But Mick had made her promise last night that she would stay away from Brad.
And she’d known when she’d made the promise that she might break it. If she succeeded, he would have to forgive her, wouldn’t he?
And if he and Sylvie were right? If Brad talked only with the intention of killing her as soon as he was done?
Then she wouldn’t have to worry about being forgiven.
Fear sent a shiver through her. Maybe she should forget the idea. Maybe she should just wait here with Mick for Brad to feed enough false evidence to the sheriff to result in their arrests. Yeah, maybe she should do nothing but wait while the DA used that fake evidence to railroad them to a conviction. Then she could spend the next twenty or thirty or forty years waiting in a cell at Mabel Bassett Correctional Center, regretting that she hadn’t grabbed what looked like their one and only chance to prove their innocence.
She had a microcassette recorder in her room, a phone there that wasn’t hooked into the switchboard here and Brad’s numbers in her address book. All she needed was a reasonable excuse to go to her room alone and the luck to find Brad somewhere in the area. She would ask to meet him someplace that was public but at the same time offered some measure of privacy—a corner table in a restaurant. She would never be more than a scream away from help, never in any danger at all.
“I guess I’d better get changed and check on Merrilee,” Sylvie said. “Earlene will be here before long to start supper.” She stood up, hesitated, then clasped Hannah’s free hand. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. You are the dearest thing in my life, and I can’t bear the thought of you being in trouble that you don’t feel you can trust me with. I am so sorry.”
Hannah’s eyes teared again, and she gave her grandmother a fierce hug. “I’m sorry, too,” she whispered.
Sylvie held her a long moment, then, with a sniffle, walked away. She looked old and troubled, Hannah thought bleakly, and all because of Brad.
“Are you okay?”
She looked at Mick. “I’m a suspect in a murder case, I’m the subject of gossip among people I’ve known all my life, my own grandmother called me a tart, and I might spend the rest of my life in prison. Considering all that, yeah, I’m okay.”
“You’re not going to prison.”
“You know that for a fact? Do you have a crystal ball you forgot to tell me about?”
“They can’t connect you to Sandra or the resort in any way. All they have is a clerk claiming a blond woman made regular visits to my room and your own admission that you spent Saturday night with me. Blond women are a dime a dozen. I’ll admit to other women, other blondes. That’s my type, you know—blue-eyed blondes. I’ll swear that I didn’t know you until I moved in here, that I persuaded you to give me an alibi. I’ll convince them that you lied about being with me. With all the other lies you’ve told and the partnership agreement my lawyer is drawing up tomorrow, Sheriff Mills won’t have any problem believing you lied again.”
She gave him a cool look. “Hell, why don’t you just save yourself the hassle of a trial and confess to killing Sandra and setting the fire? Because what you’re talking about will guarantee a conviction. Just go ahead and confess.”
“I’ve thought about it.” He said it quietly, grimly, sending a chill through her.
“To protect me?”
“There’s no reason both of us should risk prison. I was Brad’s original target. He only turned on you because I was trying to make you help me.”
She stood up, braced her hands on the table and leaned nose to nose with him. “You will not do something stupid to protect me. You will not confess to crimes you didn’t commit just because of me. I won’t allow it. Either we’re both cleared or we both go down, but I will not stand by and watch you sacrifice yourself for me.”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t back away or blink. All he did was raise one very gentle hand to her face. “I’ll do what’s best for both of us.”
“You don’t get to make that decision on your own.”
Smiling, he drew his fingers across her mouth, then pulled her an inch closer for a kiss. She broke free, fumbled his hand away and scowled at him. “Don’t try to distract me.”
“I think you’re distracting me. I’ve already forgotten what we were talking about.”
She knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around his middle, resting her head on his chest. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
“Doing whatever I can to protect you doesn’t qualify as stupid.”
“Please...”
