Chapter 27
Nick had been in enough trouble in his lifetime to know when it was bad. As he stood in the jail cell of the Bellerose Police Department and watched the jailer lock the outer door behind him, he figured this qualified and then some.
It had been two hours since Alcee Martin and Matt Duncan had dragged him away in cuffs from Nat's house. They'd questioned him for an hour, in which time he'd found out that Hunt had been out in his mud boat frogging when he'd been shot in the head at point blank range. Dutch's rifle had been found at the scene, conveniently dropped into Hunt's boat. Alcee had already questioned at least two people from The Blue Gator, and both of them had mentioned the argument between Hunt and Nick a few nights earlier.
The situation wasn't looking good for a parolee with a murder conviction on his record.
Nick was counting on Alcee Martin being smart enough to look beyond the obvious. Nick hadn't shot Hunt. He hadn't been anywhere near Edward Bayou. The problem was proving it when someone had gone to great lengths to make it look like he had.
Nick had used his phone call to contact his lawyer in New Orleans. But the man had a court date the following morning and wouldn't be able to drive up until afternoon. Unless someone was able to rouse a judge---or conjure a miracle--Nick was stuck.
He looked around the small cell and tried not to feel claustrophobic. As far as jails went, Bellerose was top of the line. At twelve feet square it was roomy and clean with a single ground level, barred window that looked out over the parking lot. The mattress on the bunk was unstained and fresh as the day the citizens of St. Tammany Parish had paid for it.
But Nick could feel the glossy tiled walls closing in on him. Six years in prison had left him with a bad case of claustrophobia. The day he'd walked out of Angola, he'd sworn no one would ever lock him in a cage again. He hadn't counted on someone putting a hole in Hunt Ratcliffe's forehead. Sweating, his heart pounding, he sat down hard on the bunk. Who the hell had done it? Dutch? Nick didn't think so. His old man might have Alzheimer's and a mean streak as wide as the Mississippi, but he wasn't violent. Dutch was a hunter and had always been a responsible gun owner. He was obsessive about gun safety. So then how the hell had Hunt ended up shot with his old man's rifle?
Nick didn't have the answer. The only thing he did know was that if he didn't get out of this cell, he was going to go stark, raving insane.
Struggling to stay calm, he bent his head and put his face in his hands. He'd been trying not to think of Nat, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face. He saw the way her eyes had glazed when he'd been inside her. The way her body had shuddered when he'd moved within her. The sweet cries she'd uttered when he'd brought her to peak. Making love to her had been one of the most erotic experiences of his life. She'd been responsive and loving and more passionate than he ever could have dreamed. She was decent and good and deserved a man who could give her his trust, his whole heart. As desperately as he wanted to be that man, Nick knew be wasn't.
He glanced at the clock above the jailer's desk. Two hours and ten minutes had passed since he'd left her. She'd volunteered to check on Dutch, then come to the station. Nick had been trying not to consciously think of it, but she should have been here by now. Where the hell was she? The question hit a nerve and out of the dark recesses of his mind, a terrible new worry began to eat at him.
Rising abruptly, he cursed and began to pace. Why hadn't she come? Had something happened to her? He could feel his heart beating heavily in his chest. A sheen of sweat slicking his back beneath his shirt. He didn't know if it was claustrophobia or fear for her safety, but it had clamped down on him like the teeth of a steel trap. He could feel panic edging in. The utter certainty that something had happened to her. That he wasn't going to be able to protect her the same way he hadn't been able to protect Brand.
Nat, where are you?
A door clanged. Nick rushed to the bars, hope jumping through him that she had finally come. Instead, a large woman with a mane of wild red hair and a flowing maroon cape strode toward him like a battleship gliding out to sea. Behind her, one of Alcee's deputies and a skinny man in a dark suit rushed to keep up with her.
What the hell?
"You Nick?" she asked.
"Who wants to know?"
