by Lisa Jackson
Not with Becca’s life in danger.
Not with his unborn kid’s life at risk.
Sliding the heavy sidearm into his waistband, he stole into the night, circling around the north end of the property, spying Mac, barely discernible in the security lights near the front porch.
He crouched along a broken fence line, his finger on the trigger. Tonight, that son of a bitch who’d been terrorizing Becca was going to die.
She had to move. Had to! The knife was still in his hand though he seemed intent on shaking some truth from her.
He glared down at her, enjoying the capture. “Nothing to say?” he whispered.
She flung herself forward, intending to bite him but he held her back, then turned her roughly around, pressing her back against him, the knife blade cutting into her throat. “You couldn’t help yourself, could you, slut? I knew you’d come. Just like Jezebel. You’re so much the same.”
Terrified, she tried to think of a way to escape, any avenue that would set her free.
“Have you learned the truth yet?” he hissed in her ear. “Like she did? That she came from incest. Father and daughter! You, too, fucking whore!”
Becca tried to speak but she felt the knife at her throat break skin. A thin trickle of blood ran down her neck.
He was holding her fast to him, his chest pressed hard to her back. She hardly dared breathe, couldn’t risk moving as they stood on the cliff face, the piercing wind whirling and yowling around them, the black ocean frothing and raging below. Just as it was in your visions. As if this is your destiny.
“She was pregnant with her vile child, just as you are,” he whispered.
His enjoyment sent rage flowing through her, but she needed to keep him talking.
“Renee?” she managed.
“That slut was asking questions around town, a tell-all book about the sickness at Siren Song.”
“What sickness?” The blade pressed, cold on her throat.
“You know, whore. You know.”
She shuddered. It was as if she were being held by the devil himself. “No…truly…I don’t know.”
“Jezebel and Rebecca are the most foul,” he intoned, as if it were a litany he said to himself often. “They can never be allowed to breed, to continue the cycle. Jezebel came to Siren Song and learned. That’s how I found her. I smelled the fetus within her. That’s why she had to die.”
Becca was shivering, the wind slapping at them, the salt in the air sticking to her skin. “You killed her in the maze,” she said unevenly.
“Jezebel thought she had me, but I had planned to kill her all along and leave her at the base of the statue that bears her abominable mother’s name.”
“Mary?”
“She could see things,” he said with the faintest hint of admiration. “So can you.”
“So can you,” Becca said, recalling how he’d seen Jessie’s vision on the road.
“It won’t work,” he suddenly said. He leaned closer and licked the inside of her ear. “It never does, sister, I always win.”
Her stomach convulsed and she nearly threw up.
But then he shifted slightly, the knife slipping just a fraction. Becca’s fury took over. She kicked backward as hard as she could, then reached behind her and wrenched his balls in a death squeeze.
“Bitch!” he howled in surprise, his grip loosening. He doubled over in pain.
Hudson counted the seconds. One…two…three… Sweat was building on his back beneath his jacket. He had to get to Becca. Had to save her and their child. They were all he had. All he wanted and if this prick so much as harmed one hair on her head.
But he was scared to his soul. This madman was relentless and focused on Becca.
“Bitch!”
The shout roared through the night.
Mac yelled something but Hudson didn’t hear. He jumped to his feet and ran blindly forward, hand hard on the gun.
He was gonna blow the sucker away.
Becca clung to Justice but he beat on her with his fists. She couldn’t breathe. Had to let go. He was swearing and flinging his arms. His knife slammed downward, gouging into her thigh. She cried out.
Bang!
A shot shattered the night.
Justice, with a scream louder than the wind, fell to the ground, writhing.
What? Oh, God, what’s happening?
Becca spun, her leg burning. She was staring straight at Hudson, one arm in a sling, a large pistol in his right hand. He walked forward quickly, the nose of the gun aimed directly at Justice’s slithering and twisting form. Hudson’s face was a mask of fury, his eyes dark with murder, as if he intended to empty every round in the gun into the man who had nearly killed Becca.
