Reclaim My Life (34 page)

Wil tensed. “Tell me.”

“Sunny Davis, the missing person the English professor reported—”

“Elizabeth Stevens.” Wil glanced at her. She’d said she called it in from Sam’s after dinner.

“Yes, the lady I met in your office. Anyway, I sent Brady and Devon to the Davis apartment to interview the husband. He’s cleared out.”

“What do you mean? He evacuated, or he moved out, or what?”

“Disappeared. His clothes and computer are gone, along with his vehicle. We don’t think he got far in this rain. Someone will pick him up.”

“If they do, let me know. I want to talk to him, too.”

“You’re on vacation.”

“Not exactly. I’ll explain later.”

“Jamie has a report for you on the Davises.” The sound of shuffled paper crackled in the background. “Ian’s clean. She’s having trouble with Sunny, though. Her full name according to her college employment file is Sonya Leigh Duncan Davis, but Jamie’s hit a brick wall on that one.”

“Great. So how do we notify next of kin if it becomes necessary?” Wil avoided eye contact with Elizabeth. Her friend’s disappearance had upset her enough already.

“You thinking it’s going to be a third homicide?” Fred asked.

“God, I hope not.” Wil rubbed the back of his neck, where the beginnings of a headache threatened. “Tell Jamie to keep digging, but not at the expense of those emergency calls you’re having.”

“Meanwhile, we have an APB out on both Ian’s and Sunny’s vehicles.”

“Good. Did you give Phyllis Gillespie her interview for her paper?”

“Sure did. I told her she needs to think about retirement. Let Amy take over the
Democrat.”

Wil chuckled. “You didn’t.”

“Well…” Fred’s low laughter gave him away. “Not exactly. I think Phyllis plans to call the two homicides ‘cold cases’ because we didn’t solve them within the first forty-eight.”

“She watches too much TV.”

“Of course, had Adam been elected sheriff, she’d be spinning a different tale.”

Wil didn’t want to encourage Gillespie-bashing within the sheriff’s department, so he ignored Fred’s remark. “Speaking of Amy, has there been any news about Ben Sawyer?”

“Geraldo took the boat out and is searching the Suwannee with a couple of Adam’s officers, but it’s rough going out there. We’ve had a lot of rain dumped in a short time. That river’s a mess.”

“It’ll be daylight soon. That should help with rescue efforts.” Wil ended the call and stared at Elizabeth.

“What is it?”

“Your theory about Ian Davis … isn’t sounding farfetched anymore.”

Daylight sneaked in between the gaps in the shutters, bringing with it an eerie calm. Rain slackened to a drizzle, but a heavy cloud cover blocked much of the morning sun. Elizabeth changed into shorts and a T-shirt, then cooked scrambled eggs and toast for their breakfast. The lights flickered a couple of times, but Drake Oaks didn’t lose power.

“I can’t believe the electricity still works.” Wilson started a fresh pot of coffee to brew. “We’re lucky. Last year we had a nor’easter that wasn’t nearly this severe, and lost power for nearly two days.”

“That’s why I did laundry last night,” Elizabeth said. “I figured I’d get as much washed as I could while we had power.” That wasn’t the only reason, of course. She needed to keep as busy as possible and funnel her nervous energy.

“Good thing you did, because I sure made a load of wet clothes when I came in from helping Adam.”

Elizabeth couldn’t concentrate on talk of weather or utilities. She was too worried about Sunny. Where was she now? Could she still be alive, or had Ian killed her? How could they all have been so taken in by Ian and his shy, geeky routine? How ironic that he hadn’t chosen to kill Elizabeth instead of Kris or Cathleen when she was the only one of the foursome who actually had a contract out on her life.

Wilson moved next to where she stood by the stove and gave her a funny look. “I said, ‘how long are you planning to cook the eggs?’“

“I’m sorry!” She jerked the skillet off the burner. “I’ll make more.”

“These are fine. Just a bit overdone.” Grabbing one of the plates and a metal spatula, he scraped half of the hardened egg scramble onto it. “Get the toast, and let’s eat.”

