by Sharon Sala
As he watched, a tear rolled down the side of Cara’s face then he heard her whisper a name.
David.
He cursed silently. Damn her. Damn her to hell. Fingering the blade of his knife, he started across the floor.
Bethany sat up in bed.
One moment she’d been sound asleep, and the next she was wide awake and cognizant. It was a skill she’d perfected after the birth of her first child, and it had yet to prove her wrong.
Glancing over at Tom, who was still sound asleep, she smiled to herself and then slipped out of bed. The roof could fall in and he wouldn’t hear it. Out of habit, she reached for her robe as she left their bedroom.
As she entered her daughters’ bedroom, she instinctively moved toward Kelly’s bed first. As the youngest, she was still prone to more of the childhood illnesses than her sister, Rachel, who was almost ten.
But a quick check of her daughter’s cool forehead eased her worries. Obviously, it wasn’t Kelly who’d awakened her. She turned then, moving quietly to Rachel’s bedside, but she, too, was resting quietly and fast asleep.
Frowning, she left their room, pausing momentarily in the hallway to listen. The house sounds were normal.
A clock ticking.
A tree branch scratching at the eaves of the house.
The intermittent sound of Tom’s occasional snore.
Nothing that should have awakened her in such a manner.
Shivering now from nerves rather than cold, she wrapped her arms around herself and thought about waking Tom. But he had to go to work tomorrow and she resisted the notion. Telling herself that she must have been dreaming, she started toward their bedroom.
No sooner had she begun to move than she heard the faint sound of a board squeak, and when it did, her heart skipped a beat. There was a loose floorboard beneath the kitchen linoleum that squeaked just like that as she stood at the kitchen sink and another by the doorway leading into the living room.
Now she was scared.
Bolting into the bedroom, she shook Tom awake, then put her hand over his mouth and whispered in his ear.
“I think someone is in the house.”
Tom’s eyes widened. Without speaking, he rolled out of bed and hurried toward their closet. Taking a box down from the top shelf, he unlocked it, took out a loaded handgun and motioned for her to call 911.
“What about the girls?” she whispered.
“Call the police first and then get them,” he mouthed back.
Bethany watched in horror as Tom slipped out of their bedroom, then bolted for the phone. Seconds later, the 911 dispatcher came on the line.
“Nine one one. What is your emergency?”
“I think someone is in our house,” Bethany whispered.
“Ma’am, are you alone?”
“No, my husband, Tom, is here, too. He’s gone into the front of the house to check. He has a gun.”
“Is your address one oh seven Sunset Drive?”
“Yes. Please hurry.”
“Yes, ma’am, please stay on the line while I dispatch the call.”
Now Bethany’s heart was pounding. She needed to be across the hall with her children.
“Hello? Hello?” she whispered.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m still here,” the dispatcher said.
“I need to be across the hall with my girls,” she whispered.
“Ma’am, I need you to stay on the line with me. There is a police unit in your area. It should be there in a couple of minutes.”
“Oh, God,” Bethany whispered. “That could be too late.”
“Just stay calm and listen to me, please. What’s your name?”
“Bethany Howell.”
“Okay, Bethany, tell me what you hear.”
“Nothing now. I don’t even hear Tom.”
She started to shake. What if something had happened to him? What if someone was already coming this way? She needed to get to the girls. She needed to get them out of the house.
“Please. I need to get my daughters. I need to get them out of the house.”
“Ma’am. Please. I need you to stay calm and stay quiet. Your husband might hear you moving around and think you were the thief. We don’t want any accidental shootings, all right?”
Lord. She hadn’t thought of that.
“All right, but please hurry.”
The moment the board squeaked, Frank flinched. Seconds later, he heard bedsprings give and then the soft pat-pat sounds of bare feet on tile. His fingers curled around the knife in his hand as he moved toward the doorway. Moments later, he saw the woman come out of the bedroom and walk down the hall into another room.
His eyes narrowed angrily. That woman was David’s daughter—but she was also his niece.
A good mother always checks on the children first.
The thought came out of nowhere and then he realized it was something his mother used to say when she would come in to tell him and David good night.
Son of a bitch. Why am I dwelling on all of these people who are already dead? They don’t matter anymore. I need payback, not a stroll down memory lane.
Moments later, the woman exited the bedroom and stopped in the hallway. Instinctively, he slid into the shadows, and as he did, another board squeaked. He rolled his eyes, wondering why the hell these people hadn’t nailed down the floors like they should have done. He stood there in silence, well aware he’d been made. Should he run, or just finish what he came here to do?
When she bolted into the bedroom, he hesitated only moments before his decision was made.
Bethany stood at the window, the phone still at her ear, watching and praying for the police to arrive. At that moment, she got a glimpse of flashing lights topping the hill just beyond their house, then they disappeared behind the trees.
She started to cry softly.
“They’re here. They’re here,” she whispered.
“Ma’am, are you saying the police are at your door?”
“No, but I saw their lights on the hill.”
