She glanced behind and froze. Headlights loomed. They weren’t there the last time she looked. The vehicle was nearly on top of her. She tried to step back into the shelter of the trees, but the vehicle rolled to a stop and a woman’s voice called out.
“Are you okay? Do you need a ride?”
Her knees nearly buckled. It wasn’t a man. The woman sounded worried. And friendly.
The woman exited the car and gasped as she rounded the hood. “You’ve got a child. What are you doing walking out here alone? And barefoot?” She took the car seat and set it by the Jeep. “You don’t have a coat.”
The welcome dome light spilled onto the pavement. A small boy peered from the backseat. Red hair like the woman. Maybe seven years old or so. A dog, a mutt mixture that looked part German shepherd, stuck its head out the window and barked.
A family. Tears welled in her eyes. Thank God. “I’d be grateful for a ride,” she said.
“I’m Bree Matthews.” Bree’s gaze went to the lump on the woman’s head. “You’re bleeding. I’d better get you to the hospital.”
“It’s not that bad. I just need to find a hotel or something.” She gulped. “I . . . I don’t have any money though,” she stammered. “I lost my purse.”
“You don’t have to be afraid. I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Bree said. “What’s your name?” She opened the rear hatch, reached in, and pulled out a blanket.
Would Bree think she was crazy? She had to risk it, since her head hurt too badly to make up something. “I . . . I don’t know. I can’t remember. My head hurts so much.” Her stomach rebelled, but she managed to swallow the bile that burned her throat. She set the little girl down, took the blanket Bree held out, and draped it around herself.
“We need to get you to the doctor.” Bree opened the passenger door. “Here, sit down.”
Panic burned more intensely in her chest. “No hospital.” She took her daughter’s hand and began to walk away, then stumbled and went down on one knee.
Bree knelt beside her and put an arm around her, helping her rise. “It’s okay. I’ve got a friend who’s a doctor. He’ll come to my home.”
The young woman wasn’t very big, maybe five-three, but she possessed a reassuring sense of strength. “Where am I?”
“Just outside Rock Harbor. The west side of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.” Bree reached under the blanket, took one strap of the backpack, and began to ease it off her shoulders. “We’ll sort this out in the morning. You and your little girl are about to drop. I’ve got room at my house. Let me help you.”
Tears sprang from her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. Maybe she could find a safe harbor there for a few days. If she could just sleep, maybe her memory would come back.
2
THE LIGHTHOUSE BEACON FLASHED FROM THE CLIFF THAT overlooked Lake Superior. Bree hoped the sight gave the young woman beside her as much comfort as it always gave her. “This is home,” she told the woman.
About five-four, the woman was as icy and beautiful as a Swedish princess, but terror and uncertainty haunted her blue eyes. Someone had abused her for sure. In the soft wash of light from the dash, Bree saw that her long blonde hair was filthy with blood, dirt, and twigs.
“We have to call you something,” Bree said. She flipped on the dome light and glanced into the backseat. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
The little girl looked at her mother in the passenger seat, then back to Bree. “Terri. Terri two.” She held up two fingers.
Bree smiled. “You’re adorable, Terri. What’s Mommy’s name?”
Terri looked up at the woman. “Mama.”
Bree stifled a sigh. Of course the little girl would only know her as Mother. “Maybe when you get some rest, you can remember your name,” she said to the woman.
The blonde opened her hand, and something glinted in her palm. She held it to the light and squinted at the necklace. “I think my name is Elena,” she said, holding out the necklace.
The name was engraved on the back of one of the golden ballet slippers. “You look like an Elena,” Bree said.
Elena put the necklace back on while she peered through the window. “You live in a lighthouse?”
“My first husband and I bought it. When he died, I made a commitment to restore it. My second husband, Kade, hung the Fresnel lens, and we activated the light again.” Bree glanced at the woman’s hands as her long, slim fingers worried the space where a ring had left an indentation on her left ring finger. She’d bet Elena was running from an abusive husband. Poor thing. “That’s my son, Davy, back there. And our dog, Samson.”
