When the call came from dispatch, Sheriff Dallas Wayburne was standing in the center of a three-car pileup at the only three-way intersection in town. Sanville’s ambulance backed from the scene, lights flashing. He couldn’t understand why so little happened in this peaceful little town until a storm swept through; then all hell broke loose.
In the last two hours there had been five vehicle accidents, a kitchen fire, a burglary, one missing senior—found inebriated in the neighbor’s wine cellar, and now a strange incident involving the disappearance of an injured woman on Lighthouse Road. All his deputies were engaged, so Dallas turned his Yukon onto the narrow, winding road to Cape Peril.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up behind a man and woman arguing on their driveway. Getting out, he immediately recognized the town’s flamboyant doctor. Coat flapping in the wind, the doctor approached Dallas, hand outstretched, shouting to be heard over the gale, “Evening, Sheriff. Dan Johnson.”
A vice-like grip closed around Dallas’s knuckles. Nothing ticked Dallas off more than a game-player, so he squeezed back twice as hard. Johnson extracted his hand, stretching the ligaments, and motioned to the woman shivering behind him. “My wife, Amy,” he said flatly.
As she stepped forward, Dallas barely recognized the woman he’d pulled over earlier in the day. She was now rain-soaked, hair plastered to her head, face covered in fresh scratches, and she shook like a California quake. “Evening, Mrs. Johnson. Looks like you’ve had some trouble.”
Amy nodded, but before she could reply Dan turned on Dallas. “Forget about the call, Sheriff. Nothing happened. Amy panicked, that’s all.”
Dallas looked at Amy Johnson. Long strands of fair hair dripped down her open coat, her face was ghostly, her lips colorless. Yet, in spite of everything, she was an exceptionally attractive woman. She was also well known, not only for her unusual architectural designs, but for the work she did pro bono. He’d noticed her often over the past few years. What man hadn’t? She’d stop traffic, if they had any. Now her soft gray eyes locked onto his. “I saw a woman—”
Johnson cut her off. “There wasn’t anyone, Amy, or they’d still be here.”
“You saw the blood—”
Dallas interrupted them. “Who called it in?”
“I did,” Amy replied, “I saw the woman a few seconds before the power went out—”
“I told you, Amy, it was too dark to see anything.”
The sheriff turned impatiently to Johnson. “Look, Dr. Johnson, we got a call concerning the disappearance of an injured woman from your property. If that’s the case, we’re losing valuable time. Were you here when the incident occurred?”
“No, but I got here right after. And as far as I’m concerned there was no
incident.
”
“Would you excuse us, Doctor? I need to speak with Mrs. Johnson.”
Unspoken words passed between the couple before Dan Johnson reluctantly left his wife’s side and made his way back to the house. Amy looked up at the sheriff. “Thanks.” She told her story, shakily, but succinctly, leading Dallas toward the office window as she spoke. “She stood here.”
Dallas put his hand on her arm to stop her and prevent her from disturbing the evidence. The touch, as simple as it was, set off an alarm for him. Instantly, he knew he would come to know this woman better. Amy stopped and looked up at him, her eyes searching his. She glanced down at his hand, still encircling her arm. Reluctantly, Dallas released her. “We need to preserve whatever evidence is there,” he explained.
He shone his flashlight across the window ledge. Blood had pooled with rainwater. He examined the blood receding from a dip in the sidewalk. A crimson thread was still visible all the way to the front road. There it ended. He pulled out his camera and snapped a few photos, and then he examined the fresh scratches on Amy’s face and hands. They wouldn’t have produced the amount of blood he’d seen. “You hurt anywhere else?”
Amy shook her head.
“How’d you get these?” His thumb swiped her cheek gently.
Reluctantly, Amy related her dash through the brush when she’d first arrived home. “Guess I was a little spooked. Never felt like that before, especially on my own property.”
Dallas considered her story, his natural curiosity peaked. "Must have been a mighty important letter.”
Amy winced and looked back at her study.
Could be.
“No sign of a vehicle driving away?”
She sounded exhausted. “No.”
“You certain about the woman’s description?”
“I know it sounds a little crazy, but her face was identical to mine. She had the same gray eyes, hair color, face shape, everything. Not only was it disconcerting to turn around and see a face looking at me through the window, but it was a shock to look into a face a mirror image of my own.”