“Darlin’, I’m not planning to do anything right now. Those are my plans for a worst-case scenario. If we’re both arrested, if Brad keeps buying witnesses to implicate you, then I intend to do whatever’s necessary to keep you safe. But I won’t do anything right now. I promise.”
He held her for a long time, and she let him, putting off the lie she didn’t want to tell, the call she didn’t want to make, the chance she was terrified to take. She had so much at stake—their freedom, their futures, maybe her life. If she was wrong about Brad, she stood to lose so much.
But if she was right, she stood to gain more.
Finally Mick tilted her face up. “You want to go make love in the rain?”
She smiled faintly. She’d played in the rain countless times, but never that kind of play, never in the sort of summertime-warm light shower that was falling now. Though she was tempted, she shook her head. “I have a headache. I’m going to my room to get some aspirin.”
“A headache. Such a sorry excuse,” he teased. He touched his fingers to her forehead, her temple, her jaw, as if to erase the tension there, then pulled her to her feet. “Why don’t you close the drapes, turn off the lights and lie down for a while? If Sylvie or Merrilee needs anything, I’ll be here.”
“For a while,” she agreed, hating the guilt that filled her. Quickly, before it overwhelmed her or her courage fled, she left the office and went to her room. There she dialed Brad’s house.
He answered on the third ring, sounding friendly, harmless. He wasn’t, she reminded herself. He was the most dangerous man she’d ever known. As long as she kept that in mind, though, she should be safe.
He repeated his greeting before she managed to make her voice work. When she finally did, it was unsteady and weak. “Brad? This is Hannah. I’d like to talk to you. Can we meet someplace?”
Rain had given way to a light mist when Mick left the tablet full of notes, figures and calculations and walked out into the parking lot to face the motel. The dampness cooled his skin and collected in tiny drops on his shirt before soaking into the fabric. He ignored the mist as he stared at the motel, imagining it as it had looked brand-new, only better. It was easy to picture the neon sign above the asphalt parking lot, the big plate-glass windows that looked in on lots of chrome and an old-fashioned soda fountain. It was even easy to imagine cars filling the lot, instead of just the three that were there now—his, Sylvie’s and Hannah’s little blue—
He took a few steps toward his truck. Last night he had pulled into the lot and parked right next to Hannah’s car. When he’d gone to the room to get the statements for Trey Landry this afternoon, her car had been right there. So where the hell was it now?
After another few steps he broke into a trot, then an all-out run. He let himself into his own room, then went through the connecting doors to Hannah’s quarters. The lights were off, the air conditioner silent, the rooms empty. He knew it before he went into the bedroom, before he checked the bathroom. A bottle of aspirin sat on the counter, with a throwaway cup, still damp, beside it.
He returned to the living room and looked around again. Two empty packages sat on the desk. One had held AA batteries, the other a blank microcassette. The address book on the desk was open to the D’s. Brad’s name was third on the list.
God help her, she had gone to meet Brad.
Fear building, he went back out. Footprints beside his truck were filled with water. Judging f
rom the tire tracks, they led directly from the sidewalk to where her car had been parked.
Spinning around, he returned to the lobby only long enough to yell to her grandmother, “Sylvie, I’m going out!”
“Take Hannah with you. She could use...”
The old lady’s words faded away as he shoved through the door and headed for his truck. Instinctively he turned out of the parking lot toward Yates. Maybe the town was her destination, or maybe someplace in between. Roads branching off the highway led to the resort, to the Daniels cabin, to Brad’s rental house on the lake.
Dear God, she wouldn’t go to Brad’s house, would she? She couldn’t possibly be so foolish, could she?
Of course she could. Sneaking off like this, meeting Brad anywhere, under any circumstances, thinking she could beat him at his own game... There was apparently nothing too foolish for Hannah to consider.
Driving with one hand, he punched Brad’s home number into the cellular. The phone rang five times, then the answering machine picked up. He disconnected, then dialed again, this time Brad’s cellular. On the second ring the bastard answered. Mick disconnected again.
