Last Exit in New Jersey (26 page)

Hammon stared at the wildflowers in his hand, and lunch rose in his throat. Flowers. Seriously. Who was he kidding? He shouldn’t have even been there. He was putting Hazel in danger.

“No, you’re protecting her.”

“From you, I mean.” He was still furious with Annabel’s little stunt back in Belmar.

“You were about to pass out; someone had to do something. And besides, she didn’t seem to mind.” Annabel grinned. “Or is that what’s upsetting you, dear?”

“This is so wrong. I’ll just talk to her. I’ll explain. I’ll make her understand.”

“Otto, your explaining skills are right up there with her understanding skills. There’s no way she’s abandoning Micah to run away with a schizophrenic stalker. Like it or not, you know what you have to do.”

No. He didn’t want to think about it.

“It was your idea in the first place. Either you do it or I will.”

That was what scared him.

“You said it yourself. It’s for her own good. This just proves it. You don’t want someone else hurting her.”

Annabel was right and he knew it. Hammon climbed out of the car, fighting to appear calm as he hobbled toward
Revenge
, docked in a small Point Pleasant marina. Hazel looked relieved but nervous as she rushed over to him.

“You’re here.” She bit her lip and backed against the thick overgrowth bordering the lot. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come, after everything that’s happened.”

“I promised.” He was going to be sick. Taking a deep breath, he offered her the flowers, which she accepted with a hesitant smile. “Micah actually left you alone?”

She nodded apprehensively. “We needed a car, and he went to steal one. He told me not to call you, but I had to.”

Hammon relaxed the slightest bit. He’d been dreading the idea of dealing with Micah first. This was much better.

“Just like the night you met,” Annabel said. “Micah’s a nice kid and he means well, but his carelessness puts her at risk.”

Hazel walked along the yard’s edge, past several abandoned boats.

“But why did you call me?” he asked.

“I wanted to see you.” She searched his eyes. “I had to know, why are you following me?”

He’d planned out everything he wanted to tell her, but as she watched him, waiting expectantly, his mind went blank. “You took
Revenge
,” he mumbled, knowing that was the wrong answer even as the words left his mouth. “I was looking for my boat.”

She held out her hand, offering the keys for
Revenge
. “If that’s all you want, you can have her back.”

His hand closed around hers. “You think it’s that simple. You return the boat and this just ends?”

“What, then? Why did you have that money and all? What is this really about?”

She’d never understand. “You’re too trusting, coming here alone. What if I wanted to hurt you?”

“Do you?” Hazel asked, her innocence ripping through his heart like a stake. Annabel was right. She was too vulnerable. He knew what he had to do, much as he hated the idea.

“You’re stalling. Just do it,” Annabel ordered. “Now.”

Everything in the dark turmoil of her eyes and the full flush of her lips begged him to kiss her. She started to speak again, and he pulled her close, kissing her. At first she resisted, then she began to soften, to melt against him, hesitantly returning his kiss as he eased the pistol from beneath his shirt.

Annabel said, “Pull the trigger and it’ll be over. You have to. It’s for the best.”

He felt sick as he raised the gun behind her and broke the kiss, gasping for air. His hand was shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Hazel whispered.

That confused him. He was the one about to do something unimaginably horrible…why was
she
apologizing? For a moment he almost asked, but decided he didn’t want to know. “So am I.” His throat tightened. “Please, angel, forgive me.”

He squeezed the trigger. There was an abrupt, muffled sound, Hazel’s eyes widened, and she gave a small cry, stiffening. She struggled, weakening, until she slumped against him. He rocked her gently as she trembled and shuddered, and he whispered soothing sounds, tenderly stroking her hair. She looked up, wide-eyed, and a tear ran down her cheek.

“Why?” she said, just a whisper.

“I told you. You’re mine. Forever.” He kissed her again, the gentlest kiss, tasting her warmth as she faded. He lowered her to the ground, tracing his fingers along her cheek, wishing it hadn’t come to this, when the world exploded in a flash of blinding pain.

Hazel opened her eyes to find herself curled in the passenger seat, her head resting on the center console, cushioned by Hammon’s coat. She looked around the Fairmont in confusion. At the wheel, Hammon glanced over, smiling grimly. She struggled to sit up, staring out at the narrow road unwinding in the headlights as foggy darkness closed in around them.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice small.

“You fainted.”

“No…I…it was…” Hazel murmured, straining to remember. “Something else…” Something unclear. Something terrible.

