by Adrianne Lee
“To play games with you. To watch you squirm.”
“I thought Wendy was the one who liked to do that?” she said it gently, but he winced.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He jammed his hand through his hair. “It’s no secret that I don’t like the man. Or that he dislikes me equally. But one thing I do know about Reese is that he wouldn’t come at me for a physical confrontation. Fisticuffs aren’t his style. He’d do what the killer is doing—sneak attacks.”
“We have to get this solved, Mark.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky tonight.”
“I pray you’re right.”
BUT WERE PRAYERS ENOUGH? Livia wondered as she drove to Jane’s Gym. No, she couldn’t dwell on what lay ahead of them tonight. She had enough to contend with just getting through the day. She hadn’t been to work in two weeks, was lucky to have an understanding boss, but even Jane’s patience had limits. As much as she’d like to expend some of her edginess in a wild aerobic workout or two, Livia wasn’t slated to lead any classes for the next couple of days; but she had to get back on the schedule or lose her job.
She supposed losing her job should be the least of her worries, considering everything else that was on the line. But it made a great excuse for getting out of breakfast with Reese. She didn’t speak to him, but left a message with Ali, asking her to pass along that she’d meet him for dinner around six tonight. Next, she called the Rayburn mansion and told the chauffeur she’d pick up Josh after school today.
If the weather didn’t turn nasty, she planned on taking him to the park. She’d bet he needed to kick his soccer ball as badly as she did.
The gym was crowded, clients on every exercise machine, in the aerobic classes and locker areas as Livia hustled inside and found her boss. Jane was even more generous than usual, insisting Livia take as many days as she needed, promising her job would still be there when she returned from her honeymoon.
But the last thing Jane said was, “Call your fiancé. He’s driving the staff nuts with his messages.”
Livia rolled her eyes and strode to her own office. She checked her voice mail, some twenty plus, and began listening. Each time she heard Reese’s voice, she hit the skip button. She couldn’t deal with him at the moment. No matter what he wanted.
She stayed at Jane’s long enough to do some paperwork, and to say hi to some of her co-workers, then she drove to the Bread and Brew to get some homemade vegetable soup, a whole-wheat muffin, and some sisterly contact. It was nearly lunchtime, but as busy as she was, Bridget took the time to join her at one of the ice-cream-parlor tables. It smelled almost as wonderful in here as in Mark’s kitchen, certainly better than the gym. Livia dug into the food, relishing the mix of flavors and textures.
Bridget dropped onto the chair across from her. Her normally twinkly blue eyes studied Livia as she tucked a strand of wayward dark hair behind one ear. “Mom said you had a glow and she’s right. What’s up with you?”
“Bridget, you wouldn’t believe it even if I could tell you and I can’t tell you.”
Her sister leaned closer to her. “You used to tell me everything.”
Livia laughed. “I did not.”
“Well, maybe you should have.”
“Yeah, maybe I should have.” She set her spoon down and covered her sister’s hand with her own.
Bridget looked startled. “Are you sick or something?”
“I just want you to know that you’re the best. I don’t think I ever told you and I’m not sure you know it, but I want you to.”
“What did you do?” Bridget’s eyebrows were reaching toward her hairline. “Spend all of last week pretending to have the flu while secretly listening to tapes of Dr. Phil?”
Livia bit down a grin. “A person could do worse than take Dr. Phil’s advice.”
Bridget just kept staring at her, obviously puzzled.
Livia finished her soup, then went to the counter to pay. “You’d better give me one of your tuna fish sandwiches, that giant oatmeal-raisin cookie, and a milk to go.”
It was Josh’s favorite takeout food. Livia blinked as the thought crossed her mind. Since she’d known him, she couldn’t recall anyone ever taking Josh to a fast-food restaurant or bringing him home a fast-food meal. Not that she approved of eating greasy fries and fatty hamburgers, but all the same…it was an experience every kid should have.
Reese would have a fit, but tonight for dinner, they were going somewhere totally kid-oriented.
