Beguiled

by Deeanne Gist

  She rose from the bench, standing still to make sure her head no longer buzzed or swam. Her legs held firm. Her head was clear.

  He slid his hand into his pocket. When he removed it, a folding knife flashed in the light. He snicked the blade open, smiling down at the gleaming edge.

  Her voice jumped an octave. “Karl?”

  “You’re mine.”

  The words branded on the toilet lid of her bathroom flashed across her mind.

  Her phone vibrated again.

  He used the knife as a pointer, emphasizing each word with a shake of the wrist. “Give me your hand. It’s time to go.”

  “Karl.” She straightened her spine and used the same tone she did with her dogs when she expected them to obey. “Put that away.”

  Standing between her and the house, he had her bottled up at the corner of the garden. In her rollerblades, she could hardly dart around him. To reach her with the blade, all he’d have to do was lunge.

  “I’ve watched you grow from a child into a woman,” he said. “All those years, I’d find myself thinking of you. I’d wonder if wherever you were at that moment, you were thinking of me, too.” His gaze raked over her. “Imagine my shock when I discovered my dad had been thinking the same thing.”

  She reached for her messenger bag.

  “Leave it,” he said. “I have everything you need. Just come.”

  She rolled backward around the edge of a garden bench. Toro trotted around the corner, then stopped short. Ears perked. Tail stiff.

  Karl glanced at him, weighing the knife.

  “Don’t you touch him, Karl. I mean it.”

  He pressed the blade’s spine against his lip, like a silencing finger, then gazed almost contemplatively at Toro. The mastiff went into a crouch, baring his teeth.

  “If I’d wanted to, I could have done all kinds of things to this guy.” He moved the blade back and forth through the air, slicing an imaginary target. “Maybe I still will.” He smiled at the prospect.

  Barking, Toro charged. Karl’s knife hand flashed forward.

  Without thinking, she kicked.

  Everything happened at once—the dog’s yelp, the crunch of her rollerblade wheels sending a shivering impact up her leg, the knife flying through the air.

  Crying, Toro limped across the garden and out the gated archway, his leash dragging behind him.

  Karl writhed on the grass, the knife just inches from his hand.

  It had blood on the metal.

  They both grabbed for it at once. But he reached it first and lunged from the ground. She swiveled out of the way.

  “Come here!” he shouted.

  Before he could rise, she scrambled for the wall, jumping, throwing her arms up, reaching for the top. Getting a tenuous grip, she heaved herself up, kicking her leg as high as she could.

  Her rollerblade clattered against the brick. She kicked again, hooking the edge, then wrenched herself to the top.

  He snapped at her with the knife just as she dropped to the other side of the wall. Landing, she felt a sharp burn on the back of her thigh. Her probing hand came away bloody.

  Karl appeared at the top of the wall, gripping the knife like an ice pick.

  “Don’t you dare run from me,” he hissed. “You’re mine.”

  Lifting herself off the ground, she clomped across the neighboring garden, her rollerblades twisting on the grass. Twenty, maybe twenty-five feet away, a paved path beckoned. If she could only reach it, she’d pour on speed.

  Every step, the pain in her leg intensified. Like it was splitting. Tearing wide open. She struggled for breath. Her lungs bursting in her chest. Behind her, Karl dropped feet-first from the wall. Landing easy. Rushing forward over the grass.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Pressing on the accelerator, Logan dialed Rylee’s cell. When it went to voice mail again, he tried Harold Hearn—the last appointment she had on James Island.

  “Sorry, buddy. She left a while ago. Said she had a dog in the city to walk.”

  Toro. He tried Rylee’s phone again. Still no answer. He sent a text, then dialed Nate, leaving a message. He offered a succinct update and told the detective to get over to the Davidsons’ immediately.

  He found Daisy parked off Prices Alley, Karl’s convertible directly behind it. Logan jumped out and rushed past their cars, brushing his hand against the hoods.

  His was slightly warm. Hers was cold.

  He ran down the alley, through the open gate into the David-sons’ side yard and spotted her messenger bag in the garden not too far from an antique-looking bench.