Elena smiled at the little boy. “Hi,” she said, pressing her fingers against her temple. “Won’t your husband be upset when you come dragging in some vagabonds?”
“Kade’s great. He’ll want to help. Are you sure there isn’t someone I can call for you?”
Elena’s lips twisted, and she held up her hands. “Please, no. No questions tonight. I just need to sleep.”
“I’ve got a bed all ready,” Bree said soothingly.
Samson whined. He pushed his nose against Elena’s hand, where she’d laid it on her armrest. She flinched, then relaxed and stroked the dog’s head. “You’ve got a nice dog,” she said.
“Samson is a search-and-rescue dog, one of the best in the country. But more than that, he’s part of our family.”
“Two.” Terri said, holding up her fingers. “Terri two.”
Bree laughed. “I take it she just had a birthday.”
“I . . . I . . . think so,” Elena stammered.
She didn’t know her own daughter’s birthday? Bree glanced at her. The woman belonged in the hospital, and Bree was tempted to take her there in spite of her protests.
Elena’s gaze went past the lighthouse to the buoy across the water. The buoy foghorn blared out, and the light flickered on and off. “It’s peaceful here.”
“You’re safe,” Bree assured her. She got out and opened the Jeep’s back door for Samson, Terri, and her son. She led the way past the dogwood dusted with a trace of snow. They’d often had more snow in late March, but the weather seemed to be indicating an early spring.
Kade had turned on the porch light for them, and the welcoming beams spilled into the yard. She pushed open the door. “Kade, we have a guest,” she called.
He was probably at the kitchen table working on his swan relocation plan. His boss at the park service wanted a flock of mute swans moved before they harmed the population of the native trumpeter swans. She led Elena down the hall, past pictures of their wedding day three years ago and other photos that showed Davy from infancy through his current second-grade school picture.
They walked through the living room to the kitchen. Still dressed in his brown park-service uniform, Kade sat bent over a swath of paperwork that nearly covered the table. His dark hair fell across his broad forehead and stuck up at the back where he’d evidently swiped at it with his hand.
“Hi, honey,” she said. “Come say hello to our guest.”
His blue eyes held a faraway look, but they sharpened when his gaze went past her to Elena. He frowned, and Bree knew he’d seen the goose egg on the woman’s face. “She’s okay,” she said.
Kade’s gaze sank lower. “No, I don’t think she is.”
Bree turned and saw where his eyes were fixed. Elena had let loose of her grip on the blanket, and it gaped to reveal that her shirt from the right rib area down was saturated with blood. A fixed, glazed stare made her think Elena might pass out.
“Here, sit down.” Bree lowered her onto the sofa.
“I’ll get blood on your couch,” Elena muttered.
“It’s leather. It will clean. Kade, get me some hot water and soap. And some clean rags. Call Dr. Matilla.”
“Let me see,” Bree said. Without waiting for an answer, she lifted the woman’s top and winced when she saw the slash. Long and nasty, but probably not life-threatening. “You’ll need this stitched.”
> “I think I’m going to pass out,” Elena whispered.
“Here, lie down.” Bree raised Elena’s bare feet onto the sofa, and she laid her head back. Bree kept pressure on the back of her head. “Better?”
“Yes.” The words were faint but clear.
Kade came in carrying a pan of water and some clean rags. “The doctor is on his way.”
“Lie still.” Bree began to dab the blood from Elena’s abdomen. The woman winced when the cloth passed over the raw edges of the cut. The water soon turned as red as the cloth. “I need some fresh water,” she told Kade.
He nodded and took the pan.
“Mama?” Terri said, her mouth puckering.
Bree had forgotten the little girl. “Mommy will be okay. The doctor will fix her.” She looked at her son, who stood watching the situation with a somber expression. “Davy, take Terri to your room and show her some of your toys.”
“Okay, Mom.” He took the little girl’s hand in a protective stance. “Do you like LEGOs? I’ve got lots of them.”
