Authors: Virna Depaul
Automatically, she raised her chin at the challenge in his voice. “How?”
“By doing the reasonable thing and leaving the investigative work to the professionals.”
Her mouth twisted. “To the
sighted
professionals, you mean.”
“I’m not even dignifying that with a response.”
“You just did,” she shot back.
“And you’re acting as crazy as your mother!”
She reeled back, her face going deathly pale. Before she knew it, she was on her feet, the sheet falling away from her as she took two steps forward, arms outstretched so her palms found the wall. Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against it. Hadn’t she just been happy? Hadn’t being in his arms made her feel whole? Why, then, was she suddenly breaking apart? “What do you know about my mother?” she whispered.
He was by her side now. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. But that doesn’t answer my question.”
He remained silent.
“Melissa?” Her feelings of betrayal were evident in her voice.
“Don’t be mad at her. She mentioned your mother, but she didn’t tell me about her mental illness. I found that out on my own.”
When she remained silent, he touched her arm, dropping his hand when she flinched back. “Your mother’s history is irrelevant to who you are. It’s irrelevant to how I feel about you, Natalie. Melissa was just trying to be a good friend. Telling me what she knew so she could protect you.”
“Protect me from who? Alex Hanes? When it was really you I needed protection from all along?”
“I understand why you’re saying that now. But I care about you, Natalie, and—”
His phone rang. “It’s Jase. I have to get this.”
When she sensed him turn away, she bent, gathered the fallen sheet and wrapped it protectively around her. She remained standing, however, her right shoulder pressed against the wall.
“What’s up, Jase?…I’m not surprised at all that she attended the church. You got a hit?” She heard him scramble for something and begin to make notes. “A cabin in Redding belonging to Lester Phillips. He’s the reverend’s father-in-law?…Good work. I’ll gather a team of officers from the local station while you work on the warrant… .Yeah, it’ll be a tough sell, but I’ve got additional facts you can include.” He proceeded to update Jase on everything he’d told Natalie. “You’ve got enough to work with. Convince the judge. Nice job.”
He closed his phone, and she could feel him looking at her.
“We’ve got a lead. Something that connects the church to Redding and possibly to Lindsay’s murder. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”
He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t leave either.
She remained where she was, trying to look dignified despite feeling pathetically defeated. “Did Melissa tell you about Duncan, too? About how he left me when I lost my vision? About how I couldn’t get off with him in bed? Did she tell you that? Is that what today was about? A pity fuck, after all.”
“No and no. Today was about passion. Don’t turn it into something ugly.”
“If ugly is the absence of beauty, then everything I see is ugly, isn’t it?”
“Natalie, don’t be this way. We can talk—”
“I don’t want to talk and you don’t have time to anyway. Go.”
“We’ll talk later. I’ll just call Liz—”
“I told you. I don’t want Liz. I don’t want anyone. I’m rejecting police protection. I have that right.”
“Damn it, don’t try and punish me by endangering yourself. Don’t make me feel guilty for just doing my job. Don’t be like my ex-wife—”
“I get it. First my crazy mother, now your needy ex-wife.” She laughed bitterly. “You obviously think very highly of me. I bet you can’t wait to be on your way. Well, you don’t need to make excuses. Maybe I’ll see you around someday. Not.”
“Natalie, don’t do this, damn it. Don’t endanger yourself—”
“I’ll be careful. I won’t let anyone inside. In fact, I’ll stay right here, all by my lonesome. Just the way I prefer it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
N
ORTHERN
C
ALIFORNIA
HAD
been hit by an unexpected storm. Clemmons imagined the tears fell from the eyes of a God who’d witnessed far too much sin to hold back any longer. Despair was a heavy weight that led Clemmons straight to his empty home office. With despair, however, also came resolve.
Morrison had underestimated both Clemmons’s faith and his love for his family. Obviously Clemmons had made mistakes. Let his ambition guide him instead of his morality. But he wasn’t going to let Morrison lead him into the depths of hell any farther.
