“You can’t prove anything.” Chesney glanced at Mateo’s body, at his blood pooling on the floor beneath him. The fear she’d felt disappeared and he almost smirked. “Maybe I’m here answering a ransom demand. A phone call. No, a note left behind at AlecCorp ordering me to fly down here. Your crazy over-reaction could cost me my daughter.”
Sylvie stared. “You can’t possibly be serious.”
He smiled at her. “Your word against mine and who’s going to believe you?”
“You work for the Mexican drug cartels,” Sylvie told him, almost as if he didn’t know.
“I deal with the cartels,” he corrected her. “And manage an organization of my own. And you work for the government and can’t prove a thing. So feel free to arrest me. Nothing you’ve got will hold up in court.” He radiated smug confidence.
“I don’t work for the government.”
For a moment, he looked startled, and then he shrugged. “Even better. You might as well walk away now. If you try to tell the police or get the FBI involved, I’ll destroy you.”
He was so calm, Sylvie realized, much calmer than she was. She was a Marine. She’d seen horrifying things in Somalia and Iraq and yet the sight of Mateo’s body, the smell of his blood and waste, sickened her. Chesney was impervious.
“I work for you,” Sylvie said. A strange numbness was taking over her body, a feeling like she wasn’t really there.
Chesney blinked and scowled. His emotions felt clearer to her than her own. She didn’t know what she was feeling, but he was irritated. She’d killed a man and his daughter was missing, in grave danger as far as he knew, but his reaction was annoyance at the inconvenience. And then she felt the calculation.
“Of course you do,” he said smoothly. “So put the gun down and we’ll work this out.”
God, she wished Lucas was here. If she could read Chesney’s mind, she’d know for sure. But she knew enough. She could see it in the coldness of his eyes.
“I don’t think so. You hired me to protect your daughter,” Sylvie said, each word sounding as if it came from a far-off distance, but her voice steady. “To keep her safe from anything that threatened her. So I’m going to do my job.”
She pulled the trigger.
It was a perfect shot.
Or it would have been if she’d been aiming at his head instead of his heart. The bullet hole opened, dead center of his forehead, a mist of blood spraying, and he fell backwards.
“High and right,” Sylvie whispered. “High and right.”
She felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rising. It was what they said in the Marines when a soldier lost control.
She sat down, hard, on the floor.
She’d just destroyed her life, she realized. She’d murdered two men. She was going to spend the rest of her days in prison.
She should—what? What should she do now? She tried to think but a rush of exhaustion swept over her. She should call the police, she realized, and with shaking fingers, she pulled her cell phone out.
A text message was waiting for her.
Rachel’s in Tassamara
. Sender
Unknown
.
Sylvie looked around her, at the two dead men, at the computer, at the shell casings by her feet. She could try to clean up, erase her presence here. But she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life running and hiding. She’d done what she’d done. She would have to deal with the consequences.
But first, she was going to find Rachel.
Someone had to tell her that her father was dead, and Sylvie should be the one to do it.
Chapter Fourteen
“Dillon?” Rachel whispered, barely moving her lips. “What do I do now? We didn’t talk about this.” She looked pale and stiff, standing upright as if her tension were pulling her spine into a perfectly straight line.
Dillon looked up and down the street, feeling a mix of desperate relief and frantic worry. Where the hell was his grandpa? He’d trusted Max to meet them. The bus had dropped Rachel off on the corner of Millard and Kerr, right in front of the gas station. Akira’s house was only about four blocks away—an easy walk, but Dillon had no way to give Rachel directions. And he’d promised not to leave her.
Besides, he didn’t want to see Akira yet. He knew that the moment she discovered Rachel had run away, she’d be on the phone to Washington. He’d texted Sylvie once Rachel was safely on the bus, but even if his mom caught the next flight, the earliest she could get to Tassamara would be evening. He didn’t want Rachel sent home before then. And Akira wouldn’t understand. She’d assume that Rachel’s dad would be frantic about Rachel’s disappearance and that telling him that Rachel was safe as quickly as possible would be the compassionate thing to do, as well as the responsible thing to do.
Of course, maybe he was and maybe it was. Guilt swamped Dillon and he closed his eyes. He should never have talked Rachel into this. He’d relaxed when the bus arrived and Rachel boarded, leaving the creepy guy behind, but what now?
