Deadly Intent

by Camy Tang

  “No!”

  “Well then, what are you going to believe?”

  He couldn’t answer. He took in her trembling lips, her rapid pulse, the red splotches on her clammy cheeks. “So are you telling me He’s going to answer my prayer just because I believe in a crisis moment?”

  “No.”

  He blinked.

  “He just wants you to believe, even if He doesn’t answer us. Devon, He wants you to believe, period. Not just because you suddenly need him.”

  “How would I know the difference?”

  “You don’t have to. He will.”

  That’s why He was God.

  And Naomi had no one else right now.

  He had no one else right now.

  Becca must have seen his emotions on his face, because she clasped his limp hands in hers and held on tight. “Our dear Jesus, please protect our girl.”

  Her cell phone shrilled. She reached into her purse and checked caller ID.

  “It’s Naomi.”

  NINETEEN

  Naomi woke slowly. She groaned as she moved…except she couldn’t move. Her wrists were bound tightly, but a folded cloth protected her wrists from abrasions from the zip ties. That didn’t make sense. Her ankles were also zip-tied together, and the cloth of her pants was bunched under the plastic.

  Blood pounded painfully behind her eyes. She shut them.

  Oh, God. God, please help me.

  The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save.

  Was He really? Would He really?

  “It doesn’t feel like He’s with me, Dad.”

  “When has faith ever been about feelings?”

  She bit back a sob. Oh Lord, I need You now.

  The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save.

  Suddenly, the car slowed down. She didn’t have much time.

  She fumbled in her pants pocket. Her cell phone was still there. She pressed buttons frantically, dialing Aunt Becca’s speed-dial number and turning the phone on speakerphone. She shoved the phone back in her pocket and hoped Andrea wouldn’t notice its bulge.

  The trunk opened, and sunlight sliced through her eyes. She struck out blindly, but her hand only glanced off a shoulder.

  Andrea yanked her from the trunk. Naomi teetered on her tied feet, then fell to the ground.

  Gravel bit into her cheek, her hands, filled her nose. She coughed as it coated her throat. Her head throbbed, fueled by the bright light and the pain in her limbs.

  She squinted as she looked around. They were in a sheltered turnoff. A remote stretch of highway, with rolling foothills rising to one side. Scraggly trees lined the edge of the turnoff.

  “Where are we?”

  “Don’t recognize it?” Andrea had gotten a rusty nail out of the backseat.

  “A road to Napa? Trinity Road?”

  Andrea didn’t answer. Naomi hoped her aunt was listening, and hoped her guess had been right. There were a handful of roads between Napa and Sonoma.

  Andrea unearthed a hammer from the backseat and proceeded to pound the rusty nail into the front tire.

  “What are you doing?” Naomi sat up. Her head protested with a few throbs that felt like hammer blows to the back of her head.

  Andrea took out Naomi’s jack and lifted up the front of the car. It took her a long time because she wasn’t strong, and the work was awkward for her.

  Watching her, Naomi realized that even though she was bound, she was still stronger than Andrea. Years of performing massages had honed her upper body strength and torso.

  If she had a chance, she’d have to take it. Gun or not.

  With Andrea distracted, Naomi twisted her wrists. Too tight. She twisted her ankles.

  The cloth of her pants slid with her movements.

  Slowly, she pulled her pants legs out from under the zip tie. The bond was looser. She loosened her shoes.

  Andrea finally hoisted the car up, except she positioned the jack badly. The car wasn’t stable. It swayed dangerously as it rose higher and higher.

  Andrea unscrewed the lug nuts of the punctured tire. Again, it took her a while because of her weak arm strength and her nails.

  Take as long as you like.

  Andrea rolled the lug nuts out of the way. Then she casually rolled one lug nut under the car, near where the jack hiked it up.

  She spoke, sounding positively cheerful. “And that’s to explain why you’re under the car in the first place.”

  “What…what do you mean?”

