Flight

by Laura Griffin

  She looked up at him and bit her lip, and Joel tried to tamp down his impatience.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said. And I want you to know you’re wrong about us,” she said.

  “Wrong about what?”

  “Trevor. And me. We’d never hurt anyone. And Trevor—you don’t know him, but he’s a good person. I mean, he’s made some mistakes, but never anything serious, not like what that guy Romero was saying.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know him, all right?”

  “All right. So, what did you want to show me?”

  No response. She bit her lip again, and Joel felt a swell of frustration.

  “I got the names for you.”

  “Names?”

  “Alpha Omega Now. Well, not names, really, but the email list.” She tugged a folded paper from her back pocket. “There’s five hundred, give or take. You’ll have to figure out the names yourself. I just have the emails.”

  She handed it over, and he saw that it was several papers stapled together.

  He looked at her. “Anyone you want to flag?”

  “No. I told you. We’re not violent.” She looked defiant. “I still think you’re wrong about this, but you’re right that I don’t know everyone personally, so . . . whatever. Knock yourself out. Hopefully, you’ll find what you’re looking for and leave me and Trevor alone.”

  Joel folded the paper and tucked it away. “Thank you. You’re doing the right thing here.”

  She sniffed and rolled her eyes.

  “Stay out of trouble, all right?”

  Another eye roll.

  Joel walked back to his truck and slid behind the wheel. In his rearview mirror, he watched Gillian walk down the sidewalk toward the inn where Trevor was waiting for his snacks.

  Joel unfolded the papers in his lap. It was getting dark, and he flipped on the overhead light to read.

  It was a long list of email addresses, no names. Joel gritted his teeth as he scanned the pages. This would take hours to go through. Most of the dot-coms were Internet providers, not private businesses. He noticed a few dot-orgs and dot-edus mixed in.

  A name snagged his attention, and Joel’s heart skipped a beat. He blinked down at the paper.

  “No fucking way.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Nicole’s phone vibrated on the table. Joel.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Where are you?” he demanded.

  “At the station. Why?”

  “I just got the email list of Alpha Omega Now members.”

  Nicole sat up straighter. “Where’d you get that?”

  “Gillian. Listen, there are three names on here from Lost Beach BCNC dot-org.”

  “BCNC?”

  “Birding Center and Nature Conservatory,” he said.

  “Who are they?”

  “Jason Freeman, Daisy Miller, and Tom Miller. All three of them are members.”

  “Jason is one of their bird experts,” she said. “So is Daisy. Who’s Tom?”

  “The groundskeeper,” Joel said. “He’s Daisy’s husband. And, listen, Tom’s also the person I called to find out who worked at the nature center front desk. Remember when Miranda recognized the guy on the bike, and so we found out who he was and went and interviewed him?”

  A chill slithered down Nicole’s spine. “And then he ended up dead.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Damn, Joel.”

  “I know. Who all’s there? We need to pick up these three suspects and—”

  “Joel, oh my God. Miranda.”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s at the nature center right now.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She wanted to talk to Daisy about a feather.”

  Silence.

  “Joel? Hello?”

  He’d hung up.

  * * *

  * * *

  Miranda walked back to the science laboratory. It was empty. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was lurking around.

  Her phone chimed. She pulled it from her pocket and wandered back over to the starfish tank.

  “Hi,” she said to Joel.

  “Where are you?”

  His sharp tone put her on edge.

  “At the nature center. Listen, I just found something very strange here. I was about to—”

  “Get out of there.”

  “What?”

  “You need to get out of there right now. Three people who work there just jumped to the top of our suspect list.”

  She went still.

  “Miranda?”

  “I hear you. Hold on.” She muffled her phone against her chest and crept toward the science lab. Keeping out of sight, she peeked inside.

  A shadow moved near the window. Someone was in the lab. Miranda spied her purse on the desk beside Daisy’s computer. Her car keys were inside it. So was her pepper spray.

  The shadow moved and Miranda ducked back into the Discovery Center. She disconnected the call with Joel. With trembling fingers, she sent him a quick text.

  Leaving. Do not call.

  He responded instantly: On my way.

  Ducking low, Miranda hurried to the other end of the greenhouse. The door there was unlocked. Slowly, she pulled it open. She found herself in a soaring atrium surrounded by lush tropical plants. Water gurgled from somewhere nearby. A monarch butterfly fluttered past her face and alighted on a shiny green leaf.

  With a glance behind her, Miranda scurried over a wooden footbridge and reached another door. She opened it, hoping for a way outside. But instead she found herself in another science lab, this one dark. A big black table stood in the center and file drawers lined the wall. A red exit sign glowed on the far side of the room. Miranda hurried toward it. Passing the file drawers, she noticed the labels.

  Birds.

  Miranda stopped. She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder, then tugged open a drawer. The shallow tray held a pair of long blue feathers.

  They had a reference collection. Right here on-site. She took out her phone and snapped a photo.

