Deadly Reckoning

by Elle James

  “Yes, sir.” Gabe believed in caution—especially with a case as serious as this one. He wasn’t naive about small towns, but he really hadn’t anticipated a murder in his hometown of Cape Churn. He felt as old as Judd Strayhorn as he ascended the path to the road above and climbed into his cruiser. So much for letting Dakota have free rein on his bicycle. Just because the killer’s first target had been a woman didn’t mean teenage boys were any safer.

  Gabe gritted his teeth. Yet another reason to argue with the teen he still didn’t know any better than he did when the boy’s mother dropped him off four months ago.

  Dakota was testing him, he knew it. What Dakota didn’t know was that Gabe didn’t give up. And given that Dakota’s mother had, Gabe was more determined than ever to make his relationship with his son work. The boy wasn’t on his own yet, and he needed to know he had a home to go to, even if he resented the man he refused to call Dad.

  Gabe crept along the road headed north toward the lighthouse, stopping at the few vacation cottages and homes along the way. Most remained deserted, the summer season not fully kicked off. Schools in Seattle and Portland were still in session. In Gabe’s mind that gave them approximately two weeks to find the killer. After that, they’d have a boatload of potential victims converging on Cape Churn for summer vacation. More people to sift through, and more crime to keep them busy.

  With mostly the local population to deal with at this time, how hard could it be to find a killer in a town of less than eight thousand people?

  Kayla stood at the edge of the cliff her cottage rested on, her easel propped between the rocks, oil paint stiffening on her palette, a light, cool breeze flipping her hair into her face. She scanned the horizon, hoping for something to catch her eye and spark her inspiration. To her far left, about a half mile away, another jut of rocky cliffs pushed out into the ocean.

  Through the trees behind the edge of the cliff loomed the shadowy outline of a building. She couldn’t make out much, but Kayla made a mental note to ask Jillian Taylor, the real-estate agent, who lived up there.

  But no matter where her gaze fell, nothing grabbed her, and no matter how hard she tried to concentrate, the colors wouldn’t take form on the canvas. Last night’s scream echoed in her head, over and over. She’d assumed it was a lingering part of her dream. The fog had completely swallowed up her house, she couldn’t even see as far as the defunct lighthouse that stood a hundred yards from the cottage.

  With conditions like that, if someone truly had been in trouble outside, she couldn’t have done anything to help her without risking falling off the cliff.

  When Kayla had come out that morning, the sun had burned off the remaining fog and she saw no evidence of a woman, or any of the youths she’d seen yesterday evening, going down to the small stretch of sand below the extremely steep cliffs surrounding the lighthouse.

  She’d been too wary to check out the trail they’d used to descend to the beach below. Although her pregnancy wasn’t outwardly visible yet, she could feel the changes in her body, the way her center of gravity was shifting. Steep steps on an unfamiliar trail was a risk she wasn’t willing to take unless absolutely necessary. Instead, she’d stood at the edge of the cliff and stared down, panning the narrow strip of beach butting up against the rocky cliffs. Nothing stood out. No sign of people. Just nature at its most rugged and beautiful.

  The splendor of the rocky coast, the drifting clouds and the steely gray of the ocean called to the artist in her. In a burst of optimism, she’d run back to the house, grabbed her easel, brushes and paints out of the car and hurried back out to paint the edge of the world.

  But as soon as she’d taken the brush in her hand, her throat closed up just as it had the night she’d been attacked. Her muse refused to come out of the dark and dance in the daylight.

  Kayla stood in the sunshine, her hand holding a paintbrush and a palette filled with blobs of oil paints in varying colors of the earth and sky, and nothing came to her.

  Tears filled her eyes and she recognized the new sense of tightening in her throat as the sobs she’d held back since the attack. The fear she’d spent the last two weeks suppressing. It was one thing to be uninspired to paint while she was still in Seattle, with all of its noise, its unfriendly bustle, its shadowed alleyways and crush of strangers. But this was supposed to be a place she could recover, a place to banish her fears and get on with her work. If she couldn’t paint here, then that meant there was a chance that the attack outside the gallery had shaken her enough to kill her muse.

  Kayla’s hands trembled, the tremors jarring the brush from her fingertips. It fell to the rocky ground at her feet.

  As she bent to retrieve the brush, a large male hand got to it first.

  Kayla screamed and jumped back, the palette filled with paints clattering to the ground. Her hip caught the leg of the easel, jolting it so hard the canvas caught the breeze and flew over the edge of the cliff to crash against the rocks below.

  A man leaped forward, yanking her toward him, crushing her against his chest.

  Kayla fought him, kicking him in the shins and shoving her hands against his chest.

  “What the hell—”

  “Let go of me! Let go!” she yelled, landing a solid kick to his ankle.

  His grip loosened enough that for a moment, she thought she could back away from him. But he caught her hand, jerking hard, once again slamming her into his solid, muscular chest so hard it took her breath away. This time, before she could punch, scratch or hit him, he clamped her arms against her sides. “Will you be still? I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “You could have fooled me,” she said, barely able to push the words past the fear blocking her vocal cords.