Josh’s face glowed when he spotted her waiting for him. “Livia!”
He rushed into her arms and she lifted him and swung him around. She wouldn’t always be allowed to do this. But he was still young enough that kisses and hugs didn’t embarrass him. However, it wouldn’t last. Other boys his age shoved their parents away.
Other boys weren’t as lonely as Josh.
Pity stabbed her heart. He seemed thinner than he had a week and a half ago, pale, too. Did no one in the Rayburn house pay any attention to him? God, he needed his father. Needed him badly. They had to solve Wendy’s murder. Not just for Mark and her, but for this little boy who seemed to be wasting away, feeling abandoned and all but friendless, unwanted and unloved in the only home he’d ever known.
She set him down, peering into his freckled face. He looked, she suspected, much as his mother might have looked at his age.
She said, “I thought we’d go to the park today, have a little picnic and afterward, kick around your soccer ball. Would you like that?”
“I guess. What did you bring to eat?”
“Bridget packed your favorites.”
“Goodie.”
She didn’t make him wait to dig into the food until they were at the park, but handed him the sack and let him unwrap the cookie first to take a bite. Crumbs could always be vacuumed from the seats, but his delight would stay with her always. And then with a jolt of realization, it dawned on Livia what she’d been doing all morning, with her mother, with Jane and her co-workers, with Bev and Josh. She was saying goodbye.
In case she couldn’t stop the murderer from killing her again, she was using this second chance Heaven had given her to tell the special people in her life goodbye.
Chapter Sixteen
SILVER DOLLAR COOKIES
Mix the Dough
Roll the Dough
Follow the Dough
Mark spent a miserable morning picturing Livia at breakfast with Reese, worrying that he was the killer. That she was in trouble. That he wasn’t the killer. That she was in trouble. That he’d taken the ring and confronted her with it. That she was in trouble.
His mood went from dour to sour and by afternoon, he knew he had to see for himself or go crazy. But seeing and being seen were two different things. The Cupid’s Catering van was too conspicuous. Especially on the evening before Valentine’s Day. He borrowed Candee’s black Toyota Tacoma. The dashboard looked like something out of a Star Wars movie. His partner had ripped out all of the stock gauges and installed new, ultra-sleek digital ones, along with special speakers and a hi-tech stereo system.
Shaking his head, Mark started the motor. Hip-hop rap blasted through the pickup cab. He slapped his hands over his ears. Where the hell was the off button? The music kept assaulting as he desperately spun knobs, punched buttons. As suddenly as it blared, the volume quieted to a tolerable level, but he couldn’t figure out how to turn it off or how to eject the CD or to switch to a different one.
The bass beat seemed to march to the drum of his nerves, bouncing his mind back to Livia.
He recalled she planned to pick up Josh from school. Had she taken him to the mansion or somewhere else? He could hardly drive up to the gates of Rayburn Roost—the Rayburn Estate—and ask. He drove past the Bread and Brew, then on a whim, went in. He ordered a coffee to go from Bridget and discussed the wedding cake, segueing to the subject of Livia.
“She was in here a while ago,” Bridget confided. “Took a picnic lunch for Josh. I think they were g
oing to the park.”
Mark thanked her and took off. He hoped the park Bridget mentioned was the same one Livia had taken the boy to the other day and went there first. Spotting her compact in the parking lot, Mark sucked in his first worry-free breath in hours.
Even though she wasn’t likely to know this pickup, he deliberately parked several cars from hers and exited into the wooded area that ran along this section to the lake.
He heard them before he saw them, recognizing those two delightful laughing voices entwined on this crisp winter afternoon in that magical way one recognizes the primary notes of a favorite melody sung by favorite performers. He stopped as they came into view. The angel with the twinkling eyes and warm heart. The little boy with the cupid smile and eyes that were too old for any kid with only six years under his belt. Forget the Seven Wonders of the World. This was the most incredible sight to fill any man’s gaze. And heart.
He leaned against a tree, peering through the branches, contenting himself with watching. He ached to let them know he was there, ached to hold his boy for what might prove the last time. But he dare not. Not without telling Josh who he was—and doing that would be too cruel. Especially if he died in a few days.