  Footsteps.

  Miranda dashed toward the door. She tried it, but it was locked.

  The footsteps drew closer, and she ducked down and crawled under the big black table. Holding her breath, she listened as someone stepped into the room.

  “I don’t know. She was just here.”

  It was Daisy. She was on the phone with someone.

  “How should I know?” Daisy’s voice was closer now.

  Miranda stayed stock-still, holding her breath as her heart hammered against her ribs.

  “Fine.”

  A door clicked shut, and the footsteps faded away.

  Miranda let out a breath. She scrambled out from under the table and looked around.

  She had to get back to her purse. She tiptoed down the corridor, straining for any hint of sound. Through the greenhouse window, she caught a blur of pink as Daisy strode across the Discovery Center and went back into the main lobby.

  Miranda jogged back to the science lab. She peeked her head around the corner. The lab was empty. She darted to the desk and grabbed her purse and immediately fished the tube of pepper spray from the bottom as she hurried back to the glass door.

  The lobby looked empty. Miranda’s heart raced as she paused beside the door, searching for any shadow or movement or even a hint that someone was there.

  Miranda set her sights on the back exit. She made a run for it.

  The door was still unlocked, thank God. She stepped into the muggy night air and glanced around.

  The wooden boardwalk stretched out across the dark marshland. Every fifty feet or so, a small light illuminated the path. The trails looked
deserted.

  Miranda hurried around the side of the building and spotted her Jeep in the front row. She glanced at the lobby. The science lab still glowed, but everything else was dark. The only other vehicle nearby was a lone white pickup truck on the far edge of the parking lot.

  Gripping her pepper spray, Miranda dashed to her Jeep. She hadn’t locked it, and she jerked open the door. Her gaze landed on the front tire.

  Flat.

  Panic zinged through her. The back tire was flat, too. Someone had slashed her tires!

  She shot a desperate glance at the highway. Where was Joel?

  Pop!

  Miranda dove to the ground.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Gunshot.

  Miranda’s heart jackhammered as she crouched by the bumper. She peered around the side of the Jeep as a shadow moved behind the riding mower.

  Her pulse skittered, and she scrambled to the other side of the Jeep. She looked at the highway. No police cars, no sirens, no Joel.

  The shadowy figure darted from the mower to the building. Was he running away?

  She felt like a sitting duck in the vast lot with her disabled car. Gripping her pepper spray, she looked around and tried to think of a plan.

  Joel was on his way.

  She needed to hide. And warn him.

  Not far away was a clump of palmetto trees at the entrance to one of the trails. She eased forward on the balls of her feet, heart racing as she looked around.

  She took a deep breath and sprinted for the trees. Her T-shirt snagged as she darted behind them. She jerked the fabric free and ducked low, looking through the palm fronds.

  Had anyone seen her?

  She looked at the highway and pulled her phone from her pocket. With trembling fingers she texted a message.

  Call backup they r shooting.

  * * *

  * * *

  Joel’s heart jumped into his throat as he read the text. He stomped on the gas as he tapped a response.

  Almost there. Take cover.

  Joel’s truck skidded as he whipped into the parking lot. He spied Miranda’s Jeep parked near the entrance. The driver’s-side door stood open, but she was nowhere in sight. He raced across the lot and screeched to a halt, and his stomach clenched as he noticed the Jeep’s tires.

  * * *

  * * *

  Miranda ducked low as she peered around the clump of trees. Cool water seeped between her toes and she wished she had on sneakers instead of flip-flops. She crept around a shrub, eyeing the wooden boardwalk nearby. The long walkway spanned the marsh and linked up with a gravel trail that led straight into the nearby neighborhood. If she could make it to the trail, she’d be able to duck behind the foliage as she ran for help.

  Mud sucked at her flip-flop as she tried to move.

  Thwack.

  She crouched down, hoping no one had heard the sound. She stepped out of the shoes, and mud oozed between her toes. She surveyed the boardwalk, looking for any sign of movement.

  Her gaze landed on a sign. BEWARE OF ALLIGATORS.

  Miranda stepped onto the boardwalk and made a sprint for the trees. She ran as fast as she could, clutching her pepper spray.

  Pop!

  She jumped off the path into a clump of cattails. Panicked, she looked around.

  Where had that shot come from?

  She ducked low, wading through the knee-deep water. She found a dense clump of cattails and squatted down, getting her shorts wet.

  Peering through the reeds, she tried to spot the shooter.

  She scanned the path but didn’t see anyone. Her gaze landed on the turtle tanks. They weren’t far away, maybe thirty yards, much closer than the nearest neighborhood. She could hide behind them until the police came.

  Ducking behind the reeds, she slowly waded out until the water reached her thighs. What about her phone? She put it in her mouth, clamping it between her teeth as she lowered herself into the cool black water. Heart pounding, she swam toward the dock.