“I should’ve paid attention to what I was doing.” She joined him at the kitchen table with her own plate of crispy eggs. Wilson had poured them each a mug of coffee. “Did I mention I’m a kitchen hazard?”

He smiled, but it seemed forced. Tension had them both on edge, and any attempt at humor would have fizzled. “You were preoccupied.”

She stared at her eggs. Even if the plate had been full of Boyd’s famous French toast, she couldn’t have swallowed a bite. “I can’t stop thinking about Ian. Man, I am so naïve.”

Wilson blew across the top of his coffee mug, then took a sip. “Stop beating up on yourself. First, we don’t know he’s a killer. Second, if he is, he had everyone fooled, including his wife. You don’t have the market cornered on misjudging people, darlin’.”

She snorted at that. “Wanna bet?”

“Yeah, I’d take that bet.” He stuffed more of the crusty eggs into his mouth and chewed.

Wilson had a point, though. She was beating up on herself, which was counterproductive. She needed to stay positive. “You know, life’s funny.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m no fatalist, but look at how every fork in the road brings us new choices, things we might have missed if we’d taken a different path. Like me and teaching English. I thought Horse Calls was everything I wanted in a career. Then when circumstances forced me into a new profession, I discovered a love for that, too.”

“Sam thinks you’re the best thing to happen to the drama department.”

“He does?” How nice that Dean Drake recognized her efforts, especially after he’d been persuaded by the feds to hire her. “That’s another thing. I never took part in school plays or did anything more theatrical than dressage, and that’s a horse show. But I love working with the students.”

He swallowed his coffee, then smiled at her from behind the cup. “You probably learned theater from watching all those DVDs.”

“I never thought of that. Working with the drama students does make me feel like a movie producer. Or director. I’ll miss that.”

His eyes darkened and he scowled, but he finished his eggs and toast without a word. Any talk of her impending relocation seemed to upset him, so she changed the subject. “Are you going to check on your dad this morning?”

“If the phones still work.” He picked up his empty plate and pointed his fork at hers.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“The toast maybe. The eggs aren’t very appetizing.”

He chuckled. “Well, I wasn’t going to marry you for your cooking, anyway.”

“Marry? Who said you were going to marry me?”

“I would have. But you have to go, honey. We both know I can’t protect you twenty-four seven. I couldn’t live with myself if you died on my watch.” He swallowed, and his eyes grew bright with moisture. “I couldn’t live with myself if you died, period.”

She sprang from her chair and wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back, then dropped a kiss to the back of her hand. “You’re one of those forks in the road I wouldn’t have wanted to miss, Wilson. I will always love you.”

“Promise me when Cory gets here, you’ll leave immediately. Any hesitation could bring you closer to death.”

She nodded. “I see the wisdom in that, and I’ll promise. I won’t like it, though.”

“Let’s say our goodbyes now, because we may not get the chance later.” He cradled her face in his hands and pulled her down for a tender kiss. “I’ll always love you, too, darlin’.”

The shrill ringing of the telephone intruded. She stepped back from their embrace. “You better answer that.”

Wil answered the phone, listened for a minute, then straightened. Every muscle in his hunky body seemed to jump to alert mode. “Wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

When he hung up, she asked, “Where are you going?”

“We
are going into the station. Brady and Devon picked up Ian Davis. They’re bringing him in for questioning, and I want to be there.”

A mantle of dread settled around her shoulders. They were leaving the relative safety of their isolated hideout. She couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom. “Wouldn’t I be safer hiding out here?”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Resigned, she headed toward the stairs. “I’ll get my stuff.”

“Good idea. I don’t know that we’ll be able to return for it.”

About five minutes later, she descended the stairs with her duffel. Wilson waited for her at the bottom of the steps. He’d changed into his hunter green uniform, complete with holster and gun. Keys jingled from one hand. The other clutched an aqua and black baseball cap.

“I’m ready if you are.”

He handed her the cap, which she recognized as an NFL-licensed Jacksonville Jaguars cap. “Wear this. It’s not much of a disguise, but it’s better than nothing.”