Okay. Brad was in his car, which most likely meant he was meeting Hannah somewhere, but where? The resort? The turn was in sight ahead. If Mick wanted to check it out, he had to start slowing down soon. But what if he was wrong? What if he lost precious time driving that long curving road only to find the resort ruins empty?
At the last possible moment he swung the steering wheel sharply to the right, skidded to the opposite side of the resort road, then recovered. Maybe he was wrong. Surely Hannah wouldn’t come here alone with Brad, not after what had happened to Sandra.
At least he hoped she wouldn’t.
He prayed.
Hannah pulled into a parking space at Smoky Joe’s Bar-B-Q, shut off the engine and looked around. She didn’t see Brad’s Mercedes anywhere. Good. She’d hurried to get here first, so she could choose the best vantage point inside. She’d wanted to be there waiting for him, calm and confident, when he arrived.
Patting her pocket to make sure the tape recorder was in place, she climbed out of the car and started toward the side door of the restaurant. She hadn’t gone more than ten feet when a figure stepped out from behind a van and blocked her way. It was Brad.
He looked so normal, so handsome, with his blond hair, brown eyes, charming smile. Everything about him, from his clothes to his bearing to his self-indulgent attitude, spoke of wealth. Nothing hinted that he was a murderer.
“You’re early,” he said politely.
He’d given her an hour. She’d taken nearly forty-five minutes of it, finding new batteries, making certain the tape recorder worked, experimenting so she could turn it on blindly, building her courage.
That courage was fleeing now. Swallowing hard, she took an involuntary step back. They were alone in the parking lot, and the dining tables at the nearest windows were empty. The parking lot was behind the restaurant, out of sight of the street, with nothing on either side but the blank brick walls of the next-door businesses. So much for her careful plans. This was a lousy place to be with a killer.
“You know,” he said, “I decided on the way in that I wasn’t in the mood for Smoky Joe’s, after all. All the noise, all the smoke... Let’s take a drive, instead.”
He came toward her, and she backed away until she had cleared the van. She gave the parking lot a quick scan. Her car was only twenty feet away, but even if she could reach it, the lock on the driver’s door didn’t work. The restaurant door was about forty feet in the opposite direction, but she would have to go around Brad to get there. Maybe she could run around the building, out of the lot and into the street, screaming all the way.
But he was too close. With a friendly smile he took hold of her arm just above the elbow, his fingers biting into her flesh, and steered her toward the back of the lot. There, on the far side of the Dumpster, was the Mercedes.
He unlocked the driver’s door, shoved her inside and waited impatiently while she scrambled across to the passenger seat. Trying the passenger door was too great a temptation to resist, but it was locked, and by the time she’d located the button to unlock it, Brad was sitting only inches away.
“Better put your seat belt on, Hannah,” he said as he fastened his own. “I’d hate for anything to happen to you on our drive.”
“I don’t want to go for a drive,” she said as she fumbled the seat belt into place. “I just want to talk.”
“When I’m ready.” He backed out of the space, left the lot and turned toward Sunshine.
She’d made a terrible mistake. There were a hundred places off the highway where he could take her—isolated places, places anyone unfamiliar with the area would never find, places where a body would never be found. She didn’t want to die. This was a really bad idea. Mick had been right.
Her heart contracted at the thought of him. She had almost told him this afternoon that she loved him. When he’d told her that he was serious enough to stay at the motel forever, she’d almost told him, but for some stupid reason she’d kept the words to herself. Maybe she’d wanted him to commit first. Maybe she’d wanted to wait until this cloud of suspicion was no longer over their heads. Maybe she’d just been a fool.
Now she might never get to tell him.