What a little man. Bree’s smile dimmed. He’d asked for a little brother or sister for months. It wasn’t as though she and Kade hadn’t been trying, but her womb remained stubbornly empty.
The doorbell rang, and Kade sprang to answer it. Bree heard the doctor’s deep voice. He lived just down the street and was always willing to help out in an emergency.
Kade ushered him into the living room. “Looks like a knife cut,” he told the doctor.
Dr. Matilla went straight to the sofa and began to examine Elena. “She’s going to need some stitches.” He touched the lump on her head. “You might have a concussion. Double vision? Memory problems, nausea?”
“All the above,” she murmured.
“We need to get you to the hospital.”
“No!” The woman rose on her elbows. “I can’t go to the hospital. I have no money. Can’t you just put butterflies on the cut?”
The doctor sighed. “Yeah, but you’d be better off in the hospital where a nurse could monitor your symptoms.”
“There’s no real treatment for concussion. I can rest better here.”
“That’s true.” The doctor stared at her. “Do you have medical training?”
“I don’t know.” Elena closed her eyes.
“She was a little confused earlier,” Bree murmured. “The only reason she knows her name is because it’s on her necklace.”
“Is that true? You don’t know who you are?” the doctor asked.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“What do you remember?” the doctor asked, drawing supplies out of his bag.
Elena bit her lip and shot a pleading glance toward Bree, who ignored it. The doctor needed to know the full story. “She doesn’t remember anything. Not her name, where she lives, what she’s running from, who did this. Nothing.”
“Could be emotional amnesia, or retrograde amnesia from the injury. Someone worked her over pretty bad, and it could be either the blow itself or the emotional trauma of it. You may be fine in the morning,” the doctor told Elena.
Tears slid from under her lids, and Elena rubbed her forehead. “My head hurts.”
“I’ll give you something for that,” the doctor said. “Now let’s get that wound closed.”
Bree and Kade stepped into the kitchen while the doctor stitched her up. Bree could see the questions in Kade’s eyes, so she told him how she’d found Elena stumbling along the side of the road.
He shook his head. “Only you, Bree.” His tone held admiration.
“You would have stopped too. Anyone would have.”
The doctor called them from the living room, and they stepped back through the doorway. Elena’s eyes looked a little clearer.
“Get some rest,” the doctor advised. “I have office hours tomorrow. Stop by and see me when you get up.”
“I’ll see she does.” Bree ushered him to the door and thanked him. When she returned to the living room, Elena was sitting up, but she was as pale as Bree’s sheer curtains. “I’ve got two spare rooms, but I imagine Terri will feel more secure if she stays with you,” Bree said. “Let me show you.” She carried the backpack up the steps and down the hall to the guest suite at the end. “There’s a bathroom here if you’d like to shower.”
“I . . . I don’t have any clothes,” Elena said. “I’ve got things for Terri though.”
“My underwear might fit you, but there’s no way my jeans would fit. You’re so tiny.” Bree tried to think if she knew of any woman as slim as Elena but couldn’t think of any. Her best friend, Naomi, was a little heavier than Bree. “I’ve got a nightgown you can wear. You’ll swim in it, but that’s okay. What are you, about a 2?”
“I don’t know.” Elena’s gaze darted past Bree to the dark spare room.
“It’s okay, no one’s here,” Bree said, flipping on the light. The soft overhead light illuminated the queen bed covered with a peach-flowered quilt. White ruffled curtains gave the room a homey feel she hoped would reassure the woman.
“It’s lovely,” Elena said, stepping through the doorway. “I can’t thank you enough.” Her lids drooped, and her body sagged.
Terri peeked into the room after them, and Elena called her daughter and began to undress her for bed.
“You’re exhausted. Let me get the nightgown.” Bree set the backpack on the floor and went to the master suite. She found the smallest nightgown she had in the big dresser just inside the door and grabbed a pair of her panties as well. At least Elena could have clean underwear, even if they were a little big. Tomorrow they’d go find her something to wear.