  * * *

  * * *

  Joel pressed his back against the brick and gripped his Glock as he looked around. Where was she? He scanned the dark marshes, looking for any sign of movement. Where the hell was his backup?

  A flash of movement at the top of the observation tower caught his eye.

  Someone was up there. A lone dark figure, watching over everything with a pair of binoculars.

  Was it Jason Freeman? Tom Miller?

  Was it Daisy, spotting for her husband?

  Dread filled his stomach as he watched the figure move to the edge of the platform. Following the line of sight, Joel zeroed in on the long boardwalk leading to the turtle tanks.

  Something moved in the water.

  Miranda.

  * * *

  * * *

  She strained to keep her head above water, along with her phone, as she did a frog-like breaststroke toward the tanks. She was almost there. Almost. She scanned the dock for a ladder but didn’t see one. She was going to have to heave herself out of the water. She only hoped she could do it silently.

  Miranda’s shoulders ached. Her thighs burned. She inched closer and closer to the covered dock with the big blue tanks.

  Something cold brushed her leg, and she gasped, dropping her phone.

  Tears burned her eyes. She dunked her head under and felt around, but it was no use. She couldn’t even touch the bottom here. She glanced back at the nature center, a hulking black shadow that seemed miles away. The only light came from a pair of floodlights aimed at the parking lot.

  Salt water stung her eyes as she set her sights on the tanks. She was almost there, and she spied a ladder. She swam toward it, unencumbered now except for the pepper spray still gripped in her hand.

  Almost there. Almost there. Almost there.

  She took a last hard stroke and glided into the ladder. She tucked the tube of pepper spray into her bra and gripped the ladder’s sides. Her foot slipped on the slimy bottom rung, but she hung on and pulled herself up.

  She spotted a small skiff tied to the end of the dock. Adrenaline shot through her. Could she use it to get away? But it probably needed a key. And it might have one of those noisy pull-starts. She’d never get it going without drawing attention to herself.

  Crouching low, she looked at the nature center. She didn’t see a person or even a shadow. Help was coming, and she just needed to hide and wait. She scurried behind the big blue tank and sank to her knees.

  Please be careful, Joel. Please please please. She hoped he’d called backup, and she hoped to hell they didn’t get into a firefight.

  Miranda’s gaze landed on the skiff. A life jacket was stowed near the motor, along with something else.

  A flare gun.

  Not the best weapon, but probably better than the pepper spray in her bra. She crawled across the dock and reached into the boat for the gun.

  “Well, well.”

  A tall shadow stepped out from behind a post.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  The man walked out from beneath the overhang, and Miranda’s stomach clenched as she got a look at his face. Tom, the groundskeeper. Daisy’s husband.

  He pointed a pistol at her face.

  “Get in the boat.”

  She stared at him.

  “Now.” He stepped closer, aiming the gun with a steady hand. “You and me are going for a ride.”

  Miranda’s heart clenched, and she thought of her pepper spray. If she turned away from him, maybe she could reach for it.

  “Now.”

  Miranda scooted over to the boat but didn’t get in.

  Tom stepped closer, towering over her now. Something moved behind him, about fifty feet away.

  Joel.

  Miranda tried not
to look at him, tried to focus on Tom and the gun pointed at her as she grabbed the side of the boat and stepped into it.

  “Police! Drop it!”

  She dove into the water, swimming down down down and holding her breath until her lungs wanted to burst. Still she kept swimming and swimming until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Finally, she surfaced and turned around.

  A pile of bodies at the end of the dock made her heart lurch.

  Joel. And Owen and Emmet.

  Tom was pinned beneath them as they handcuffed him.

  “Miranda!”

  Joel did a racing dive off the dock and swam toward her.

  She blinked the salt water from her eyes and paddled toward him, spitting and shaking.

  “You okay? You hurt?” His arm wrapped around her, pulling her close. He lifted her with his hip so she could get her face above water.

  “Miranda, talk to me. Are you hurt?”

  “I’m okay.” She gripped his arm. “I’m good.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Lit by a thousand klieg lights, the nature center looked like a high school football stadium on a Friday night. Nicole traipsed across the parking lot to the mobile command center the sheriff had set up. As opposed to last time, it had taken him less than an hour to descend on the crime scene with a cadre of crime scene techs and eager-beaver deputies. Evidently, the sheriff didn’t want to be left out of the news coverage now that they’d made an arrest.

  Nicole skirted around the yellow crime scene tape and approached the huddle of cops near Miranda’s Jeep. A CSI crouched there now, photographing the slashed tires.

  Joel looked up at Nicole.

  “It’s a match,” she told him.

  His expression hardened. “Him or her?”

  “Her.”

  “I knew it.”

  Tom and Daisy Miller had been arrested and printed. Daisy’s palm print matched the karate-chop print found on the windows of the Airstream camper. Apparently, Daisy—and possibly her husband—had spied on the victims before killing them.