfather’s front lawn. Neighbors were coming out of their houses, some standing in the street, all looking toward her grandfather’s house.
“The sharks have come to feed,” she muttered, remembering back to after her rescue, when the media had swarmed around, looking for sound bites, for any titillating morsel of information to print or broadcast about her abduction.
“You want me to go out and talk to them?” Vince asked. “Send them away?”
“No.” She knew how futile that would be. “They’re not going to leave, not until they have pictures of me, and can once again broadcast my past to the world.” Katherine stared at the group on the lawn. A man motioned toward the kitchen window, and others looked her way. “Damn,” she swore and stepped back so she wouldn’t be as visible.
It was then she noticed the slip of paper on the counter, half under the base of the telephone. Forgetting the reporters outside, she picked up the note and read the short message, the scribbled words bringing back memories.
I’ve got him, you Judas.
Come alone or he dies.
They all die.
Revenge is almost as sweet as honey.
Charles didn’t sign his name, but the smudge of ink with what looked like four wing shapes was as good as a signature. Katherine read the note twice. Charles’s audacity angered her. That he had her grandfather petrified her.
Hand shaking, she picked up the phone and dialed. The moment the dispatcher answered, she asked to be
put through to Gordon, her voice strained.
When he answered, all she said was, “He’s got my grandfather,” then hung up.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Vince had read the note over her shoulder. He could see the tension in her body, the way her hand was shaking, and the tremor in her voice. When she turned toward him, he automatically put his arms around her to comfort her.
Katherine stiffened and reared back, pulling away from his embrace. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, the look in her eyes definitely not appreciative.
“Trying to comfort you.”
“I don’t need any comforting.” She stepped away. “I’m fine. I can handle this. I’m a police officer. I’m in control.”
Except, she didn’t look in control, not to him, and, when the phone rang, she startled and stared at it as if it might bite.
But she didn’t reach over and answer it.
The phone rang again.
Vince watched her take in a deep breath, her gaze locked on the phone.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” he asked.
“No. No, I don’t think so.” She looked at him. “It’s probably Gordon. He’ll tell me to stay here.”
“Which you probably should do.” Vince wouldn’t argue with her statement that she was a police officer, but she certainly wasn’t in control.
Her cell phone rang next.
“In the police academy,” she said, checking the phone for the caller, and then slipping it back in its holder without answering, “we were trained that a uniform always followed the orders of a commanding officer. For years I’ve done that, but I know what Gordon is going to say. He’s going to tell me to step down, not to do anything, to let him handle the matter.” She looked back at Vince. “But how can I just sit by when my grandfather’s life is at stake?”
“You’re not going to do him any good the way you’re shaking right now.”
“I am not shaking, I’m . . . I’m—”
She closed her eyes, and this time when he put his arms around her, she didn’t pull away. Instead she leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. “Poppa’s done so much for me, and now that monster has him.”
Vince felt her take in a ragged breath, felt the tremble of her body. He wasn’t sure if she was crying or not. He wouldn’t blame her if she did. He wished he could tell her it would be all right, but he had no idea how they were going to find her grandfather or Misty or the other girl.
“I don’t want to cry,” she managed, a catch in her voice. “I cried enough those nine months he had me. But Poppa . . .”
Her voice trailed off, and Vince simply held her close.
The phone on the counter rang again. Looking over Katherine’s shoulder he could see the reporters outside. A car drove by, going slowly to avoid the people in the street, then pulled in front of the network vans. A woman got out. With so many people gathering in front of the house, Vince could barely see the hood of the Chevy Tahoe, but so far Katherine’s cruiser hadn’t been blocked.
“This is all my fault,” she said, bringing his attention back to her. “If I’d been here—”
“What?” Vince angled her back so she had to look up at his face. “Do you really think by being here you could have stopped him? Killed him? From what I’ve heard and seen, Bell has had this all planned out. He knew you wouldn’t be here. He’s trying to torture you. If you’d been here, he might have killed your grandfather in front of you. Then killed you.”
“I wished he’d killed me years ago.” She squeezed her eyes tight. “You don’t know how it feels going through life knowing you’re the one who caused your parents and brother to be murdered. Charles told me if I ever tried to escape, he’d kill anyone who helped me. Now he’s here, and he’s killed Phil and that college kid, and has taken my grandfather, Misty, and Sarah. Everything that’s happened is because of me.”
“Katherine.” Vince gave her shoulders a shake, and she opened her eyes and looked at his face. “He is the villain, not you. Even if you were in love with him when you were a teenager, you didn’t cause him to kill your family or kidnap you. And, unless you invited him here, and told him Misty would be getting off that ship yesterday morning, you’re not responsible for anything that’s happened in the last two days.”
“I didn’t love him,” she said, barely above a whisper. “How can you love someone who kills your family, who forces himself on you, and makes you do terrible things?”
