Cape Refuge (32 page)

 

B
lair crossed the street and headed along the beach, her feet digging into the powdery sand. She tried to flee from her rage at the God she didn't believe in, tried to escape the cares that crushed her, just as Morgan had described. But there was no escape. They went with her, wrapping around her throat and constricting it, keeping her from being able to swallow or breathe. Where had they come from, these tears? They came in a torrent streaming down her face, stinging her eyes, dripping from the bottom of her chin. She walked faster and faster as that anguish poured out of her.

She passed the South Beach Pier, where tourists lay as limp as the towels beneath them. She glanced up to the pier, hoping no one she knew would see her in this condition. No one even noticed her.

She walked faster, the angry wind whipping through her hair. Black clouds blew up from the east, threatening furious storms that would slow the island down. She welcomed that storm, longed for the lightning and the claps of thunder, the sound of pouring rain on her roof. It would feel like justice.

She kept walking until she ran out of beach; then she took to the grass and the occasional sidewalk and the packed dirt, walking from pier to pier around the cape.

She had meant what she said about leaving Cape Refuge. Somehow, she would make it happen. She could sell her half of Hanover House to Morgan and take off to Colorado. She could find a research job or a librarian's position there, rent a little apartment overlooking the mountains, soak up the peace and the newness of the place, and put the past, with all its questions and maddening answers, behind her.

She trudged along the river wall, through backyards, and around boathouses. A few residents waved at her and asked how she was doing, but she just waved and walked on.

She rounded the northern tip of the island, only a mile across the river from Tybee Island. The back of the Simmons's house came into view, and she saw the judge and Nancy sitting out beside their pool. A red-haired man, dressed in a Miller Light T-shirt and jeans, sat with them, deep in conversation.

She didn't want Nancy to catch her with tears on her face and drill her with a million insincere questions, and she wasn't up for a fight about the article Nancy hadn't printed. So Blair chose, instead, to turn around and head back the way she had come, before they even saw her.

She'd be glad to put people like Nancy in her rearview mirror, she thought—along with their arrogant opinions and lethal tongues and complete lack of regard for the things that made this island great.

Her house would sell quickly, as property on Cape Refuge always did. She would make enough to get started. She'd call a realtor tomorrow, she thought. She wouldn't let Morgan convince her to stay. And she wouldn't let Cade's soft, knowing gaze change her mind either.

Her mind was made up, but as she walked the perimeter of the island, she realized that, no matter how fast she walked or how far she went, Cape Refuge was still with her.

She wondered if she could ever really escape it.

 

S
adie's first paycheck came the next day. It was such a thrill that she didn't know what to do first. When she left the office that afternoon she hurried through the rain down to the bank a block away and cashed the check. With her money tucked into her pocket, she hurried back to Hanover House, anxious to pay the rent and show them that she could indeed earn her keep.

Soaking wet and almost running by the time she got to the front yard, like a child with a straight-A report card, she bounced up the steps and across the porch.

“Morgan, you won't believe it!” she cried as she burst into the kitchen. It was empty. She went through the rest of the downstairs rooms, searching for someone to tell, then looked outside and realized that Morgan's car was gone. She would have to wait.

She heard movement upstairs, a door closing, footsteps across the floor . . .

She ran up the stairs, turned the corner—and stopped cold.

It was Jack.

The man who had beaten her leaned against the wall, smoking a cigarette and watching the shock on her face.

“Surprise,” he said in that voice heavy with evil.

She screamed and started to run down the stairs, but he was on her in seconds. He knocked her legs out from under her, and she tumbled down, her cast breaking as it hit against the stairs.

She managed to get up before he was on her again, but he grabbed her and knocked her to the ground. His fist cracked across her cheek, producing a bloody gash, but she got her feet under her again and ran. She stumbled out the back door and took off into the trees, knowing he was behind her. She could hear him panting and calling her name.

“Thought you could hide, did you?” he was saying. “Thought you could report me to HRS and get away with it? You can't hide from me, Sadie. You ain't smart enough.”

But she
was
smart enough to get away. She had walked this way too many times and she knew which routes might lose him. She ran for her life, through yards and behind houses, into the heart of Cape Refuge, running, running until she thought she had lost him. Because if he ever did catch her, she knew this time he would kill her. There was no mistaking it.

Her breath sounded amplified in her ears, and her heart beat rudderlike against her chest. She stopped and hid in a cluster of wet bushes in someone's yard and waited there as rain drizzled down and the moments ticked by. She listened for him, smelled for him, but when he never made a move, she knew she had lost him. Finally, she made her way to a convenience store with a pay phone. She thought of calling the police, but she'd never had good luck with them before. Morgan wasn't home. So she called information, got Blair's number, dropped in some more coins, and dialed.

Lightning shocked overhead, making her jump, and she put her back to the wall and clutched the phone tight as she waited, watching for him to come upon her and finish the job. Blair's phone rang once, twice, a third time.