She stopped outside the bars, bringing a wave of some exotic perfume with her. She stuck her hand through the bars. "Name's Faye Townsend, but that's not important. What is important is that I think Nat's in trouble. I just came from her place and she's not there. This here's my ex-husband, Judge Tommy Doyal from Covington. You just made bail."
# # #
Nat woke to darkness and pain on top of pain. Nausea ebbed and flowed in her stomach, so she closed her eyes and concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths. There, was a roaring in her ears. Vibration all around. She was lying on her side with her knees drawn up to her chest. She tried to shift, only to realize her hands were tied behind her back.
Confusion swirled; then the memory of everything that had happened came rushing back. Nick being arrested. Her struggle with Travis. A terrible blow to the head. Panic sliced her cleanly, and for several unbearable moments she struggled mindlessly against her bindings. Her heart was like a piston in her chest. She could hear her breaths tearing from her throat, too shallow, too fast. The smell of exhaust told her she was in the back of a moving vehicle. Another wave of panic threatened, but she fought it back, willed her muscles to relax.
"Calm down," she whispered. "You're going to be okay."
Taking a deep breath, Nat looked around, but the back of the vehicle was completely dark. The carpet smelled like motor oil and dust. She tried to stretch out her legs, but the space was too small. She tested her bonds, found them secure, her hands already growing numb.
Where was he taking her?
The vehicle stopped abruptly, and the engine went silent. Every nerve in her body went taut when she heard the door slam. An instant later, the back door lifted. Fresh air and rain and the soft black light of night poured in.
"You're awake," Travis smiled down at her. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to carry you."
Nat raised her head and looked around, realized she was in the rear of Travis’s SUV. She saw trees and misty rain and the utter darkness of the woods. "Where are you taking me?"
"You'll find out soon enough." He reached for her arm. "Come on."
She struggled to a sitting position. Then he was pulling her roughly from the vehicle. She barely managed to get her feet beneath her when he slammed the door closed. He'd stopped the SUV on a dirt road surrounded by thick woods. He was holding a powerful spotlight and was using it to illuminate his face. A ripple of satisfaction went through her when she saw the raised bruise on his forehead where she'd hit him with the umbrella.
Taking her arm, he pulled her away from the SUV, then used the spotlight to indicate the path cut into the woods. "Start walking,” he said.
Nat started toward the path, but kept her pace slow. She didn't know where he was taking her, but knew it was a place she didn't want to go. Once they arrived, she was pretty sure he was going to kill her.
She could feel the fear bubbling inside her. Panic nipping at its heels. “Travis, it's not too late to stop this," she said. "It doesn't have to end this way."
"Shut your mouth and walk."
"What can you possibly hope to accomplish by killing me?"
"Killing you will keep me out of prison, Natalie."
“I promise not to tell anyone what you've told me."
He laughed. "You think I'm pretty stupid, don't you?"
"I think you need help."
"Walk.” Putting his hand between her shoulder blades, he shoved her hard enough to make her stumble. "We don't have much time."
Because she didn't have a choice, Nat obeyed. But her thoughts were already jumping ahead to escape. If she could find a way to distract him. she could make a run for it. If she could put some distance between them, maybe she could find the hi
ghway and flag down a motorist.
She thought of Nick and wondered if they'd put him in a cell or if he was still being questioned. She wondered if he'd realized she was missing. But even if he had, she knew he was in no position to help her.
Her thoughts shot to Faye. Nat had been on the phone with her when Travis showed up at her door. Nat had told her she would call her right back. Had Faye become worried when the call didn't come? Or had she gone back to sleep, totally unaware that Nat was in trouble?
Another layer of fear settled over her when she realized there was no one she could count on to help her. Nat was alone and at the mercy of a madman with no one to rely on but herself.
The rain was little more than a drizzle, but the foliage was dripping, and within minutes she was soaked. The air had grown cold, bringing a rise of fog. At some point she had begun to shiver, great shudders that racked her body from head to toe.