  “When they find you crushed under the car,” Andrea replied calmly. “The jack will have fallen over while you reached under the car for the lug nut.”

  “You won’t get me under that car.”

  “Yes, I will.” Andrea picked up the tire iron. “No one will notice another bump on your head once it’s been crushed by the car.”

  That’s why there was a cloth protecting her wrists from the marks of the zip tie, and why Andrea had tied Naomi’s ankles over her pants legs. So there wouldn’t be evidence that Naomi had been bound when her body was found.

  “Why are you doing this?” she shouted. “What have I ever done to you?”

  “Nothing much, really.” Andrea dropped the tire iron and pulled a bag out of the backseat of the car. “Although I was upset at you for a while when my fiancé first met you.”

  “Why?”

  For the first time, Andrea’s calm eyes blazed with an inner fire. “Because I could tell he was attracted to you. It took a great deal to get his mind off you and back on me again. For a while, I wasn’t certain I could get him to propose because of how he’d responded to you.”

  “But I barely spoke to him.” Naomi couldn’t even recall the man’s face. He’d stopped in one day at the spa to see Andrea, and Naomi had said barely ten words to him. He hadn’t impressed her—he was the pompous type who liked his women submissive, and Naomi wasn’t submissive by a long shot.

  “It doesn’t matter, really, because he eventually did propose. But don’t you see? Jessica would have messed everything up.”

  “Messed what up?” Naomi had to keep Andrea talking.

  “Do you know how long it took for me to find a man with money? How long it took to get him to propose?” Andrea reached into the bag and diamonds glittered like stars. Jessica’s necklace. Then she pulled out Eloise’s ruby pendant.

  She tossed them into the backseat.

  “Why did you take those?”

  “No, you took those. To pay off your gambling debts.”

  “Gambling?” Then she remembered the phone call. The ten thousand dollars. “I don’t gamble.”

  “Of course not. I gambled for you.” Andrea reached into the bag and pulled out some sheets of paper. “These won’t mean much to you, but the police will know what they are.” She tossed those into the backseat, too.

  No.

  Like a caged animal, Naomi felt the rage and panic build up within her. She wouldn’t be taken. She wouldn’t be trapped. “They know you’re not Sarah Daniels. I told the police.”

  “Do you have proof? Concrete proof?” Andrea stared down at her with eyes cold as a snake’s. “What do you have that proves I’m not Sarah Daniels? Sarah has been corresponding with her friends from Glory, California, for years. She sent birthday presents to her widowed mother until she died, and paid the mortgage on her house.”

  The headache was making it hard for Naomi to focus. “You paid another woman’s mortgage?”

  She shrugged. “It wasn’t much. Real estate in Glory is a joke. But it bought me something else.” She smiled. “Credibility.”

  Andrea picked up the tire iron again.

  “Wait. You’ll get blood on it.” A desperate plea.

  “No. I’ve got bleach—”

  Naomi swung out with her legs and swept Andrea’s feet out from under her. The tire iron sailed through the air and landed a couple feet away.

  Naomi needed time. She shot her legs out and landed a solid blow to Andrea’s jaw.
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  “Oomph!”

  Andrea rolled to the side, hands going to her face.

  Naomi kicked off her shoes and tugged the zip tie off her ankles. Even without the fabric of her pants legs, it was a tight fit. She shoved frantically, and the plastic sliced into her skin. The blood made it easier for it to slide off.

  The gravel chomped on her bare feet as she stood. Andrea was reaching for the tire iron.

  Naomi kicked it aside, the metal colliding painfully with her bare foot as the gravel slid away in a cloud.

  Andrea scrambled up and lunged for the tire iron.

  Naomi lunged after her, and landed on top of her. Andrea squirmed and clawed. Naomi landed a blow with her elbow against Andrea’s side. It only made her thrash harder.

  Naomi hoisted her torso up a few inches and wrapped her arms around Andrea’s neck, her wrists still bound.