“Please answer!” she whispered.

The voice mail picked up.

“I'm not home right now,” Blair's voice said, “but if you'd like to leave a message, wait for the beep.”

She waited for the beep, then in a breathless, panicked, high-pitched voice said, “Blair, I went home, and Jack was there waiting for me, trying to kill me, and he chased me, and I got away, but he'll find me.” She stopped on a shivery sob and brushed her wet hair back from her eyes. “I don't know where Morgan is, so I'm going to Nancy's to see if I can hide there so he can't find me. Please, when you get this, come get me there. I'm so scared.”

She hung up the phone, then took off walking to the judge's house, praying that Nancy would take her in.

 

 

T
he light on Blair's machine was blinking when Blair got home from the library. She didn't want to talk to anybody. She had spent the day secluded in the back room. Because of the storm, hardly anyone had come in, and those who had were not interested in conversation.

Still, she pushed the button and went into the kitchen as she listened.

The tape beeped. “Blair, it's Morgan. Call me, please.”

Blair got a can of Diet Coke from the refrigerator and poured it into a glass. The tape beeped again. Sadie's high-pitched, panicked voice fired across the line:
“Blair, I went home, and Jack was there waiting for me, trying to kill me, and he chased me, and I got away, but he'll find me . . .”

The glass slipped from Blair's hand and shattered on the tile.

“
I don't know where Morgan is, so I'm going to Nancy's to see if I can hide there so he can't find me. Please, when you get this, come get me there. I'm so scared.”

Blair crunched the glass under her shoes and reached the phone. She dialed the police station and waited as the call was routed to Cade. “Cade, Sadie's in trouble,” she blurted. “She left me a hysterical message that Jack is in town, that he broke into Hanover House and was waiting for her. She's hurt.”

“Jack? The mother's boyfriend?”

“Yes. Cade, you've got to catch him before he kills her. She said she was going to Nancy's because he wouldn't look for her there.”

“I'm on it, Blair,” he said. “I'll get back to you.”

 

L
imping and clutching her broken arm against her body, Sadie made her way to the northern tip of the island where the Simmons lived. She rang the bell, then banged urgently on the front door. After a moment, Nancy opened it. “Sadie, what happened?”

“He's here,” Sadie cried, stumbling in. “Jack's after me.” She closed the door behind her, and looked out the window.

“Jack who?” Nancy's voice was laced with irritation.

“
Jack!
My mother's boyfriend. He tracked me down. I can't ever get away from him! Please, can I stay here, just until they catch him?”

“Of course you can,” Nancy said.

“We have to call the police,” Sadie cried, running from window to window to check the locks.

“Sadie, calm down,” Nancy said. “Let's clean that cut—”

Sadie was wet and cold, shivering so badly that she could hardly stand. “They have to find him before he tracks me here. They have to catch him . . .”

“Sadie, stop!” Nancy turned her from the window and looked her in the face. “You're bleeding, and your cast is messed up. One thing at a time.”

“The police,” Sadie cried. “Please, the police . . .”

Nancy walked her into the bathroom and made her sit down. Sadie hugged herself and wished for a blanket. Her clothes were wet, and she couldn't stop shaking.

Her eyes shot to the window, and she wondered if it was locked. He could break the glass and come in after her.

“Here,” Nancy said, pouring two pills into her hand. “It'll help.”

“No!” Sadie squealed. “The police—”

“Take these, Sadie,” Nancy insisted, filling a glass with water. She thrust the pills into her trembling hands. “They'll help the pain and calm you down.”

Sadie took the pills, and Nancy came at her with a cotton ball and alcohol.

“You need stitches,” she said. “And your arm—we need to get you to the hospital.”

“No,” Sadie cried. “I can't go out. He's waiting for me. He wants to kill me.”

“Okay,” Nancy said. “Let's just stop the bleeding, and we'll call the police.”

Sadie felt the fight draining out of her. “Yes,” she whispered. “Tell them . . . he's after me . . . little Caleb . . .”

Nancy walked her to the guest room and turned on a lamp. There were family pictures, plants, a clock that ticked too loudly . . . and windows. “Lie down and rest now,” Nancy said, “and I'll call the police. Just keep this towel pressed against your face to stop the bleeding.”

“The window,” Sadie said. Her voice was weak. Her body felt as if she had strapped weights to her limbs.

“It's locked,” Nancy assured her. “Now you just rest here. I'll get the police.”

Sadie lay down and pulled her knees to her chest, pressing the towel to her face. She was still wet and so cold but too tired to pull the blanket over her. . . . She thought of little Caleb, screaming out his pain and anguish with no one there to help him. Where was he? What had Jack done with Caleb?

The rain's patter against the panes of glass soothed her, lulling her mercifully into sleep. She felt as though she had fallen into a deep pool, her limbs moving slowly around her. She floated that way as her fear lifted and her body warmed. . . .

