by Elle James
I want my baby to live. She repeated the mantra over and over, the instinct to survive pushing her feet forward. A large structure loomed out of the fog so suddenly Kayla almost smacked right into it. The lighthouse.
She rounded the side of the building, found the door and dropped the can of spray. When she’d given her the information about the cottage, Jillian had told her all about the lighthouse. Where had she said that key was? On her hands and knees, Kayla felt around the steps and the area beside the steps until she located a large stone, remembering Jillian’s instructions. A skeleton key lay beneath the stone, should she feel like climbing the tower.
Kayla fumbled for the skeleton key beneath the stone, her hand patting the cool, damp earth until her fingers curled around the long, metal key. She lurched to her feet, and fitted it into the door with her left hand.
The pounding of feet on gravel behind her made her hand shake.
Lawrence had obviously found the path and was headed her way.
Sobs rose in her throat as she pushed the key into the lock. Her fingers fumbled and the key fell to the ground with a metallic clatter.
“Nancy, you don’t love him, you love me. You’re mine. I’ll never let him have you.” Lawrence’s disembodied voice floated toward her as if in a nightmare, the faceless villain lurking in the mist.
Kayla dropped to her knees and groped for the key, her left hand less maneuverable than her right. She found it, rose, swayed and jammed the key into the lock. At first it wouldn’t turn, the rusty mechanism stiff with disuse. She wiggled the key and tried again, desperation making her hold slip on the rusty key.
At last the lock clicked. She twisted the knob, pushed open the door, grabbed the can of wasp spray and ran into the lighthouse building, slamming shut the door behind her.
Complete darkness surrounded her as she felt for the dead bolt, fitted the key into it and locked it from the inside to keep Lawrence out.
No sooner had she pulled the key free than something hit the door with such force it shook. “Nancy!” Lawrence raged, his voice high-pitched, the fury palpable. Fists pummeled the door, rattling the ancient, corroded lock. Then silence.
Kayla backed away until her ankles bumped against the steps leading to the top.
A thunderous bang reverberated off the walls. A tiny object whizzed past her injured arm and hit the wall beside her hip. Splinters flew through the air, spearing her legs.
He was shooting at the lock. It wouldn’t be long before he destroyed it and he’d be inside.
Too late, Kayla realized that she had trapped herself inside the lighthouse with no way to escape. Her only hope lay in the knowledge that the police made an hourly patrol by her cottage. Plus, Gabe had promised to come by when he got back from Portland. Hopefully someone would notice something amiss or find Jillian wandering the highway.
Moving in pitch-black, Kayla couldn’t tell up from down, right from left. She tapped the steps with the toe of her shoe, leaned the good hand clasping the can on the wall and climbed the steps leading to the top, praying someone would come soon.
Below, another bang blasted the air and a loud crash indicated the door had slammed inward.
Her breath coming in ragged gasps, Kayla raced up the winding metal stairs, climbing higher and higher up the lighthouse tower.
Please, Gabe, she prayed silently. Get here soon.
Chapter 15
Gabe sped through the night toward Cape Churn, his body leaning forward as if he could see better the nearer he was to the windshield. The closer he got to the town, the thicker the Devil’s Shroud grew until he crept along, dodging cars going slower than his. Too many close calls and near misses had his body so tense he could barely push air through his lungs.
He had to get to Kayla. His gut told him she was in trouble and nothing would stop him from getting there short of driving off the cliff highway.
When he neared Cape Churn, he dialed the police station. No one answered. The fog glowed pale orange in a huge halo over the buildings, brightening as he drew nearer. When he passed the first few houses on the outskirts he could make out flames rising into the night, the light reflecting off the fog illuminating the town center and the chaos all around.
Heart thumping, his hands gripping the wheel, he pulled to a stop next to a man standing in the road, barefoot, wearing pajamas. “What happened?”
“It’s crazy.” The man shoved a hand through his hair and shook his head. “An explosion knocked me out of my bed… When I came out to see what was going on, I saw flames. I’m not sure, but I think something exploded on Main Street.”
Gabe thanked him and pushed on, driving slowly through the streets filled with people now running toward the source of the flames.
As Gabe rounded the corner of the bank building, his heart skidded to a halt, his foot hitting the brake.
Where the police station had been, there now rose a raging inferno. He slammed his SUV into Park, jumped out and raced toward the building.
Fire trucks lined the street, full-time and volunteer firefighters aimed hoses at the center of the burning mass. Gabe ran past townspeople gaping at the turmoil. When he spotted the fire chief, he raced toward him. The chief of police stood beside the fire chief, his face grave.
Gabe slid to a halt on the damp pavement beside Taggert. “What happened?”
“Thank God you’re back.” The police chief nodded to the charred remains of a hunk of metal in front of the crumbled station. “Someone parked a truck beside the station and it blew up. Not sure who or why.”
“Damn.” Gabe stared at the station, the inferno still blazing as the firefighters did their best to confine it to just one building. “Did you get everyone out?”