  “If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have grabbed you.”

  “Huh?” Kayla finally looked up into eyes so blue they rivaled the hues of the morning sky. “You grabbed me so I wouldn’t get hurt?”

  “You were about to fall over the edge of the cliff.” He spun her in his arms, still holding her close.

  She faced the edge of the cliff only a foot away.

  “When you jumped back, you almost backed off the edge,” he said, his breath stirring the tendrils of hair beside her ear.

  Rocks slithered over the side, the larger ones pinging against others on their way down to splash into the ocean.

  Kayla swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising in her throat. She gulped a lungful of air to settle her stomach. It wasn’t until she remembered to breathe that she became aware of the solid wall of muscle pressed against her back and the strong arms circling her waist, keeping her from toppling off the cliff.

  “It’s a long, bumpy trip down that way.” His chest vibrated against her back, sending crazy electrical surges across her nerve endings everywhere his body touched hers, from the backs of her thighs, across her buttocks and around her waist where his arms tightened. The tingling nerves had nothing to do with fear, but something altogether different.

  Kayla stiffened. “You can let me go, I’m not suicidal. I won’t throw myself over the side, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  His arms loosened slowly, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether or not to believe her. He backed away before he let go of her, giving her the space she needed to edge away from the cliff.

  She turned and faced the man, her eyes narrowing. Over six feet tall, dressed in a navy-blue uniform, he sported a shiny silver badge on his chest. Broad shoulders filled his navy shirt, the lines tapering to a trim waist and hips.

  Kayla inhaled and let out the breath slowly. An officer of the law. Nothing to be afraid of. Other than the way her heartbeat galloped when she stared into his light blue eyes.

  Kayla had never seen eyes that blue. His sandy-blond hair ruffled in the wind, giving him a casual, open and appeal
ing look. As if the blue eyes weren’t enough, they were accompanied by high cheekbones and a dimple in his left cheek when he smiled, which he was doing now. The effect was to take her breath away, yet again. Out of nervous habit, Kayla’s hand reached for the locket she kept hanging from a chain around her neck. Not until her hand met bare skin did she remember that the locket with the picture of her parents had been lost on the night she’d been attacked. She flinched, and pulled her hand away.

  “Hi. Gabe McGregor, Cape Churn police officer.” He held out a large, callused hand.

  She eased her hand out toward it.

  His fingers closed around hers, engulfing them in a warm handshake. It felt good compared to the cool breeze blowing in off the water.

  Too good. For two weeks now, she’d had to steel herself to keep from flinching at every man’s touch. Her therapist had said it was a perfectly normal reaction to an attack like hers, but it was still unsettling—and part of the reason why she’d chosen such an isolated place to stay. So why did she feel no urgency to get away from Officer McGregor’s touch? The lack of fear was odd…and a little disturbing.

  “Kayla Davies.” She pulled her hand free of his. “Do you always sneak up on people?”

  That dimple flashed and Kayla could swear his blue eyes twinkled in the morning sun. “I called out, but I guess you were caught up in what you were doing.” His smile twisted. “Sorry about the canvas.”

  She shrugged. “I hadn’t actually put paint to it.” She glanced up at him, raising a hand to shield the eastern sun from her eyes. “What brings you out to the lighthouse, Officer McGregor?”

  “Call me Gabe.” His smile returned briefly before it disappeared and his face grew serious. “I’m here on business.”

  “Business?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He reached into his uniform pocket for a notepad and pen. “Were you anywhere near the lighthouse last night around midnight?”

  Kayla looked back at the cottage, her lips curling upward on the corner. “Yes. I’m staying in the cottage beside it. I was in bed trying to sleep. Why?”

  He tipped his head to the side. “I didn’t know anyone was renting it. How long have you been there?”

  “I arrived around dusk last night.”

  “Did you notice anyone else out here?”

  “Some kids went down a trail to the beach just before dark.” She squatted to retrieve the paintbrush that had been forgotten in their earlier struggles and placed it in her work case. “I counted three girls and two boys.”

  “Anyone else?”

  She nodded in the direction of the cliff with the building tucked into the trees. “I thought I saw a man along the cliffs to the south. I think he was walking a dog. I was inside, looking through the window, so I can’t be certain. After the sun set, I closed the blinds on that side of the house.” She didn’t tell him why she’d closed the blinds. He didn’t have to know that the new resident of the lighthouse cottage was afraid of the dark.

  “What about at midnight? Did you see or hear anything?”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything out of the ordinary. A car, voices, someone screaming?”

  Kayla gasped. “What?” The air around her got warmer, perspiration beading on her forehead.

  “Did you hear a car drive up, voices, a scream, anything?”

  “Screaming?” Kayla’s hand rose to her throat where the air refused to move into her lungs. “Did something happen?”

  Officer McGregor’s lips pressed into a line. “One of the girls in that group showed up this morning on the beach half a mile away. She’d been murdered.”

  Chapter 3

  Gabe reached out and grabbed for the woman, once again, to keep her from crashing to the ground. She sagged against him, her head lolling back, exposing her neck and the distinct yellowing of fading bruises. What the hell?

