Find Me

by Margaret Watson

  No. It couldn't be. She'd looked into his eyes as he'd told her about his father, about running away, about the consequences, and she'd seen nothing but truth.

  Mac wouldn't lie about that.

  The bag belonged to someone else. She'd prove it.

  Sliding her hand past the gun, she reached inside to grasp the wallet. Flipping it open, she saw a driver's license in a plastic window. From Illinois.

  Her heart began to pound even before she saw the name on the card. Cormac Donovan.

  Her hands shaking, her stomach twisting into a knot, she pulled out the thinner wallet. She opened it up, glanced at the contents, and everything fell from her suddenly numb hands.

  An FBI badge. An FBI identification card. Mac's name.

  Mac was an FBI agent.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, betrayal a fist to her gut, stealing her breath. Washing the taste of acid into her mouth.

  She doubled over, her stomach heaving violently. By the time it was empty, her abdominal muscles ached and her mouth burned.

  Franny nudged her arm, and Lizzy pushed her hair out of her face to look at her dog, sitting patiently beside her, the stick on the ground.

  "No more games, Fran," she said, her voice hoarse. "We have to get out of here."

  Her hands shook as she shoved the wallets into the bag and re-zipped it. She looked around wildly. Where could she hide it?

  She couldn't leave it. If she left it behind, he'd know she found it. He'd know that she knew.

  Her go bag. She had to get it and run.

  She stood up, slipping on the rocks, and stumbled into the house. Franny stood by the door, waiting for her to clean her feet. "In a moment, Fran," she panted as she ran to her bedroom.

  God! He'd spent the night in her bed, after... She shook her head, trying to block the images of what they'd done in her bed. And after his dream, after sharing intimate stories in the dark, she'd left him in her bed to sleep in another room because she knew if she hadn't, she'd make lo...no. Have sex with him again.

  Oh, God.

  She ran into the bathroom, retched into the toilet until her abdomen ached, then struggled to her feet.

  As she brushed her teeth, questions flew through her head. Had he searched her room? Had he found her go bag? She dropped the toothbrush, ran into her room and fell to her knees in the closet. Her hands shaking, she scrabbled in the laundry basket pushed into the far corner. She tossed the old clothes aside until she felt the stiff shape of the hidden bag. The thick, sturdy nylon was rough against her hands, and she shoved the last of the clothes aside and pulled it free.

  She dragged the backpack into the room, opened the largest pocket and tossed out the clothes she'd carefully stowed there. All there. She removed Mac's belongings from the waterproof bag and shoved them into her pack. The zipper caught on a loose thread, and she wasted precious seconds untangling it.

  She checked the next smaller pocket, let out the breath she'd been holding when she found it untouched. The rest of her cash, her wallet, the burner phone she'd never used, and Beth Gorham's birth certificate were all the way she'd left them.

  In the small pocket on the front of the pack were the keys to the car she'd left near the ferry dock on Orcas. The old, rusty beater was hidden behind a house that belonged to the camp, covered by a tarp.

  He hadn't found her bag.

  Now she had to get out of the house before he returned.

  Slinging the bag over her shoulders, she rushed into the kitchen, snatched the key for the boat off the hook, and ran to the front door. Franny was still sitting there patiently.

  "Let's go, Fran," she said, opening the door and stepping outside.

  She froze. Her survival suit. She'd need it on the boat. It wouldn't matter that she'd escaped from Mac if she capsized and drowned in the Sound. And in this weather, with these waves, she couldn't take any chances.

  She raced back into the house and snatched the jacket and bibs off the pegs by the back door, shoving her hat and gloves into a pocket. As she turned away, she saw movement out the window. Mac, less than a hundred feet away.

  Fear rose in a mindless rush, and she stumbled as she fled toward the front door. Her hand shook as she closed the door carefully, and she fell on the rocks, tearing a hole in the knee of her jeans, as she dashed around the other corner of the house.

  He'd probably notice that her survival suit was missing. With any luck, he'd assume she'd taken Franny for a walk. By the time he realized something was wrong, she'd be on the boat and halfway to Orcas.

