Don't Look Back (38 page)

Friday

Jamie breathed in the smell of hospital antiseptic and musky cologne. Dakota sat to her left. She tried to process the fact that she was safe. It didn’t really register, and yet the constant fear that had been her companion for so long was finally gone.

She waited, thought about it, and decided her major feeling was one of grateful relief.

A knock on the door told her she needed to wake up. Opening her eyes, she watched Dakota usher in her visitors. Jamie scooted painfully into a sitting position, in spite of Dakota’s hushed protests that she remain still.

Connor, Samantha, Kit, and Jamie’s parents flowed into the hospital room to crowd around her bed. Jamie’s mother took her hand and kissed it. Her dad bussed her forehead.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” her mother asked.

“Mmm. Better than I was . . .” She frowned. “What day is it?”

Dakota chuckled. “It’s Friday. You’ve been in and out for about two days.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Sam chimed in. “Look around you. You have enough flowers in here to start your own florist shop.”

It was true. She had arrangements sitting on every available space, including the floor and the windowsill.

“What happened? I mean, I remember everything up to the point where George died, but after that everything is hazy.”

“You passed out,” Sam offered.

“Oh.”

Connor leaned around Samantha. “You had a whopping case of the flu, were dehydrated and just plain sick.”

“The flu, huh?” she sighed and smiled. “God sure does take care of us in the strangest ways, doesn’t he?”

Dakota cocked a brow and shifted. “What do you mean?”

“My having the flu delayed George’s intentions long enough for you to find me and get me out of there.” She looked at Kit and again experienced the strangest sensation of looking at herself in a mirror – and yet it wasn’t her. “Thank you for everything.” Kit smiled and Jamie laughed. “Your dimple is on the wrong side.”

Kit arched a brow. “Nope, yours is.”

They shared a grin, and Jamie’s mother sniffed, tears standing in her eyes. She whispered, “I hope you two can forgive me one day. I didn’t realize what I was taking from you when I . . .”

Jamie clutched her mother’s hand. “Don’t, Mom. You did what you had to do. Let’s not dwell on it, okay?”

Her mother searched her eyes. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course I do. It does no good to harbor bitterness in your heart. It does a lot of destruction, but no good. I learned that a long time ago.” She glanced at Kit, who had a tight jaw, and got the impression that Kit didn’t share her sentiments, but that was something the young woman was going to have to come to terms with herself. As for Jamie, she’d move on, accept it and not judge. “It doesn’t mean I won’t mourn the lost time with Kit, but I won’t let it interfere with my life.”

Grateful wonder shone in her mother’s eyes, and she leaned down for a hug. Then traced Jamie’s face. “He got you good, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but the bruises will fade. I’ll heal. He’s dead and has no more power over me.”

“He hasn’t had any power over you for a while now. I admire you very much and your dad and I are so, so proud.”

Tears sprang to the surface and Jamie blinked them back. “Thanks, Mom.”

She looked around and gave a little chuckle. “Okay, fill me in on everything.”

Dakota and Connor looked at each other, then Samantha launched into the explanation of how they’d found her. And that George Horton was really Howard Wilkins.

“What happened to the real George Horton?”

Dakota took over. “He’s disappeared. Apparently, he’s got few relatives and has been pretty much a recluse all his life, even through medical school. When his family got a note saying he was moving to Europe to live abroad, they didn’t think much about it.”

“Howard killed him, didn’t he?”

Connor nodded. “Yeah, we figure he did. But he sent the family emails over the years and they bought it. Never even questioned it.”

Jamie shook her head. “Poor George.”

“And Howard simply adopted the man’s identity, credentials, licenses, and all.”

“So, somehow George, I mean Howard, found out you were still alive and engineered all this to get close to you.” Dakota rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Unbelievable.”

“Yes, exactly.”

A frown knit his brows. “Okay, I’ve been in law enforcement a long time and I’ve seen a lot of characters – the crazy ones, the guilty ones, even a few innocent ones – but I have to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever come across one like Howard Wilkins. He seemed absolutely normal to me. I never got a weird feeling around him.”

Connor nodded. “Same here. And all that profile information? He was just describing himself. It was easy for him.”

“But he actually helped solve some other cases.”

Dakota shrugged. “The guy did almost make it all the way through medical school. He was an intellectual, smart and devious. He used that to further his goals.”

“Which was to get close to me,” Jamie whispered and shuddered. Dakota squeezed her hand. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I know. Okay,” she took a deep breath and put on a smile, “when do I get to get out of here and go home?”

“This afternoon, it looks like.”

“Good.” Her eyes felt heavy and one by one her visitors filtered out until she was left with Dakota. Then she remembered. “Chet! What happened to him? Is he okay?”

Dakota’s eyes narrowed. “He’s going to be fine. Came through surgery like a champ. His wife is with him now.”

Shocked, she stared at him. “Surgery? What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

“George . . . Howard, drugged me. I remember that much now, I just didn’t know it at the time. He got me to look at something on his computer, and when I leaned over, I felt something prick my arm. I started feeling woozy, dizzy. Then I remember him calling to Chet, saying I was in trouble and needed help. Chet came through the door and then . . .” She squinted, “I don’t remember much after that. Why did Chet need surgery?”

Dakota looked at the window, then back. “Howard slashed his throat. Luckily it wasn’t very deep and he got help fast.”

