Just Evil

by Vickie McKeehan

  “Now why would I do that? Think about what you’re saying. You’re suggesting that someone deliberately did this. We have no proof that it was anything more than a drunk driver. We’ll continue investigating. But right now, you need to calm down.”

  Finally, at Reese’s insistence, Jake took a step backward, ran his hands through his hair, and more calmly explained to the officer, “Look, Kit’s mother Alana Stevens was murdered recently. St. John and Holloway are assigned to the case. Check it out if you don’t believe me. There have been two additional murders since then. I’m telling you, this was no accident and you need to at least inform them what happened here tonight.”

  “And you need to let us do our job.”

  “Then do your fucking job.” A frustrated Jake spun on his heels and headed for the elevators. This was pointless, he thought. They just didn’t see the connection; couldn’t they see it was all related? As he punched the UP button and waited for the doors to open, he was convinced that none of the police could connect dots even if you spotted them the pattern. Right now, he needed to be with Kit.

  Reese and Dylan caught up with him at the elevator. When they stepped into the car with him, he told Dylan, “Tomorrow I want you to take that safe we found and get it open. Find out if what’s in there is worth Kit’s life.”

  That stopped both men in their tracks.

  “You really think someone deliberately tried to run her off the road?”

  “Yeah, I do. I’m thinking after she’s discharged I’m getting her out of here, taking her someplace safe.”

  When the elevator doors opened to the fifth floor, Jake took one look at a grim-faced Quinn standing at the nurse’s station, and panic gripped his gut. “What’s wrong?”

  Quinn looked startled for a moment, but then took a deep breath. “They found some internal bleeding in her spleen. If it gets worse, they’ll have to do surgery, remove it. Her doctor wants her to stabilize a little more first, though, give it time to stop on its own. If it does, she won’t need surgery.” God, she hoped that was the case.

  “Surgery?” This couldn’t be happening. “Can I see her?”

  “Sure. I’ll take you in. Gloria and Baylee are with her. I’m still on duty and will be until seven in the morning, but I’ll look in on her every chance I get. If you’ll leave me your phone number, I’ll let you…”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  Quinn hid her surprise. “Well, the nurses might have something to say about that.” But the determined look on his face softened her so much that instead of giving him a hard time, she winked at him and offered, “I’ll let the nurses know you’re a member of the family.” Wiggling her eyebrows back and forth, she added, “A brother, perhaps.”

  “If that’s what it takes to let me stay in her room, I don’t care who they think I am.”

  As soon as Jake entered the room, Baylee and Gloria stepped out into the hallway to give him some privacy. He crossed to the bed, and stared at the woman lying so still.

  How in the world had she come to mean so much to him in such a short amount of time? He’d expected to care. Hell, he’d always cared about her. And he couldn’t stand to see her hurt. That was all there was to it. But the urge to tell her, to say the words he’d never said to anyone else was as strong now as it had been that morning on the boat. Something stupid had held him back then. And now, to his regret, she might never hear him say those words.

  What if something happened to her in surgery? He’d never considered himself weak, or scared of anything before, but he was afraid if he didn’t tell her something might happen when she went into surgery. She might not wake up. At the thought of that, he leaned down next to her where only she could hear and whispered, “I love you, Kit. I love you. Do you hear me? Do you know what I’m saying to you?” He didn’t really expect her to answer, but he found that saying the words had been a simple enough thing after all.

  CHAPTER 22

  On this Sunday morning he looked like any other typical tourist sitting on a sand dune watching the waves.

  Man, he loved sunny Southern California. Since the storm had passed and brought sunshine and perfect surf, the sun had seemed to lighten the darkness that had settled over him the past two years. When he was finished with all of this, he might just extend his visit. Take some time to relax and do nothing but laze at the beach. As he sat looking out to sea, he waited once again for his prey to come to him.

  Technically speaking in this case, the man would jog to him just as he’d done every day at exactly seven-thirty, come rain or shine. Hell, the man had probably been running on this same beach every day of his life at exactly the same time every morning since he’d moved here in 1970. And wasn’t that just a kick in the pants. The man obviously loved this view, loved this place.