“Don’t go to the door, ma’am. Wait for them to knock, okay? They’ll search the outside of the house to check for signs of entry before they attempt to come inside.”
“Yes, all right,” she said, her heart a little lighter now that she knew help was here.
Seconds later, she heard the crunch of gravel as the car pulled in the drive.
“They’re outside now,” she said.
“Just stay with me, ma’am.”
“Yes, all right,” Bethany whispered. Then to her horror, she heard her oldest daughter call out.
“Mother! Mother!”
“My daughter is awake,” Bethany said. “I’ve got to get her before she walks into danger. I won’t hang up, but I’m going after them.”
Without waiting for permission, she bolted out of the room and down the hall. Rachel was sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes.
“Mother, there’s a police car outside the house.”
“Yes, I know,” she said softly. “I’m going to get Kelly and we’re going to go to Mother and Daddy’s room, understand?”
The confusion on her daughter’s face turned to fear as her voice started to shake.
“Mommy…what’s wrong?”
“Maybe nothing,” she said. “Daddy’s just checking the house.” She scooped Kelly up in her arms and laid her across her shoulder and then grabbed Rachel’s hand. “Come with me, baby, and don’t talk anymore.”
In seconds, she was across the hall and inside her bedroom. Quietly, she shut the door and then laid Kelly down on the bed, pulled Rachel into her lap and then picked up the phone.
“I’m back,” she said.
“Are your children with you?” the dispatcher asked.
“Yes.”
“Where is your husband?”
Bethany wanted to scream. Instead, she took a deep breath and made herself focus.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re doing fine,” the dispatche
r said. “Tell me…what are your children’s names?”
“Rachel and Kelly.”
“Rachel Howell? Is she in the fourth grade?”
“She will be,” Bethany said.
“I know her. My son, Billy, is her age. My name is Jenn Parker. My dad owns the bakery.”
The image of a familiar face to go with the voice on the other end of the line was somehow encouraging.
“Jenn, I’m so scared.”
“You’re doing really good,” the dispatcher said. “The police tell me they’re going to your front door. Is there someone there to let them in?”
“Tom. Tom should be there.”
“All right. Just stay with me a minute until I know they’re inside.”
Bethany could hear the faint but unmistakable sounds of someone knocking at the door. She caught herself holding her breath, praying that the sounds would stop, because that would mean that Tom had let them inside. They knocked again. Tears were rolling down her face.
Please God, don’t let anything happen to my husband.
“No one is answering,” the dispatcher said. “The police are asking me to tell you that they’re going to come inside.”
“The door is locked,” Bethany said.
“They know. Just stay where you are, okay?”
“Yes,” Bethany said, then dropped her head and started to sob. Something was terribly wrong.
David paced the floor of his room—from the bed to the windows and back again. He couldn’t sleep. Every instinct he had told him something was wrong. What if Simon saw the broadcast of the robbery? What if he put two and two together and went looking for answers? Then he relaxed. No way! Simon never even knew about Cara, so he couldn’t know about Bethany either.
Damn it to hell, but he hated being cooped up in this place. He was no better than a caged rat, waiting for someone to open a door so he could make a run for the cheese. Only the cheese in this maze was his brother, and his brother was taking his own sweet time about answering the e-mail that had been sent out.
Damn him, David thought. Damn him to hell.
He started for the phone, the need to talk to Cara uppermost in his mind, but then stopped. It was after three in the morning. Just because he couldn’t sleep didn’t mean he needed to disturb her rest. He hoped she’d taken a sedative to help her relax. The kidnapping and the assault were so recent, he knew she would still be suffering from the memories of the incident. Even worse, it galled him to know that just when she needed him most, he’d left her alone.
Damn Frank Wilson to hell and back. Why had he survived? What possible good had his existence proved?
Then he thought of Frank’s daughter, Lise Meldrum, who by now was probably Mrs. Russell Devane. Her life was proof that there had still been some good left in Frank—that he’d at least been capable of loving a woman long enough to father a child. From what he knew, Frank’s wife had been dead for years and Lise had been running their Australian cattle station in her father’s absence. If Frank had died in that fire all those years ago, then Lise would never have been born.
David dropped onto the side of the bed, his shoulders slumped with fatigue. He glanced at the clock one more time and then rolled over onto his side. The least he could do was close his eyes and rest.
Within minutes, he was asleep.
Chapter 13
It started to rain just as Frank reached his car. Hurrying before his clothes got all wet, he opened the door and jumped inside. But he didn’t bother looking back to see if he’d been followed. He’d already been out of the house and into the woods before the police cruiser had even pulled into the yard. As he locked the car door, he took a gun out of his pocket and laid it beside the knife he’d been carrying.
He paused a moment, resting his forehead against the steering wheel and letting the adrenaline rush settle as his heartbeat shifted into a normal rhythm. When he finally looked up, he was smiling. The gun he’d taken from Bethany’s husband was out of habit. He’d never left a weapon on a victim before and he wasn’t starting now, but as he’d been running through the woods, a thought had occurred. Now that he was on his way to D.C., how poetic would it be to kill David with his own daughter’s gun?