“Oh, dear, did I miss the bus?” The voice behind him was as familiar as the sound of a summer rain on his tree house roof.
Dillon whirled. “Grandpa!” His hug passed right through the older man, of course, but Dillon barely cared. “I’m so glad to see you!”
“I’m afraid so,” Rachel answered politely.
“Ah, well. Just by a minute or so. I suppose it won’t have had time to go far.” Max looked up and down the street, his blue eyes sharp with interest, and then taking a step forward, toward the road, cleared his throat and said to the empty air in front of him, “On behalf of my grandson, I’d like to welcome you to Tassamara.”
“Um, Grandpa? Who are you talking to?” Dillon glanced out into the street, trying to follow Max’s gaze. What did Max see?
“I’ll do my best to ensure that your stay is comfortable. Please accompany me to Maggie’s place. That’s the restaurant about half a block that way.” Max pointed toward the bistro, and began walking, leaving Rachel behind.
Rachel’s eyebrows had drawn together in a slight frown and she was watching Max. Dillon shook his head. What was his grandpa doing?
“I suppose that you’re here to talk to Akira?” Max continued. “It’s the only reason I can think of that you might want to come to Tassamara. Not that it’s not a nice little town, of course. I’ve lived here for years and love it dearly.”
A slight smile started to play around Rachel’s lips and she hurried to catch up to Max, falling into step behind him but close enough to hear him as he talked. Dillon sighed and followed, concentrating on sending a text to Max.
“I’m not sure how helpful Akira will be. My daughter Grace tried to get her to go see a ghost last week and Akira got a bit snappy, and said that she wasn’t running a telephone service to another plane of existence. But perhaps Dillon can talk her into it. Unfortunately, she and my son are off on some sort of manatee-watching trip today.”
Max’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his jacket pocket, stopping so abruptly that Rachel nearly walked right into him. He read the message—
R behind u,
Dillon knew it said—and then turned.
“Oh!” he said, pulling back and looking startled at the sight of the young girl. “Are you—did you—excuse me, this might be an odd question, but—”
“Dillon told me to come here,” Rachel interrupted him. The tension in her posture was gone and she smiled at Max with genuine warmth.
“You—but you—” Max looked taken aback. He scratched his head and then ran his hand down the back, smoothing his hair, before finally stroking his chin. Uh-oh. Dillon recognized those moves. They were Max delaying while he decided whether or not he was supposed to be angry.
“Is he here?” Max finally asked. “Dillon, I mean.”
Rachel glanced at the phone, still clutched in Max’s left hand. “I think so?”
He followed her gaze. “Oh, of course.” He looked at the phone for a minute, almost as if he wanted to use it, and then turned back to Rachel, voice abrupt. “Could you wait right here for a moment? Right here, don’t go anywhere, I won’t go far.” He was backing away from her as he spoke and as he reached the door to the restaurant, he turned so that he was no longer facing Rachel and whispered fiercely, “Have you lost your mind, Dillon? That’s a little girl!”
Dillon almost laughed.
Keep her safe
, he texted.
And don’t tell
.
His grandfather scowled at the phone. “Keep her safe? Keep her—” He shook his head and turned back to Rachel. She was rubbing one foot along the back of her leg, smile gone, and—much to Dillon’s relief—Max immediately softened. He beckoned her towards him and pulled open the door to the restaurant.
“I’m afraid I was confused by Dillon’s message,” he said apologetically as Rachel hurried to catch up with him. “It didn’t occur to me that he’d be communicating with, well, you know, someone with a heartbeat. You’ll have to explain to me how you came to know him.”
Max made his way to the booth in the back corner where he always sat, still talking, Rachel at his heels, but Dillon was stopped in his tracks when Rose bounced off a counter seat and rushed to hug him. “Dillon, it’s so good to see you,” she was saying as she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, before hastily stepping back and adding, “But your grandpa’s gone insane.”
Dillon grinned at her. “I can’t wait to tell you everything that’s happened,” he told her. Talking—really talking—was such a relief. “But the crazy’s my fault. I asked him to meet my friend at the bus. I guess he thought I meant a ghost friend.”