  “Don’t you dare run from me,” a voice said.

  Frantically, Logan searched for the source.

  “You’re mine.”

  At the back corner of the garden, Karl Sebastian straddled the top of the wall.

  Logan curled his fists and crouched into a fighting stance, ready for Karl to drop down and attack him.

  But Karl never even saw him. He swung his leg over the wall, moving away from Logan, not toward him. He caught a flash of metal in Karl’s hand. Then Karl dropped to the garden on the other side.

  His prey was on the far side of the wall. Rylee.

  Logan lunged forward, charging across space, sucking up the distance like a jet engine intake.

  No thought to the movement. No consciousness even. Just an arrow racing to the target.

  Kicking off from the bench, he sailed through the final yard, hooking his arms over the top of the wall. Pulling himself up.

  Before he could leap down for the tackle, Karl advanced out of range, jogging forward across the garden. Moving toward Rylee, who lay sprawled on the lawn just short of a paved path. Her roller-blades must have tripped her up. She lifted one hand to ward Karl off. The other clutched her bleeding thigh.

  The image of her on the ground locked in Logan’s mind with the snap of a mental shutter. His whole body tensed for action.

  He hit the ground lightly, bending his knees to take the impact.

  Sprinting forward. Aiming low. His feet so quiet on the grass Karl never heard. Rylee saw him, though.

  “You’re really starting to—” Karl must have sensed a change in her. He turned just as Logan exploded into his side.

  The collision jarred Logan’s teeth. Swept Karl off his feet. They crashed to the ground, Logan grasping along Karl’s body for the knife hand.

  But Karl recovered quickly. He clawed at Logan’s face with his free hand, keeping the blade just out of reach. Looking for an angle to stab.

  As they crawled over the ground, muscles straining, Rylee rose in the corner of his eye, staggered backward on her injured leg.

  “Get back,” Logan yelled. “Get away from us.”

  He should have kept quiet. Karl sliced wildly, running the knife edge along Logan’s forearm. A fissure of blood opened up. A terrible burn went through him. He recoiled, giving Karl a chance to struggle out from under him. To get on his feet. To go after her.

  Rylee let out a scream.

  Ignore the pain.

  All the strength was draining out of him, but he rose to his feet. Not knowing if his arm could still pack a punch, he closed the distance.

  This time Karl saw him coming. He bobbed and weaved with the knife, a wicked smile on his lips. Enjoying himself. One false move and Logan knew that blade would be buried deep inside him. Better that than letting him reach Rylee.

  She teetered on the rollerblades. Logan circled to keep his body between them.

  “Run,” he said, but it seemed hard enough for her to keep her feet.

  Karl edged closer. “She’s not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

  “The cops are coming.”

  “Really?” Karl cocked his head. “I don’t hear any sirens.”

  He smiled broader, pleased with himself, and that’s when Logan struck. He took one step, then launched himself, his strong thighs propelling him.

  Karl stepped back, but it was too late. Logan’s hand
seized his wrist just as their bodies collided, and once again they were on the ground.

  Underneath him, Karl twisted, jerking the knife hand free.

  The blade flashed. Logan winced, anticipating the stab.

  A row of rollerblade wheels crashed down on Karl’s forearm, pinning it to the grass. A rivulet of blood ran around Rylee’s knee, but she kept the pressure up. Logan glanced up at her, then used all his might to roll Karl over, face down on the lawn.

  He snaked his good arm around Karl’s throat, then locked in the chokehold with his injured one.

  The struggle grew fierce, Karl writhing to get loose. His strength seemed to grow and grow. Logan wasn’t fighting just the man now, but the evil inside him. He held on with everything in him, eyes clenched shut. It took an eternity, but finally the power ebbed out of Karl. His muscles grew slack.

  “He’s going,” Rylee said.

  Karl let out a final howl of anguish. A sound of despair from a man realizing he’s been cheated of his sick reward.

  When Logan finally opened his eyes, the beast underneath him lay still. “He’s out.”

