“Sit down, Gennie.” Peter waved her to a chair beside Gabriel and slid the copy across the surface. “Go on, take it. Read what I wrote.”
She read the green script. “A column?” Her hazel eyes widened in astonishment. “You think I could write a column?”
Peter’s obsidian eyes twinkled. “Since your accursed brother is determined to make this a daily, I need the copy. You academics get the summer off, so I thought I’d start you out on a probationary period. Three columns per week. We still like you in the fall, we’ll talk.”
“What’s the pay?”
“Non-negotiable.” He named a sum and she nodded briskly.
“I can live with that.”
“Good. Ask Payton to find you a desk. I want the revised version on my desk by three.”
“Yes, sir.” Gennie bussed Gabriel’s cheek with a grateful salute. “I won’t let you down.”
After she danced out of Peter’s office, she halted and ran back inside. Euphoric, she planted a smacking kiss on Peter’s cheek. “Thanks!”
“I didn’t know she wanted to write,” Gabriel grumbled when she shut the door. Why hadn’t she told him? Did she think he’d disapprove?
“I doubt she could have told you without you trying to give her a job.”
“Of course!” he returned. “I’m her brother and I happen to own a newspaper.”
“She has her pride, Gabe,” Peter grunted. “Runs in the family. Her wanting to be a crusading columnist was probably hard to admit when she lived in a house with Lincoln and Gabriel Moss. After Linc’s death, the paper was all you talked about. All you cared about.”
“No, it wasn’t. I love my sister!”
“Yes, you do. But you’ve spent a lifetime living vicariously through your stories. Then you switched gears and made the Ledger your life.” Before Gabriel could retort, Peter held up a silencing hand. “Lincoln Moss was a legend before you wrote your first piece. Between the two of us, you were hooked. The adrenaline, the power. You became a foreign correspondent to carve your own mark on the profession.”
“I was good.”
“You were the best,” agreed Peter. “When you gave it up to come home, I thought you were ready for balance.”
“Is this a lecture from the pot to the kettle?”
Peter snorted. “I’ve been alone longer than I’ve been a part of anything, except the Chronicle.”
“That’s your excuse?”
“I don’t need an excuse. This isn’t about me. It’s about Gennie and you. You’ve always dived headfirst into the world, Gabe. ’Cause you have the devil’s own luck, you wind up plucking pearls instead of drowning.”
“Interesting metaphor.”
“Shut up.” Peter pounded the desk. “You don’t have anything to prove. Not to me. Not to your sister. Not to your father.” He saw Gabriel frown but plowed ahead. “The Ledger is a lifeline, son. Take it and wrap it around you and yours. Make the Ledger your own. Don’t let it make you.” He ceased abruptly. Advice-giving made him cranky.
Aware and grateful, Gabriel winked at Peter. “Am I crazy, or is she exceptional?”
“She’ll be a phenom.” Peter clicked off the intercom. The buzz of the newsroom faded, leaving them in quiet. Friendship ran deep between them, and it was friendship that gnawed at Peter now. “What’s the plan today?”
“The police will meet us at Erin’s apartment at ten. Bernard’s being released this morning, with a car on him. Assuming things go as expected, either he or someone with a grudge will be at her apartment. He won’t be able to resist.”
“I still don’t think this is a good idea. They don’t call ’em lunatics for nothing. What if he doesn’t flip out like you expect?”
Gabriel had worried over the same question all night. But this was their last hope. “He’ll show. I’ll have the article ready by closing. Plan on using the same column inches on the dummy.” He lifted an article from the stack on Peter’s desk and scanned the pages. “You should think about whether the Ledger could use a food and wine section.”
“We need to talk about something else, Gabe.” Erin had yet to show up, but Peter thought he’d rather do this without her anyway. He pushed away from the desk and came around to sit beside Gabriel. “It’s about Erin and her past. About your relationship with her.”
At his solemn tone, Gabriel shot him a wary look. “My relationship with Erin is my business.”
