Riptide

by Catherine Coulter

  Becca nodded. “Yes, and it’s so stupid really. This is a life-and-death situation. Who would ever think of jealousy or sex at a time like this? That’s just nuts.”

  “That’s right,” Sherlock said. “No one would. Right, Dillon?”

  “That’s exactly what I would have said,” Savich said.

  Adam watched Savich slip the SIG back into its shoulder holster. Well, shit. All right, maybe the two of them could help. He’d wait and see what they did before he said anything more.

  Becca said, “Adam is drinking a diet Dr Pepper since I don’t have any brandy to help him get over the shock of being wounded. Ice or lime in yours?”

  Savich grinned at her. “Give me a goodly amount of lime and then Sherlock and I will go out and buy some brandy.” He then looked long at her. He wanted to tell her that her father was worried sick about her, that she looked a lot like him, that, when this was all over, he would come into her life for the very first time. But for now, Savich couldn’t say anything at all. They’d promised Thomas Matlock that they’d keep him in the shadows until the mess was all cleared up. Thomas had said, “Until I can be certain that Krimakov is really dead, I just can’t take the chance. And for me to believe that, really believe it all the way to my gut, I’ve got to see a photo of him lying on a slab in a Greek morgue.”

  Sherlock had said, “But if he’s not dead, sir, and he is orchestrating all this, then he already knows about Becca and is trying to terrorize her with the ultimate goal of getting to you through her.”

  Thomas had said, “I know only enough to scare myself spitless, Sherlock. I just want to keep a lid on all of this until I’m certain. In the meantime, I want to keep her hidden from all the cops and the FBI because I’m certain that they can’t protect her from this stalker.”

  Becca said over her shoulder as she led them into the kitchen, “Before anyone comes over, you’ve got to tell me who you are and why you’re here. As I told you, Adam’s cover is that he’s my gay cousin.”

  Adam said as he cocked the soda can at Savich, “You want to be her other gay cousin?”

  “Then what would that make me?” Sherlock said. “I can’t keep my hands off him. That would blow the cover right off.”

  “Maybe we’ll be your friends, Adam. I know quite a bit about you and your background. You and I went to school together, how about that?” Savich said.

  “Then what the hell are you doing in Riptide, Maine?”

  Sherlock took a glass of soda from Becca, sipped it, and said, “We’re here because of that skeleton that fell out of your basement wall, Becca. You guys wanted some help, and since we live in Portsmouth, it wasn’t tough for us to get up here.”

  “How do you know where I went to school?” Adam said, his eyes dark and hard on Savich’s face.

  “MAX gave me most of your particulars. It took him a while longer to find out about all your other activities. You went to Yale. No problem. Did we crew?”

  Well, damn, Adam thought, it was a good idea. “Yeah,” he said. “We did crew. We also beat Harvard, that bunch of pissy little wimps.”

  Sherlock wondered why Adam Carruthers didn’t want her or Dillon there. Didn’t he realize that they could help? The stalker was here in Riptide, he’d tried to kill them.

  Sherlock gave Adam a sunny smile. “Why don’t we go look in the woods and try to uncover a trail for this guy?”

  “Yeah,” Savich said, rising. “Then we need to figure out why he would want to kill Becca like this. It doesn’t make sense. He’s into terrorizing her. Why just shoot her and end it all? He’d have no more fun.”

  “Good question,” Becca said. “We haven’t had time to think about anything since it happened. Me, I don’t think he wanted to kill either of us, just scare us real bad, just announce that he was here and ready to play again.”

  Becca sucked in her breath. “Oh dear, we need to get the front door repaired before our neighbor, Tyler McBride, or the sheriff come to visit. I don’t want to try to explain bullet holes in the door.”

  “Let’s check for a trail first,” Sherlock said. “Then, Becca, you can tell us what the stalker said to you this time while we all repair the door.”

  “You’re good,” Savich said some thirty minutes later to Adam. “You said there was no trail and there isn’t.”

  Adam grunted. “Let’s go out a bit farther. Maybe we’ll see some tire tracks.”

  “No way,” Sherlock said. “The stalker is a pro, which means that he isn’t really a stalker. That’s just a cover. A misdirection.”

