She shook her head. “It’s just the handyman. I can get rid of him.”
Brett pulled his gun from the holster. “Be quick.”
He followed her to the door but stood hidden from view.
Lindsey took a breath. This was her only chance. She opened the door a fraction. “Hi, Terry!” She glanced over at Brett. “Right now, isn’t a good time, but Em next door was telling me she needed your help with something. Could you let her know that I had to go to Rachel and Rory’s rock for a photoshoot?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” His gaze flicked above her head and into the house.
She held tight to the door, narrowing the opening as Brett pressed the barrel of the gun into her abdomen.
“Yes, I’m fine.” It was taking everything she had to keep it together. “Just pop over to Em’s and let her know about Rachel and Rory. I’m running horribly late. I’m so sorry, Terry.”
“Will do,” he said, giving her a nod.
He turned and left the porch.
As soon as the front door closed, Brett was right behind her. “That’s a good girl.”
An umbrella sat in the corner, not five feet away. But before Lindsey could lunge for it, a sharp stinging sensation pricked her arm. She tried to stay upright, clawing at anything to remain vertical.
“Easy there,” Brett said.
She inhaled the spicy scent of his cologne and threw a punch. But her limbs weren’t responding to her commands.
Brett’s face came into view, and those whiskey eyes glowed triumphantly. “Sweet dreams, my love.”
“Nick, you’ve got to see this.”
Nick raised his head from where he was skimming over some new aviation regulations and met the charter pilot’s gaze. “What is it, Zach?”
“Remember those doctors from about a month or so ago? You know, the ones who wanted me to take them to that unregistered airfield?”
Nick’s jaw twitched. “I saw on the news last night that one of them got arrested for drugs.”
“There’s more. The news is reporting that he hung himself in jail last night, and the other two doctors, the lady, and the creepy quiet guy are said to be on the run.”
Nick followed Zach out of his office and down to the pilots’ lounge.
“It’s still on,” Zach said, stopping in front of the television screen.
The image on the television changed, and three pictures were plastered across the screen. Zach tried to say something, but Nick put his hand up, quieting the man as the news reporter spoke.
Dr. Mason Mathews, the former prominent Houston surgeon, was found dead in his jail cell this morning. He was awaiting a bail hearing on nearly one hundred and twenty counts of forgery and trafficking of a controlled substance. His brother, Dr. Brett Mathews, has also been charged with forgery and trafficking. However, his whereabouts are currently unknown. He’s considered to be armed and dangerous. If you see this man, please contact the FBI task force number at the bottom of the screen. Claire Mathews, the wife of Dr. Mason Mathews, is also being sought for questioning. Her whereabouts are also unknown.
“Mathews,” Nick said in a tight gasp. He had been face-to-face with Lindsey’s abuser and hadn’t even known it. His chest tightened as adrenaline shot through his body.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Lindsey. The call went to voicemail.
She could be working. When she was editing photos, she would disappear into her work for hours. How many times had he found her working at the kitchen table at two in the morning, bleary-eyed and having completely lost track of time? Too many to count.
He called again.
Fucking voicemail.
He glanced at his watch. It was almost five thirty. He would need to leave to get home so they could make it to the Rose Brooks fundraiser by six thirty. She was probably just getting the last touches done on the photography project. That had to be it. It was the most logical conclusion.
He glanced back at the screen. Brett Mathew’s icy brown eyes flashed vacant and menacing.
Christ, he should have flown down to Texas and beat the ever-loving fuck out of this degenerate when he had the chance. And he’d known those two were up to no good that day he confronted them even without knowing their identity.
Claire Mathews’ picture flashed onto the screen.
Hot bile rose in Nick’s throat. She had tried to contact Lindsey. Was Claire working with Brett or was she trying to warn Lindsey? There was no way he could know.
An incoming call buzzed on his phone, but it wasn’t from Lindsey.
“Em,” he said, answering the call, “can you go over to the house and check on Lindsey? I can’t get ahold of her.”
He didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Lindsey had assured him Brett knew nothing of Langley Park or her time here. But the same awful twist in his chest he’d felt when he’d last encountered Brett and Mason Mathews tightened like a vice.
“She’s not there, Nick,” Em answered. “But Terry’s here. He was on my porch when I got home a few minutes ago.”
“Did Terry see her? He was supposed to install the shutters on the front window.”
The sound of Em’s voice grew muffled. She was speaking to someone.
“He said he saw her about an hour and a half ago. He says he knocked on the door. Lindsey answered, but she wouldn’t let him inside.”
Nick swallowed. That wasn’t like Lindsey. There was no reason she shouldn’t have let Terry in unless someone was preventing her from doing so.
“Em, Brett Mathews, Lindsey’s Brett Mathews, has warrants out for his arrest. He’s part of some multi-state, illegal opioid drug trafficking ring and the news just said he was on the run. He’s flown into my airport. I don’t know if he knows Lindsey’s in Langley Park, but we have to assume that somehow, he found out.”
Em gasped.
“Ask Terry if he remembers anything else about his interaction with Lindsey.”
“Hold on, Nick,” Em said.
Nick turned up the volume on his phone, trying to make out their muffled conversation.
“Terry says Lindsey told him she needed to leave to go do a photoshoot at Rachel and Rory’s rock. I guess she said it a couple of times. Terry didn’t know what she was talking about, but she kept asking him to make sure he told me that.”
If he weren’t still standing, Nick would have sworn his heart had stopped beating. “Rachel and Rory’s rock? This is important, Em, ask Terry if that’s exactly what she said.”
His heart thundered in his chest. That rock was their place. He was the only other person who would have understood the location.
She was trying to send a message to him.
“Yes, Nick, Terry says she was really adamant about it. Rachel and Rory’s rock.”
“Rachel and Rory’s rock is a place only Lindsey and I know about at Camp Clemens in the Ozarks.” He took a breath. “When did Terry last see Lindsey?”
He needed a timeline. It was a four-hour bus ride from Langley Park to Camp Clem. In a speeding car, it could be anywhere from three to three and a half hours.
“Jesus!” Em breathed. “Do you think he found her?”
“Em, what time?” he asked again, urgency lacing each word.
“Terry says around four.” Em paused. “Nick, what should we do?”
“If it is Brett, he’s most likely traveling by car. Plane travel would be too risky.”
Nick’s mind was working fast. Camp Clem was a forty-minute plane ride. It would be close, but he could beat them there.
“Em, I need you to call the FBI. I need you to tell them we think Brett may have taken Lindsey to Camp Clem. I don’t know why they’d go there. But that’s what she was trying to tell us. She at least believed she’d be going there.”
“What if they don’t believe me, Nick? This sounds crazy.”
“Em, you’ve got to try. If the FBI blows you off, call the Langley Park police. Ask for Clay. I’m sure he’s got contacts.”
“But Brett’s not supposed to know anything about Langley Park or Camp Clemens.” She was crying.
Nick inhaled a shaky breath as the memory of the first time his grandfather allowed him to take the yoke and fly the old Cessna Skyhawk flashed through his mind. He could hear his grandfather guiding him through the headset.
“Steady, Nicholas. Don’t let fear get the better of you. You’re the one in control.”
“Em,” he said, calmly, “I need you to focus. There’s a good chance he found her. What I need you to do right now is to let the FBI know I’m taking my plane, and I’m flying to Camp Clem. If Brett has Lindsey, and that’s where he’s taking her, I’ll beat him there, and I’ll get her back.”
24
Lindsey released a sigh as the breeze blew strands of hair across her face, tickling her nose. She was in her parents’ Volvo, and the steady thrum of the engine threatened to lull her back to sleep. Where were they going this time? Last summer, she and her parents had visited Sebago Lake. Could they be heading down to Vermont to tour the Ben and Jerry’s ice cream factory? Her father had promised he would take her since she had gotten all A’s on her third-grade report card.