Peter shook his head. “Once you asked me to investigate, she became my business, too. Who she is impacts everyone at the Ledger. Everyone who sacrificed their jobs and paychecks to follow you from the Chronicle.”
A vise tightened around Gabriel’s heart, a war of loyalties. Forty men and women had placed their faith in him. In his dream. And he’d promised them triumph. One woman had shared her secrets with him. Her freedom. And he’d promised her sanctuary. “I can’t betray her. I won’t.”
“I’m not asking you to. Not yet anyway.” Peter leaned forward and propped his elbows on denim-clad knees. He wished there were another way to handle the situation, but he’d wrestled with possibilities since he got the report. They had no choice. “I’ve pulled up everything I could find on Analise Glover, Nathan Rhodes, and Callenwolde University.”
“I don’t need to hear it. She told me everything yesterday.”
Peter frowned. “Everything? You sure?”
Experimentally Gabriel’s fingers creased the article into folds. He parried Peter’s question with one of his own. “What did you find out about him?”
“Rhodes was a jerk. Misogynist and egomaniac. Colleagues hated him. Girls loved him. Especially the barely postpubescent. Erin must have been fresh meat to him when her parents sent her to him.”
“She was fifteen.” The folded page crumpled into a fisted ball.
“I know. They’d whisked her away from London after she managed to wig out even the avant-garde of the BBC.” He flipped through several pages. “I couldn’t find any record of reports mentioning him. Except two, from a few years ago. A student’s father filed charges against Rhodes. She refused to testify at trial. In the end, she transferred to another school with a perfect transcript. A Terry Watson.”
“And the other?”
“A graduate student in linguistics. She vanished. Less than a week later, so did Analise Glover and Nathan Rhodes.”
CHAPTER 27
“It’s time to go.” Erin spared Gabriel a glance as she buttoned up the shirt she’d borrowed from his closet. “Sylvie called. They just released Kenneth.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked as she calmly passed him to go into the bathroom. Too calmly, he thought, for his taste. As she combed her hair, he watched her in the mirror. What he saw clutched at him, squeezing his throat. In the next hours, she would confront a madman and her past. Where was the fear? The apprehension? He couldn’t find either in her eyes. “The police could still send in a decoy. Erin, you don’t have to do this.”
“Ten people are dead,” she replied evenly as she bundled her hair into a band. “I have to account for taking one of them myself. And the others won’t have justice without me.” In the mirror she could see the gray eyes grow stormy, and she braced for it.
He didn’t disappoint. “You’ve given the police all the information you have. They can do their job without you.” His voice rose, ringing with the impotence he felt. “This is not your responsibility! Damn it, Erin, don’t go!”
“He’ll be watching the apartment. If it isn’t Kenneth, he’ll know I’m not there. That I didn’t go home last night.” That I spent it here with you. And he’ll come after you next.
Gabriel saw something shift in her eyes. “What are you thinking?” She ducked her head and moved past him, but he blocked her at the door. “Oh, God, you’re trying to protect me, aren’t you?”
Her head shot up, expression fierce. “Ten bodies, Gabriel. I can’t let it become eleven. I can’t let it be you.”
“The police can protect both
of us, Erin.” He cupped her cheek. “You don’t have to pay penance by sacrificing yourself. I’ll call Sylvie. They’ll send a detective into your apartment and—”
“And what?” The horrible visions she’d wrestled with all morning flashed before her, filled her words. “He’s vicious and cruel. And smart. Smarter than Sylvie or Sanchez or any of them.” She flung her hands out, imploring Gabriel to understand. “He’s patient. Patient enough to wait two years to come after me. Nine lives that we know of. I won’t risk another death on my conscience, Gabriel.” Now she shuddered. “I couldn’t bear it.”
Gabriel wrapped her close. “Okay. Okay. But we go together.”
Erin pulled away. “You can’t come inside. He’ll know.”
“I’m not waiting in a car while you risk your life. Either I come with you, or you don’t go,” he announced.
She cocked her head, fascinated. “How do you plan to stop me?”