Though suicide was a sin, murder was a far bigger one.
He’d take his chances that God would be merciful. But either way, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—kill Natalie Jones or anyone else to save his own skin. Unfortunately, however, his actions would hurt the ones he loved most.
His shoulders shook with silent sobs. His wife. His children. The little girl he’d never get to hold. He’d betrayed them all. Was going to betray them yet again by taking his own life. But he didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t ask them to live with his shame. This way, Morrison would have no reason to tell Allison what had happened. She’d be devastated from losing him, confused, but
someday
she’d be able to move on. She’d have her faith to console and strengthen her. At least she wouldn’t think of him as a monster.
Hands trembling, he removed the gun he kept in his drawer. The one he’d bought the day after he’d returned from Plainville with Morrison. He’d suspected then that his life might be in danger, but he’d quickly grown complacent. Fallen for Morrison’s act once again.
Pressing the barrel under his chin, he squeezed his eyes shut. His hands shook so badly that the metal raked his skin, but he tried to block out the pain.
He bit his lip until he tasted blood. Then, with a tortured groan, he lowered the gun.
Tears stung his eyes but refused to fall.
Coward. Coward. Coward.
With shaky hands, he tightened his grip again. This time, he was going to do it.
“Clemmons.”
He frowned. He swore he’d heard Allison. That he could even smell her. But that was impossible. He’d convinced her to take the kids and visit her parents in San Diego. He’d driven her and the boys to the airport himself.
“Clemmons.”
Clemmons jumped and turned, his muscles taut. Those same muscles seized and trembled when he saw her, her beautiful hair floating loose around her. He swallowed hard. He loved it when she wore her hair down for him, especially in bed.
Quickly he shoved the gun back into the drawer, thankful that she hadn’t seen it. “What are you doing here, Allison? Where are the kids?”
Instead of answering him, she simply stepped inside his office, closed the door, then bowed her head. She placed a hand on the wall as if to steady herself. Clemmons frowned and took several steps closer to her. The skin that had glowed so healthily this morning now seemed sallow, and dark circles nestled under her eyes. Panic quickened his heart. Was she sick? Or had Morrison already—
He crossed the room and cupped her chin, tilting her face up and forcing her to look at him. Tears filled her eyes, making him want to howl. No, he thought. “What’s wrong?”
She pulled away, walked slowly to his desk chair and sat down, leaning her head back as if she didn’t have the strength to remain upright.
He followed her and knelt on the floor next to her. “Are you sick? Tell me what’s wrong.”
“My husband has left me.”
When he didn’t say anything, just continued to gaze at her in disbelief, she raised her head. Raised a trembling hand to smooth back his hair. “You don’t think I’ve sensed it? How distracted and troubled you’ve been? I kept hoping you’d confide in me. That you’d come back to me. But you didn’t. And this morning, when you pushed us away so suddenly, I knew it was happening. You’re leaving us, aren’t you? You’ve found someone else?”
It took him a minute to understand what she was saying. He shook his head. “No!” He carried her hands to his mouth and kissed them repeatedly. Reverently. “How can you think that? You’re the only one, Allison. I’ve never been tempted, not once, to stray from you.”
Pulling her hands out of his grip, she cupped his face and stared into his eyes. She frowned. “I—I believe you. I do. But then what’s going on? What’s taken you away from us? Why did you want us out of the way?”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his face against her gentle hands, soaking her in. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve her, but he drew strength from her touch nonetheless, even as he anticipated the way she’d pull away once she knew. “I’ve done a horrible thing, Ally,” he choked out. “Horrible
things
. I’ve tainted everything I believe in, everything we’ve built together. How can I even look at you?”
“By remembering how much I love you,” she said softly. “By remembering how much
God
loves you.”
He shook his head. “I can still see her blood on my hands…Lauren’s…”
She sucked in a breath and the hands pressed against his face trembled. But her voice remained steady. Calm. “Lauren. The girl from the church. The one whose body the police found. What happened?”
