Jan Coffey Suspense Box Set: Three Complete Novel Box Set: Trust Me Once, Twice Burned, Fourth Victim

by Jan Coffey

  A small noise to her right brought her head around. The passenger door was locked, but she was certain the second man had tested the door.

  “I’d like to see some identification, officer.” She could hear the hint of a quiver in her voice. He ignored her request. “Excuse me...”

  “Switch off the car, Ms. Rand, and step out, please.” The flashlight was blinding.

  “I...I am an attorney in Newport.” She forced herself to stay calm. “I’ll be glad to follow you to the station, but I believe you are required to identify yourself.”

  Sarah tried to see the license plate on the police car, but the angle of the vehicle prevented her getting a clear look.

  “Step out of the car. Now!”

  Squinting her eyes, she turned her head fully into the glare of the light. “Officer, you know that I am within my rights to ask to see—”

  The shattering glass of the windows on either side of her showered Sarah with glittering pebbles.

  She barely had time to let out a scream before the man’s hand clamped around her throat.

  It was adrenaline. It was panic. It was the sudden terror of knowing she may have just taken her last breath. Rather than clawing at the man’s brutal fingers, Sarah’s hand reached for the center console of the car, and she blindly yanked the gearshift into Reverse. Slamming her foot on the gas, her body jerked forward as the car leapt into motion. Sarah found her throat still caught in the man’s grip for an endless moment, before he finally let go and stumbled into the middle of the road.

  Fifty feet away, she came to a screeching stop and, still gasping for breath, stared in terror at the two men advancing toward her, their drawn weapons pointed at her windshield.

  There was only one thing to do.

  Putting the car in drive, she jammed the accelerator to the floor. One of the men jumped directly in the path of her car, and Sarah jerked the steering wheel in an attempt to miss him. She felt the body of the other man bounce off the side of the car, and a split second later the sports car wiped out the tail light of the unmarked police car as she sped past.

  Glass splintered around her as the windshield became a lacy mass of crystalline webs.

  They were shooting at her.

  She quickly left them behind. But as she tried to peer through the shattered windshield, a cold fear flooded her with the realization that at any moment her assailants would be coming after her.

  Sarah’s body began to shake uncontrollably.

  Acting on impulse, she suddenly yanked the wheel to the right. The car responded and plowed through a gully of water onto a gravel road. In an instant she was out of sight of the main road, following a narrow track of gravel and mud and flooding rains.

  The rain lashed at her face, but she continued on until the low-slung automobile suddenly dove into a water-filled gully. The vehicle lurched out of control and entered the woods. Sarah felt the car bouncing through the undergrowth as she frantically jerked the wheel right and left in an effort to dodge larger trees. In seconds that felt more like hours, she managed to bring the car to a shuddering halt between a pair of scrub pines.

  Wet branches jutted in through the open spaces that had once been windows. Her breath was still coming in gasps, her body shaking as the adrenaline continued to pump through her. Sarah shut off the headlights and listened to the rain falling in waves on the car’s roof. Protected as she was by the surrounding trees, the sound of the wind and the storm seemed so distant. Then, the vaguely ominous scent of pine and wet earth enclosed her, and real fear began to steal into her bones, cold and numbing.

  She had to get out. Grabbing her bag off the floor, she pushed the door open against the weight of the trees and shouldered her way out. Branches and needles scratched at her face, soaking her clothing, and a shard of broken window glass, jutting up from the door, cut the palm of one hand, but in a moment she was standing in the semi-darkness behind her car.

  Lightning lit the forest floor with a ghostly flash, and a thunderous crack rocketed through the woods. She didn’t know where she was. She had no idea where she was going. But she knew she had to run.

