by Adrianne Lee
Lyssa smelled his sour breath, mingled with the murky odor of his perfumed aftershave and her own salty fear. Kevin’s mouth was against her ear. “Why couldn’t you just stay out of my life?”
She had no idea what he was ranting about, couldn’t answer him even if she had. The pressure behind her eyes felt explosive. Her temples throbbed. He swung her around his hip as he might a Frisbee before sailing it through the air, and she realized with cold terror that he meant to hurl her down the steps onto the concrete embankment below.
Adrenalin spurted through Lyssa. With the strength of her will to live, she punched backward, ramming her fist into his groin. He let out a startled yelp and released her. Lyssa, dizzy from lack of oxygen, staggered to the edge of the landing.
A loud outraged roar snapped her gaze into focus. Kevin was charging her like an irate bull, head bent, nostrils flared. She commanded her body to move, but her limbs froze.
Then somehow, miraculously, Craig and Teri were there, running down the stairs, calling to them.
Craig leaped from the upper staircase into Kevin’s path. Kevin hopped to avoid being tackled, but Craig clipped him on the ankle, catapulting him straight at Lyssa.
Teri screamed.
Lyssa ducked.
Kevin, a look of sheer surprise on his face, sailed off the landing, his body cracking against the concrete as he tumbled down the stairs.
“Lyssa!” Craig caught her against him. Teri raced down the steps after Kevin. Then shouted up to them, “He’s alive, but his pulse is reedy. Call an ambulance.”
Craig sat Lyssa down on a step, then rushed for help.
For Lyssa the next hour was a whirl of medical and law enforcement tumult that ended with Kevin being hustled to the hospital--a police officer in tow who would read him his rights and take his statement the moment he regained consciousness--with Teri, Craig and Lyssa settled in a corner at Cutter’s Bayhouse, sipping straight brandy and shaking off the aftershocks of the ordeal.
Craig had suggested taking Lyssa immediately to his condo, but she’d needed the reassurance and anonymity of strangers occupied in ordinary activities. And she'd needed to talk about what had happened with people she who seemed to care about her. “I thought I was a goner. How did you two find me?”
Teri glanced at Craig, obviously still uncertain that this was the best place for Lyssa in the aftermath of what she’d been through. “I was coming down from the main arcade when I spotted you--although at the time I thought it was just someone who looked like you--starting down to the next level. A minute later I ran into Craig. He asked if I’d seen you anywhere, and we decided to investigate.”
“It’s a good thing we did.” Craig reached for Lyssa’s hand, but she subtly drew it out of his reach, as if she couldn’t stand being touched, as if she were suddenly unsure of her feelings for him. Was she? Had Kevin made that much of a difference? Or was she regretting their night of passion?
“I thought I knew Kevin…” Teri shuddered, and Lyssa wondered again how close she and Kevin might have become. Teri swirled her drink absently. “It’s so bizarre…his trying to kill you.”
“I’m just glad the nightmare is over.” Glad the stalker was caught. Lyssa didn’t want to dwell on the attacks; she knew they would haunt her dreams in the nights ahead, but at least she could go about her life without being in constant fear. The brandy was making her sleepy, and eventually, she gave in to Craig’s insistence that the two of them retreat to his condo to await the police officer Bob Archer had contacted. He’d promised to let them know what the search of Kevin’s apartment yielded.
It was a good three hours later before he showed up at the condo. Detective Jackson, a stocky black man in his mid-forties, had with him the photograph missing from Craig’s wallet, Lyssa’s wristwatch and a key, all of which he had been found in the pocket of an overcoat in Kevin’s closet.
The key hadn’t fit anything in Kevin’s apartment, and Jackson wanted to know if it looked familiar to Craig or Lyssa. After comparing it with both their respective sets of keys, they discovered it matched the front door key to Windance.
“I’d say that ties the package neat and tidy then,” Jackson said, pocketing the key and the photograph.
Craig asked, “What do you suppose he wanted with that snapshot?”
“You said you’d never met him before and the way he’s circled your face in red, I’d guess he took it to identify you.”
That sounded plausible enough, Craig decided. “Didn’t you find the faux?”
“Nope. Figure he’s got that stashed someplace for safe keeping.”
Craig nodded. “How is he doing?”
Jackson shook his head. “The hospital’s listed him in critical condition. His worse injury is a broken neck. From my understanding, if he survives the night, he'll likely live, but he might not walk again.”
Craig felt no pity for Kevin. The man had set upon a murderous course and now would pay the piper. He saw the detective out and returned to Lyssa.
She looked dwarfed on his deep-cushioned leather couch, as if all she’d undergone had sucked away a part of her, rendering her smaller and more helpless than before. But she was safe at last, and soon her inner strength would rekindle, burning bright and clear, and she would put all this behind her. His heart thumped. Would she put him behind her too?
The idea rattled him to his toes, forcing Craig to look anew at his feelings for Lyssa. Was it possible to fall in love with someone in ten days? He swallowed a laugh. Whether or not it was possible didn't really matter. He had fallen in love with her.