“Don’t!” she warned as sirens screamed over the wind and Mac burst out of the end unit of the motel. “Hudson, don’t!”
Mac screamed, “Put the gun down, Walker! Now!” His sidearm was aimed not at Hudson, but the wounded man. “We want this fucker alive. He’s got a lot of explaining to do, and he can start with Jessie Brentwood.”
Hudson lowered his gun and Becca nearly collapsed against him. “It’s over,” she whispered as his good arm held her tight. “It’s finally over.”
The sheriff’s department seemed to appear by magic. One moment Hudson was holding Becca and Mac was staring down the writhing monster on the ground, gun aimed at the man’s chest, the next a swarm of armed men were running across the grounds.
Becca pressed her face into Hudson’s chest. She heard him swear softly. “We need to take you back to the hospital,” he said.
“I never want to go there again.”
“You’re hurt.”
“But alive. He didn’t hurt our baby. He wanted to. He wanted to hurt our baby.”
“He’s sick.”
“It’s something to do with Siren Song, Hudson. He wanted to kill everyone from Siren Song.”
Her teeth were chattering. Hudson didn’t wait any longer. He led her toward Mac’s Jeep. “Gotta get you help,” he murmured.
Mac materialized out of the gloom. “I’ll call an ambulance,” he said, glancing at Becca. “We’re ordering one for the woman in the cabin.”
“Madeline? She’s alive?” Becca turned toward him.
“Barely. But she’s breathing okay.”
“I can go in the Jeep,” she assured him.
Hudson said to Mac, “You want to stay, I can drive.”
Mac nodded and handed him the keys.
“Thank you,” Becca said to him, heartfelt.
Mac paused. “I should be thanking you. I put you all through hell for a long, long time. And none of you were responsible for Jessie’s death.”
“Becca and my baby are alive, in part because of you,” Hudson said, helping Becca into the passenger seat. “We’re all even.”
With that Hudson slid in the driver’s seat and turned away from the motel and Deception Bay and toward Ocean Park Hospital once more.
“I love you,” he said into the sudden quiet. “I love you so much.”
“I love you,” she breathed.
“You don’t have to answer now, but I want you to know, I plan to marry you.”
She almost smiled.
“What?” he asked, and she could tell he was glancing at her with concern in the darkness of the Jeep’s interior.
“I’ve been planning to marry you since high school. I just didn’t think it would ever happen.” She felt him relax a little. “You’re sure you want me? With my visions and physical anomalies and possible ‘cult’ connections?”
“I want you,” he said, and it was decided.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Becca stood in the hot July sun, staring through the wrought-iron gates of Siren Song. It was the third day in a row she’d kept up the vigil, and she knew the reclusive residents had seen her. She brushed her hair away from her face, feeling heat burn into her scalp. Hot for the beach. Blistering, really.
Her belly had grown. Th
ere was no hiding the fact that she was pregnant, and her joy showed on her face. That pregnancy glow. She had it in spades.
Hudson had told her so the morning that she’d left for the beach. “I love you,” he’d said. “You’ve never looked more beautiful.” Becca had curved into his arms and kissed him deeply, bursting inside, loving him with everything she had.
They’d been standing outside the barn, watching the new colt kick up its heels. It ran from one side of the field to the other, zigzagging in front of his mother, never getting too far away.
New life. New love. Four months ago it had seemed an impossibility.
She wrapped her hands around the bars of the gate; they were almost too hot to touch. She wasn’t going to give up. She had questions. She deserved answers, and when she’d told Hudson what she planned to do, though she knew he wanted to keep her safe with him, he’d reluctantly allowed her to go.
“I’ll go with you,” he invited himself, but she’d shaken her head.
“I’ll have a better chance by myself. They’re secretive and suspicious, but I am one of them.”