A waitress passed them, headed to the table in the corner with two plates of food: one, a barren platter holding nothing but a plain turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread, the other a mound of chocolate-chip pancakes piled high with whipped cream.
“Come on.” Dillon grabbed Rose’s hand and tugged her over to the booth, sliding in to sit next to Rachel.
Max sighed as he saw the plate in front of him.
“Maggie’s mad,” the waitress said, sympathy in her voice. She put the pancakes in front of Rachel, adding with a wink, “Here you go, sweetie. Enjoy.”
“What’s Maggie mad about?” Dillon asked Rose.
Rose patted Max’s shoulder, careful not to let her hand pass through him. “He’s been bringing ghosts here all morning. Not real ghosts, but he’s been talking like there were ghosts and inviting them to stay. Maggie said she didn’t want to run a haunted café and he told her it’d be good for the tourist business. She told him to cut it out and he told her not to be a stick-in-the-mud. She went back into the kitchen and hasn’t come out since. He tried to apologize and she made Emma bring him decaf coffee. And you know he hates decaf coffee.”
Next to them, Max and Rachel had introduced themselves and Max was saying, “So what brings you to Tassamara?” as Rachel dug into her pancakes.
“Dillon wants to talk to his mom.”
Max stilled. “His mom? Sylvie?” He looked at Rachel intently, eyes narrowing, head tilting slightly to one side as if he were trying to solve a puzzle.
“Mm-hmm,” Rachel mumbled through a mouthful of food. Dillon was glad to see that she was eating eagerly. He’d been anxious when she hadn’t eaten on the train. He thought it was because she hadn’t wanted anyone to see her, but he would have told her to take the risk if he could have.
“Ah, that’s . . . well . . . hmm.” Max glanced at his watch. He looked worried, Dillon saw, but before he could think too much about it, Rose distracted him.
“Your mom!” She clasped her hands together. “How exciting. How did you find her? Did you like her? Is she nice?”
Nice? Dillon didn’t laugh, but his grin felt as if it would break his cheeks. He liked Sylvie a lot but nice wasn’t how he’d describe her.
“Rachel.” Max had his phone out and was typing in a number, the slow, old-fashioned way, frowning as he did so. His voice, as he spoke to Rachel, was urgent. “I need to warn you. In a few moments, some strange things may start happening. It’s nothing you need to worry about. No harm will come to you. But it would be most helpful if you’d remain calm. If you get upset, Sylvie will get upset and then . . . well, then things will go downhill very quickly. Can you do that for me?” He finished what he was saying, finally looking up at Rachel and smiling although the expression looked strained, as he held his phone to his ear.
Rachel had stopped chewing, eyes wide.
“William, yes, it’s Max. Yes, yes, no time for that. Do you remember the case I told you to prepare for—oh, it must have been a decade or so ago?” He paused and then chuckled. “Nag is a strong word. But I believe today’s the day.” As he spoke, he was sliding through Rose and off the seat.
“What’s going on, Dillon?” Rose asked.
Dillon shook his head, watching his grandfather. Max was going around the room, plucking silverware off the set tables, still talking and nodding. He paused by one occupied table and pointed to a knife, appearing to ask if the patrons needed it, then picked up the knife and continued moving. Finally he stuffed his phone in his pocket and headed toward the kitchen.
As Dillon concentrated on sending him a message asking what he was doing, he heard Max calling out, “You were right, Maggie. Bad idea!” as he moved behind the counter and headed into the kitchen.
And then the glass door to the outside opened. For a moment, Sylvie stood in the doorway, backlit by the sun, her hair a corona of red-gold. Dillon wanted to stand up and cheer. Their plan had worked! They’d gotten Sylvie to Tassamara. He couldn’t wait to tell Rachel, to tell her and to thank her for her help.
But as his mom stepped inside, his heart sank. Raymond Chesney, a malevolent scowl on his face, was right behind Sylvie. Why had she brought him? And how was he going to help Rachel with her father right here?
*****
The rental car had a GPS. Sylvie followed its instructions precisely; no shortcuts, no search for better routes, no detours down roads that looked more interesting.
Her mind didn’t seem to be working the way it usually did. Instead of the constant risk assessment that was the usual silent soundtrack of her life, she found herself lingering over the sense of regret she’d felt from Mateo in his last moments and wondering what he’d been thinking when he died.