  Savich nodded. “I agree. He isn’t a stalker.”

  Becca said, “What do you mean, exactly?”

  Adam said, as he slowly lifted leaves some ten feet away, “It doesn’t make sense, Becca. Usually stalkers are sick guys who, for whatever strange reason, latch on to someone. It’s an obsession. They’re not pros. This guy’s a pro. This was well thought out.”

  And Savich thought: If Krimakov is alive, then it’s a terror campaign, and Becca’s just the means to the end. Thomas Matlock is right to be afraid. And the ending Krimakov planned wasn’t good for either father or daughter.

  Becca was shaking her head. “But he sounds nuts whenever he’s called me. He called a couple of hours ago. He said much of the same things. He sounded all sorts of excited, very pleased with himself, like he couldn’t wait. I know he’s toying with me, getting a real kick out of my fear, my anger, my helplessness.” She stopped a moment, looked at Adam, and added, “The thing is, I can’t help but feel that inside, he’s just dead.”

  Sherlock said, “Maybe he’s dead on the inside, but it’s the outside we’ve got to worry about. One thing we know for sure is that he’s clever; he knows what he needs to do and he does it. He found you, didn’t he? Now, could we go back to the house and Becca can tell us everything? You said he called you again. Tell us exactly what he said. Then we can put all our brainpower together and solve this mess.”

  “Another thing,” Savich said as he brushed his black slacks off, “I don’t want us out in the open like this. It isn’t smart.”

  And Sherlock, her brilliant red hair shining brightly in the fading afternoon light, led them back to Jacob Marley’s house.

  They found caulk, an electric sander that worked, and some wood stain in the basement, on some shelves near the hole in the brick wall.

  They took the front door off its hinges and brought it inside. While Savich sanded it down and Adam caulked in the bullet holes, Becca and Sherlock kept watch, their guns in their hands, watchful. Very soon, Sherlock had Becca talking and talking. “. . . and when he called me just a while ago, he said the same sorts of things, like I would contact the governor as soon as he was well enough again and have him come to me.”

  “You know,” Adam said, “he doesn’t believe you’ve slept with the governor. It’s just part of a script. He needed something so that he could claim you needed punishment.”

  “You’re right,” Sherlock said, giving Adam his first look of approval, for which he didn’t know whether to be pleased or snarl. “Yes, you’re perfectly right. Go ahead, Becca, what else did he say?”

  “When I asked him about Dick McCallum, he wouldn’t admit that he killed him, but I know that he did. He said I’d gotten all pissy, that I’d gotten too confident, that he was coming for me soon. I tell you, when I hung up, I was ready to throw in the towel. He calls himself my boyfriend. It’s beyond creepy.”

  “Yeah,” Adam said, raising his head to look at her, “she was ready to throw in the towel for about three minutes.” Then he said toward Savich, “Then she put her Coonan in her pocket and went out into the woods. Why’d you go out there, Becca? It wasn’t real smart, you know.”

  She looked inward for a moment, all of them saw it—and the sanding and caulking stopped. Not one of them was surprised when she shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I just wanted to go there, alone, and sit under the sunlight against that tree. Jacob Marley’s house was getting to me.
There are ghosts here, the air is filled with remnants of the people who lived here, residue, maybe, not all of it good.”

  “Before I finally found her, I nearly croaked,” Adam said, realizing he was grinning at Savich. Well, hell, why not? He was here and he did seem competent, at least so far. Maybe he’d still fall flat on his face.

  “Listen, I’ve got to contact my men,” Adam said. “The stalker—or whatever he is—is here. He tried to kill us, or maybe he was just after me—that’s more likely. We’ve got to close this town down. And we need to finish with this damned door before he just walks right up and shoots us.”

  “He won’t even get close,” Becca said and raised her Coonan.

  “Agreed,” Savich said. He winked at Sherlock. “You want to tell Adam about how we’ve got everything covered?”

  “Yep. A half dozen guys from Thomas are on their way here.” She looked down at her wristwatch. “In about an hour, I’d estimate. And here we were worried that there wouldn’t be enough for them to do. We were really wrong on that one.”