He wanted to argue, but she pointed out what he already knew: The Colony members at Siren Song were no threat to her. Justice Turnbull—Madeline Turnbull’s son—was the threat and he was in custody, locked up under heavy guard, preparing for a transfer to a mental facility for the criminally insane. Justice’s wild ramblings had assured that conviction.
In the wake of the events at Mad Maddie’s motel, the authorities had swarmed over his life. His strange lighthouse lair had revealed torn notes and scribbled writings about his obsession over the colony; a cache of weaponry was discovered, notably knives, and a tan truck with a removed front grill guard was parked at the side of the motel under a dark gray tarp. There was a sense that he’d killed other colony members besides Jessie, but without the colony’s cooperation it was all conjecture, and the women at Siren Song were collectively unhelpful. McNally had tried to interview the members but they would not open their gates. Justice’s ramblings didn’t offer enough evidence for a search warrant. Half of what he said was delusional fabrications. He insisted that Jessie and Becca were the devil’s spawn and they must be sent back to hell. It was his mission.
Then with continued digging a story had emerged, one that was recorded by a Deception Bay pseudo-historian who’d written down an undocumented account of The Colony’s founders. It had found its way into the hands of a Dr. Parnell Loman, who’d fallen to his death from his cliffside home into the Pacific some fifteen years earlier. This was the same Dr. Loman who’d signed both Jessie’s and Becca’s birth certificates and facilitated their adoptions.
The account talked about the area’s early inhabitants, and there was mention of women arriving from the east—witches—and how they’d mingled with the local Indians and created their own colony. A shaman “wed” one of the women, and the children from that union were unusually perceptive in “odd and repellant” ways. For reasons unknown, those children, the ones that survived, were mostly female. The few males born died early.
How Justice fit in was a bit murky. The written account ended with the birth of Mary Durant and Catherine Rutledge, sisters whose mother, Grace Fitzhugh, had married first Richard Durant, then John Rutledge, having a daughter by each. Dr. Loman had added several paragraphs that indicated Madeline Abernathy Turnbull was part of the family as well, some distant relative of Mary and Catherine, who both still lived at Siren Song as of Dr. Loman’s writings.
But one thing was clear: Justice believed in his mission totally. He had to rid the world of the cursed offspring of colony members. Did that make Becca Mary’s daughter? Justice seemed to think so. Or was it all a fabrication of his depraved mind? His accusations of incest could not be corroborated, but he clearly felt he’d been scorned by the colony women, and in the twisted soup of his beliefs, which combined witchcraft, native lore, and a fear of the wrath of God, he was determined to send as many members as he could back to the depths of hell from where they’d come. They were children of lust, incest, and the devil’s design. They must be killed.
Becca shivered despite the beating sun. She was thirsty. If they didn’t come soon, if she failed to make contact again, she might have to abandon this quest for now. Releasing her fingers from the bars, she gazed up at the heavens to a pale blue sky and white, burning sun.
A flicker of movement brought her attention back to the colony grounds. To her surprise, a middle-aged woman in a long gray dress was walking toward her. Finally!
Becca straightened. The woman’s hair was steel gray and wrapped into a bun at her nape. Her dress was from another era.
She came directly to the gate and Becca took a step back. They stared at each other.
“I will not open the gates,” she said.
“I could probably sneak in. I’ve seen the truck that goes into town for deliveries,” Becca informed her.
“What do you want?”
“My name is Rebecca. I was adopted into the Ryan family. Dr. Loman signed the certificate. My deceased sister was Jezebel. She was also adopted out. I believe we’re both related and that’s why Justice killed Jessie and came after me.”
Her gaze dropped to Becca’s burgeoning stomach. She said with a spurt of emotion, “You’re having a girl.”
“Yes.” Becca was momentarily thrown, but she was determined to glean as much information as possible. “Are you Catherine? Or Mary?”
“Catherine. Mary’s dead.”
“Oh. Was Mary my mother?” Becca held her breath.