The crooked grin warmed and infuriated her. “I’ll leak the story to the Chronicle. And WBCC and WNOG and—”
“Fine. I get it.” With a defeated sigh, she shoved him out of her way. “I need to grab my bag. Is Sebastian still downstairs?”
“I’m driving you,” Gabriel growled. “Not him.”
Amused by the spark of jealousy, Erin returned to where he stood. She reached up and pulled him down to her mouth. The kiss was hard and fast and exciting, and both struggled to catch their breath when she released him. Erin traced his lips with her fingertips. “I’ve never done that or several other things with Sebastian. But he drove me here and he’s taking me back. Otherwise, he’ll just show up and ruin everything, trying to play Lancelot. See you at the apartment.”
Her bravery survived the ride to her apartment and the endless ride up the elevator. Along the way, she identified several faces that had never been inside 216 St. Bennett before. Sylvie hadn’t been kidding about providing protection. With Sebastian on her heels, she unlocked the apartment and froze.
It lay on the floor. The cream envelope taunted her, dared her to lift it and read its contents. Behind her, Sebastian waited, knowing that she had to make the decision.
She inhaled deeply and scooped up the paper. Willing her hands to be firm, she broke the seal and reached inside. This time, the envelope contained a torn strip of paper with letters scrawled in blue ink.
SANSKARIDAUORTHIPHASCABESTHAI
Sebastian read over her shoulder, then looked at Erin for a sign of comprehension or a flicker of recognition. He saw nothing. “What do we do, Erin?”
Erin studied the line, but she’d already decoded the message. “Call Gabriel. Tell him the killer has already come and gone.”
With meticulous care, Erin packed a small leather suitcase, remembering the vagaries of Northern California weather. Particularly in the mountains, the wind could whip through layers of cloth like a lash. She swept the case and her bag off the comforter. The jeans she hadn’t worn in years fit snugly, and the fitted long-sleeved shirt would be layered by a sweatshirt when the temperature changed.
“I’m not going to fight with you about this.” Turning, she saw Gabriel and Sebastian arrayed in front of her door, blocking her only exit. “I have to finish it,” she said, echoing Gabriel’s instructions from the day before.
Gabriel advanced into the room, having been briefed by Sebastian. Erin had talked to Sylvie alone. Whatever she’d told her, the detective refused to remove the guards from the perimeter of the building, but Kenneth Bernard was almost in the clear. He’d deal with writing the retraction after the current crisis passed. Erin and Sylvie were planning a trip to California, straight into a trap. “How do you know he’s there?”
In answer, Erin handed him the slip of paper. Gabriel stared at the line of gibberish. He shot a look at Sebastian, who shook his head. He couldn’t read the damned thing, either.
Gabriel turned it upside down. “Is this in a foreign language?”
“A few of them.” Erin sat on the edge of her bed and beckoned them to come inside. They sat on either side, like schoolboys waiting for a lesson. Erin pointed to the script. “Give me a pen.”
Gabriel handed her one from his pocket.
“I have to go to California. These are his instructions.”
Sebastian looked dubious. “This nonsense makes sense to you?”
“Of course.” Taking the pen, she drew lines along the page.
SAN SKARI DAU OR THI PHAS CABES THAI
“I don’t see it.” Sebastian stared at the page. “Wait. I see ‘San Cabes.’ That’s where the cabin is.”
Erin nodded. “Once I saw those words, the rest was simple. He didn’t spend much time on the threat.”
“Threat?” Gabriel read the paper again, annoyed that Sebastian had seen the words before he did. “What’s the threat?”
Erin drew links across three of the segments. “Skariphasthai is the Greek root for ‘scribe.’”
“Writer.” Gabriel paused. “Reporter.”
“And dauthi means ‘death’ in Norse.”
“What about the letters o and r?” Sebastian asked, eager to show Gabriel up again.
“You’re thinking too hard,” chided Erin. “‘Or’ is just the word or.”
At her side, Gabriel froze. His voice, when he spoke, was hard as iron. “The message says: ‘San Cabes or the reporter dies.’ You’re going to him.”
