Wicked Lies (46 page)

But I will get through. I have a plan. . . .

I need to go to the sea.

To feel the caress of the salt air and hear the roar of waves thundering against the shore in my heart.

I will be restored.

I will be strong.

And I will kill.

I feel a thrill at this, a sizzle of anticipation, and I run my finger along the knife’s long blade. A line of scarlet blooms along my fingertip, which I examine carefully, then suck the wound, tasting the salt of my own blood.

Yes, yes. It’s time. . . .

Laura and Becca walked along an overgrown path where sunlight, piercing the lacy branches overhead, dappled the ground. Beneath their feet curls of mist rose from the damp forest floor and through the trees; glinting along the horizon was the steely Pacific Ocean. Becca carried Rachel, and the little girl eyed her surroundings suspiciously, though she didn’t say a word.

In the past few hours, Laura had become reacquainted with most of her sisters again and gotten to know Becca, whose name had only been whispered while she was growing up. More than that, she’d been able to hold Rachel, even scaring up a smile on the little girl’s face. To think that Justice would want to harm any of them, especially this innocent child, was incomprehensible.

Before she and Becca had started their walk through the grounds of Siren Song, she’d left her cell phone number with Catherine, in case they needed to get in touch. Just to ensure her aunt didn’t misplace the number, she’d given it to Isadora as well.

Catherine hadn’t written it down.

Isadora had.

“Here it is,” Laura finally said when she spied the short fence that surrounded the small private cemetery on the eastern side of the lodge. As Catherine had told them, their earliest relatives rested here, those who died before the turn of the
last
century. The graveyard was all but forgotten by everyone except those who lived at Siren Song. Hidden deep in the old growth, high on a ledge, with a rickety fence covered with berry vines and offering little barrier, the cemetery boasted only a smattering of tombstones, marble monoliths or slabs that had grown gray and had disintegrated over time, the names and dates blurred with dirt. There were small, plain crosses and more elaborate stones decorated with angels or rings or flowers, even the Bible.

“I’m just amazed I’m finally inside,” Becca said, picking her way through a winding blackberry vine that nearly covered the gate. “The sound of the ocean is closer here.”

“Just your imagination.”

“Peony Jane,” she said aloud, reading the small headstone. “Darling daughter, birth March seventeenth, eighteen seventy-three, died October thirty-first, eighteen seventy-five.” She held tight to her own little girl and said, “A child. How awful.”

“The worst.” Laura wended through the markers, some decorated with crosses or angels or an open Bible, and the smaller headstones, indicating the plots of children who had passed in an earlier century.

“Here it is,” she said as she reached the moss-covered plot where Mary was buried. The headstone, that of an angel looking down, wings folded, was chipped and blackened; part of one wing, cracked. The inscription was simple:
MARY RUTLEDGE BEEMAN
,
LOVING MOTHER
, then the dates of her birth and death.

“I hardly remember her,” Laura admitted. “I was about ten but the memories I have are blurry and I’m not sure if they’re real or dreams or even something someone told me about that I turned into memory.”

“I never knew her,” Becca said softly.

Of course she hadn’t. Becca had been adopted as a baby and had grown up in a “normal” family and attended St. Elizabeth’s Catholic School in Portland. She’d been unaware of Siren Song, of the old lodge of a house, of the surrounding walls, of this very cemetery until just recently.

“Why are there no public records of her birth and death?” Becca asked.

“Because everything here is a secret.”

“Or a lie,” Becca said, staring down at the final resting place of their mother. “All we know is what Catherine deigns to tell us and the haphazard ramblings in that book by someone named Smythe. Who’s to say if it’s accurate, or even partially true? All we really know is that we’re related, that mostly only women survive, and that all of us now, if Catherine’s correct, including Rachel, have some telepathic gift.” She shook her head and sighed. “And then there’s Justice Turnbull.”

Laura glanced at Rachel, the girl’s eyes round as she squirmed in her mother’s arms. “And then there’s Justice,” she repeated.

“I wish there was some way to find him, to catch him . . . to . . .”