Blinking, he opened his eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask if I killed her?”
Her eyes were steady on his. “Did you?”
“I—I—no. She was dying. I’m sure of it. But the baby—her baby—”
She narrowed her eyes, a sudden flash of understanding flaring in them. “Tell me.”
He felt something break inside him, imperceptibly loosening his voice and his muscles from their atrophied state. He flexed his fingers as he felt blood rushing inside him. Strengthening him. Breathing feelings into him that he hadn’t felt in two months.
Strength. Courage. Hope.
He’d been wrong. She wasn’t going to turn from him. No matter what happened, she would stand by his side. She would be his salvation.
All he had to do was face what he’d done and try to make it right.
* * *
M
ORRISON
WATCHED
rain fall onto his windshield. The light patter on the glass irritated him. Made his head pound.
His skin felt stretched tight like dried leather. The rain outside offered no solace from the heat burning him from the inside and out. He took one hand off the wheel and scratched at his arm, raking his flesh until blood welled. He pinched his skin over and over, imagining he was being drenched by the raindrops outside, knowing his expensive suits would hide the telltale marks.
With each jolt of pain, he imagined hurting
her
. It made him breathe more easily.
She was his problem, one he’d have to deal with soon. And he’d have to do it himself.
Despite Morrison’s threats, Clemmons wasn’t going to do what was needed. He’d been horrified by the idea of Morrison telling Allison what he’d done, but he hadn’t been swayed. Morrison had seen it in his eyes. Although he was ambitious, his ambition wasn’t about fame, power or money, but about making a difference by spreading God’s love. He’d struggle with what to do, but ultimately that same love would stymie him.
Morrison knew this. Because despite what his wife thought of him, he wasn’t a fool. He’d gotten where he had because he knew people. Granted, Shannon’s family ties had sped the process along, but she’d be nothing without him.
She’d
be nothing.
She wouldn’t even be a mother.
But was she satisfied? Had she started giving him the respect he deserved?
No. She continued to harangue him. Mock him.
She took no responsibility for the fact that Morrison had to turn to other women, younger girls, in order to experience any semblance of softness and affection. She characterized it as
his
weakness. His failing.
Yet he knew the truth. They were his reward. His reward for putting up with such a heinous bitch for a wife. Until he could get rid of her.
He momentarily let go of the wheel to press both hands against his head, trying to drive the thought away. He’d loved Lauren—Lindsay. He truly had. She was sweet. And most of all, she’d
loved
him. She would have been a good wife. A good mother. Or so he’d thought. In the end, she’d harbored the same stubbornness that Shannon had. She’d thought she could dictate to him. Dictate what was going to happen with his son.
His
son. Not hers. Not Shannon’s.
His.
He hadn’t wanted her hurt. He certainly hadn’t wanted her dead. But afterward, when he’d watched Lauren dying, the blood seeping out of her, he’d imagined she was Shannon.
A sense of pleasure and power unlike anything he’d ever felt—not even when he’d forced himself into his wife’s body—had filled him.
And he’d been biding his time ever since. Because he still needed her. But someday… Someday…
A blare of a horn from a passing car jerked his attention back to the road. He’d veered to the shoulder, and he jerked the wheel, gasping when the car fishtailed out of control. He braked hard, and the car’s engine trembled in protest.
He took in several calming breaths before pulling carefully back onto the road.
He couldn’t rid himself of Shannon yet, but he could deal with the photographer—the police’s eyewitness. When he did, Shannon would be pleased. She’d feel comfortable again, lost once more to her flock and to mothering Matthew.
But someday Morrison would find another wife, one who was softer. Gentler. Like Lauren. Or Trisha. Or Michelle. Or any of the other girls he’d pleasured and blessed over the years.
And someday soon he’d be blessed with the life he truly wanted. One without Shannon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
M
AC
AND
SEVERAL
OFFICERS
from Redding PD had to leave their cars on the side of the road and walk a mile through a dense grove of trees before reaching Lester Phillips’s remote fishing cabin. The inside was innocuous. Clean. Very little furniture. White walls. Not exactly where one would expect a host of violent crimes to be committed.