Lindsey blinked. Thoughts flitted and floated through her mind like the snowy-white, airborne fluff from a cottonwood tree. Real events twisted and morphed into dreamlike scenarios that didn’t make any sense. She tried to brush the hair off her face, but her hands were stuck together, bound by something at her wrists.
She opened her eyes a fraction, and a sliver of late afternoon sunlight assaulted her vision, blinding her momentarily.
Where was she?
She focused on her breath and tried to order her thoughts.
A car. She was lying down in the back seat of a car.
She tried again to raise her eyelids. This time, she managed to keep them open. A plane came into view, flying overhead like a white speck darting across a sea of blue. She watched it until it disappeared from her vantage point. The scent of leather hit her next. It was like she had been offline, and all her senses were rebooting. She looked to the side. Black leather seats.
This wasn’t the faded, tan fabric of her parents’ Volvo, and she wasn’t in the third grade.
The haze clouding her brain cleared.
Brett was in her house. Her shoulder throbbed. He’d given her a shot and drugged her with something. The last thing she could recall was a sharp stinging sensation in her arm before a thick, black curtain fell and darkness descended.
“Good, you’re up. We’re almost there.”
Brett’s deceptively smooth tone sent a shiver down her spine. He was back to being the controlled surgeon.
“Where?” she whispered. She licked her lips. Her mouth was dry, and the word came out in a cracked syllable.
“Your little summer camp. I own it. I should rephrase. My associates and I own it.”
“Did you buy it to punish me?”
Brett laughed. “No, my love. I checked into it after you had spoken so fondly of it. But I wasn’t interested in any sentimental value it held. It’s remoteness and availability were what piqued my interest. It serves as the perfect midpoint and storage facility between myself and my partners.” He met her gaze in the mirror. “And nobody asks any questions in the Ozarks.”
A spark of hope grew in her chest. If Terry had gotten to Em right away, and Em had called Nick to try and figure out the Rachel and Rory reference, there could be police waiting for them. Brett was on the run from something. There was no way he would leave a life of accolades and prestige if there weren’t a damn good reason.
Lindsey watched him in the rearview mirror. “Where are Mason and Claire? Are they meeting us at the camp?”
His jaw clenched.
She’d hit a nerve.
“Mason proved to be weak.” Brett tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “And Claire proved to be disloyal. You’re fortunate I care for you so much, Lindsey. You’re also very lucky I’ve decided to take you back.”
“What do you mean, disloyal?”
An icy smirk returned to his lips. “You’ll see.”
Brett made a hard right, and the smooth pavement beneath them changed to the crack and crunch of gravel. They wound their way up the rough road as the light dimmed under the heavy Ozark canopy of foliage. It was getting late. Close to sundown. Another airplane passed overhead, and tears welled in Lindsey’s eyes. They were on the road to Camp Clem. If the police had been called, wouldn’t they have stopped them by now? Wouldn’t it have been easier to apprehend Brett on the open road?
She had been close to having everything. A career. A community. Real friends. Nick and the baby. She swallowed back a sob.
Do not fall apart.
The light warmed as they pulled into some sort of clearing. She twisted her body to get a better view. It wasn’t a clearing. They were near the camp lodge. She recognized the peeling gray-blue paint from when she and Nick had visited.
Brett drove down the sloping hill toward the lake. Through the half-open window, the familiar sounds of the water and the crisp smell of shortleaf pines and bushy dogwoods took her back to another time, a happier time.
She closed her eyes.
Hold on to that. Hold on to the love. Find a way to escape.
The car stopped, and Brett cut the engine. He got out and opened the back door. She tried to look past his looming form. He ran his hand down the length of her calf, and her eyes snapped back and met his gaze. If it were anyone else, it would have been a tender gesture. But from Brett, a gentle touch was a prelude to pain.
He twisted her foot, and the taste of blood flooded her mouth. An excruciating jolt of pain shot through her ankle. He held her there, balancing on the edge of agony. “We’re going into the boathouse. If I were you, I’d think very carefully about trying to run. I have very dangerous business associates, Lindsey. One call and I can have your Nick and your godmother killed before breakfast tomorrow. There’s also the question of the child. Don’t forget, I’m a surgeon. I can make that baby go away, too.”