The remark made him look at her afresh. He was seldom affected by a woman’s looks, but Amy Johnson, even dripping wet, was breathtakingly beautiful. She was also well respected and intelligent. He knew enough about her not to doubt her credibility, although her story sure stretched it. “You wearing those sneakers when you came out to look for the woman?”
Amy looked down and nodded, shivering.
“Okay. There’s enough blood here for concern. I’m going to call in the crime scene unit and our K-9 team. We’ll need fingerprints and blood samples from you and the doc. Meanwhile, why don’t you go on inside and warm up, Mrs. Johnson,” he said, walking her to the porch. “And leave your sneakers outside. We’ll need those.”
Amy retreated into the house. Later, she saw a black van pull up the drive. A man in dark coveralls jumped out, walked around to the back of the truck, and opened the rear door. A German Shepherd leapt out, responding instantly to the handler, its tail wagging eagerly.
Amy turned away and went back into the living room where she paced in front of the stone fireplace, oblivious to the fire’s warmth. Even though she had showered, her hair was almost dry, and she had changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, she still shivered, unable to get warm. Listlessly, she walked over to the living room windows, flipped on the yard lighting, and pressed her forehead against the cold glass. She peered into the black void over the bay, her thoughts on the woman she’d seen.
Who was she? How could she look like me? How’s that possible? What is going on?
Mentally Amy ticked off family members. Not one of them resembled her. They were scattered across the continent, were of various ages, but she couldn’t think of anyone who was close to her age, size, or appearance. Then who?
The moon slipped out from behind the clouds spilling a wide beam of white light across the bay. Huge breakers crested toward the beach. Near the house, trees and shrubs danced in the wind.
A powerful beam of light swept over Cape Peril. A helicopter hovered, its searchlights sweeping the cape, the lighthouse, down the steep cliffs, and out over the sea.
Amy pulled back from the window and examined Dan’s reflection in the glass. He was perched on a stool in front of the bar, pouring another shot of whiskey into his glass. He downed it in a single gulp. “I should be at the hospital, not wasting my time here. I’m supposed to be on call.” He slipped off the stool and walked over to the window, nodding in the direction of the helicopter hovering over the cape. “This whole thing’s a big farce. Can’t imagine what they’re doing out there, besides wasting taxpayer’s money. And to top it off, those idiots wanted
my
fingerprints and blood samples. Jerks.”
With her back to him, Amy replied, “I wish you’d cooperate with them, Dan. They need to be able to identify the prints they’re lifting from the window, from ours. They must wonder why you made such a fuss about it and why you kept insisting
nothing happened
when the opposite is so blatantly obvious
.”
“Oh come on, Amy, I was trying to prevent bad publicity.” He returned to the bar for a refill.
Amy glanced over her shoulder at him. “Always worried about bad publicity.”
Dan slammed the whiskey glass down on the granite countertop. “I do. You go around saying this woman looks like you and the people in this town will label you crazy. I don’t want them thinking I’m married to a lunatic. For all I know, you saw your own damned reflection.”
Amy was stunned. She whirled around and stared at her husband. “Surely, you don’t believe that.”
Dan shrugged and lifting his whiskey glass, downed the last ounce.
Amy could feel anger creeping through her like hot lava and this surprised her. Complacent by nature, she seldom got angry. “You care about what people might think, but you don’t give a damn about what happened here, tonight. Instead, you did your best to discredit me—to make me appear witless!”
He swiveled around on the stool and looked directly at her. “Sometimes you get carried away over things, make a big deal out of nothing. You know how you can be.”
Dan poured another shot. “Not only that, I didn’t want the police out here snooping around, like they’re doing right now. And I don’t want this hitting the press, which is exactly what’s going to happen.” Angrily, he downed the shot.
Amy said sarcastically, “The publicity thing again.”
Dan rubbed his eyes in frustration. After a beat he said, “Okay, let’s say you did see a woman. Maybe she was hurt.” He saw Amy’s look. “Okay, maybe she was bleeding. And just
maybe
she kind of looked like you. It was dark. How could you have seen her face?”
“I told you. I turned around and she was right there…outside the window, not five feet away. And that was before the power went out.”
“Doesn’t make sense. None at all. Were you drinking or what?”