He liked the idea. In fact, he loved it. But getting it on a plane could be a problem. He started the car and quickly drove away. Considering what he’d left behind, lingering in the area wasn’t wise, but as he drove, his mind was still sorting through the possibilities that would yield him what he wanted.
The streets were deserted as he entered Chiltingham on his way to the Canandaigua Airport. Even though no one was in sight, he still took great care not to speed or run any lights. The last thing he needed was to get caught with a stolen weapon.
On his way out of town, he passed a billboard advertising Fedex. About a half a mile later, the significance of that sign suddenly hit him, and a plan began to evolve. Now he knew how to get the gun to D.C. All he needed was a small box and some packing and the address of his hotel. With a little luck, it would be there waiting for him when he arrived.
It was mid-morning the next day when an envelope suddenly appeared beneath the door in David’s room. Still in the shower and unaware of what had happened, he didn’t notice until his breakfast arrived.
Later, as he was dressing, someone knocked on his door. Tucking a rugby shirt into the waistband of his slacks, he went to answer it, and as he did, he noticed the envelope and picked it up.
“Who is it?” David asked.
“Room service,” a man answered.
Although he was expecting the food, he still looked through the peephole before opening the door. A bellhop smiled a good morning as he pushed a food-laden cart into the room.
“Where would you like this, sir?”
“On the table by the window will be fine,” David said, as he signed the check and handed it to the bellhop, along with a generous tip.
“Thank you, sir. When you’ve finished, ring guest services and we’ll come and remove the dishes. Enjoy your meal.”
When he was gone, David sat down before the food, surprised to find he was actually hungry. He laid the letter aside for the moment and spread some jelly on his toast before tackling the first bite of his eggs. When he had partially satiated his hunger, he took a drink of coffee and then picked up the letter. Curious, he leaned back in the chair as he slit the flap, unprepared for what was inside. Abruptly, he sat up with a thump and reached for the phone.
“Front desk. How may I help you, Mr. Wilson?”
“Someone left a note under my door this morning. I want to talk to who put it there.”
“Let me connect you with the mail office.”
A few seconds later a woman answered. David repeated his request. There was a slight pause, as if she was checking her records.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson, but we have no record of a letter being sent to your room.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir, I’m sure. I’ve been on duty since six this morning. I would have known.”
“Thank you,” David said, and hung up.
His food no longer appealed, his appetite completely gone. Damn it to hell. Frank had once again regained the upper hand. He’d found David, had some flunky deliver a message and walked away without notice. As he reread the letter, his stomach knotted.
O two hundred hours tonight, little brother. At the Wall.
David laid down the note, his gut in knots. How ironic that it was both their intentions to meet at the same place. The Vietnam Memorial, otherwise known as the Wall, was fitting. A symbol of where it all began.
He stood abruptly, gathered his room key and wallet and then picked up his tray and set it in the hall. He would meet Frank at 2:00 a.m. as he’d requested, but he had some reconnoitering in the area that he wanted to do first and he needed to rent a car.
The day was hot, the wind brisk, and still they came. From the steps of the Lincoln Memorial where David was standing, hundreds of peo
ple could be seen milling about the grassy mall. Some were taking pictures, others laughing and talking, pointing with excitement at the surrounding monuments. Teenagers abounded in groups and he remembered that age—the awkwardness and lack of respect for anything or anyone older than themselves.
As for the veterans, they were easy to pick out. They were the ones who stood the longest, spoke the least and quite often left with tears in their eyes. And then there were their widows and families, tenderly stroking stone and marble that had been set in their loved one’s honor because it was all they had left to touch.
The long, crystal-clear waters of the gazing pool that lay between the Lincoln and the Washington monuments reflected the surrounding treetops, as well as a clear, cloudless sky. At the north end of the pool, David watched a flock of circling pigeons as they landed on the greens and then proceeded to the water for a drink. The setting was idyllic—a picture-perfect day. It seemed obscene that before the night was over, either he or Frank would most likely die in this place.
Abruptly, he adjusted his sunglasses and took the steps downward, angling to the left as he went. He’d been at the Wall many times before, but never with the need to lay out an ambush.
As he approached it, a wave of guilt washed over him. That he was actually coming to this place with such a heinous plot in mind seemed sacrilegious, yet he’d been given no choice. Even if he’d been inclined to change the game plan, it was too late now. The wheels of his destiny had been set in motion. All he had to do was make sure he wasn’t run over and killed in the process.
Anxious to get this over with, he sidestepped a couple pushing a stroller, then moved past a group of teenagers. As he neared the Wall, he came up behind an elderly couple trying to negotiate the downward incline. The old man was using a walker and his wife was trying to hold it upright, since it had a tendency to roll faster than either of them could walk.
At that moment, the last thing he wanted was personal contact with anyone, but his conscience wouldn’t let him ignore them.
“Need some help, sir?” he asked, and then gripped the front of the walker and proceeded to slow it down so the old couple could keep up.