  "Silent, Franny," she whispered. "Silent."

  The dog loped along beside her, mud splattering on her legs and the fur of her belly. Lizzy glanced over her shoulder and saw Mac's survival jacket through the trees. She tried to run faster and slid in the mud.

  Careful. Careful. Too fast, and she wouldn't make it. She'd fall, and he'd be on her.

  "Beth? Where're you going?"

  She didn't look back. She had to focus on keeping her footing. The path began to slope downhill, and she ran faster. Almost there.

  She rounded the last bend and the harbor opened up in front of her. The waves still rolled in, crashing over the rocky shore, but they were smaller. Less intense.

  Her pack bouncing on her back, her feet slipping and sliding in the mud, she finally reached the stairs that led to the pier and the motorboat. The rough metal surface gave her shoes some grip, and she clattered down the steps as fast as she could.

  She tore the canvas cover off the boat and tossed it onto the pier. It would blow away, but she didn't care. "Franny. Into the boat," she ordered as she jumped in.

  The dog whined on the dock, taking a step toward the boat, then stopping.

  "Franny," she said, desperate. "Come!"

  Franny hated the boat. She'd jumped for it once as Lizzy was pulling away from the pier, and landed in the water. Ever since, she'd refused to get in.

  Reaching for her dog, the boat swaying beneath her feet, she fell and landed hard on her elbows on the metal surface. When Franny sniffed at her arm, Lizzy grabbed her ruff and dragged her into the boat.

  "Stay," she ordered when it looked as if Franny was going to jump out. "Stay, Franny."

  "Beth!"

  She looked up and saw Mac at the top of the stairs. Damn it!

  She tried to shove the key into the ignition, but it didn't fit. Mac was halfway down the stairs now. "Beth! What's going on?"

  Mac's footsteps thundered down the metal stairs as she glanced at the key. She'd had it upside down.

  She fumbled it into the ignition and cranked it. After sputtering a couple of times, the engine turned over. Mac was at the bottom of the stairs. Racing toward her.

  Her hands trembling, Lizzy untied the front of the boat, then the back, and pushed away from the dock.

  Mac skidded to a stop at the edge of the pier and reached for the boat. She pushed the throttle, but as the boat leaped forward, Mac jumped.

  He landed with a grunt on the floor in the back of the boat and slid forward. He pushed to his knees and grabbed her wrist. "What the hell are you doing, Beth?"

  She tore away from his grasp and the boat veered to the left. Mac fell onto the seat as the motorboat turned sideways to the waves. Freezing water poured into the boat, filling her boots, and she struggled to steady the boat.

  He leaned toward her, as if he was going to grab her again, and she reared back. "Don't touch me," she screamed. "Make me swerve like that again and we're going into the water."

  She glanced back at him, sitting on the edge of the rear seat. Too close to the side of the boat. If she swerved again, he'd go flying into the Sound. She could get away.

  No. If he went into the water, he'd die. She would have murdered him.

  She couldn't do that.

  "Get in the middle of the seat," she yelled over her shoulder.

  "Beth, go back to the island." He'd jumped onto the damn boat, he'd almost swamped them into the icy water, and he sound
ed calm. Like he was asking her to have a seat in the house.

  "Why would I do that?"

  "We need to talk. Somewhere we're not in imminent danger of dying."

  "You don't like it out here, you shouldn't have jumped into the boat." She straightened the wheel until they were heading into the waves, into the small channel that separated Skipjack from Shaw Island. She looked him in the eye. "And at least have the honesty to call me by my real name."

  He sank onto the seat in the back of the boat, his jeans drenched with salt water from the wave that had threatened to swamp them. He didn't take his eyes off her. "What are you talking about?"

  "I know who you are, Special Agent Donovan. So cut the crap."

  "How did you find out? Did you Google me?"

  God. Googling him hadn't even occurred to her. And it should have. All the sex they'd had, all those orgasms, had dulled her brain. She'd made a stupid, stupid mistake.

  This one might be fatal.

  If she'd figured out who he was earlier, she would have risked the waves to get away from him. She'd be on Orcas by now. He'd still be on Skipjack.