  “The timing’s perfect,” Savich said as he wiped all the sawdust off his hands. “Don’t anyone fret that they’ll all be piling into town and staying at Errol Flynn’s Hammock. Nope, they won’t stick out at all, but they’ll have this place well covered. Now, we need to get busy as soon as we’re done with this door. We need to bug the phone. He’ll probably call again, soon. Also, we need protection around the house. The guys will be calling in and we’ll set up a guard rotation. Also, Adam, you can show them where the blood is and they can get it analyzed. We’ll at least verify that it’s human.”

  “I know I hit him.”

  Savich nodded to Becca. “Yes, I’m sure you did. We’ll see if anything interesting shows up in the blood work. Now, it would probably be a smart thing if you stayed inside, Becca.”

  Sherlock said, “If he was trying to kill Adam, to make things easier for him, then that makes all of us open season. It would be wise if this Tyler McBride kept himself and his kid away from here. It isn’t safe.”

  And Adam thought, Where’s my brain? I should have thought and said all of that.

  Becca said, looking Sherlock straight in the eye, “No, I don’t want Tyler or Sam in any danger, either. Now, who’s this Thomas?”

  “He’s Adam’s boss,” Savich said, well aware that Adam was on full alert, “or he used to be. Now Adam is on his own. Actually, as I understand it, Adam is doing Thomas a favor. Hey, don’t worry about it, Becca, you don’t know him. Adam, you did a good job of filling in all the holes. A bit of stain and the door will look perfect again.”

  Becca jumped up. “I left it in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Sherlock said. “I think I’d like to look at that gash in the basement wall again.”

  “Of course he was after you,” Savich said easily, once Becca was out of hearing. “He wanted you out of the way, wounded or dead, it didn’t matter to him. It still doesn’t.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “He wants her. He wants to take her so he figured he’d have to knock you out of the way.”

  “That’s what I figure.”

  15

  Becca held the can of stain in front of her. Adam, instead of taking the can, found himself just standing there staring down at the too thin, formerly pale young woman who was now flushed red to her eyebrows.

  “I’m really mad now,” she said, and he believed her, and smiled. “He shot up Jacob Marley’s damned door. That’s beyond the line.” He couldn’t cut off his smile, because her eyes were glowing. Her soft blue eyes were hard and pulsing with rage. Her dyed hair was nearly standing on end. “I heard the two of you talking. He tried to kill you, Adam, to get to me. That’s beyond the line, too.” She was panting now. She was major-league pissed, and she wanted to protect him. He took her face between his big hands. His mouth was nearly touching hers. He immediately straightened and took the damned can of stain. He didn’t want this, but he couldn’t help it. An enraged Becca Matlock who still wanted to protect him did something to him, something strange and wonderful that seared him to the soles of his scuffed boots.

  He looked at her mouth again, but instead of kissing her, he started to laugh. And he kept on laughing, he wanted to kiss her that bad.

  She blinked at him and then took a step back. “Don’t get stain on your clothes. I’m not going to wash them for you.”

  “When it’s necessary, I’ll wash my own clothes,” Adam said, then added on a grin, “if you’ll show me how to work the washing machine.”

  “Mechanical things defeat you, do they? No, don’t say it, only mechanical things that involve work could defeat a guy.”

  Adam eyed Savich’s outstretched hand, grunted, and handed him the stain. His arm burned and ached and Savich knew it, the damned interloper. He said to him, “You know something? I’d really like to rearrange your pretty face when this is all over.”

  Savich stared at him, then laughed. “If you think my face is pretty, then you’ve got a big problem, because that’s what I think about yours.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Savich shook his head. “You want to play at the gym? Fine by me.”

  Becca stood by the front window as Savich stained the front door, her Coonan held loosely in her right hand, looking all around, just like a pro. After a bit, Adam couldn’t stand it and took the brush from Savich.

  Savich grinned at him. Sherlock said, “I love to see a real macho guy in action.”

  Adam brushed on the stain, slowly, carefully, gritting his teeth because his arm hurt. But he wasn’t about to whine. He whistled low, between his teeth, hoping Savich heard it.