  That is, if she wanted to stay alive.

  ~~~~

  The room had all the warmth of an empty art gallery.

  Owen Dean placed his wine flute on an angular glass shelf and excused himself from the pair of chatty socialites who had cornered him there. Ambling past a bored-looking string quartet, he climbed a wide set of stairs to a loft-like area and paused at the top. He looked out over the rail, letting his eyes wander over the room.

  Frank Lloyd Wright had to be the coldest, most academic stiff ever to sit at a drawing board, Owen thought, eyeing the sharp, sterile lines of wood and stone and glass.

  “Quite a place, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I was just thinking that.” Owen turned and looked at the speaker. Tall, middle-aged, tanned, with the build of a former linebacker. He’d been introduced to Senator Gordon Rutherford earlier in the evening.

  “This house of Warner’s is quite a showpiece. Though, to be honest, my taste runs more to Middle Georgian architecture.”

  “Actually, I’m more an Early Ski Lodge type, myself.”

  “Are you?” Rutherford flashed a mouthful of square, well-cared-for teeth and waved off his minions hovering in the background. “May I call you Owen, Mr. Dean?”

  “Of course, Senator.”

  “I have to tell you, that show of yours, Internal Affairs, is one of my guilty pleasures.”

  Owen cocked an eyebrow. “Well, I’m glad to hear that you’re a satisfied viewer. But why guilty, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Rutherford looked down at the glittering crowd of guests below. “I’ve built my political career on being a law-and-order man. If it got out that my favorite TV series portrayed the police every week as a bunch of corrupt self-seekers, with moral standards that often sink beneath those of criminals on the street, how would it look?”

  Owen mulled that over for a moment. “Hmm. I see what you mean. But I like to believe we simply tell it like it is, Senator. After all—regardless of profession—none of us is perfect. And, in the case of this show, our premise is that police have human failings, just like everybody else.”

  The senator smiled again and accepted a drink from a passing waitress. “Right you are, Owen. And who knows about human failings better than a politician these days?”

  Owen let the comment hang in the air as his attention drifted down over the railing. His gaze immediately lit on Andrew Warner, distinguished-looking beneath a shock of white hair. Andrew was lighting a pipe and speaking to two deans from the college. Outside the large windows, lightning briefly illuminated a rain-drenched scene of fenced fields bordered by woods.

  “This is your fifth season, isn’t it?”

  Owen accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waitress as distant thunder rumbled. He turned again to the senator. “Yes, it’s the show’s fifth season.”

  “Ratings good?”

  “Damn good.”

  “And if I remember correctly, you left a successful acting career in film to get into starring in and producing this TV show.”

  “Success is a relative term, Senator. I was ready for something different.”

  The politician laughed and shook his head. “You movie stars are hard to understand. I would have thought somebody with your screen appeal would have stayed in the fast lane—bigger movie roles, more money—instead of stepping back into television work.”

  “Stepping back?”

  “Well, perhaps that’s the wrong term. But here you are in Rhode Island, at Rosecliff College, doing God knows what for Andrew.”

  “It’s called ‘teaching,’ Senator.” Owen straightened up at the rail.

  “Don’t take me wrong, Owen. It’s just that the way Andrew brags about you, a person would think Steven Spielberg sweeps out your offices. Just a little odd having such a big fish in our little pond.” The senator leaned forward with a cons
piratorial smirk on his face. “What does he have on you, anyway?”

  Owen replaced his untasted champagne on a passing tray and looked the politician in the eye. “Extortion isn’t the only way of getting a friend to help out, Senator. But maybe you need to get out of Washington more often.”

  Rutherford’s perfect tan turned a darker shade. “No doubt about that, Mr. Dean. But an honest legislator’s work is never d—”

  A woman’s voice floated in over the party noise as she climbed the steps. “Well, there you are. I’m glad you two got an opportunity to talk.”

  A flash outside the large, plate-glass windows was accompanied by a loud crack of thunder, punctuating the sentence of the small, gray-haired woman who joined them at the railing.