But they had been committed.
He found the bloodstain almost immediately. Someone had tried cleaning it out of the carpet with bleach, but it was still there, right next to the brick hearth. And by the size of the stain, the victim’s wounds—
Lindsay’s
wounds—had been massive.
Lights flashed as one of the detectives took a picture of it.
Mac put on some latex gloves and walked to the neat stack of videos next to an ancient VCR and a modern-looking, though dusty, DVD player.
Old movies.
Casablanca.
A couple of Doris Day films. Then one in particular caught his eye. He picked up the well-worn paper case.
Singing in the Rain.
It was the song that Hanes had hummed in the cab.
This was where he’d been staying, at least until he’d returned to Crystal Haven.
Next to the videotapes were several DVD disks, unlabeled.
He slipped one into the DVD player, turned on the TV and switched it to the right channel. It was a recording of Lindsay, her hair dark, similar to the way it had been in Natalie’s photographs. She was pretending to give a tour of the cabin.
“It’s nice, don’t you think? All the comforts of home.” She rolled her eyes. “Not! But what’s a girl in love supposed to do?” She shrugged, then continued to walk through the cabin, describing each room as she passed it.
“Hey, Mac. I found something.”
Keeping the DVD running, Mac turned and walked toward the back of the house. A young detective named Heath Parker jerked his head toward a small bedroom. A twin-size bed covered with a worn quilt, a stuffed bear perched against the pillow. A couple of loose dresses hanging in the closet, none of them, he noted, the white dress Lindsay had worn to the farmers’ market. “What did you find?”
The words stuck in his throat as he spied the book on the night table.
What to Expect When You’re Expecting.
His gaze skipped to the corner of the room where a small cradle was half covered with several blankets. He shifted them aside so he could look into the cradle; inside were a couple of neatly folded baby outfits. Small. Blue.
“—baby boy.”
The words were spoken in a feminine voice that drifted into the bedroom from the living room. From the DVD player Mac had left on.
With a feeling of dread, Mac stepped in front of the playing TV. This portion of the video had obviously been taken several months after Lindsay had given her little tour. Her hair was still black but longer. And although it might not have been noticeable at first glance because of her small stature, Lindsay was pregnant. She leaned back, thrusting her stomach out and pressing her dress against its roundness. She was smiling, but her eyes were slightly sad as she described how her baby boy was going to live with his father “Morris” while Lindsay went to college. Someday, she said, they’d all be a family.
Morris. Reverend Morrison.
M.
The father of Lindsay’s baby. A baby no one had known about. Had he died with her? Because he hadn’t been buried with her. If that was the case, they would have found its fragile bones right along with hers.
Briefly he wondered why the pathologist hadn’t discovered the fact that Lindsay had been pregnant. The only explanation was that the killer had taken the baby, dead or alive, separating Lindsay from any of its genetic material—didn’t the placenta carry the DNA of both the mother and her fetus?—before burying her. Even so, wouldn’t Lindsay’s bones have revealed something? Wouldn’t she have been wider through the hips, from having delivered the baby? But that was assuming Lindsay had given birth to the baby naturally. It was entirely possible, he realized, given the state of the bones they’d found, that any trace DNA had been corrupted. And if the baby had been cut from Lindsay’s body—
He shivered, trying not to picture a small, shallow grave somewhere outside.
For now, he had to believe Lindsay’s baby was alive.
So where was he?
* * *
B
ONNIE STOPPED THE CAR
and turned to Natalie, who sat in the passenger seat. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you? I don’t mind.”
“No, thank you. But I really appreciate the ride.”
“You know which mobile home your friend lives in?”
“The light blue one, about halfway down the lane. He—he always had an American flag out front.”
“I see it.”
Natalie sighed with relief. Chances were Pete still lived there. “So you’ll pick me up in thirty minutes?”