  She twisted left, trying to hook her right elbow under Andrea’s chin. Andrea dropped her head, keeping her from getting a good grip. They struggled—Andrea tried to curl up, Naomi tried to slide the crook of her elbow under her throat.

  Gravel and dirt burned Naomi’s elbow. Sweat dripped down her arm, making it hard to keep a tight hold of Andrea.

  She bunched up her shoulder muscles and crunched them hard.

  Her elbow slid past Andrea’s chin, right against her esophagus.

  Naomi squeezed for all she was worth.

  Andrea’s lower body bucked against her. Naomi almost lost her grip. She clenched her stomach tight so she could press her choke hold harder.

  Andrea’s arms came up, plucked at Naomi’s hair, shoulders. Then she got a sharp blow into Naomi’s eye.

  Pain exploded. Naomi’s eye watered. She squeezed her eyes shut, ducked her head, and held on.

  Andrea’s movements slowed. Her blows became more feeble.

  She stopped moving as Naomi heard the distant wail of sirens.

  Devon followed the last police vehicle dangerously close with Becca in his passenger seat. Detective Carter had taken Becca’s phone, but she clutched her hands to her chest as if she were still cradling it.

  The cars pulled off to the side of the road in a cloud of dust. Devon yanked on the steering wheel and skidded to a halt. Becca was out of the vehicle before it had stopped.

  They saw Naomi’s car, its right front end hoisted up.

  Beyond it, two women on the ground.

  Detective Carter helped the topmost woman to her feet. Naomi. Devon ran to her.

  She fell into his embrace with a sob.

  He felt her entire body trembling. He held her closer.

  “Devon.” Sweet. The sound was sweet.

  He pulled back slightly, then bent to kiss her, hard.

  She was laughing and crying when he lifted his head. Her hair was tangled around her face, and she had scratches along her cheeks. But she was alive. She was alive.

  “Don’t ever leave me,” she said.

  “I’ll never let you go.”

  TWENTY

  It was now or never.

  “Naomi, grab the Chinese chicken salad and take it out to the patio.” Aunt Becca bustled past her with a tray of sushi, while the buzz of their guests sounded through the open patio doors.

  She’d been trying to talk to her father for days now. While he was profoundly glad that she was all right, he and Monica still hadn’t returned to calmer footing in their relationship, which made him moody.

  Monica wouldn’t say what they’d argued about, but Naomi worried that it was the usual—Monica’s firm desire not to live in Sonoma, not to help with the family’s spa. And her father’s stubborn insistence on family loyalty, family commitment, family support.

  Naomi didn’t want to talk to him.

  But she had to.

  She’d promised Devon she would.

  Dad seemed in a more cheerful mood today, maybe because of the small party they were giving for lunch. This was the first social gathering he’d had since his stroke, and it made him feel less like an invalid to have people around him.

  Detective Carter had been invited. They’d discovered that the detective had tried to put off arresting Naomi for as long as he could, and he had tried to smooth her way through the system.

  Naomi still didn’t think he had “kind eyes,” but Aunt Becca had forgiven him, if her coy behavior was any indication.

  Devon’s family had arrived a few minutes earlier and were waiting on the patio. Her father was still in his bedroom, about to come down. Naomi had convinced Monica to let her help him instead of herself.

  “Take him,” Monica had said, fire still smoldering behind her eyes. “He’s still not talking to me.”

  “Dad?” Naomi entered his bedroom. He sat on his bed, fully dressed.

  “Ready to go down?” Excitement tinged his voice.

  “Before we do, I need to talk to you, Dad.” She stood stiff and straight, her neck stretched out, hoping his disappointment wouldn’t hack her head off.

  His face was neutral.

  “Dad, I’m happy to take over things at the spa while you’re recovering, but once you’re okay, you’ll need to train someone else to eventually inherit the spa.”

  There. She’d said it.