  It was a good thing, too, because the man was going to die here.

  At least he would die on his beloved beach. How poetic was that?

  When he caught sight of the man jogging his way, he calmly stood up, brushed the sand from his ridiculous flowered print shorts. It was time to go to work.

  Years younger than his prey, he jogged toward the elder man from the opposite direction, catching up with him without much effort. He had set up the scene perfectly and when he’d gotten within four feet or so of the jogging man, he said, “Wow, you’re Sumner Boyd, aren’t you? Wait until I tell the wife I jogged on the same beach as the great legal eagle himself. Man, she just isn’t going to believe me.”

  Indignant that someone would not only approach him but intrude upon his private inner sanctum in such a manner, Sumner’s face, already red from the physical exertion of running three miles, got redder. “How the hell did you get down here? This beach is private. Can’t you goddamned tourists read a fucking sign?”

  “Nice meeting you too, asshole. Oh, I can read. In fact, let me tell you a story.” He calmly withdrew a .38 revolver from his pocket, which immediately got Sumner’s attention. “It’s not really important to know how I got down here, but rather why. I’d think you’d get down on your knees right about now and thank me for getting rid of Alana and Jessica and Eva. Of course, you aren’t going to be around much longer to enjoy the solitude. But, don’t tell me you didn’t think about taking care of at least one of those three bitches yourself over the years.”

  He laughed when he noticed the shocked look on Sumner’s face. “I apologize. I’m getting completely off the subject. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Now, why don’t we sit down on this rock here, on the beach you love so much, and let me tell you a story?”

  He saw Sumner’s face go from shock to fear. Good, he thought, he had the man’s attention.

  “Wait. I’m a wealthy man. I can give you anything you want. Just don’t kill me.”

  “Really? Anything?”

  “Yes, anything, just name it.” The fear on his face turned hopeful. Thank God for his money. He could bargain his way out of this.

  “Can you bring someone back from the dead?”

  Sumner’s face went from red to white. The hope completely drained from his face and was replaced by confusion. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Then you really have nothing I want, except your life. But don’t worry, you’ll die on your own sand on a beautiful day and if you’ll sit down and listen, I’ll tell you why. Have you ever heard that old saying?” He paused for effect and with his other hand twirled a finger in the air. “...what goes around comes around?”

  In Kit’s hospital room, Jake slept covered up in a blanket, stretched out as best he could between two chairs. His head rested on the back of one while a leg and a foot dangled off another. When the door opened and Baylee walked in carrying a sack, his head popped up.

  As soon as she set the bag down, she stuck her hands in her back pockets, rocked on her heels, and said in a low voice, “Sorry to wake you. I didn’t realize you might still be asleep. I hate hospitals. If you ask me, you can never rest in a hospital. They’re always coming up with a reason
to poke and stick you.”

  Jake rubbed at his tired eyes and sat up erect, stretched. “It’s okay. I didn’t really sleep.”

  Little wonder, she thought, looking at the man’s makeshift bed. “How’s our girl?”

  “She’s been in and out of it most of the night. But the good news is about three this morning the bleeding in her spleen seems to have stopped on its own. They don’t think she’ll need surgery.” Sniffing the air, he brightened. “Is that coffee?”

  Baylee reached into the sack, pulled out a Styrofoam cup, and handed it off before reaching in for another. “Thought you could use a jolt right about now. Didn’t used to drink this stuff even though I work in a coffee shop, but after Sarah came along, I found out soon enough that when you wake up in the middle of the night with a fussy baby, you need that extra jolt of caffeine that you just can’t get from a can of soda. So whenever I have to walk the floor with Sarah, coffee is my go-to crutch. After months of drinking the stuff, I’m hooked. I can’t make it past six a.m. anymore without my shot of java, even if I do drink it with a half a cup of milk.”

  Jake laughed before yawning and got up out of the chair to stretch his back. He started telling her about how his sisters had changed when they’d become mothers.