  “Ms. Davies?” He shifted her, holding her in one arm while smoothing the rich, auburn hair from her eyes. The color of her hair struck a chord with him. Where had he seen dark red hair recently?

  Then it dawned on him. The murder victim on the beach had dark red hair. “Ms. Davies, please wake up.” He shook her gently.

  Kayla blinked, her eyes staring up into his, tears filling them almost immediately. “I’m sorry.” She pushed against him, the movement not enough to convince him to let go.

  Gabe kept his hold on her, his arm slipping around her waist, her breasts pressed firmly into his chest. He stood a head taller than she did; the soft curls hanging down her back brushed against his hand. Her pale skin against the deep auburn hair gave her a pretty, feminine and fragile appeal that would inspire any man to want to protect her. Including Gabe.

  So where did the bruises come from?

  “I can stand on my own,” she said.

  “I don’t believe you. If you don’t mind, I’d rather hold on until we’re well away from the edge of the cliff.”

  “But I was painting,” she said, waving her hand limply.

  “Considering the canvas flew over the edge, I’d say you’re done for now.”

  Her gaze held his for a moment, then she sighed. “You’re right. Who was I fooling anyway?” The last bit was muttered under her breath.

  Keeping one hand around her waist, he handed the box of paintbrushes to her and gathered the easel under his spare arm. “Ready?”

  “I guess.” She looked at the edge of the cliff where her canvas had gone over.

  “Trust me, you won’t find it.” Gabe urged her toward the cottage. “And if you did, you wouldn’t be able to get to it. That part of the bluff is too steep to climb down and back up.”

  She smiled, a short quirk of her lips. The sun seemed to come out, then fade away as quickly as it rose in her face, her green eyes darkening with her frown. “Really, I can walk on my own.”

  “Prove it by walking with me first.”

  She let him walk her several yards away from the edge of the cliff before she glanced up at him. “See?”

  Gabe reluctantly let go of her waist, a strange feeling of loss resulting from the separation. He wanted to keep her tucked safely in the crook of his arm. Must be that waiflike appearance she had about her. Her pale skin only emphasized the dark circles beneath her eyes, adding an air of mystery and tragedy to her beautiful features.

  They crossed the distance between the cliff and the cottage in silence. Gabe didn’t want to start questioning her until he was certain he wouldn’t be picking her up off the ground again. A chair would be nice. And apparently, Ms. Davies wasn’t anxious to talk right away, either, her lips pressed into a line, the frown furrowing her forehead more worried than angry.

  When she reached the cottage and pushed the door open, she paused. “Won’t you come in?”

  “Thank you, Ms. Davies.” Gabe stepped inside and leaned the easel against the wall. The cabin was like so many other cabins along the coast, decorated in light, durable furnishings in keeping with summer vacation beach residences. The open living space had a large picture window facing the ocean.

  “Call me Kayla. Ms. Davies makes me sound old.” She set the box of supplies on an end table and headed for the kitchen. One after the other, she rummaged through the cabinets, her movements brisk and efficient, but Gabe noticed the way her hands shook a little as she unearthed a teakettle.

  Gabe stepped up beside her and grabbed her hands, kettle and all. “Sit.” He led her to the dinette table and pulled out a chair, forcing her into it.

  For a moment, Kayla looked as if she was about to argue, but then the fight seemed to leach out of her. She stared out the window, her face blank, expression closed. “I thought it was my nightmare.”

  “What?” Gabe sat across from her and continued to hold her hands in his. “What
did you think was your nightmare?”

  “The scream.” Her gaze shifted from the window to his face. “I thought it was part of my nightmare. I did nothing.”

  His stomach did a flip-flop, the desperation in Kayla’s face making him want to pull her back into his arms and shield her from whatever ghosts haunted her. He squeezed her hands in his. “So you heard a scream?”

  “Yes. I woke from a bad dream and was just going back to sleep when it happened.”

  “What time?”

  “Around midnight. I thought I’d drifted off. I thought the scream was me.”

  “And what do you think now?”

  “I wasn’t asleep. I know that now.” She dragged her hands from his and buried her face in them. “She screamed and I just lay there.”

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  When she looked up, he saw that her face was streaked with tears. “I could have helped.”

  “Or been just another victim.”

  “If I’d realized what was going on, I could have called the police.”

  “Likely the man would have gotten away by the time we got there anyway.” He took one of her hands in his again. “You didn’t kill her. Someone else did.”

  Her eyes widened and her free hand went to her throat. “H-h-how did she die?”

  Gabe’s gaze focused on the yellow markings on her neck. “Without having an autopsy report, I can’t be certain, but she showed signs of strangulation.”

  Kayla gasped. “Oh, God, no.”

  “What?”

  “No.” She shook her head, more tears slipping down her cheeks before she buried her face in her hands again.

  “Kayla, what’s wrong?” He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.

  Her body trembled beneath his touch.

  “This is my fault.”

  “What? No, Kayla, I told you. You’re not responsible for what the killer has done.”