  His own body felt heavy as lead. But it wasn’t over. There was Rylee’s wound to see to. And his own. He pulled his arm free and started to rise.

  Rylee exhaled, limping a few paces away before dropping to the grass.

  He took the knife from Karl’s hand and knelt over her, getting a glimpse of her wound. “Are you all right?”

  “He said they murdered my parents.” Her eyes were glazed.

  Her face colorless. “He said it was Grant. He said—”

  “Shhhh.” He pulled his shirt off, whipping it into a makeshift bandage. She winced as he coaxed her hands away, revealing a deep slice to the back of her leg. Bunching the shirt up more, he pressed it against the wound.

  She moaned.

  “I’m sorry, baby.” He guided her hand to the shirt. “Try and put some pressure on that.”

  He undid his belt, sliding it through the loops, coiling the strap around her leg to hold the soaked shirt in place, then called 9-1-1.

  “An ambulance is on its way.”

  She gripped his hand. “He’s the one. The Robin Hood burglar. The one who tore up my apartment. He told me everything.”

  They both looked at Karl, now a passive lump curled against the soft grass. His skin flushed from exertion. His body rising and falling as he breathed.

  “I was never so glad to see those rollerblades as when you stomped down on his knife hand.”

  Her hold on him grew weaker. Her lids began to droop.

  “Keep your eyes open, Rylee.”

  She opened them, her pupils huge. “You kind of saved me just now.”

  He smiled, smoothing her hair down. “I kind of did. You kind of saved me, too.”

  “He’s . . .” She struggled to speak. “Crazy.”

  “Yeah.” He pressed his fingers to her wrist. Her pulse was so faint, he could barely feel it.

  “He said Grant had my parents killed.” The words were soft, barely audible. Her entire body began to shake. “Gibbon did it. Karl watched the whole thing.”

  “Shhhh.” He stretched out, spooning himself behind her and wrapping her with his arms in an effort to keep her warm.

  “He didn’t leave us,” she said. “It was them. My father loved us.”

  He laid his cheek next to hers. “Of course he did.”

  Logan stood at the rear of the ambulance, its doors spread open. Rylee lay inside it, her rollerblades still on her feet. An EMT wrapped a cuff around her arm and took her blood pressure.

  Officers crawled into another ambulance with Karl handcuffed to the stretcher. Nate Campbell closed their doors, then headed toward Logan. “My guys have picked up Grant and George. We haven’t found the Cherub’s body yet, but we will.”

  The two friends stood next to each other, neither speaking, while the chaos of the crime scene unfolded around them. Nate kicked at some gravel, shrugging to himself. Logan waited, knowing what was coming.

  Nate cleared his throat. “I owe you an apology.”

  “You owe Rylee an apology. As in, a formal, on-the-air, retraction apology.”

  The detective’s face burned like a teenager caught slipping into the house after curfew. He glanced inside the ambulance beside them, as if he might say something then and there, but the emt was talking to Rylee.

  “I’ll take care of it immediately.” He stepped closer to Logan.

  “And I’ll do a private one as well. I am sorry, Logan. My only excuse is, I really did think she was guilty.”

  After a slight hesitation, Logan extended his hand, his knuckles scraped raw.

  Nate shook it. “You okay?”

  Logan raised his bandaged forearm to show off the second bandage along his side. “Just a few scratches. I’ll be fine. She’s the one whose whole world just tilted off its axis. So we’ll continue this later, okay?”

  He climbed into the cab, thanking God her leg would require little more than stitches when he’d feared transfusions were the order of the day. Still, she’d lost a lot of blood.

  Patting her good knee, he gave it a squeeze. “It’s all over, Rylee.

  Karl’s been taken under custody to the hospital. Grant’s being processed right now.”

  “Gibbon?” she whispered.

  “They’ll lean on Karl until he tells them where the body is.”

  Her eyes filled. “He . . . they . . . All this time I thought . . .”

  The emt removed the cuff, made a note on his clipboard, and moved away.

  Logan scooted to her side, brushing her bangs back. “I know. It’s a lot.”