  As he talked, Baylee noticed a wistful look come across his face. She recognized that look, an almost longing that settled in his eyes when he talked about his siblings having kids. It was possible, she thought, that he wasn’t even aware of it. “Ever think about having any of your own?” Baylee asked.

  Jake’s eyes drifted instantly to Kit before he simply said, “Yeah.”

  Baylee left it at that, but wanted to know, “Were you able to find out any information about Pepper? The minute she comes around she’ll want to know how he is.”

  “She’s already asked. And yeah, I found out he suffered a compound fracture in his right hind leg as well as internal injuries, didn’t get out of surgery until around two. But I left the vet my cell number and he promised to call with an update this morning. I can only hope the news is good.” After taking a long drink of his coffee, Jake said softly, “I don’t like seeing her hurt.”

  “Neither do I; she’s had too much of that already.” Baylee waited a beat before adding, “Has she told you all of it, then?”

  The two shared eye contact for a moment. “She told me enough. I’m not making her travel down that road any more than necessary.”

  Baylee’s opinion of the man edged up several notches as she listened to Jake go on, “You didn’t see her sitting in her car the day she went to Beverly Hills. You didn’t see her panic at the idea of going back inside that house. I can only imagine what it was like for her, living there with that woman. You were around Alana. You knew what Kit had to deal with.”

  Baylee looked away. “I did. I hated that woman. And when Holloway and St. John get around to asking, I’ll tell them so.”

  She took a sip of coffee. “She was mean. I remember one time Kit was doing her best to ride her bike with the training wheels still on. But like most kids, she took a spill, fell off, skinned her knee, and tore her dress. It wasn’t until we were older after I’d given her grief once too often about her always wearing a dress outside to play in that she told me how Alana wouldn’t let her wear pants or jeans. Ever. Anyway, Kit fell off her bike, ripped her dress at the bottom. Before I could stop, help her up, Alana comes tearing out of the damned house like she’d been watching from the window ready to pounce, doesn’t even take the time to check Kit’s skinned knee—just yanks her up off the ground, goes to whaling the tar out of her, the whole time cursing that she’s torn the freaking dress.”

  She drew in a deep breath, let it out. “Alana scared the crap out of me.”

  Baylee took another long pull of caffeine. “You might as well know Kit had it so much worse than I had it growing up. You see, my mother walked out on my father when I was about three, ran off to Europe with her tennis pro. Unfortunately, when she decided to leave William Scott, she also left me.” She waited a beat until she saw the recognition flash in Jake’s eyes. Her father had once been one of the most sought-after directors of action films in Hollywood. “Yeah, that William Scott. I don’t remember much about my mother. I was raised primarily by the housekeeper, Tanya Lincoln. If Dad ever started that walk down memory lane, though, started reminiscing about his ex-wife, good old mom, he’d start drinking heavily. Followed by a huge mad-on, he’d start to hit on the closest and then the most vulnerable person which was usually me. Fortunately for me, my father wasn’t home that often. He’d spend eighteen-hour days at the studio. Or, he’d be out of the country for weeks on location, sometimes months, directing some megabucks action flick.

  “Kit wasn’t that lucky. She had to put up with Alana up close and personal. Sure, she’d travel every now and again; dump Kit at the Boyd’s, but not often enough if you ask me. And alcohol wasn’t the reason Alana was mean. The woman was just evil without any provocation or incentive. For punishment, from anything from spilled milk to not leaving a room quick enough, she’d either knock Kit down or lock her up in a closet, might leave her there for an hour, or twenty-four, depending on her mood. And her mood swings were like storm clouds, quick to form and always violent. From an early age, I knew Kit’s situation was far worse than mine, but I didn’t find out exactly how bad until we went into group therapy together. Hearing her talk about it, all of it, I felt terrible for her and a little guilty. I mean, here I was talking about an occasional fist thrown my way and she was talking about agony, locked in a damned closet for God knows how long.”