Josh laughed and gave the ball a hard kick. It flew between the stones they’d set up as goal posts and he squealed with delight. “I score! That’s three points for me. None for you. I rock!”
Livia caught him by the shoulders, hugging him, beaming at his joy, and Mark felt warmth spread through his chest. Anyone could see how much she cared for Josh and Josh for her. It was the one truth that kept the agony of leaving them both behind from destroying him. He knew wherever he spent eternity that these memories would help him through the loneliness without Livia and Josh. That the two people he loved most in this world would have each other to cling to. Always.
He’d made sure of it. He’d spoken to his lawyer, had had papers drawn up naming Livia as Josh’s guardian, granting her full custody of his son. He had also taken out a huge insurance policy on his life with Livia the beneficiary, money he knew she would probably need to battle the Rayburn attorneys in court if Wendy’s family decided to fight her for Josh. He prayed they wouldn’t, prayed that there really was a God in Heaven, as Livia claimed, and that she could use the money instead to raise his son.
A dark form shifted among the trees directly across the open area where Livia and Josh played. Mark’s body tensed, his nerves on full alert. Animal? Or human? His gaze delved the dense cover. There. A flash of something dark, black against the green leaves and brown tree trunks. A person. Someone else watching Livia and the boy. Mark stifled the urge to shout a warning that would not only give away the other person’s presence, but his own.
He pinpointed the spot in his mind, ducked down and began moving through the trees with the stealth of a stalking jaguar, muscles taut, eyes vigilant. Sidestepping twigs and litter, he placed his feet with care. Purpose. His pulse banged. He stopped, strained to hear above the roar in his ears, the noise Livia and Josh were making. It was useless.
He could hear nothing.
But if he charged ahead, the clatter he raised would be heard by all.
Wrestling the temptation to rush, he placed one foot in front of the other and kept on. Dampness dropped off the trees and onto his head. Into his eyes. He batted it away, silently cursing. When he reached the spot where he’d seen the other watcher, it was deserted. Where the hell had he gone? Mark squatted and examined the flattened, crushed leaves around him, seeking a clue of some sort. Nothing. Damn it. Not even a clear footprint.
As he rose, he studied his surroundings. He’d made a half circle around the open picnic area where Livia and Josh played. He was near the parking lot. Had the watcher taken off for his car? Or was he still around somewhere? Still spying on Livia and Josh? Mark scoured the woods, back to the area where he’d stood originally. Nothing moved.
An unsettling shiver tracked his spine.
Where the hell was the watcher now?
He caught the slam of a car door above Josh’s laughter, the noise like a sour note in an otherwise sweet concerto. Mark ran to the parking lot, arriving just as a dark sedan raced off. It was too far away for him to see the license number, but didn’t have that much of a head start. He dragged the keys from his pocket and leaped into the pickup. “You aren’t going to get away from me this time, you bastard.”
He peeled out of the lot after the sedan, his foot slamming as hard as the music issuing from the speakers. He glimpsed the dark car ahead of him. About three blocks, he judged, smiling. “Your luck has finally run out.”
As though its driver had heard him, the sedan sped ahead, dodging from one lane to the next. Mark followed suit, whipping through traffic at unsafe and illegal speeds. The sedan did the same, maintaining the gap between them, perhaps gaining a car length.
At the intersection, the dark car charged up the steep winding hill, past the gravel pit and onto the Sammamish Plateau. The road wound by high-end and cheap-end housing developments clustered like mushrooms sprung from this once fertile and wildly wooded area. Here, traffic moved slower, but passing was impossible given the high volume traveling both directions.
It struck him that they were driving toward Rayburn Roost.
Mark kept his gaze pinned to the dark sedan, still savoring the sense that he’d know in a few minutes who it was who’d broken into his house and stolen Livia’s ring.
Without warning, the SUV in front of him stopped dead in the road.