  Tyler showed up with Sam an hour later. “Hey, what’s that smell? Who are these people?”

  Becca went blank for a moment, then said, “I didn’t like the stain on the front door. It was looking tatty and old. I just finished re-staining it.” She waited to see if Tyler would say anything about hearing bullets, but he didn’t.

  Sam stared up at her, sniffing, but as usual he didn’t say anything.

  “Smells weird, huh, Sam? Hey, here are some friends of Adam’s. This is Sherlock and her husband, Savich.”

  Sherlock went down on her knees in front of the little boy. She made no move at all toward him, just said after he’d studied her for a bit, “Hi, do you like my name?”

  Sam didn’t step back, but he did lean his head back a bit. He gave Sherlock a bit of a smile and eyed her hair. He reached out two fingers and patted the top of her head.

  Savich came down beside her. “We’ve got a little kid, Sam, a lot younger than you are. His name is Sean and he’s only six months old. He can’t pat the top of his mama’s head yet. He doesn’t even talk yet. But he is growing teeth.”

  “Teeth are good,” Sherlock said, “but all that drool is a pain.”

  That drew Adam up really fast. These two had a kid? Well, why was he so surprised? Most men his age were married and had children. He’d been married once, and he’d wanted a kid, lots of them as a matter of fact, but Vivie hadn’t been ready yet. A long time ago now, five years, nearly long enough to forget her damned name, if it hadn’t sounded like a song out of Cabaret.

  Becca said easily, “Sam doesn’t talk much, Sherlock. I think it’s because he’s always thinking so hard.”

  “I like a kid who thinks a lot,” Savich said. “Do you want to come to the kitchen with me and we’ll find you a goody to eat?”

  Sam didn’t hesitate, just lifted his arms. Savich scooped him up and carried him away on his shoulders. “I don’t think I’ll even have to burp you, Sam. I’m really good at that. Sean likes to burp a lot.”

  Sam grabbed Savich’s hair, and Becca saw the smile on his face. Then he turned his head and looked at Adam, at his bandaged arm. He shook his head, frowning, looking confused, then afraid.

  Adam said, “It’s okay, Sam. I didn’t hurt my arm bad, just a little bit. Becca fixed me right up.”

  “Yep,
and I did a good job, Sam, don’t worry.” Then Sam and Savich were gone, and Tyler said, “What the hell happened here? No, Becca, don’t try to lie to me.”

  She thought of Tyler and Sam and the two of them accidentally being in the line of that madman’s fire, and said, “The stalker found me. He fired at me and Adam. I shot him, but he got away. We’re okay, but I’m worried about you and Sam coming here. It’s not a good idea, Tyler.”

  He shook his head at her and said, “He shot the door?”

  “He fired through it a couple of times, really messed it up. I don’t want the sheriff to see it. He’d ask too many questions.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. McBride,” Sherlock said. “Things will be under control, but you know Becca’s right. It’s best if you keep Sam away from here until we bring this guy down. It could be dangerous until we catch him.”

  Tyler looked both angry and determined. “Yeah, I’ll go but I want Becca to come with me and Sam, either to my house or away, maybe to California. I want her kept safe.”

  “No, Tyler,” Becca said, lightly touching her fingertips to his arm. “We’ve got to clean it up. There are lots of people here now to help me.”

  Tyler turned to Adam. “Who the hell are you, really? And you?” he added to Sherlock.

  “Savich and I are FBI, Mr. McBride. Adam here is on special assignment to protect Becca.” That sounded like he was with the Bureau as well, Adam thought, which was probably for the best. An independent security consultant didn’t sound like he’d know what to do with a madman. FBI did.

  “You never told me,” Tyler said to Becca, his voice low. “You didn’t trust me. You let me think he was your cousin. Why the hell did you do that?”

  Becca couldn’t think of a thing to say that wouldn’t make everything worse. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, to keep him in the dark, to make him feel unimportant to her, but—

  “Get over it, Tyler,” Adam said. “This isn’t fun and games. It’s serious business. You’re not trained to do this sort of thing. We are. Besides, you’ve got Sam. He’s got to be your first priority.”