 

 

T
he door to the room opened so hard that it banged against the wall, shocking her out of that warm pool. She sat up, her body still heavy, her eyes trying to focus.

Jack stood in the doorway. “I told you you can't hide from me.”

She opened her mouth to scream, but he slapped his hand across it. She tried to fight as he lifted her, but she was so tired. Nancy would stop him, she thought, the police would come. . . . But no one was there as he carried her through the house.

He got her out into the closed garage, and she saw that his car was sitting there, sheltered from the view of neighbors. He threw her in and got in behind her, forcing her down to the floorboard. She tried to get up, but the debilitating fatigue kept her down. Somehow, he had gotten the remote that opened the garage, and the door slid open.

He pulled out of the garage, and Sadie wondered where Nancy and the judge were and why they weren't helping . . . how Jack had gotten into their garage and their house . . . whether they were all right . . .

Something hard whacked across her skull . . .

. . . and everything went black.

 

N
ancy was waiting when Cade and Caldwell arrived. Randy rushed home as well, with his baseball cap on backwards and a Dr Pepper in his hand.

“Where is she?” Cade asked as Nancy let them in.

“Asleep in the back. She was hysterical, so I gave her some codeine to calm her and help with the pain.” She started leading them up the hall.

“She all right?”

“She's got a cut on her cheek. Bruised and limping. And he may have rebroken her arm.” She got to the guest room and knocked lightly.

“Sadie,” she said as she opened the door.

The room was empty.

“She's not here,” Cade said. He met Nancy's eyes.

Nancy rushed out and went up the hall. “Maybe she's in the bathroom.”

Cade followed her but Sadie wasn't there. “Cade, she was right here. I cleaned her cut myself. She was panicked and dripping wet.”

Randy stood at the end of the hall, looking irritated, as if they were making him late for soccer practice.

There was a scuff mark on the wall, like a foot might have kicked it. “Randy, was this here before?”

He gave it a cursory glance. “Before what?”

“Before Sadie got here.”

He studied the scuff mark, shrugged. “I couldn't really say.”

Cade knew better than that. He had been in this house before for some of the parties that Nancy and Randy threw, and he knew that it was always immaculate and perfectly decorated. Nancy was known for being obsessive about her home, even though her office was cluttered beyond reason. Once he had been at a Christmas party here when a candle had caught a wall hanging on fire. Nancy had put it out and repainted the wall while the party went on around her.

“She probably just took off again,” Randy said. “Who can understand a teenager?”

“Have you both been here the whole time?” Cade asked.

“No,” Randy said. “I was at the office late. She was already here when I got home.”

“Did you leave the house at any time?”

“We were sitting on the covered patio, watching the rain,” Nancy said.

Cade gaped at him. “While you were supposed to be guarding Sadie? Why would you leave her alone when she told you someone was trying to kill her?”

“Well, we didn't think he knew where she was,” Nancy said. “We thought—”

Cade threw the door open and headed outside. “I'm going to talk to the neighbors.”

It didn't take him long to find a witness who had seen Jack's car pull into the judge's garage. It didn't make sense, he thought. The judge had the best security system money could buy. Why hadn't it kept Jack from getting to Sadie, and why hadn't Nancy and Randy heard her fighting?

And how had Jack figured out where Sadie was? Here he was, new to the island, not knowing anybody, and yet he was able to find the house where Sadie just happened to be hiding?

When he got back to the squad car, he called in an all-points bulletin for Jack and Sadie. When he got back to the station, he called Blair to warn her that Sadie was missing and the man was still at large. He told her about the scuff on the wall and the judge's nonchalance.

“This guy Jack's dangerous,” he said. “He's about six feet tall, has long red hair, a goatee . . .”

“Cade!” she cut in. “I saw him yesterday. I was walking around the island, and he was sitting in the judge's backyard, talking to him and Nancy!”

Cade just stared at a spot on his desk as the words sank in. “If Randy Simmons has been in contact with Jack. . . .” His voice trailed off as he tried to process the thoughts whirling through his mind.

“Why?” she asked. “How would he know about Jack, and what would he have to gain?”

Cade closed his eyes. “I told him about Jack, when I asked him to do the paperwork for Sadie. I also told him that Sadie was one of the reasons you wouldn't let go of Hanover House.”

His heart ticked off milliseconds as Blair sat silent. “Cade, you don't think he's the one who—?”

“I'll call you back, Blair,” he said, and cut her off.

His mind reeled with the disconnected facts, the fragmented hunches, the threads that ran through every part of these crimes. He needed more to go on, something substantial, before he could pick up the judge. And if he was involved, what about Nancy?

What would have motivated them?

He bolted out of his office. McCormick was on the phone, a look of disbelief on his face. At the sight of Cade, he put his hand over the phone. “You'll never believe what just washed up on the shore over by the South Beach Pier.”

Cade braced himself. “Tell me.”

“Rick Dugan,” he said.