Lindsey gritted her teeth. What hurt worse, the physical torment or the mental? She released a pained whimper.
“Are you going to be a good girl and cooperate?”
She nodded. The pain was everywhere. In her mind. In her body. Her breath came in rapid gasps. Her ankle felt ready to snap—the muscles of her leg burning, the tendons close to tearing.
He twisted her ankle another millimeter. “Answer me.”
“Yes, yes,” she cried.
Brett released his grip and yanked her out of the car by her bound wrists.
He pulled back the tarp covering the entrance to the boathouse and pushed her inside. She stumbled into the dim space, blinking as bits of dust and earth disturbed by the tarp swirled in a haze of golden light. A person sat hunched near the opening, close to the water’s edge. Lindsey steadied herself and locked her gaze on the unmoving form.
“Don’t you want to say hello to Claire?” Brett asked, his words flat and void of emotion.
“Claire?” she whispered.
The woman didn’t respond.
Lindsey glanced at Brett. His eyes were trained on the water. She took a few tentative steps. When Brett didn’t stop her, she rushed to Claire’s side.
“Claire! Claire!” Lindsey cried, squatting down next to the slumped form.
She grasped the woman awkwardly with her bound wrists. Claire’s head hung loose, and her body slid down the side of the boathouse wall, legs dangling over the edge as one delicate ballet flat slipped off her foot and floated effortlessly on the glassy, golden water. At this angle, the late spring sun bathed Claire’s torso in a hazy light. Her features were relaxed. Her mouth hung slightly open. Lindsey brushed her fingertips across Claire’s cheek and rested them on her neck where smooth skin lay still and silent.
No pulse.
“Is she…” Lindsey asked, unable to finish the question.
“Dead?” Brett offered, nonchalantly. “It
’s remarkably easy to overdose on Fentanyl. At least, that’s what her cause of death will look like if she washes up somewhere. Just another junkie nobody will care about.”
He walked toward them and nudged Claire’s torso with the tip of his boot. Her body slid forward and splashed into the water.
Lindsey sprang up and lunged to follow Claire into the lake, but Brett grabbed her by her hair, knocking out the sunflower pin and pulling her back onto the wooden planks.
Claire floated, face up, beneath an inch of water. Lindsey met her dead gaze as the woman’s arms hung limp. She bit back a sob. Claire looked so peaceful. Her hair swayed side to side as her body disappeared under a blanket of water.
Lindsey stared into Claire’s watery grave. “Why did you do this? Why did you kill her?”
Brett tightened his grip on her hair and turned her head to meet his gaze. “Would you like to know what years as a practicing surgeon have taught me?” That icy smile was back. “People will do just about anything to escape pain, but they’ll do even more in the pursuit of pleasure.” He twisted his fingers into her hair and pulled.
“Please, stop,” she cried out.
He relaxed his grip but left his hand entwined in her chestnut locks. “I’ve put in my time, Lindsey. First, I got out of that dead-end Texas shithole. Then, I devoted my life to medicine. But it’s not enough. I deserve more, and I found a way to get it. And that’s where pleasure and pain come in. As a surgeon, my primary objective was to reduce pain. Now, I’m part of the more lucrative pleasure business.”
“I don’t understand. Why would you kill Claire? She’d never hurt anyone. She helped—”
“Oh, I know Claire helped you. I knew it when your old camera bag disappeared from the house.”
“I’m so sorry, Claire,” Lindsey breathed.
“Sorry, Claire?” Brett barked. “Claire told me a lot of things before she died. She didn’t think I would get to you. She never mentioned the baby. Claire’s death is your fault, my love. I told you what I would do to anyone who tried to get between us.”
Lindsey closed her eyes. “Oh, Claire.”
“Claire had the opportunity to be part of something big. Real money. People want to feel good, and they’ll go to great lengths to get that high.”
The Complete Langley Park Series (Books 1-5) Page 74