  The sound of a man coughing cut through the guests’ surprised laughter in response to the thunder. Owen looked over the railing and saw Andrew retreating to a corner, his shoulders hunched as he fought to control the hacking fit.

  “Wonderful party, Tracy,” Rutherford declared.

  “Thank you, Gordon. It is a nice way for the college benefactors to get to know one another before the school year starts, don’t you think?” She took Owen by the arm, pulling his attention back to her. “And this year they also get to meet our very own Hollywood celebrity.”

  “I’ll only be teaching a course.”

  “Yes! And Andrew tells me you were at the college today, checking out the campus.”

  “I was.”

  “Dull place compared to what you’re accustomed to, I’d wager. It will probably be a relief to get back to your very own exciting life.”

  “Not before the semester is over.”

  “But you must find the whole lot of us extremely boring.” She winked at the senator and waved a hand over the guests. “Not a supermodel or a rock star among us.”

  From the first moment Owen had met Andrew’s wife nearly thirty years ago, he had known that her resentment for him ran deep. He’d been too young then to attempt to understand her reasons. Later, he’d become too detached to care. He glanced at the fake smile Tracy had plastered on her face for Rutherford’s benefit. Her eyes, though, were bullets.

  “Well, Tracy, I’m glad to hear that I’m not the only one so thoroughly impressed with the presence of Owen Dean at Rosecliff College. We were just—”

  “Senator.” Owen cut him off, extending a hand toward the politician. “It was an experience meeting you.”

  “You’re not leaving, Owen.”

  “Sorry to be a disappointment, but I have to run.”

  Owen put out a hand. Tracy took it and pulled him down to where she could brush a kiss across his cheek.

  “Of course.”

  Turning his back on the two of them, Owen took his time heading down the steps. Andrew Warner, his face back to its usual color, his snow white hair back in place, had returned to playing host by the far windows, joking with another group of the college’s benefactors.

  When Owen was a couple of steps from the bottom, Andrew glanced up, caught sight of him, and motioned for Owen to join him. Owen shook his head and pointed at his watch before waving and heading for the entrance hall.

  He had only come out to the party as another favor to Andrew. But being a good ally didn’t mean he had to put up with Tracy’s subtle barbs.

  The rain was falling in sheets when he stepped onto the porch. Even in the darkness, he could see that the gusts of wind were scattering leaves and branches across the yard and the gravel drive. Owen watched the storm for a moment as another bolt of lightning lit the sky, giving the scene a surreal look. The broad creek flowing into the pond at the far end of the field was a raging torrent. The crack of thunder that immediately followed was sharp and loud.

  Taking out his keys, Owen turned toward the steps and the long line of luxury cars choking the circular drive.

  “Last in...first out,” he whispered into the wind, turning the collar of his sports coat up and running across the rain-softened drive to his Range Rover. The rain, changing directions with every gust of wind, had him nearly soaked by the time he climbed behind the wheel.

  Putting the key into the ignition, he glanced at the brightly lit windows of the house. Through the large plate glass windows, the well-dressed crowd could be seen milling in small groups. Separating himself from one of them, a rather frail-looking, white haired man stared out into the storm for a moment before turning brusquely on his heel and moving away from the glass.

  Owen turned the key. “What a waste. So little time.”

  Chapter 2

  The lightning was all around him. Owen headed down the long and winding drive that separated the Warner’s house from the main road.

  He was out of his element. He knew that. But teaching had nothing to do with it.

  Before coming to Newport, Owen had considered the fact that in taking this one semester position at the college, he would once again be allowing his life and Andrew’s to become enmeshed. He would be poking at old wounds. But when the older man had dropped the bomb on him about his illness earlier this summer, Owen’s common sense had dropped out of the equation.

  Owen had to be there for him, just as Andrew had been there for him so many years ago.