“No!” Mark, riding the guy’s bumper, slammed the brake pedal with both feet. He braced for collision. The tires grabbed and squealed. The seat belt bit into him. The pickup bucked. Then skidded sideways. Missing impact by centimeters.
Mark cursed out a stream of fowl words on a gust of relieved breath. Then groaned as he realized the SUV driver had stopped to wave a school bus into line in front of them. The bus cut off the view ahead. There were no children aboard. It wouldn’t be starting and stopping. Nonetheless, Mark smacked the dashboard with his fist. Traffic started moving again and he pulled over the yellow line again and again, but couldn’t find a place to pass. By the time the bus turned into a schoolyard, the dark sedan was nowhere in sight.
Where the hell had it gone? His gut knotted, and rage the likes of which he’d felt the day he was sentenced to life imprisonment started deep in his belly, burning up through his body. Where the hell had it gone?
He came upon a shopping center, angled in, and circled the large parking lot. Twice. Several dark sedans occupied spaces, but he didn’t see the one he’d been following. He pulled to the curb, shut off the truck, and slapped the steering wheel, trying to figure out what he should do next. Return to the park? Wait here, hoping the sedan came back this way?
What were the chances of that?
The knot in his gut tightened as he glanced around, realizing he was close to Rayburn Roost. Had the person driving the black sedan gone there as he’d thought they might? Should he go and find out? He mulled the pros and cons of showing up at the mansion unexpectedly, and decided he needed some sort of excuse. But what? He sighed as the answer came. He had the perfect excuse. The wedding was being held at the mansion. He was the wedding caterer. He needed to look around to know what supplies he would be required to bring.
Smiling, Mark started the pickup.
RAYBURN ROOST stood in the center of five wooded acres, one of the few remaining undeveloped stretches of land left on the plateau. Built in the fifties, the two-story, redbrick mansion had been designed with four separate wings upstairs so that the Rayburns could marry and live under one roof, offering their spouses, if not the real thing, at least the sense of privacy. The main floor—living room, formal dining room, kitchen, library and study—were shared by all.
Entrance was blocked by an electronic gate with a coded keypad. He could see the house well enough from here, but there was no dark sedan parked on the circular drive. If it was here, it would be around ba
ck, in or near the ten-car garage. He had to know.
Had the sedan been parked out front, he would have stuck to his plan to drive up to the front door and explain that he was there about catering the wedding. But that would not get him into the garage. He had to enter covertly. Getting into the grounds was no big deal. Though the front easement was gated, the only fence surrounding the perimeter was a natural border of firs and shrubs.
He drove to the next street, some four blocks away, and returned on foot. A hundred yards from the gate, he cut into the treeline and made for the garage.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. A wall of gunmetal clouds rolled across the sky, dragging cold wind in its wake, stripping the afternoon of daylight. Eerie shadows popped up everywhere, as though specters skipped through the gardens. Mark hoped he seemed one of them, darting from shrub to bush as furtively as a soldier approaching enemy territory.
The garage had living quarters upstairs for the chauffeur. Lights shone through those windows. He dashed to the back edge of the long garage, then crept toward the front, figuring to find a few of the bays open. But the doors had been closed against the brewing storm, and there was no dark sedan or any other car parked on the blacktopped tarmac.
He would have to get into the garage. He eyed the lighted windows above, wishing he knew whether the chauffeur was upstairs or down. He didn’t want to encounter any of the servants or the family members.
But I have to know whether or not that dark sedan is there.
He retreated and circled around the back of the garage to the other end, to the side door. Just as he reached it, it swung outward, knocking into his hand. He scrambled back around the end of the building.
A man ordered, “Vacuum it, fill it with gas and have it parked in front in half an hour.”
Jay-Ray.
A second, unfamiliar male voice answered, “Yes, Mr. Rayburn.”
Jay Rayburn’s heels hit the tarmac like a colonel’s march step as he struck off to the house. The chauffeur caught the door and began pulling it inward. Mark hurried to peer in before he shut it completely. Through the crack along the hinged edge, he saw it. The dark sedan.