  His eyes grew stormy. “What? Why? You’re the only one I trust to take over.” Underlying his words was his bitter disappointment at Monica’s insistence on having nothing to do with the spa. At least Rachel’s all-consuming dedication to her research kept the spa popular with her exclusive skin care products.

  Naomi felt her jaw quivering. She had to do this. “Dad, I’ve been praying about it.”

  “Praying about what?” he asked impatiently.

  “Taking over the spa isn’t what I want to do.”

  “Taking over the spa is your duty as my daughter.”

  Honor your father and mother. “Dad, I’m managing things now. But you’re getting better every day. You’re still young. You’ll be in charge of the spa for many years.”

  “Naomi.” His voice and his eyes were heavy. “I had a stroke. Life is short.”

  “Which is why I want to make sure I’m spending my life doing what I feel God wants me to do. And it’s not running the spa. I’m sorry.”

  He turned his face away. Naomi couldn’t tell what he was feeling.

  “Dad, you can find someone else and train them.”

  “I wanted one of my daughters to take over.”

  “Do you remember you told me, ‘When has faith ever been about feelings?’ Dad, despite what you want, can’t you trust that God will provide the right person to manage the spa for you?”

  It was a bold thing to say, especially to her father. But despite the trembling running through her stiff frame, she felt a peace that told her she was doing the right thing.

  “This sudden decision is because of Devon Knightley.”

  “No, it’s not.” It was only partly because of him. “It’s because everything that’s happened to me in the past week and a half has forced me to acknowledge that ‘The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save.’ I had to believe in Him despite my fear, and He saved me.”

  Unspoken was what she wanted him to understand—that her dad had to believe in Him despite his fears for the spa and his health, and He would save them all.

  The silence ticked by. She let her father process what she’d been saying. She wished she could see his face, but it was probably for the best.

  Finally, he sighed and turned to look at her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  “Do you love Devon?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Then…I suppose that’s what’s important.”

  A concession.

  But she also knew her father would pray about it.

  “Come on, Dad. Let’s join our guests.”

  Naomi liked Devon’s sister, Rayna. She was more bubbly than her brother, but apparently very fond of him.

  His parents were a different story, although his mother seemed to re
spect her, and his father felt sorry for all that had happened to her.

  Sitting next to him on the Grant family’s back patio, the two of them looked like trauma unit victims—Naomi bandaged up from her fight with Andrea, Devon moving stiffly from his numerous bruises.

  “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” He reached for her hand.

  “I hope this isn’t indicative of the rest of our relationship.”

  “You’re bad luck,” he teased.

  Eventually, the general chitchat turned to what was on everyone’s mind.

  “Detective, did Andrea finally confess? And what’s her real name?” Naomi asked.

  He hesitated before answering. “Her real name is Andrea Mulvany. She was the real Sarah Daniels’s neighbor. Andrea hasn’t confessed, but we’ve pieced things together. Sarah Daniels was working in Glory when she disappeared a few years ago, around the time Andrea left to work in the Bay Area. We think she killed Sarah then, although the Glory police are now looking for her body.”

  Naomi’s throat closed over the sip of green tea she’d just drunk.

  “People thought Sarah was still alive because her friends received e-mails from her a few days after she’d disappeared. Sarah said she’d decided to move to San José to find a better job so she could pay off her mother’s mortgage.”

  Andrea had told Naomi that. She had paid off the mortgage for Sarah’s mother. Had pretended to be a daughter to a woman not even related to her. “What about Andrea’s real family?”

  “She apparently had argued with them about moving, so she severed her ties entirely. They hadn’t heard about her until we spoke to them a few days ago.”

  What a shocker, to find out that their daughter had been living another woman’s life. “So she took Sarah Daniels’s identity? Why?”

  “We’re not sure. Sarah’s family had stable finances, whereas Andrea’s family was very poor. Sarah had a rather normal family life, whereas Andrea’s home life was very turbulent.” The detective shrugged. “Who knows what kind of psychological forces would make a woman kill another and take her identity?”

  “And no one said anything when Sarah just up and left?”