  “Nonie won’t understand. I can hardly even grasp it all.”

  He placed her hand against his cheek, then turned to plant a kiss on her palm.

  A tear spilled from the corner of her eye. “Toro’s gone.”

  “He’s fine,” he said. “He’s tethered to the piazza.”

  Her eyes slid closed, pushing more tears to the surface. “Thank God.”

  He went to work on her rollerblades, loosening the laces.

  “He’s been hurt,” she said.

  Logan nodded. “Yeah. But the police went with the ambulance, so you don’t need to worry.”

  “I meant Toro.”

  Pausing, he looked up. “Toro? No, he’s fine. Somebody looked at him already. It was just a nick.” He eased the rollerblade off her good foot.

  “Poor thing. He’s a rescue dog, you know. He’s probably scared to death, and he still needs to be walked.” She started to push herself up.

  “Wait a second.” He held his hands up to calm her. “Just wait. There’s no way you’re taking that dog for a walk. There’s no way you’re getting out of this ambulance. You’re going to the er, and you’re going to let them see to that leg, and you’re going to take care of yourself.”

  “But what about Toro?”

  He took a deep breath. “I’ll take care of him.”

  “You?”

  Me? “Yes, me.”

  She sank back against the stretcher. “You’d do that for me?”

  “What wouldn’t I do?”

  She bit her lip. “You better find a shirt first, or you’ll shock the neighbors.”

  He glanced down. He’d totally forgotten he’d used his shirt to stanch her flow of blood. He felt heat creeping up his cheeks.

  She smiled. The first one of the day. “It’s okay, Logan. You look fine . . . especially to me.”

  He gave her a hooded look. “So do you, babe. So do you.”

  He gently removed her other rollerblade.

  The emt returned with an iv bag in hand. “We need to get moving, sir.”

  Logan nodded. “I’ll see you at the hospital once I finish with Toro.” Leaning over, he gave her a peck on the lips, then jumped out of the back doors.

  She smiled down at him the way the sun does emerging from behind an eclipse. He wanted to grab the edge of the stretcher and give it a
pull. To tilt the metal bed until she sledded down into his waiting arms. Never to let go.

  Epilogue

  If the way man and dog had bonded wasn’t so cute, Rylee would almost have been jealous. Though she wasn’t sure, in Logan’s case, whether bonding was the right word. He awkwardly frolicked with the rescue dog, tossing the Frisbee across the park lawn and running between trees.

  The afternoon sun flashed across the distant water. The breeze, balmy as ever, felt good against her skin. She lay down on the blanket, rolling slightly to check the white line on the back of her leg. The wound had healed nicely, but the more she tanned, the lighter the smooth scar seemed to get.

  The police had found matches for most of the trophies in Karl’s jewel box. They linked the eyeglasses to a Georgetown law professor who disappeared Karl’s second year. The dog collar to a golden retriever who’d lived next door to the Sebastians. It had been tortured and left for dead all those many years ago. Karl had been in high school at the time. There were others, folders full of them, but Rylee had stopped Logan from telling her any more. She shuddered. He was more dangerous than she or Logan had ever imagined. According to what they’d learned, Grant had been desperate to expunge Karl from his law firm, his home, his life.

  Karl, however, had no intention of giving up his “deserved” lifestyle. So he began to systematically steal the Monroe keepsakes that his father had profited from years earlier.

  His message to Grant was clear: Give me what I want or I’ll expose all your secrets.

  Grant’s duplicity had left her feeling abandoned all over again. Then memories of her parents would rush to the surface. And the oppressive ache that used to accompany those memories was replaced with a bittersweet peace.

  Her parents hadn’t left her at all. They’d been taken from her. By Grant and Karl, who awaited trial in jail without eligibility for bail.

  Grant’s assets had been seized by the courts, including Rylee’s ancestral home. But she had no desire to live in a house that had been occupied by her parents’ killers.

  Shaking herself, she sat up. Off in the distance, Logan was trying to teach the mutt a new trick.

  “Just let him play fetch,” she called. “That’s what he likes.”