The Mercedes’ wipers worked rhythmically, sweeping the windshield clean with each pass. Hannah focused on them, using their steady action and repetitive sound to keep her fear under control. After a few miles her gaze drifted past the wipers to the highway ahead. There was little oncoming traffic—a minivan, a bright yellow church bus, a couple of cars, a dark blue truck—
Catching her breath, she sat very still, allowing only her eyes to move. Mick’s truck was exactly that model, exactly that color. Had he discovered that she was gone and come looking for her? She watched, waited, but just as the truck drew closer, Brad looked at her and spoke, distracting her, making her jump.
“Have you ever been to the resort, Hannah?”
“Yes.” Her lips barely moved, and in her lap, her hands knotted into fists. Please, God, let it be Mick, she silently prayed while keeping her gaze locked with Brad’s. Let him see us, but don’t let Brad see him.
“Really? I suppose Mick must have given you the nickel tour.” He grinned. “It used to be the fifty-cent tour, but fifty cents is a lot to pay for ashes and soot.”
“The insurance company is going to pay a hell of a lot more than that.”
“True, but most of that goes to the bank that financed the construction. I hate to admit it, but Mick was right. He was against the idea of the resort from the beginning. He said the place would eat us alive, and he was right. Damn his soul, he was right.”
There’d been no sign of Hannah at the resort. Now Mick was headed toward Yates once again, indecisive as hell and hating it. Should he take the time to check Brad’s house? Just because the machine had picked up Mick’s call didn’t mean Brad wasn’t home. He might have been away from the phone or getting something from his car outside. But surely Hannah wouldn’t go to his house. Surely even she would recognize the danger there.
But he couldn’t count on her to be thinking clearly. The simple fact that she’d gone to meet Brad proved that she wasn’t.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he cursed the traffic on the road. It was a rainy Sunday afternoon. Why weren’t these people home where they belonged? Why wasn’t Hannah home where she belonged? Damn it, if anything happened to her...
The thought turned him to ice inside. If anything happened to her, Brad was dead. It was that simple.
The oncoming car was only a few yards away before he glanced at it, was almost even with him before he recognized it as Brad’s Mercedes. He whipped around in the seat, staring hard, and made out a figure in the passenger seat—slender, blond. Hannah! The fear in his gut told him it was. Thank God, she was alive.
Now he had to keep her that way.
The bla
re of a horn jerked his attention to the road again. He swerved back into his lane, hit the brakes and searched for a place to turn around. The tires bumped off the road, then back on, as he swung the steering wheel in a tight U. The Mercedes was almost out of sight, just a dark form ahead of the last car. As Mick debated what to do, the import’s left-turn signal blinked. They were going to the resort.
He reached for the cellular and dialed 911. After a moment the call was connected to the Yates County Sheriff’s Department. “Tell Sheriff Mills to get out to the Eagle’s Haven Resort.” He thought of Hannah, of Brad and Sandra, and grimly, ominously added, “Someone’s going to die.”
Under the guise of turning to face Brad, Hannah looked at the road behind them. All she saw were headlights from approaching cars and taillights from those that had just passed. She couldn’t identify the dark blue truck in the bunch.
As the Mercedes slowed, she looked ahead again. The turnoff to the resort was ahead on the left, broad and planted on either side with low-maintenance shrubs before it disappeared into the trees. She had thought it appealing the first time she’d seen it—a road that beckoned travelers to explore to its end. Now, for all the appeal she found, it might as well be a narrow dark lane cutting through a grotesque and menacing black forest.
“That was where the golf course would have gone,” Brad said, gesturing out her window. “One of the top designers in the field drew up the preliminary plans. This side was going to remain wooded, with a state-of-the-art jogging trail winding through. We had some hotshot horticulturist on tap to lay out the best woodland garden money could buy. This place was going to offer the best of everything.”
It had been his dream, Hannah remembered. But the dream had had a few fatal flaws. Now everyone else was paying for it. Barring a miracle, she would soon pay dearly.
He slowed for the last curve and came into the parking lot. On the left Lake Eufala was gray and choppy. On the right the ruins of the resort were forbidding. She looked that way, swallowed hard and couldn’t look back again.
The Overnight Alibi Page 22