Taggert nodded. “We did. The dispatcher, Gene Ledbetter, should be at the hospital by now. Looked bad, but the EMTs think he’ll pull through. The desk sergeant received lacerations and suffered from smoke inhalation, but he’ll make it as well. Everyone else was on patrol and it was a slow night for the jail cells. Thank the Lord they were empty and the FBI agent didn’t make it down from Seattle.”
Gabe breathed a sigh, his jaw clenching. “Who would have done this?”
“I don’t know, but everyone is helping out. We’re short on communication, with the main emergency lines burning.”
Which explained why Gabe hadn’t been able to get through to the police station. “Chief, I tried to get through to you on my way back to Cape Churn.”
“That’s right. How’d the interview with the Watson woman go?”
“She recognized some photos I brought with me as those of her son.”
“Photos?” The chief turned away from the fire, his full attention on Gabe. “What photos?”
“I enlarged the driver’s-license photos of Lawrence Wilson, both from the Washington DMV and the Oregon DMV, without the data associated with the licenses themselves.” Gabe stared at the chief. “She identified both as her son, Rick Watson.”
The chief swore. “And I had hoped we wouldn’t have any trouble tonight, given we’re pretty much out of business.”
Gabe’s stomach flipped, his pulse kicking into high gear. “No one can get a call in to 911?”
“Nope.”
And the patrols were probably here in town helping out with the fire. If Kayla hadn’t gone to the B and B after the rain stopped, she was on her own in the lighthouse cottage.
“I have to get to Kayla.”
The chief’s eyes widened. “You don’t think…”
“I hope not.”
“Get out there. I’ll send a message over my car radio for the night-shift patrols to make their way out to the lighthouse. You might need backup.”
Gabe ran back to his vehicle, jumped in and weaved through the bystanders
on his way south, out of town.
His cell phone rang beside him on the seat. He snatched it up, praying it was Kayla. The number to the B and B flashed across the screen. He hit the talk button and pressed the phone to his ear.
“Gabe? What the hell’s going on?” Molly’s anxious voice filled his ear.
His hands tightened on the wheel, dread filling every cell in his body. “What do you mean?”
“A few minutes ago, a boom shook the walls. I was in the shower and thought at first it was an earthquake. But when I came out, the Johnsons assured me it was more like an explosion.”
“It was an explosion—someone blew up the police station.”
“Oh, Lord, is everyone all right?”
“They’re fine. You’re okay? No damage from the explosion?”
“No, no damage, but when I looked around for Dakota after I got out of the shower, he was gone.”
“How long ago?”
“I wasn’t in the shower more than fifteen minutes. I told him to stay put, but he was really worried about Kayla. He was practically crawling the walls with his pacing. I didn’t think he’d leave or I would have watched him more closely.”
“He’s on his way to her cottage.”
“God, Gabe, the fog is awful out here. If he’s not careful, he could run his bicycle off the road…” Her voice faded.
She didn’t say it, but Gabe could imagine she worried the boy would get going too fast on the slick roads and run off one of the drop-offs on the highway between the B and B and Kayla’s cottage.
Adrenaline spiked in Gabe’s veins as he pulled onto the road leading to the lighthouse. He increased his speed, despite the insanely thick fog rising up like a wall, blinding his every move. Several times he narrowly missed hitting the guardrails lining the most dangerous drop-offs along the coastal highway. His foot eased off the accelerator. No matter how fast he wanted to go, he could only go as fast as the conditions would allow. He’d be of no use to Kayla and Dakota if he ran his SUV off a cliff into the ocean.
The ten-minute drive out to the lighthouse cottage passed like a slow-motion movie. Negotiating the road in near-zero visibility, Gabe had time to think.
Four months ago, he’d been living in Seattle, doing the job he was born to do. Police work, protecting the innocent, bringing the guilty to justice. He’d lived each day carefree of commitment, no one to answer to, no one to worry about. The women in his life hadn’t been an issue because he didn’t let them close enough.
Until Siena had dropped Dakota at his apartment doorstep, reminding him that Gabe McGregor wasn’t alone in the world and that others depended on him for more than the cop he was. His son’s entry into his life had made him responsible for another person’s happiness and shown him that being there for a loved one wasn’t a bad thing.
Dakota had taught him that in the few short months he’d known his son. No matter how hard it was to get through to the kid, Gabe couldn’t forget that Dakota depended on him to nurture, love and protect.
His son’s teenage insolence and sullen behavior had been tempered by his passion for art, his love for his aunt Molly, his occasional tolerance for the dad he’d never known and his desire to help others in need.
And despite the hardships, Gabe had started looking forward to spending time with his son, getting to know him and what made him happy. His son had taught him to love again. Not only that, but their move to Cape Churn had helped Gabe reestablish his connection with his only sibling, Molly. For these things Gabe could be grateful.
Dakota most likely had been the catalyst for Gabe opening his heart to love for others. By asking Dakota to trust that his father wouldn’t leave him, Gabe had been forced to come to grips with his own distrust of the ones he loved leaving, the distrust that had been rooted in Siena’s betrayal. Dakota had needed to learn that not all parents were the same. Gabe had needed to learn that not all women were the same.