  Baylee closed her eyes, remembering. When she opened them, she looked back down at Kit and her voice broke. “God, when we were little and I wouldn’t see her outside in the yard for a day or two, playing, riding her bike, I’d panic. Even though we were just kids, I can remember not knowing how far Alana had gone, so I’d go up to the front door, gather my courage enough to ring the bell, pray Kit would answer the door and I could see for myself that she was okay. It was anguish not knowing if Alana had finally lost it and done something horrible to her.”

  She took a moment to rub her eyes, compose her thoughts.

  Hearing the door open behind her, Baylee looked around; saw Quinn standing in the doorway.

  Quinn walked up beside Baylee, wrapped her arms around the shorter woman, and rested her head on top of Baylee’s. They stood there like that until Baylee looked into Quinn’s tired eyes and asked, “Do you remember Alana’s laugh, Quinn? She had the most evil laugh, which I guess pretty much made her a natural for all the horror films she made.”

  After a brutal twenty-four hour shift that had included a busy Saturday night in the ER, Quinn let out a worn-out sigh. “I remember. That laugh was enough to send chills down my spine on more than one occasion. But then I got over it.” Her voice sounded tired when she asked, “Why are you telling him this, Baylee? It won’t help Kit.”

  “Maybe it’s practice for when the police get around to interviewing me. Maybe I want to be ready. Maybe I just want to once and for all convince those two cops that she didn’t go back inside that house and take a knife to Alana.”

  More awake now after listening to Baylee’s tale, those other questions Jake had been harboring snapped into his brain, and he knew it was time to ask. “What kind of a man was John Griffin? Why didn’t he ever follow through on his promises and get her out of there?”

  Quinn stepped back from Baylee, crossed her arms over her body. “See what you’ve started? You’ve opened up old wounds that are best left in the past.”

  “Don’t blame Baylee. I’m the one who asked, the one who wants to know. Kit’s wondered, too. It bothers her. You know it does. There’s no use pretending.”

  Quinn looked long and hard over at Kit, still sleeping. “I don’t know how Baylee feels, but I always thought Kit’s dad was a good guy. He’d take her places, do stuff, spend time with her; he’d let us girls spend the night over at his house whe
never Kit spent the weekend, you know, like a girl’s sleepover. Alana never allowed that. I thought he was a cool dad. But he should have taken her out of that situation, no argument there. I don’t know why he didn’t. Neither does Kit.”

  Baylee chimed in, “Ditto the nice stuff. I’ve got nothing bad to say about the man, other than him leaving Kit in that situation time and time again. But after…after…Alana…” She faltered and looked over at Jake again, but when she saw Jake’s slight nod, as if he knew, she went on, “When Alana shot her, that was it for me. I thought, okay, Kit will be moving away any day now. I’ll lose my best friend. She’ll go live with her dad now.”

  She shook her head. “But it didn’t happen. And Kit changed. She wouldn’t take anything off Alana. After what happen, well, she just wasn’t as close to her dad, either. But then he left one day to make a movie and she never saw him again.”

  Quinn started to pace the small room. “Well, why would she be close to the man after that? Alana could have killed her that night and he knew it. He was there, witnessed the entire thing happen right in front of him, and what does he do? Instead of calling the cops or Protective Services, he helps Alana cover it up. I am in agreement with Baylee though. After the shooting, I no longer trusted her dad. And neither did Kit?”

  The room grew silent as Baylee asked. “What will they do when they find out how bad the abuse was?”

  Jake looked at the floor a few seconds before answering. “Knowing St. John, he’ll use it to get her to agree to an exhaustive interview where he takes her through the past bit by bit, wears her down; then he’ll use whatever he finds out in the process of interrogating her to further the investigation. Maybe use it to get a warrant.”

  Horrified at the idea, Quinn fumed, “You can’t be serious. You mean if Baylee’s father ends up murdered or my stepfather pisses off the wrong person one day and gets himself killed, Baylee and I would be suspects because the bastards beat on us when we were kids. That’s ridiculous.”