  And Tracy’s resentment of him was something he’d just have to endure.

  A flooded section of the road slowed the Range Rover to a crawl. The rushing waters of the creek had spilled over its banks, washing over the gravel surface.

  Owen flipped on the high beams and answered the cell phone on its first ring. It was Andrew.

  “What did she say to you?”

  “Nothing.” Owen frowned at the wheezing he could hear clearly through the phone.

  “I warned her.”

  “You’re jumping at shadows, Andrew. I was tired, that’s all. Just not the party animal I used to be.”

  “You don’t have to protect her, Owen. I’m not blind...or deaf. Last Sunday at the brunch, I know she sent those damned reporters to our table. And then yesterday...that flu business…canceling our lunch at the last—” The cough cut off the words.

  Owen heard the sound of a drink being gulped down. “Andrew, it’s not worth getting riled about.”

  “I won’t let her do this. You’re a son to me.”

  “Tracy’s your wife. She’s trying to protect you.”

  There was another fit of coughing. “Don’t! Don’t let her get to you. I’m telling you I want you here.”

  “I’m here.” His head was beginning to pound. “I’ll call you tomorrow night after that Save the Bay thing I got hooked into. Maybe we could meet for a drink.”

  “Good.” Another pause. “We need to talk.”

  “Sure.” Owen ended the call. “And it’s about time we did.”

  Though Owen didn’t like getting patted on the head, Rutherford hadn’t really been too far off the mark. Owen had put his life on hold to come to Newport for these four months or so. But he had no regrets, so long as he and Andrew could finally resolve what was past. He was tired of playing the game.

  A brilliant stab of lightning hit the ground somewhere to his right, illuminating a small river where half of the road had been just a couple of hours earlier. Jerking the wheel, he suddenly saw the woman appear in his headlights. Owen slammed on the brakes.

  “Dammit!”

  His reflexes were quick, but he couldn’t be certain if he’d hit her or if she’d just fallen against the front of the car. She lay sprawled across the hood, her face resting on the metal, and he was out of the vehicle and at her side in an instant.

  “Lady, you okay?”

  She lifted her head slowly off the hood and tried to straighten up. Owen reached for her quickly as she wobbled a step.

  “You stay right here. I’ll call for an ambulance.”

  “No!” Her response was sharp as she looked up, clutching at his hand.

  In spite of the dripping jacket and pants that at one time must have been tailor-made for her, the woman was a
muddy mess. She was soaked to the skin, her hair plastered against her head. All in all, Owen thought, she didn’t look like someone who should be wandering in the rain in the middle of the night.

  “No,” she repeated more softly, letting go of his hand and standing up straight. “I’m fine. It just...took my breath away...running into the car. I’m okay.”

  The rain was streaming down her face, and lightning continued to flash above them. Unconvinced, Owen held his ground and studied her in the glare of the car’s headlights. Clearly distraught, she nonetheless turned her face away from him. Pretending to adjust the shoulder strap of the case she was carrying, she peered into the darkness of the woods she’d just left.

  “Your car break down?”

  “No...yes.”

  “Well, which is it?”

  “I...I ran out of gas.” With a scowl, she stepped around him, out of the headlight’s beam, and pushed a lock of short wet hair out of her face. Again, she shot a glance into the woods. “I thought it would be safer passing through the woods than walking on the shoulder of the state road.”

  Owen stared at her in the darkness. She looked so familiar to him. A bit worse for wear, but she was well-dressed and well-spoken. But it was her face that was nagging at him. Oval-shaped eyes—he couldn’t tell the color in the darkness. The high cheekbones, streaked with mud. Or were those scratches? He tried to imagine how she would look cleaned up.

  “Have we met before?” he asked.

  “I don’t…believe so.”

  She shivered and transferred the long strap of her briefcase from one shoulder to the other. He spotted the dark stain by one sleeve. He looked down at his own hand where she’d touched him. There was blood on his hand.

  “Did you cut yourself?”

  She looked down at her palm and then pulled a folded wad of wet tissue out of her pocket. “I just fell back there. It’s just a scratch. Must have done it on a rock or something.”