Hammon slowed the car, turning off the road and between massive iron gates, weaving beneath overgrown trees and down a low hill. Through the gloom they passed a mausoleum. Ahead, the ghostly shape of an angel stood, wings broken, head bowed in frozen grief. Hazel knew this place well, but why had Hammon taken her there?

He shut the headlights and engine, then turned to her.

“This should be far enough.”

“For what?”

He grinned crookedly, a single fang catching the faint dashboard light, and Hazel shivered, turning away. Darkness surrounded them in every direction. She could hide in the darkness. She tugged at the door handle. It wouldn’t release.

“You think you can keep running from me?” His eyes gleamed as he moved closer. “I told you I’d find you.” His fingers touched her cheek. “I’ll keep you safe, so no one can ever hurt you,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers. “Ever.”

His mouth caressed hers, his teeth grazing her lip. Hazel gasped, trying to push him back. He kissed her slowly, with a building intensity that threatened to pull her under. She eased her knife from her pocket, opening the blade as his kiss sent heat racing through her and his hand slid up beneath her shirt, pressing warm against her belly.

“I told you, I’ll follow you forever.” He gazed at her, his wide, colorless eyes filled with childlike adoration, his fangs glistening. Her grip tightened around the knife. His throat was bare and exposed. It would be easy to drive the blade deep into his white flesh. She knew exactly where and how to make it fatal; he wouldn’t even be able to scream. She squeezed her eyes shut as his lips brushed her damp eyelashes.

“You can fight or you can surrender.” He eased her down across the seat. “It doesn’t matter. Either way, you’re mine, forever.”

She tried to speak, but words died in her throat. She stared up, blinking back tears. His eyes burned into hers and she turned away, staring across at the soft glow of the dashboard as he moved over her. Just one slash, she told herself. So simple. Just do it. Just kill him.

“Are you okay?”

She couldn’t. She felt paralyzed, drowning, helpless.

“Hon, you okay? Talk to me.”

This wasn’t happening. Her head spun, her blood burned, and she moaned in desperation.

“That’s enough,” she heard Micah say. “You’re seriously freaking me out now.”

She blinked, staring around the Fairmont. Micah was at the wheel, and she was huddled in the passenger seat. He took the car out of gear and rolled onto the Parkway shoulder. Hazel struggled to sit up, blinking in bewilderment. It was just the two of them. A disorienting blur of headlights flashed by in the darkness. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember our plan to ambush Hammon? Well, it worked. And don’t feel guilty; I know you were kissing him to stop me from whacking him, but trust me, he needed whacking.”

It was coming back in fragments. Micah nodded.

“You were doing a first-class job of distracting him. I figured I’d give you a minute, let you have your fun; you seemed to be getting into it. Then I hear this weird little
pop
noise, and I’m wondering what it was, then I see you struggling, and you slump in his arms. He’s holding this.” He passed her a pistol. “I swear my heart stopped. I knocked him out, then pulled that,” he pointed to a dart with a red tail, stuck like a pushpin in the dashboard, “out of your backside. If I wasn’t so pissed, I’d laugh. Your boyfriend shot you in the ass with a tranquilizer dart.”

Hazel stared at the gun and felt sick.

“This is the same gun Pierce shot me with when
Kindling
sank. The gun Stevenson was going to use…”

She rushed to roll down the window as a wave of nausea threatened to overtake the dizziness, gulping the damp night air and letting the breeze blow the cold sweat on her face dry. It wasn’t hard to figure where Hammon got the gun.

Micah looked grim as he wove through slower-moving traffic. “When will people learn the hammer lane isn’t meant for old Saturns, minivans, and people on cell phones?” He turned to Hazel. “You okay?”

“Yeah. A little sore, a lot wiser, but okay.”

Micah’s grip on the wheel was tighter than driving conditions warranted. “That could have been a bullet instead of a dart. I never should’ve assumed Hammon was harmless. I put you in danger just so we could drive something with horsepower and a good stereo.”

“It was my idea too, and we were both wrong.” She’d wanted to see Hammon again, to talk to him, to see him smile and hear him say it was all some innocent, bizarre misunderstanding. “I couldn’t accept he’s really working for Stevenson.” She should have known better. She turned and looked backwards. “He’s in the trunk?”

That was the plan, to grab Hammon along with his car, to keep him hostage and question him at their leisure.

“Sorry, hon. I was more worried about you. I left your boyfriend in the bushes.”

Hazel nodded. Considering the circumstances, she would have done the same. “He’s not much use, anyway. Unless we’re looking for sea monsters, that is.”

“Uh, yeah, about that. I think I know what he was trying to tell us, and you’re not going to like it.”