  "Lizzy, let me explain."

  He moved as if he was going to stand up, and she reached back and shoved him to the seat. "Sit down. Are you an idiot?"

  Maybe she was the idiot. Maybe she should go back to Skipjack. If he wanted to get rid of her, all Mac had to do was dump her in the Sound. She hadn't had time to put on her survival suit. It was a pile of orange in the bottom of the boat.

  Without it, she'd be dead in ten minutes, tops. Probably less.

  They hit a huge wave and the boat rose up, then slammed onto the water. Mac glanced at the orange suit puddled in the bottom of the boat. As if he'd read her mind, he said, "Put on the jacket, at least."

  Okay, maybe he wasn't going to throw her into the sound. She gripped the wheel harder as they headed toward Shaw. The waves were worse in the channel. There was more open water for them to build up speed and size.

  Her heart thudded against her ribs and her chest was tight. It was hard to breathe. Hard to draw in a deep breath. Her sweat-slicked hands slid along the wheel, making it hard to control the boat.

  Focus, Lizzy. No panic attack. She knew how to pilot a boat. She'd gotten her boating license the summer she'd been a counselor at the camp. Eight years ago.

  But she'd never been on the Sound when the conditions were this bad.

  "Lizzy. This is insane. Turn around and go back. We'll do this when the waves calm down."

  "We're doing this now. I'm not staying alone on the island with you."

  "You were alone with me for the past twenty-four hours. Do you have something against the FBI?"

  Yes. One of your agents killed another one.

  "Stop distracting me if you want to actually make it across the channel." She kept a course for Shaw as her mind raced. What should she do? It made no sense to go to Orcas now. He'd just follow her onto the ferry.

  The small buildings at the edge of the water on Shaw were blurry in the spray, but she knew one of them was the sheriff's office. She turned the wheel slightly so they were headed straight toward it.

  She had to get rid of Mac. She'd tell the sheriff that he'd washed ashore, that he needed medical attention. While the sheriff was dealing with Mac, she'd take off.

  "Where are you going?" Mac asked.

  He was right behind her, and the boat rocked wildly. Her stomach clenched with fear. "Get on the seat at the back of the boat and stay there! Right now!"

  "Why?"

  "To balance it in these waves." It might even be the truth. She'd never been on the Sound in conditions like this.

  As they headed toward Shaw, she glanced over her shoulder. He was sitting on the stern seat. Watching her.

  By the time she slammed into the pier on Shaw, it felt as if she'd run twenty miles. Her arms ached, her legs ached, her feet were so cold she couldn't feel them. Her chest heaved as she tried to draw in a deep breath.

  She gripped the pier with both hands and turned to face Mac. "Get off the boat," she said. "Franny and I are taking off. The sheriff's office is at the end of the pier. He'll take you to Orcas."

  "I'm not leaving you behind," he said calmly.

  "I didn't give you a choice."

  The boat rocked into the pier, carried by a wave. Franny scrambled onto the pier and shook herself, sending water droplets flying.

  "Franny, get back here."

  The dog sat, staring at Lizzy. Like she felt bad about disobeying, but wasn't setting foot on that boat voluntarily.

  "Damn it, Franny." Lizzy yanked the wet rope off the floor of the boat and lashed it around the cleat on the pier. When she turned to secure the one at the rear of the boat, Mac was already doing it.

  Lizzy scrambled out of the boat, her pack bouncing off her back. As soon as she stood, she saw Mac had climbed out, as well.

  Mac walked toward her, and she backed up a step. He stopped, but didn't take his gaze off her. "I would have told you who I was if I'd arrived normally."

  Lizzy snorted. "Right. Which explains why you said you were a computer programmer." She scowled. "I knew you were lying. Just didn't know why."

  Mac shoved his hand through his wet hair. "I was trying to get a sense of who you were and why you'd run away. You were the only witness to my colleague's murder. The only one who could help us catch the killer."

  Lizzy rolled her eyes. "I bet I am."

  Mac grabbed her shoulders. "What's that supposed to mean? Was someone else there?"

  She knocked his hands away. "Yeah, someone else was there. The killer. The guy from your office."