Catherine’s gaze scoured the hillsides surrounding the compound, as if searching for an answer. Long moments passed, and then she said, “We didn’t want you to know. We sent you away to protect you because Justice was already attacking us. We were forced to build the wall, but he found Jezebel, didn’t he? She came here looking for answers and we gladly gave them to her. We welcomed her and in welcoming her, sealed her death. We want you to stay away.”
“I’ve seen a woman…” Becca gestured past Catherine to the lodge. “Someone closer to my age.”
“The less you know, the safer you are.”
“Justice is in custody. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
“Are you so sure?”
Becca stared into Catherine’s pale blue eyes—eyes the color of the sky—and felt a deep frisson of fear slide down her back.
“Go back to your husband.”
“We’re not married yet,” Becca said.
“You will be. You will live on his farm and raise horses and children. But be vigilant, my dear. Be vigilant.”
“How do you know my future?”
“I see things,” she said. “Like Jezebel.”
And then she turned and walked away.
Epilogue
The van bobbed along. A jerky ride. Justice sat on one of the bench seats and examined the other passengers with a cool eye. They were criminals. Animals. He was God’s messenger.
The shackles at his wrists glowed like silvery rings. Fools. They could not contain him forever. His mission wasn’t over. He’d found Jessie years ago and his abilities had led him to Rebecca, twice. Catherine, the filthy witch, kept a close watch on the whores within Siren Song’s walls. He could only get to them when she made a mistake.
But he was God’s messenger and God wants retribution. The colony whores are gifted with dark and dangerous abilities, and God wants them stopped! He caught a whiff of Jessie twenty years ago, when she showed up at Siren Song. How they welcomed her home, with her incubus inside her. He found her then and ended her life. Now Rebecca knows about them. She won’t be able to stay away.
She is doomed. Like her sister.
Twisting his wrists, he thought how easily he could choke a man with these chains. Sure, they were strung through a loop at his waist, but there was enough room. The faintest of smiles touched his lips. The guards were stupid and lazy. They did their job by rote. They had no brains.
These shackles w
ere a momentary delay. Soon, he would be free again. Free to find Rebecca. Didn’t he find her once before, long ago, when she was pregnant? Didn’t he take care of that unborn scourge? He was infuriated that she lived after that accident. Lived! And he lost track of her for sixteen long years.
But now she’s pregnant again.
When they’re pregnant, they’re easy to smell.
That is his gift.
He is the tracker. He will eventually find them all. One by one. When he escapes—and he will—he’ll run them to ground and send their evil souls back into the fires of hell.
It is his mission.
Dear Reader,
I hope you had fun reading WICKED GAME! I can’t tell you what a hoot it was to write a book with my sister, Nancy. Our first attempt years ago (which was really our first attempt as we’d never written anything before) was written with a friend and never saw the light of the publishing day. After “Stormy Surrender,” we each were lucky enough to write individual stories which sold! After over twenty-five years of going down different publishing paths, we had the chance to co-author a book. What a blast! We spent months doing the back story for “The Colony” which was touched upon in WICKED GAME and will appear in subsequent books. Then we sat down and wrote the book together—which was a totally new process for each of us. Yes, we had a couple of arguments, but all in all, it’s been an incredible experience that consumed us for months. It seemed like we were forever talking about the kids who’d attended St. Elizabeth’s, the school first introduced in MOST LIKELY TO DIE, a novel I wrote with authors Wendy Corsi Staub and Beverly Barton. (No, they’re not my sisters, just great friends!)
Next month, in March, the paperback edition of LOST SOULS will be available. For all of you who are fans of Detectives Montoya and Bentz of the New Orleans Police Department, this book should be right up your alley. LOST SOULS is really Kristi Bentz’s story. You remember her—she’s Detective Rick Bentz’s headstrong daughter. She’s decided to go back to school while researching the true crime book she’s writing. However, when she enrolls in All Saints College in Baton Rouge, she gets more than she bargained for.