But it wasn’t just Dakota. Gabe had to meet the right woman. One who could mean more to him than just a casual affair. One who could share his life and the love he felt for his home. A woman willing to love him and his family, the people he held most dear. A woman who shared his passions and wasn’t afraid to trust herself to his care and possibly love him in return.
For the first time since he was a teen, Gabe wanted to share his life with a woman. Not just any woman.
Gabe wanted the chance to share his life with Kayla, to get to know her and what made her happy and sad, laugh and cry. That she was pregnant should have sent him into a tailspin of denial, but it hadn’t. He was excited that she was having a baby and he wanted to be there when she was born.
God, what was he thinking? He’d only known Kayla three days and here he was thinking about happily ever after.
But that happily ever after would only be possible if Dakota and Kayla were safe. And at the moment, he feared they were both at the mercy of a killer.
He increased the pressure on the accelerator, fear pushing him faster than the road conditions warranted. Fear of losing two of the people he’d grown to love.
He couldn’t let that happen.
No. He wouldn’t let that happen.
Footsteps pounded on the stairs behind her as Kayla raced up the winding steps to the top of the tower. The lighthouse signal had long since been replaced by the automated beacon on a steel structure farther along the coast, but, thank God, the lighthouse was still enough of a local attraction for the staircase to be kept in good condition.
As she topped the winding staircase, she stumbled onto the level floor and crashed into metal railing rimming the center of the room where the beacon must once have stood.
Kayla felt her way around the wall to the opposite side. Darkness so thick she could taste it on her tongue pressed in on all sides. Blinded by the fog and complete nonexistence of light, she crouched against the stone wall on the farthest side of the walkway, as far away from the stairs as she could get. The vacant, glass-free windows gaped like open maws into the Devil’s Shroud, their outlines barely visible in the abysmal gloom.
Tremors set in, shaking Kayla’s body so badly her knees shook, threatening to buckle. Her arm ached and blood congealed on her hand. Bile rose in her throat, her stomach churning.
The only weapon she still carried was the can of wasp spray, her only defense against the man who’d attacked her before and nearly choked the life out of her. Out of desperation, she grabbed for the wrought-iron railing ringing the empty center where the beacon light once gleamed and pulled, praying the rust had done the trick, eating its way through the metal. But the railing remained sturdy, despite the gathering rust.
Armed with the wasp spray, she aimed it in the direction of the staircase, praying her aim would hold true and she wouldn’t run out of juice in the can.
Light rose with the footsteps, closing in on her.
“Nancy!” Lawrence cried. “You can’t leave me. You will never leave me.”
The man had flipped. No amount of arguing would convince him Kayla wasn’t Nancy. No amount of talking would make him back off. He wanted Nancy dead. Just as he’d wanted the other red-haired women who looked like her dead, each frightened beyond reason and then choked to their very last breath.
As light pierced the darkness, Kayla glanced around at the trap she’d gotten herself into. If she could lure him away from the top of the staircase long enough, she might be able to escape down the winding staircase and out into the night.
She waited, her breath caught in her throat, her body growing still. Falling apart wasn’t an option. Her baby depended on her and she wanted to see Gabe again. She wanted to live, to know her child and to explore the blossoming relationship between herself and the cop. And Dakota needed more lessons in order to realize his full potential as an artist, and he could alway
s use another friend to help him navigate his troubled teen years.
Kayla had far too many reasons to live to let one man extinguish her life. She crouched in a ready stance, waiting, gathering her breath and determination around her like a shield.
Lawrence lurched up the final step, breathing hard. The flashlight he carried bobbed crazily and then leveled, spanning the diameter of the room, sweeping left then right until it shone directly at her.
Kayla raised her hand to shield her vision from the beam, retaining what little night vision she could for when she plunged back down the dark stairs.
Lawrence’s blood-red eyes squinted at her as though he had trouble seeing from the damage caused by the repellent. “Nancy,” he moaned. “Why did you leave me?”
“I’m not Nancy,” Kayla spoke in a calm, quiet voice, remaining crouched below the railing. Not that it would stop a bullet, but at least he couldn’t see her any more clearly. If he wanted to kill her as he’d killed the others, he’d have to come around the room to get his hands on her.
“I just wanted to love you,” he cried, tears slipping down his face.
“And you think choking someone is love?” she asked.
“I didn’t mean to. You just wouldn’t listen.” He turned to the right, moving toward her one step at a time.
“I’m listening now.” Kayla shifted, backing in the opposite direction. She needed him to come at least as far as she was from the door before she could make her lunge for freedom.
The ping of something hitting metal drew Kayla’s attention to the stairwell behind Lawrence. Was someone climbing upward to her rescue? Could she hold off long enough?
Hope swelled in Kayla’s breast until she remembered the gun Lawrence gripped in his hand. Anyone bursting through the doorway would be hailed with bullets, dead before they were any help to her, and all because she’d come to Cape Churn, bringing a killer with her.
Kayla wouldn’t let that happen. The killing had to stop. No one else would die because of her.