A gasp escaped her as well as a few tears. He brushed them away, then picked up her hand. He pushed one of her sleeves up to reveal the ugly scars on her wrist. Jamie tensed, wondering what he was doing. When he raised it to his lips to place gentle kisses along each one, she thought her heart might bottom out. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak – couldn’t think.

Finally, her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“You’re so brave.”

Closing her eyes, she turned her head away. If he knew . . . “No, I’m not very brave.”

An incredulous chuckle reached her ears. “Jamie, I’ve never met anyone with more courage than you. Or more faith.”

She had to tell him. Agonizing over the decision, she looked at him. His face changed when he saw her expression. “What is it, Jamie? Tell me. Tell me everything.”

“The scars?”

“Yes?”

“They don’t represent bravery, they’re there because I’m a coward.”

He frowned and she hitched her breath on a sob. On her shame. “I tried to kill myself.”

Silence.

Then a low voice. “You wanted out of those cuffs one way or another. Isn’t that what you said?”

She couldn’t speak. But she nodded. Staring into his eyes, she confessed. “I sawed my wrists back and forth, over and over. I was beyond rational thought. My goal was to either bleed to death or cut my hands off.” She gritted her teeth. “But I was going to get away from him. I was going to be in charge of my death. Not him.”

He gasped, his fingers tightened around her wrist.

She felt wetness slide over the scars, then his lips pressed another kiss to them. With a start, she realized he was crying – for her. “I’m so sorry,” he rasped.

“For what?” She couldn’t fathom his reaction. He didn’t think less of her? He didn’t condemn her cowardice?

“For all that you had to endure. For everything you . . .” His throat worked, choked on the words. “You’re amazing.”

Her self-esteem notched up a bit. “You can still say that? Now that you know?”

“Jamie, one day, I pray you realize just how incredible you really are. You’ve changed my life. Watching you and Connor and Samantha, seeing your faith in spite of everything that’s happened, I finally had to admit I wanted what you have.”

“I’m so glad.” Her hands cupped his face, his bristly whiskers scratching her palms. “Thank you for saving my life,” she whispered.

“No, I think it was actually you who saved mine. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

Beyond words, she traced the tracks of his tears, brushed them away, and leaned forward to bury her face in his neck. His arms encircled her. She winced when he squeezed a little too hard, and the rib that had taken Howard’s kick protested.

Easing his grip, he settled her back against the pillow. “Get some rest, Jamie. We’ll have a long talk after you get out of here.”

Then his phone rang, and with the promise to be back soon, he left to take the call.

Jamie sat there, absorbing everything, taking to heart the fact that Dakota didn’t seem affected by her confession. At least not in a negative way.

A knock on the door pulled her from her musings. “Come in.”

Kit pushed her way in and smiled. “Hi.”

Jamie could only stare. She blinked and Kit laughed. “I know. It’s going to take some getting used to, isn’t it?”

Jamie finally found her voice. “Yeah. I guess so.” She paused. “Thank you for everything you did.”

A scowl crossed her sister’s face. “I didn’t do much. I wanted the creep alive so he could rot in jail.”

“No. I think it’s better this way.”

A shrug. “Maybe.”

“Have a seat.”

“Thanks.”

Jamie twisted the blanket through her fingers. “So, tell me about you.”

Kit laughed. “Where do I start?”

“Where else? The beginning.”

Four hours later, Jamie lay on her couch, a quilt tucked around her legs, the remote held loosely in her left hand.

Her mind couldn’t seem to shut off. Kit brought her home and Dakota and her parents had met them there. Once settled, she’d sent everyone away. Including Dakota. She just had too much to process and needed space to do it. Once again, she’d defeated the odds and survived a serial killer.

Her new Blackberry pinged and she looked at it. A text message from Dakota. “Are you okay?”

She smiled. “Yes,” she typed back. “I’ll call you soon. Let’s do dinner.”

“Great! You’re on.”

She flipped the channel. Media had swarmed her as she’d exited the hospital earlier today. She’d stopped to talk to them, to give them answers to their questions, both as a victim and as the anthropologist on the case. She talked to them for an hour, giving an impromptu press conference. She had hopes it would keep them off her lawn.

A glance out the window proved her true. No reporters, no psychos . . .

The television flashed again.

Maya’s picture filled the screen along with pictures of the other suspected victims and grief hit Jamie hard. She caught her breath on a sob. “I know in my head it wasn’t my fault, God. Help my heart believe it.”

Dakota stuck the phone in his pocket and headed back to the crime scene. He hadn’t told Jamie he was going to be working there today. No need to bring up that unpleasant fact.

He’d been here every day since the confrontation with George, going over evidence. One thing had him stumped.

A two-way mirror.

With two chairs facing the room.

At first he hadn’t thought anything about it, he just figured it was one more way George let his victims suffer. Leave them alone on the table and watch them squirm. But then things began turning up that didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

In the kitchen, they’d found a pair of sunglasses with a hair caught in the crease of the arm. It had been sent off for DNA testing against George. It looked a little long to be his, though. Plus the glasses seemed odd, but Dakota couldn’t put his finger on why. They were simply dark-colored sunglasses.

Several pairs of brown, almost black contacts had turned up in Howard’s bathroom. To cover up the green eyes he knew Jamie would recognize the first time she saw him. Eyes that had an eerie otherworldly quality to them. Dakota didn’t know if that had been the mental illness affecting the way his eyes looked or just plain heredity.