“Sure thing.”
“Thanks again for doing this. I’m just—just not ready to ride in a cab again.”
“No worries, Natalie. I’m proud of you for having the courage to get out again at all.” She heard the slight note of criticism in Bonnie’s voice, indicating she actually felt the exact opposite. Natalie ignored it and stepped out of the car with her cane. She stood there and listened to Bonnie drive off.
The sudden rain that had started a few hours ago had let up a little; it was only a light drizzle now. Still, she shivered in the cold. She tried to draw on her memories of what the mobile park looked like. She’d walked the adjacent neighborhood numerous times. Should have been able to picture the houses that lined the street just outside the mobile park entrance. But her memory was sluggish, even more so than her vision.
She didn’t have that much time before Bonnie came back. Plus, it was going to start raining harder. She needed to ask Pete her questions right away.
The only trouble was she was tired, so tired. Suddenly making the effort to walk to Pete’s trailer seemed too much for her. She’d love to fall asleep to the sound of the rain. For a second, she imagined doing just that. But her imagination quickly betrayed her, tormenting her with memories of being in Mac’s arms again.
Up until they’d fought, she hadn’t felt tired at all. In fact, she’d felt more alive than she had in a long time. The weeks prior to meeting him had been comfortable, predictable and boring. Ever since he’d come crashing through her door, things had been sheer madness. Would she ever be able to find a happy medium between the two extremes?
She listened to the wind’s lonely howl. The world faded in and out, keeping time with her slow, shuddering breaths. Once again, she felt utterly alone. With no warning, she was transported back to that musty old closet, and all her childish fears of boogeymen and monsters welled up inside her.
The neighborhood houses she’d tried to picture finally formed in her mind, but instead of appearing comfortingly familiar, they were now ominous. Windows became demonic eyes, staring at her with malicious intent. Manicured lawns and trees were sinister hands, reaching out to grab her. Arched doorways were transformed into gaping, sharp-toothed mouths, ready to swallow her whole.
If she died right now, no one would know. If she screamed, no one would hear. In some ways, wouldn’t that be better? Even if Mac was right about someone in the church being after her, they wouldn’t chase after a dead woman. Perhaps with Lindsay gone and Alex Hanes dead, too, things would stop there. Mac could move on to another case… .
Stop it! She wanted to slap herself. What was wrong with her? Despite the fact Mac thought she was foolish and had a death wish, it wasn’t true. She didn’t want to die.
What she wanted was to put all this behind her. Help Mac close his case. Learn the truth. Get on with her life.
It would be a life without Mac, but it would be a good life nonetheless.
She started moving forward, struggling to put one foot in front of the other, carefully making her way over the uneven, pebbled terrain, hoping she was actually getting closer to Pete’s front door.
“Why are you crying, pretty Natalie?”
Natalie gasped. She hadn’t even realized she was crying, but she was. “Pete?”
“That’s right. I remember you, pretty lady. You always stopped by to say hello and drop some bills into my basket. So kind.”
She recognized his voice. Pictured him as she’d last seen him. Bewhiskered face and dingy tattered clothes. She felt a simultaneous urge to hug him and run away.
“Come on in so we can talk.”
Natalie nodded and smiled weakly. She let him lead her inside his home and to a chair. When she sat down, he placed a throw around her shoulders.
“Why are you here, Natalie? Why are you upset?”
She opened her mouth, then shut it again, not quite sure where to begin. Finally she settled for the truth. “I’m here on a wild-goose chase. The last time I saw you, it was at the farmers’ market. About two months ago. You said something to someone. Something I remembered. And it might be important.”
“What did I say?”
“You called someone a hypocrite. A charlatan. You said someone was blinding a woman and that she shouldn’t give him what he wanted.”
“Ah, now I remember.”
“You do! That’s good. I half thought I was imagining it. Was it someone you know?”
“No. No one I ever met.”