“Drinking?” Amy stepped over to the bar and lifted the whiskey bottle. “No, Dan, I wasn’t drinking. That’s your diversion, not mine.”
“All right. Don’t get all riled up. It was just a question.”
Amy stared at her husband. At thirty-eight he was still good looking—although he worked at it—the gym four times a week to keep his body toned, the stylist twice a month for a trim and a dye job, manicures, tanning beds, and who knew what else. Nevertheless, nothing could alter that charming boyish face that women loved. As an OB/GYN, his practice was overflowing with doting women. Amy pictured them, one after the other, on his examining table, Dan’s hands sliding over their naked skin, probing intimate areas of their bodies.
How long had it been since those hands touched me? How long since Dan and I have made love? How long since he had spoken to me with any respect? Or, since we’ve had a normal, intelligent conversation?
His voice brought her back.
“What?” She realized that she was staring at him and turned away.
Dan repeated himself. “I said, ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’”
Amy shook her head. “Never mind. I’m going to make a fresh pot of coffee. Want anything?”
“Yeah. Make me an Espresso. In fact, make it a double. And see if there’s any of that deli meat left in the fridge. I’ll have that too. Never had time for supper, thanks to this fiasco.”
Amy made a plate for Dan while the espresso machine dripped dark black coffee into a demitasse. She took the plate and expresso over to him. “Want anything else?”
“Yeah. Tell everybody to go home. You’ve created a hell of a mess here, Amy.”
She turned away. “I’ll go see how they’re making out.” Amy left Dan and walked into her study. She was conflicted. On one hand, it bothered Amy immensely that Dan was angry with her for causing so much trouble. She didn’t like upsetting him that way. On the other hand, she was worried about the woman she’d seen. The whole thing had left Amy with an ominous feeling she couldn’t shake.
From the window, she watched the scene outside. Two patrol cars were on the drive, lights flashing. Crime scene tape traveled from the garden below the window all the way to the road. The sheriff was talking to his team as they were wrapping up. The dog handler got in his truck and pulled away. Turning, the sheriff spotted Amy in the window and motioned her outside. Amy threw on her coat and padded out onto the porch in socks, closing the door firmly behind her. She didn’t want Dan involved.
Dallas bounded up the stairs two at a time, landing outside the front door as she stepped onto the landing. Amy looked up at him. Sanville’s sheriff was well over six feet, lean, big shoulders, weathered face, and pale blue eyes that, at this moment, seemed to be looking right into her. She took a step back and caught her breath. The sudden rush of emotion stunned her. Dan had been the only man she’d ever loved, and even though
the love
had slowly drained from their marriage, she had never considered another man. Amy felt herself flush. Dallas was speaking to her. She took a deep breath, tried to compose herself, and met his gaze.
“We’re finished for tonight, Mrs. Johnson.”
“You didn’t find her.”
“No ma’am. But Max picked up the trail.”
“Max?”
“The tracker dog. We use him in situations like this. It was Max that found that fellow who went missing from Mabel Beach last month.
Amy nodded, remembering.
The sheriff continued. “Blood is a powerful human scent for a tracker dog, even with the rain we had. His handler let Max sniff a sample and then dispatched him from the road, back down the drive to your garden, and then across the lawn and into the brush, where you described the incident earlier tonight. The rain made it difficult, but Max was able to pick up the scent now and again, all the way back to the lighthouse and a clearing in the trees where a car had been parked.”
Surprised, Amy said, “You mean, she was right there, in the brush?”
“That’s right.”
Amy tried to make sense of this. “So, are you saying she came by car and parked it over at the lighthouse...then walked all the way here through the brush?” Amy’s thoughts flashed back to the eerie sound she had heard in the brush
like a voice calling her name.
She shuddered.
“Appears that way,” Dallas repeated. “She left some pretty good fingerprints on your window as well as a clear set of footprints in the garden. Problem is,” he hesitated, “there’s a second set of footprints there. That pair belong to a much larger, very heavy individual. The rain must have stopped around that time because those large mucky boot marks are visible on your drive, along side the trail of blood.” Dallas pointed out the markings as he spoke. “Interestingly, the small set of footprints enter the garden, but they don’t leave, suggesting the victim was carried to a waiting vehicle.”