Around them, the bayou sang a soulful predawn chorus of frogs and crickets and the cadence of water dripping onto leaves. Mud sucked at her feet as she continued down the path. She was aware of Travis behind her, holding the spotlight steady on the path ahead. She wondered what he had planned for her. Was he going to beat her to death with the baton? Tie her up and leave her to die like an animal?
She slowed her pace slightly, all the while watching the shadows along the path for a trail she could dash into and run. She was in good physical condition. It was still dark. She had the element of surprise on her side. If she could get a head start, maybe she could put some distance between them and hide.
The thought had barely formed in her mind when she spotted the fork in the trail ahead. The main path went right, but there was a vague impression of a narrow, overgrown trail to the left. Praying she wasn't making a mistake that would only hasten her death, Nat started to go right, then dodged left at the last second and leapt into a dead run.
Chapter 28
Arranging for bail seemed to take forever, and by the time Nick and Faye arrived at Nat's house, he was climbing out of his skin. Faye had tried to call Nat four times in two hours, but had yet to get an answer. When they pulled into the driveway and found the house dark, Nick got a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Where the hell was she?
Faye had barely brought her Volkswagen to a halt when he swung open the door and sprinted to the house. He took the steps to the porch in a single leap, crossed to the door. His heart began to pound when he found the door unlocked. And he knew they weren't going to find Nat inside.
He shoved the door open. "Nat!"
The house was eerily silent and dark as a cave. Nick felt around for the wall switch, but when he flipped it, nothing happened. "Damn it."
Faye came in behind him. "Storm must have taken out the electricity,"
"I'm going to see if I can find a flashlight."
"I think there's one in the kitchen drawer." She pushed past him and headed toward the dining area. "Candles, too."
Nick trailed her to the kitchen and watched as Faye went to a drawer and began to rummage. An instant later, a light flicked on. He reached for the flashlight. "I'm going to check the rest of the house. Light some candles, will you?"
"Sure thing."
He was halfway through the living room when she screamed. He found her in the kitchen, kneeling, a candle in her hand. "What is it?" he asked, but even from where he stood, he could see the primitive words scrawled onto the tile.
He shone the beam on the floor.
Travis. Office. Map.
"Oh, my God." Faye's gaze met Nick's. "That's blood."
He knelt, touched the grotesque letter with his fingertip. "Still wet."
"What does it mean?"
"It means she's in trouble." Stepping over the bloody letters, he started toward the living room. "Stay put."
He took the stairs two at a time, then moved silently down the hall, calling out her name, shining the light in each room as he passed, finding nothing. He entered Nat's room. He could still smell her. He shone the light on the bed where the sheets were still rumpled from their lovemaking. The memory of everything they'd shared flashed in his mind's eye. The wave of emotion that followed made his chest so tight he could barely draw a breath. She had to be all right. God would not take something precious from him twice in his life . . .
"Did you find anything?"
He started at the sound of Faye's voice, turned the beam of light to see her standing at the doorway. "She's not here," he said.
She stepped into the room and looked around. "Any idea where she might be?"
Because he didn't have a clue, Nick directed the flashlight beam around the room, looking for anything that might tell him where she'd gone or who she was with. Something out of place on the dresser mirror caught his attention. He steadied the beam on the mirror, and the hairs at his nape stood straight up.
Uncle Travis Mad Danger.
"What the hell?"
"Blood?" Faye asked.
Nick walked to the dresser, touched the red letters with his fingertips. "Lipstick."
"She must have had two seizures before she left. What do you think it means?"
He glanced at Faye. "In the past, almost every trance writing incident has been focused on protecting someone from harm."
"You think Travis Ratcliffe is in some kind of danger?"
"Maybe," But that didn't feel right. Nick studied the words on the mirror. "Or maybe it's a warning."
"Travis?" Faye whispered.
Cold, hard fear pounded through Nick at the thought. Ratcliffe was one of Bellerose's most upstanding citizens. He was the son of a renowned televangelist. A doctor. The parish coroner. All of those things would be the perfect cover for murder.
The realization struck him like a punch. Reaching out, he leaned against the dresser, bile flooding his throat, his mind reeling. "She's with Travis," he said.