Reluctantly he handed her a piece of paper covered in Hammon’s scribbled handwriting. Hazel read:

Hazel stared at the note. “
Joe
?”

“It sure looks that way.”

“Joe’s working with Stevenson?” She read it over again, stunned. “Joe? Why?”

“God only knows. Money, I guess.”

“You think
Joe
shot Dad?” Her trust in Joe had always been absolute. He was family.

Micah rubbed his face. “I don’t know what to think anymore. There’s a whole lot we don’t know about Joe, other than that he’d still be in prison if not for some bullshit technicality.”

Hazel scanned the traffic stretching behind them then shifted around anxiously. “You think Dad’s safe? Should we call the hospital and tell them?”

“So long as your dad’s in the ICU, Joe can’t get anywhere near him. Your dad’s as safe as he’s going to be, probably safer than us. And maybe it’s not what it looks like. I mean, we’re talking about Hammon.”

“But if he saw Joe meet with Stevenson…”

“I don’t know. All I know is we’ve got seven darts, and I want some answers.” Micah downshifted and shot past a BMW with Florida plates, the oblivious driver focused on his cell phone. “And I don’t get Hammon. I mean, what’s the deal with him? It’s almost like the poor bastard was trying to warn us. But then, why’d he shoot you? I can’t figure where that guy fits.”

Hazel watched out the back window. “I’ve given up trying.”

Hammon lay in the dirt and stared up at the overcast sky, sifting through the dull throbbing in his brain, trying to remember where he was and why. Annabel leaned over and looked down with concern.

“Point Pleasant. You kissed Hazel and shot her with a tranq-dart, then someone ambushed you.”

He sat up in panic, collapsing as his balance lagged. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, slowly looking around.

At Gary, his eyes filled with scathing fury. “Welcome back, you little shit.”

“Hazel?”

“Gone…this time with your car.”

“We have to find her!”

“WE don’t have to do anything. WE are taking you to the hospital to get your head examined. You shot me with a goddamned tranquilizer dart! Have you lost what little mind you’ve got?”

Annabel stifled a giggle. “Told you he’d be pissed.”

Hammon glared at her. “You’re the one that shot him, not me!”

“Do
not
blame the voices in your head,” Gary snapped.

“Voice. Singular.” Hammon rubbed the aching lump on his skull. “But someone ambushed me…”

“You don’t get it. Hazel lured you here to take your car. You won’t be happy till she kills you.” Gary dragged Hammon to his feet, escorted him to the passenger side of the Dakota, shoving the open laptop aside. Hammon pulled it onto his lap.

Annabel scanned the screen over his shoulder. “I think I see how he found you. He’s got a tracker in the Fairmont. It’s twenty miles up on the Parkway.”

Hammon watched the signal creeping north.

“I really don’t need this shit.” Gary started driving in no particular hurry, heading southbound. “I’m not even supposed to be here today. I should be at Raceway Park, surrounded by horsepower and scantily clad beauties who don’t want to electrocute me. Not risking my ass saving yours, which, for the record, won’t happen again. I’m through with helping you chase after that little sociopath. The next time you fuck up, you’re on your own.”

Annabel said, “Knowing them, they’re heading straight into trouble.”

And Gary was going the wrong way. “We have to help them,” Hammon insisted.

“No we don’t,” Gary muttered.

“Hazel’s in danger. She needs help.”

“In so many ways. That girl’s psychotic. And you seriously need meds.”

Hammon’s brain pounded and he felt nauseous. He leaned forward, head between his knees, and Annabel whispered an idea inside his skull.

“Uh, Gary…”

“What, damnit?”

“I don’t feel so good. I think I’m gonna barf.”

He slammed into the dash as Gary swerved onto the shoulder, screeching to a stop. Hammon opened the door and leaned out, head down, sucking in deep breaths. Gary climbed out, backing away from the idling truck, pacing and shaking his head in disgust. “You puke in my truck, you’re walking home.”

“I’ll try not to,” Hammon said feebly. Gary had a notoriously low tolerance toward visual examples of an upset stomach; the mere sight of someone losing their lunch was enough to make him toss his own cookies. Hammon rocked slowly, dropped his head again, and made a ghastly retching sound.

“For chrissakes, get out of the truck and puke somewhere else!” Gary grumbled, turning away.

“Now!” Annabel shouted.

Hammon sat up and scrambled to close and lock both doors as he climbed across to the driver’s seat. With his damaged leg it was clumsy but he managed, throwing the truck into gear and spinning a 180, leaving Gary on the shoulder, screaming obscenities into a cloud of dust.