“Kill him?” Laura asked and felt a frisson of fear touch the back of her neck. She remembered how he’d chased her, how intent he’d been on destroying her, the feel of him so close. . . . The sound of the ocean’s roar reached her ears.

“He’s planning to kill us. All of us. Including . . .” She stopped herself and looked away. Laura understood that Becca was speaking about her child, and she thought of her own and how Justice wanted nothing more than to snuff out her own child’s life before she was even born.

Becca’s gaze was troubled, but she stated passionately, “I would do anything to save my child, Lorelei.
Anything
. And if it means going up against Justice and taking him down, then so be it.” The set of her jaw was determined; her lips flattened fiercely. She meant it.

A squirrel chattered from somewhere in the higher branches, and at that moment, Laura heard Justice’s voice. That horrid sibilant rasp seeming to slide like snakes through the surrounding trees and into her brain.

Ssssisstersss.

Plural.

Damn. He knew that Becca was near her, and though his voice was weaker than she remembered, she closed her eyes and pushed up the wall around her mind.

“Laura?” Becca’s voice came to her as if from a long distance. “Hey! Laura!” Sharper now.

Laura blinked and found her sister staring at her. Becca’s eyes were round with worry as she touched Laura’s shoulder. “For a second, I thought . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence.

“He just tried to contact me.”

“What?”

“I think he knows that you and Rachel are here.”

“Oh, God.” Becca’s face paled.

“You have to leave. Go far away.” Laura was insistent. “Take Rachel back to Laurelton, somewhere safe. Somewhere Justice doesn’t know about. He won’t go there, at least not until he’s dealt with me. He’ll be looking for me first.”

He smells them when they’re pregnant.

“I can’t just let you face him.”

“I won’t. The police will handle it. I’ll be safe,” she said firmly. “You have visions. I hear him. You can call me anytime, but really, it’s best if you leave.” She glanced around the cemetery and beyond. Even the walls of Siren Song weren’t strong enough. “It would be best. For you and for Rachel.”

Becca seemed about to argue, but her daughter started to squirm and fuss.

“Let me deal with him,” Laura told her.

“I think it’s better if we stand together,” Becca said, but at that moment Rachel, tired of being hauled around, cried, “Down!” Laura’s gaze skated to her niece, then returned to Becca. The unspoken question—how would you feel if something happened to her?—filled the silent space between them.

Laura said softly but strongly, “You know what he can do. You’ve seen it firsthand. So, please, leave. I’ll keep in contact with you. Promise. But you have to go home. Or somewhere very far from here.”

“Down, Mommy!” Rachel insisted.

“We’re going back now, honey,” Becca said and started walking swiftly out of the cemetery, Rachel squirming in her arms. Only when they were in the clearing again did she turn to Laura. “Okay,” she said, “but you have to keep in contact with me. You’ve got my phone number.”

“I will,” Laura promised.

They saw Hudson and Harrison, both still waiting outside the gate. Becca headed that way, and Laura gave Harrison a high sign, signaling that she was going back inside to say good-bye to Catherine and her sisters but would be out soon.

She vowed inwardly that she would find a way to thwart Justice. That he wouldn’t stop hunting them until they were all dead was a foregone conclusion, and it was a miracle that, so far, since his escape, no one associated with the Colony had been harmed.

But it was only a matter of time.

Unless she got the better of the bastard.

“I don’t like us being separated,” Harrison said as he pulled into the employee lot at Ocean Park Hospital. Laura’s Outback was where she’d parked it the day before, and in broad daylight nothing appeared sinister.

“I’m just going inside and straightening things out with my supervisor,” she insisted and placed a hand over his, and he remembered how close he’d come to making love to her. “I’ll meet you back at my house and tell you all about my family.”

“You better.”

She glanced at her watch and frowned. He noticed then the dark circles under her eyes, how white her skin had become. “The glass guy is gonna be there in less than an hour.”

“Fine.” Harrison took the hint. “I’ll meet him.”

“I’ll be there soon.” She reached for the door handle, but he caught her wrist.