Faye was already digging her cell phone from her bag. "You don't think he'll hurt her, do you?"
"Call the Ratcliffes," Nick said. "Find out if Nat is there."
Her hand shook as she punched numbers and put the phone to her ear. The seconds ticked by like hours. Nick felt as if he were coming apart inside. He couldn't image Travis Ratcliffe hurting children or wanting to hurt Nat. Surely they were wrong about this.
"Hello? Bernard? Hi, this is Faye Townsend." She looked at Nick. "Yes, I was very sorry to hear about Hunt. Can you tell me if Nat Jennings is there? No?" She grimaced. “Has she been there?" Her brows rose. "She called? When?" Faye looked at her watch. "Okay. Um . . . is Travis there?" Even in the dim light from the flashlight. Nick saw her expression change, her complexion go pale. "No one knows where he is? How long has he been gone?" She nodded. "I see. Thank you. And please give my best to Elliott."
She clicked off the phone, giving Nick a knowing look. "Nobody has seen Travis for a couple of hours."
The words shook Nick, drove home his worst fear. Taking Faye's arm, he guided her toward the door. "Listen to me. I want you to call Alcee Martin. Tell him everything. About the trance writing. About what we found here. Tell him we believe Travis killed Hunt. That he is a murderer and he has Nat."
Breaking away from her, Nick started down the hall at a jog.
"Where are you going?" she called out.
“I’m going to find her before Travis kills her."
# # #
Nat ran blindly through the darkness and rain, bursting through wet foliage and brush at a reckless speed. Branches tore at her face and clothes, but she didn't slow down. She could hear Travis behind her, cursing and screaming at her, terrifyingly near. But running with her hands tied behind her back had proven a lot more difficult than she'd imagined. Her balance was off. She couldn’t seem to get up her speed. One wrong move, and he would be upon her.
"Don't you run from me you fucking bitch!"
Travis's voice sounded maniacal in the dense silence of the forest. If there had been any doubt in her mind that he was insane, t
his moment put that doubt to bed. Travis Ratcliffe was an out-of-control madman. And if he caught her, he was going to kill her.
"I'm going to get you. I'm going to make you pay."
Choking back a sound of pure terror, Nat left the trail. She plowed through brush and tangled vines. Branches slashed her face as she plummeted down a small incline. Too late she realized she'd entered some sort of bog. She sank into mud up to her ankles. She lost a shoe, but she muscled her way through the bog and up the opposite bank. She'd just reached the top when her foot caught on something. A root growing out of the bank. She was running so fast, her own momentum slammed her face down hard enough to take her breath.
Expecting Travis to fall upon her at any moment, Nat rolled, then raised her head just enough to see over the top of a fan palm. Less than ten feet away, he stood motionless as if listening. She could see his breaths puffing out as he swept the surrounding area with the spotlight.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he called.
Nat squeezed her eyes closed and tried desperately to control her labored breathing. Sinking into the grass, she pressed her face to the ground. But she knew it was only a matter of time before he spotted her.
Oh, dear God, help me.
The rain was coming down in earnest now. She was soaked to the skin. Mud covered her clothes, but she barely noticed the cold or wet. Hoping the tempo of the rain would help conceal any noise, she began to inch toward a thick briar patch. If she could reach it before he found her, she might be able to hide.
The beam of the flashlight played over the dead trunk of a tree less than a foot away from her. Nat froze, terrified he'd spotted her. But after a moment the light continued on. She could hear him screaming incoherently. She tried to block the sound of his voice. She did not want to think about what he was capable of. Or what he would do to her if he got his hands on her again.
"Natalie! You bitch!"
She was less than two feet from the relative safety of the briar patch when the beam from the flashlight fell upon her. The sound of heavy footsteps pounding through mud sent her bolt upright. Out of the comer of her eye she saw Travis running toward her. She caught an impression of murderous eyes. Lips peeled back in a snarl.
Depth Perception Page 29