Vince didn’t want to think what those terrible things might have been, and he knew letting her think about it wasn’t what they needed. He gave her one more hug, then released his hold. “Okay, enough feeling sorry for yourself. If Bell took your grandfather’s car, why? How did he get here? You said he kept you just two houses away from your home. Do you think he’s in one of the houses near here?”
He saw her frown as she wiped away the tears on her cheeks. She stepped back toward the counter and looked out the window. The reporters were still on the lawn, cameras aimed at the house. They had moved closer, away from the tan Chevy Tahoe. “That SUV,” she said and looked back at him. “That’s how he got here.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Katherine headed toward the side door. Although most of the reporters and photographers were hovering in front of the house, one lone female had stationed herself at the side door. The woman practically had her nose pressed against the glass, but Katherine didn’t hesitate. She unsnapped the flap on her holster and rested her hand on the pistol’s butt as she reached for the door knob. The woman got the message and stepped back, allowing Katherine to exit without running right into her, but it didn’t stop the reporter from firing a barrage of questions her way.
“Miss McMann, how long has The Beekeeper been in Skagway? Have you been keeping in touch with him? How did he know Tom Morgan’s daughter would be here?”
How indeed? Katherine wondered but didn’t answer. To her relief Vince exited right behind her and wedged himself between her and the reporter.
She sprinted toward the Tahoe, hoping she’d reach the vehicle before the other reporters and photographers realized what she was doing. Vince also ran with her, arms held out in an attempt to shield her from the others. Nevertheless, more reporters appeared from behind their vans, stepping in front of the Tahoe.
“Out of my way!” she demanded, again resting her hand on the butt of her Glock.
“What? Or you’ll shoot us?” one of the men asked.
“When did The Beekeeper first contact you?” another asked. “When was the last time you visited him?”
“Is it true you’re still in love with him?” a third reporter shouted, coming up behind her.
Katherine stopped no more than four feet from the SUV and turned to face the man who’d asked the question. Several reporters had their microphones pointing her way, waiting for her response. Waiting to crucify her with her own words.
Words will never hurt you, her mother used to say. Well, her mother was wrong. Words could hurt. Did hurt.
Before she could think of a response, Vince caught her by the shoulders and turned her back toward the Chevy Tahoe. “You heard her. Out of our way,” he commanded.
The two reporters stepped aside, but a woman’s voice from the side stopped Katherine from moving forward. “How could you do this to my baby?” Sarah’s mother demanded, pushing her way passed a cameraman.
Though small in stature, every inch of Mattie Wilson radiated anger. “You said you wanted my daughter to help your grandfather, but what you really wanted was to give her to him, to this monster these reporters are calling a beekeeper.”
“No. Oh, no. I would never do that,” Katherine insisted, facing her. “When I hired Sarah, I had no idea he was here, that he would take her.”
“I’ve heard what they’ve said about you,” Mattie fumed. “All these years you’ve acted so high and mighty. I tell you about when a white man rapes me, but do you tell me you understand, that you know what it’s
like? No. And why? Because you’ve been waiting for him, waiting for him to come back to you?”
“No. That isn’t true.”
“Do you think my Sarah is a slut?” Mattie demanded. “Do you think she’s like you?”
“No. Not at all. I—” Katherine looked beyond Sarah’s mother, to the reporters with their microphones all pointed her way. They’d crucified her seventeen years ago. No matter what she said, they would broadcast what they wanted, whatever they felt would draw the most viewers.
She stopped herself from trying to explain and glanced back at the Tahoe. She couldn’t tell if there was a pink cancer ribbon on the back, but, even if it had one, she wanted definite proof. “I’ve got to get inside, see who it’s registered to,” she said to Vince.
“My Sarah is a good girl,” Mattie continued, her voice becoming hysterical. “If anything has happened to her . . .”
“You!” Vince said, pointing at Sarah’s mother. “If you want your daughter found, stop bothering Officer Ward. She needs to get into this vehicle.”
He half turned toward the men and women behind him. “That means you, too. Stay out of her way.”
Katherine hesitated, surprised to see the reporters and cameramen step back. Mattie, however, stepped forward, not back, putting herself directly in front of Katherine. Her open hand hit the side of Katherine’s face with a slap that snapped Katherine’s head to the side.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Vince yelled, grabbing Sarah’s mother’s arms and pulling her back before she could do anything else.
Katherine shook off the effects of the slap and grabbed the passenger-side door handle. To her relief, the SUV’s door opened and she slid inside, quickly opening the glove compartment and looking through its contents. Looking for anything that would identify the owner of the car.
She found what she needed, not in the glove compartment, but in the console between the front seats. A stamped and addressed opened letter was wedged between a bag of cough drops and a pair of dark glasses. Katherine grabbed it and slid back out of the SUV.