When she went back down the hall, she peeked in on Davy and found Kade slipping their son’s pajamas over his head. “Thanks,” she mouthed, then went on to the spare room. Elena had Terri in her pajamas.
“She’s too sleepy for a bath, and I . . . I think she’s clean.” The woman’s voice quivered.
“That’s a good idea. You should just fall into bed yourself. Don’t worry about getting the sheets dirty. We can change them tomorrow.”
Elena nodded. The little girl was asleep when her mother slipped her between the sheets.
A head injury, a knife wound. Bree had to wonder if whoever had hurt Elena might come looking for her. She leaned against the door frame. “Should I call the sheriff? Are you in danger tonight?”
“No! No police.”
“Why? I don’t understand.”
Elena rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know, but I just know I can’t talk about it.”
Bree walked to the bedroom window. “I won’t do anything you don’t want. But we need to keep you safe.”
“I think I’m safe here.” Elena’s voice trembled.
Her fear was beginning to transfer itself to Bree, and she glanced out over Rock Harbor, peaceful and serene with the village lights twinkling.
Elena slipped into bed next to Terri. “Thank you so much for your help, Bree. I’ll try not to be a bother.”
Bree crossed the room and turned off the light. “You’re no bother at all. Get some rest.”
She was going to have to be patient. Her heart welled at the other woman’s predicament. Whatever it was, it was very bad.
3
THE SMELL OF STALE COFFEE, SWEAT, AND DESPAIR SEEPED through the Michigan State Police District 3 headquarters like an invisible stain. Captain Nikos Andreakos—Nick to his friends—propped his boots on his desk and stared at a glossy eight-by-ten crime scene photo from yesterday’s sniper attack. His stomach gave a sour rumble from too much caffeine and too little food, and his brain felt about as alert as a turnip at this unreasonably early hour for a Saturday. As the lead in a special violent crimes unit, he saw these types of photos too often to sleep well at night. He hadn’t slept at all in the last twenty-four hours.
What would possess a man who had just lost his job to go on a shooting spree? The perp had positioned himself on an overpass and taken potshots at passing vehicle
s. Three people died in a fiery car crash before he dropped his gun and hightailed it out of the area. It was Nick’s job to track him down. He sighed, dug in his pocket, and pulled out a pack of Rolaids. He thumbed one loose without looking and popped it into his mouth.
The door to his office burst open, and his father stepped into the room. Colonel Cyril Andreakos stood at Nick’s height of six feet. Their broad shoulders fit the same size shirts, but Cyril’s waist had spread out to about thirty-eight inches. People who saw pictures of Cyril at Nick’s age thought they were looking at Nick.
“We’ve got a bad one, Nick.”
Nick thumped his feet back on the floor. “Worse than snipers?” He grabbed a pen and paper.
“Couple of geocachers found a floater at Wilson’s Pond about an hour ago. Nasty. The perp took her tongue and her face. And here’s something weird—there was a partial peanut butter sandwich tucked inside the corpse’s clothes, next to her skin.”
Nick’s fatigue fell away as it always did at the prospect of a new case. “Geocachers? What’s that about?”
“Geocaching. A new sport. Players use a GPS unit to find stuff other people have hidden. People plant what they call caches, then log the thing on a Web site for other people to find.”
“Kind of a treasure hunt?”
His father nodded. “Exactly. Thousands are doing it all across the country. Even more thousands in other countries. This body was found at what the geocachers call a benchmark, in this case a historical marker. The GPS coordinates of the benchmark were listed on the geocaching Web site. When the geocachers got to the marker, they found a white bucket with a logbook and a note inside a plastic bag. The note told them to check the lake. So the perp was clearly having fun with the sport. It wasn’t a fluke.”
Nick jotted down some notes. “It doesn’t come across like a crime of passion. Too much planning involved. I don’t like the sound of this.”
“You and me both. Maybe this is a serial killer coming to call in our area. It feels ritualistic. Fraser is looking for similar cases elsewhere in the U.S. Look at the stuff posted at the site.” He handed Nick a paper.
Rock Harbor Series - 04 - Abomination Page 2