“You’re okay?”

She laughed without humor, and her gaze, when it found his, was troubled. “What do you think?”

“We’ll get through this,” he promised.

“One way or another,” she said, then leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips were warm and supple, and he drew her into his arms, sliding his tongue between her lips and feeling his blood temperature become elevated.

“Hurry back,” he said and she actually smiled.

“I will.”

Then she drew away and was out the door, hurrying toward the front doors of Ocean Park.

Once he saw that she was inside, Harrison drove out of the parking lot to the highway. He’d spent most of the morning pacing outside the gates of Siren Song, getting to know the rancher Hudson Walker, husband to one of Laura’s half sisters, and certain that somehow, someway, Justice Turnbull would know that Laura was inside. He couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow Turnbull would find her and harm her. Hudson Walker couldn’t have agreed more. He’d expected the rancher from Laurelton to scoff at his anxiety, but that hadn’t been the case. Hudson, too, was worried, had seen close hand what damage the maniac could wreak, and wanted no part of it.

Hudson had driven to Siren Song under protest; he wanted his wife and child as far from Justice Turnbull as possible. But Becca had been insistent, and Hudson had agreed, only if he came with her. He admitted that his wife could be “mule-headed” but didn’t have to explain any further. Harrison knew firsthand how stubborn a woman from the Colony could be.

Which was odd, he thought as he drove through the S curves high above the Pacific. The ocean was calmer today, sunlight shimmering on the shifting water, but along the horizon he noticed a dark swelling, clouds rolling inland and promising another storm.

Harrison had known Laura—Lorelei—less than a week, and yet there was something about her that touched a part of him he hadn’t known existed, something about it that seemed emotionally dangerous in its own right.

The house was just as they’d left it. Quiet. Secluded.
Too secluded,
he decided as he found his tool belt in the trunk and, using her key, began cleaning up, then working on the lock. The repairman for the glass window showed up about forty-five minutes later, surveyed the damage, and shook his head.

“It’s gonna need a little more work than I thought,” he said. “The sash is busted, so it’ll cost ya about the same to fix as a new window.” He pointed to the area that would have held the pane of glass in place, his finger running along the broken piece of wood.

“Just fix it so that it’s secure,” Harrison said, and the guy got to work. While the window was being replaced, Harrison finished with the lock on the back door and double-checked every window latch in the house. He figured the landlord wouldn’t mind the changes, and it really was too damned bad if he did.

Laura straightened things out with the shift manager by promising to work a double tonight and tomorrow morning. The woman was still a little miffed but turned her attention to the coming week’s schedule and made the necessary adjustments.

It hadn’t been as rough a meeting as Laura had expected, yet she still felt a little off, not quite right. Just as she had all day. She blamed her malaise on the events of the last week, her brush with Justice, the emotional highs and lows of visiting Siren Song. Her pregnancy also was a factor, as were her conflicted feelings for Harrison.

She needed to tell him about the baby. Come clean. She remembered kissing him and wanting so much more.

“Laura!”

She was walking toward the lobby when she heard Byron’s voice seeming to boom down the hallway.

Inwardly groaning, she turned and saw him, dressed not in scrubs, but slacks, jacket, and open-necked shirt, as he strode toward her. The expression on his face was accusatory, his jaw so hard, a muscle was working overtime beneath his chin.

“What happened?” he demanded almost angrily.

She thought of everything she’d been through in the past few days. Had he heard Justice had attacked her? That her home had been broken into? That she was spending a lot of time with Harrison?

“You didn’t return for your shift last night, and the damned shift nurse called
me.
She wanted to know where you were, said you’d abandoned your patients—”

“She didn’t say that,” Laura cut in, too tired of his BS to listen to another word. “I had the shift covered and she knew it.”

“But why?”

“I was with the sheriff’s department. Explaining that the house had been broken into, that Justice Turnbull had tried to kill me.”

“What?” All the wind was suddenly out of his sails. “Turnbull’s after you? Why?” he asked; then his expression darkened. “Because you’re part of that Colony.”