“I have to. I won’t let him hurt you, Gabriel.” She stood, facing them both. “First Maggie, then Harmony. I won’t let him have you.”
Sebastian leaped to his feet. “San Cabes is a trap, Erin. You go and he’ll kill you.”
Her face was impassive. “I don’t and more will die.” She shook her head. “This ends tonight.”
Finally, Gabriel accepted what he’d seen in her eyes this morning. What she’d been unable to say to him last night. Because he loved, he would do the same. “I’m going with you.”
“Erin’s my responsibility,” Sebastian argued, but without any real heat. He realized Gabriel would be going with her, but he needed to make it look good. Whether Erin accepted it or not, the reporter planned to stick close to her for the rest of her life.
Gabriel heard the concession. “I need you to go over to the Ledger. Tell them what’s going on.” And that I might not be back. He wasn’t sure he would let Erin come back and face a possible prison term. But he’d argue with her about that later.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” Sebastian warned Erin. “You’ve got nothing to atone for.”
She met his look steadily. “I want a life, Sebastian. My life.”
“Be careful.”
Erin dozed fitfully as they crossed the continent. The plane angled for descent, cutting through summer storms that battered the mass of metal and glass. In concert with the storm, the night of Nathan’s death churned in her restless mind. The crash of wood against stone as he barreled inside. Wind whipping trees into a frenzy of sound. Rain exploding like bullets against the cabin. Her pleas, his demands. A struggle for the gun. The crash of wood against stone. Then darkness and a slow awakening to find the gun in her hand.
Ripping herself from the nightmare, she turned to Gabriel. “He was at the cabin that night.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Erin clasped her hands to her mouth. As though a veil had lifted, she remembered. “The door opened when the gun went off. I’d always thought of it as an echo. But it opened.”
“Do you know who it is, Erin?”
She clenched the armrest. “I can’t figure it out. The clues keep spinning in my head, but I can’t find the pattern.”
“I can’t, either.” Gabriel took a deep breath. “We’ll do this together. Tell me what you see.”
Erin scrubbed at her weary eyes and tried to marshal her thoughts. “He knew me in California. Or knew Nathan.”
“He lured you into the position at Burkeen. May have convinced Bernard to hire you. Could follow you around and learn everything about your life. D
o you have any idea?”
A fleeting thought occurred; she dismissed it. Crimes had three elements: motive, means, and opportunity. The only person she could imagine lacked the means to open a space for Erin at a university. No, she thought, it couldn’t be.
At that moment, the plane skidded to a stop and rolled to the terminal. Gabriel got their bags. In step, they hurried through the airport. Sylvie took charge. After Gabriel stored Erin’s bags, she hurried them into the car. He climbed into the backseat, stretching his long legs across the divider. “Where are we going, Erin?”
“Highway 1. To the mountains.”
Sylvie would have no jurisdiction here, so she wouldn’t be able to cross lines like this to apprehend a criminal. Sylvie called into the county sheriff’s office, having already alerted them to their plan. They’d reluctantly agreed to joint jurisdiction because the captain went to college with the sheriff. Together they drove along the winding California highway, the sedan climbing higher along the steep cliffs and edging close to the sheer drops into the Pacific. Thick, hearty redwoods decorated the route, ancient sentinels to the passage of time. The entire highway stretched almost 650 miles, cutting through forest and farm, from above San Francisco to below Los Angeles. Their journey was little more than a tenth of the length, but the difference was startling. San Francisco’s famed arched bridges and glittering spires of light gave way to quaint villages and isolated towns.
The car was quiet except for the occasional directions issued by Erin. They’d explained their theory to Sylvie, and she concurred. It explained why he needed Calvin to feed him information on the murders.
Finally, they left the highway and followed a twisted road cut into the side of the mountains. At a plateau, the route had been graded with a better-quality asphalt, acknowledging the perseverance of its users. Abruptly, out of the deep night, a structure emerged from the darkness.
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