  "What?" He froze. "What are you talking about?"

  "The killer was an FBI agent. Or someone who worked for the FBI."

  He wrapped his hand around her wrist, as if he was afraid she'd bolt. "How do you know?"

  "Because I saw him when I was in your office."

  Shock rolled across his face. "The hell you say."

  She ripped her arm from his grasp. "Yeah, I say. So you understand why I don't have a real high trust quotient when it comes to the FBI."

  "There were only a few people in the office when you were there. Was it one of them?"

  "It was the guy with the coffee. He got off the elevator as I was getting on."

  "Guy with the coffee?" He frowned, as if he was trying to remember. "I don't remember anyone going for coffee. It was the middle of the night. Nothing was open. And everyone was working on Kelly's murder."

  "You don't believe me." Her stomach rolled, but there was nothing left there to get rid of. It was exactly what she'd been afraid of. Deja vu all over again. Another law enforcement officer refusing to believe an accusation against a fellow officer.

  "I didn't say that. I need more information."

  "That's all the information I have. He got off the elevator, I got on. But he knew. Knew I recognized him. So go back to Chicago and figure out who brought the coffee. That's the killer. I'll leave you with the sheriff and he can get you to the ferry on Orcas.

  "I'm not leaving you behind. You need to come with me. You need to identify this guy."

  "I just told you who he is."

  "Not good enough, Lizzy. What am I supposed to do? Ask everyone if they got coffee that night and assume the killer will raise his hand?" He shook his head. "We need your testimony to charge and hold him. And at the trial."

  "If you take me back to Chicago, I wouldn't be around for the trial. Not because I'll run off. Because I'd be dead."

  "We'd protect you."

  "You sure about that?" She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. If she wanted him to believe her, she couldn't act like a crazed person. "He knows who I am and where I live. He tried to get into my apartment later that day. If I go back, sooner or later, he'll kill me."

  "Nothing's going to happen to you, Lizzy."

  Fear and panic blossomed like a poisonous weed. "Just like nothing happened to my father, right? I won't have a fis
hing accident, though. I'll be hit by a car. Or I'll fall off a balcony somewhere. Or there'll be a mysterious explosion in my apartment."

  He narrowed his eyes. "This is all about what happened to your father, isn't it? It's the reason you ran instead of coming to us."

  She wanted to kick herself for telling him about her father. Her stomach rolled again, and she closed her eyes to steady herself. She'd trusted him. She'd shared the most private, painful part of herself with him, and he was using it against her. Her eyes burned. Because of the salt spray.

  "Leave my father out of this. God! I trusted you. And you..." She clamped her lips together. "Who was I supposed to trust? Maybe everyone in that office was involved. You think I should have taken a chance and told someone else?

  She saw sympathy in his eyes, and she clenched her fists. He didn't get to use her father's death to make her believe him. "Just go to the sheriff. I'm leaving."

  "You never told me how you found out who I was."

  She unzipped the backpack, reaching for his wallet. But her fingers touched the cold metal of the handcuffs.

  The pier was flat. Nothing to cuff him to.

  Except that rusty chain right in front of her, attached to a large boat with 'San Juan County Sheriff's Department' stenciled on the side.

  She crouched on the pier and held the open cuff in one hand while she pulled out the wallet holding his badge. "This," she said, holding it up. "I found this."

  He squatted next to her. "You found my wallets?" He reached for the badge. "Where?"

  "On the rocks in front of the house." She handed him the badge. As he stared at it, she slapped the cuff on his wrist. He tried to jerk away from her, but she held on, pulling the cuff toward the chain in spite of his resistance. Thank you, God for making me chop all that wood.

  "Lizzy! Stop it!" As he reached for the cuffs, she got the edge of the other one beneath a link of the chain. He grabbed her arm, pulled her back, but she managed to get the cuff closed.

  "Lizzy!" Metal clanked as he tugged on the cuffs. "Unlock these."

  "Sorry. I can't go back to Chicago." She nodded toward the sheriff's office. "They'll find you soon enough." She stood up and stared down at him. "Good luck catching that killer, Mac.