“Then why did you say those things?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he sighed and shifted. “I’ve got some wine here. You want some?” He brushed past her, and it was only then she smelled the alcohol on him. “It’ll warm you up.”
She hesitated. She was cold. Freezing. She nodded.
“Here you go.”
She reached her hand out. He handed her a glass. She took a long sip, then another because it indeed made her warmer.
“I remember the couple you’re talking about. But she didn’t listen to me, did she? She gave him what he wanted. I knew she would. By her own choice or not, she gave him her baby.”
Baby? Pete had obviously been drinking before she’d shown up.
He began to sing a lullaby. Something about singing until a loved one felt safe, closed his eyes and slept well. Slept tight.
She sighed. Yep, he was drunk. But he had nice voice. And the words of the song were lovely.
She took another sip of wine. Closed her eyes. Listened as he continued to sing.
“I’ll stroke your hair as you sleep,” he crooned. “You won’t be alone… .”
Natalie was almost falling asleep herself. She imagined a baby falling under the spell of Pete’s voice. Lindsay’s baby.
“She was pregnant?” she muttered softly.
But even as she asked the question, her memory flashed with a blurry picture of a petite, dark-haired girl and a tall silver-haired man at her side. There was something about the girl’s posture that had bugged her. Something about the way she’d placed her hand on her stomach. What was it? What…
It came to her.
It hadn’t been a flat stomach, but it hadn’t been huge either. Natalie hadn’t readily recognized her as pregnant. But the way she’d stood was how Natalie had often seen pregnant women standing. The way they unconsciously protected the baby in their belly.
Her mind clicked through the possibilities. Mac thought the reverend might have had a thing for young girls. Unspoken was his suspicion that he might have been having an affair with Lindsay. What if he had found out she was pregnant? What if he’d needed to hide that fact? What if he’d been the one to hire Alex Hanes to kill her?
She didn’t know whether it was true or not, but she believed her vision of Lindsay was a memory, not her imagination. If it was true, Lindsay’s pregnancy was a clue Mac should know about. It was a clue she could give him.
“Thank you, Pete. I have to make a call.”
His singing abruptly stopped. “Of course. Don’t be afraid, pretty Natalie. Everything’s going to be just fine.”
His words brought a well of tears to her eyes. Unlike the last time he’d said them, she didn’t believe him, but the words still offered a hint of comfort.
She waited until Bonnie picked her up and took her home before she called Mac.
He answered on the first ring.
“What is it, Natalie?”
He sounded aloof. Curt. She almost regretted calling him, but she forced herself to continue. “I remembered something, Mac. Something about Lindsay. I—I think she was pregnant.”
There was an odd, tense silence on the other line before he finally spoke. “What makes you think that?”
She told him about Pete. How she’d tracked him down. What he’d said.
She waited for his voice to soften. For him to show some sign of appreciation.
“You went to a lot of trouble for nothing, Natalie. I know Lindsay was pregnant.”
“What— When—”
“It doesn’t matter when,” he snapped. “And you shouldn’t sound so surprised. It’s
my
job to find these things out. I asked you to leave the investigating to the professionals, but you just can’t do it, can you? Are you still at the trailer park?”
His tone, his disdain, his anger hit her in the face and brought her back to reality—her reality—so fast that she actually staggered. She shook her head, only belatedly realizing that he couldn’t see her. “I—I’m sorry. I won’t bother you again.”
* * *
“
N
ATALIE
,
WAIT
—”
Mac cursed when Natalie severed the connection. Several of the officers who were still processing the fishing cabin looked at him curiously.
Fuck!
What had he been thinking?
He’d regretted what he’d said as soon as the words had left his mouth.
She’d just been trying to help, but all he could think about was how she’d visited some stranger in an isolated trailer park—after he’d already warned her she still might be in danger—because she couldn’t accept her blindness or the fact that, like it or not, it made her more vulnerable to those who wanted to hurt her.
He was right to have turned down her help. Blind or not, she was an untrained citizen who didn’t have any business trying to track down criminal elements.