She adjusted the strap to tighten the fit, then put it on. “Good thinking.”

“Let’s go out the back.” The rain had stopped, but water dripped from every tree limb. She followed Wilson around the back of the house toward the carport. On the way, Wilson stopped beside an outdoor storage lean-to, where he grabbed an axe and some kind of saw. “No telling what we’ll have to remove from the road.”

“You think we’ll be able to get through?”

“Well, Adam made it here from downtown, so I’m hoping the tools won’t be necessary.”

He idled the Jeep up the drive, careful of the standing water and debris. Stopping at the gate, he got out long enough to unchain the gates and then proceeded onto the paved county road. A police vehicle had been abandoned beside the gate. She assumed it belonged to Adam but didn’t ask. Wilson had mentally retreated to some unreachable place, deep in thought. Or perhaps he was concentrating on the drive.

Dodging the downed trees, he followed County Road 471 to the next dirt road and pulled to a stop. An old truck blocked the side road, its hood raised. A thin, bony African-American man jumped from the driver’s seat and waved both arms. Another man sat in the passenger seat, but she couldn’t see his face.

“What’s up, Mr. Gabe?” Wilson parked beside the man’s truck.

“H’lo, Sheriff Wil. I’m mighty glad you happened by. I got me an injured man needin’ help.”

Wilson climbed out of the seat, then leaned into the window of the truck. “Ben Sawyer! A bunch of folks will be mighty glad to see you.”

Gabe leaned against the fender, facing Wilson. “I tried calling Adam, but I can’t get through. All I get’s that fast busy tone.”

Wilson nodded. “Busy circuits. You want a ride to town?”

The man Wilson had called Mr. Gabe shook his head. “No need. Just get Ben to a doctor. He’s prob’ly got a concussion.”

“Open the door, and I’ll help him to the Jeep.”

Elizabeth released her seatbelt, then bolted to his side. “Let me help.”

Wilson grunted, hoisting the injured man from the truck. About Wilson’s age, Ben Sawyer outweighed him by thirty pounds at least. “Ben Sawyer, Gabe Reesor, meet Elizabeth Stevens.”

How had the scrawny older man managed to get Ben into his pickup? They murmured their polite greetings to Elizabeth while struggling to walk Ben to the Jeep. Mud caked one side of his jeans, and long scratches reddened his arms and one side of his face.

“We need to doctor those scratches,” she said.

“I dragged him some getting him out of the river.”

“Saved my life.”

Gabe waved off Ben’s words as if rescuing the man were no big deal.

“Wilson, I’ll ride in the back with Ben and see if I can find some antibiotic cream in my bag.”

They buckled up and said goodbye to Gabe. Wilson started the Jeep and crept into town, again evading logs and other debris blocking his path. Fortunately, he had no occasion to use the axe. While she rummaged through her toiletries in search of her first aid kit, she kept Ben talking. If he was concussed, they didn’t want him going to sleep.

“Adam borrowed my boat and went to pick up Amy and the kids.”

“So they’re okay?” Ben’s voice wasn’t strong, but at least he could talk.

“Far as I know, buddy. Can you tell us what happened?”

She found a tiny tube of Neosporin. “Hold on. Let me doctor his face.”

After she’d applied the cream to his scratches, he held out his arm for her to wipe as clean as she could with one of her T-shirts. “Tree crashed through the center of the house, cutting it in two. The way sparks were flying, it’s a wonder it didn’t catch fire.”

“So why did you go for help alone?” Wilson asked.

“I didn’t at first. We all piled in the truck and started for town. But the bridge was underwater. I could barely make out the sides. I turned around and took them back to the old barn. It didn’t seem damaged, so I thought they’d be safe until I could get help. I went back and tried it alone. I figured I could make it, but I wasn’t taking chances with my family.”

“You know better. Remember our safety slogan,
Don’t Drown
—
Turn Around?”

“Yeah, I shoulda. The bridge gave way, and I lost my truck. Somehow I got out. Next thing I knew, I was on Reesor’s dock. Did you know that old guy knows CPR?”