God only knew where it would lead. Her poor opinion of marriage was born of deep-seated, personal experience. And--after just having it confirmed that her ex-husband had been trying to kill her--it was likely she’d never take the plunge again. Her remembered how she’d flinched when he’d tried to take her hand at the restaurant. Damn Kevin Carlyle! Why had he done it? Craig sank to the couch beside her, but made no move to touch her. Not until she was ready. “Why?”
She didn’t need to ask what he was talking about. She knew. She’d had been sitting there thinking, going over that Monday night again, and suddenly she stiffened. “Oh my God. I remember. I was driving away from Windance--hadn’t gone more than a few yards, when my purse fell over. I glanced down as I righted it, and when I looked up, I realized I was on a collision course with a car parked just beyond the fence. I avoided the crash by inches, but I noticed a man sitting in the car and thought he reminded me of someone.
“A couple miles down the road, I was thinking about something else, and I haven’t thought of it since, until now.”
“It was Kevin in the car?”
“Yes.” She nodded, still frowning. “What was he doing at Windance minutes before Wayne died?”
“Could he have known Wayne?”
“It’s more likely that Wayne told Ginger about the copy I was making and that she told Kevin.”
“He didn’t follow you that night, or visit the house while you were still there?”
“No.”
“Then what happened later to worry him that you could place him at Windance at that particular time?"
She considered a moment. “The faux was stolen.”
Craig nodded. “Maybe Kevin found Wayne dead, then discovered the necklaces.”
“Maybe he knew the necklaces would be there and came with the intention of stealing them, but after he thought I’d seen him, he opted for another plan, fearing I’d point the finger at him.”
“But if Wayne wasn’t involved, how did Kevin expect to--?” Craig felt as if he’d been struck him with a stick. He scowled at the natural progression of his thoughts, at the prickling against the base of his skull. “Do you suppose Kevin murdered Wayne?”
They stared at one another, digesting this. The thought of Wayne being murdered staggered Craig. Angered him. But the more he considered it, the less outlandish it seemed.
At length, Lyssa said, “I wouldn’t have b
elieved such a thing yesterday, but today…Was an autopsy performed?”
“Wayne’s bad heart was common knowledge.” He shoved to his feet and paced the length of the room. “I doubt anything else was even considered.”
Lyssa pulled her knees to her chin. “And now it’s too late to find out for sure.”
“Is it?” He hustled to the telephone and dialed David. When Craig identified himself David’s reception was cool. Craig wasted no time apologizing for his behavior of the day before, and was glad that David seemed placated. He updated him on recent events, and confided his suspicions about Wayne’s death, asking the legalities of what he wanted arranged.
At length, David said, “It isn’t easy to get an exhumation order. You’ll need Stacey to agree to it. Without her consent it will be nearly impossible.”
Stacey was still bristling about Craig’s treatment of her the day before. His apology did not placate her. Indeed, his request seemed to ice the cake. “You have a lot of nerve.”
Craig wondered what he had expected. First, he had all but accused her of attacking Lyssa, and now he wanted to dig up her father’s body. “Please reconsider. I think it’s very likely Kevin Carlyle killed your father…We owe it to Wayne to prove it.”
A shuddered breath rushed down the line and into his ear. “It’s too gruesome. I won’t have Dad disturbed in order to indulge your see-it-for-yourself fixation.”
There was no use persisting tonight. She wasn't about to consider anything he said. But maybe when she'd had time to consider. He rang off and hung up. “She refuses to co-operate.”
“Well, that’s that then.”
“Maybe not.” Craig ran his hands through his hair. “David said it would be nearly impossible, but that’s not impossible.”
The telephone rang.
It was Detective Jackson. “Kevin Carlyle is conscious and asking for Ms. Carlyle.”
Too bad. Craig tamped down the anger that flashed inside him at the thought of Lyssa having to face that maniac again. But it was her decision, not his. He thanked the detective and replaced the receiver, turning gingerly toward her. Her eager expression gave him pause.
“What?” She half rose from the couch. “Has something happened I should know about? Craig…?”
Craig relayed the message. “You don’t have to go.”
Lyssa sank again onto the thick cushions. Her expression shifted from disbelief to disgust to determination; a light bounced in her beautiful eyes, the first he’d seen in hours. She hopped off the sofa. “I want to see him. It’s important that I defuse his power over me.” She gathered her coat and purse. “And, if I’m lucky, maybe I can get the answers we want and Wayne won’t need to be disturbed.”
“Don’t do this on that account.”
“I told you, I’m doing this for me.” Lyssa was surprised at how strong she felt. Just having her stalker identified and stopped had purged most of her fear. Confronting Kevin would rid her of the rest.
Harborview, the county trauma center, was unlike any hospital Lyssa had encountered. The ambulance traffic was copious, sirens grating on her nerves, the heavy beat of rotor blades as an Airlift Northwest helicopter arrived or departed, more jarring still. These noises crept inside and merged with the general commotion of people moving through the halls, the buzz of conversations, and the disembodied voice on the intercom system paging doctors.
There was a sense of life and death, of immediacy, a more earthy environment than the tidy clinic atmosphere of Virginia Mason Hospital where she’d been taken after the hit-and-run accident, or even Saguaro County General where Grandy was.
She was allowed five minutes alone with Kevin. Craig promised to wait right outside the room. His concern was evident in the fierce tilt of his dark brows.
Her heart thundered as she turned her back on the man who’d saved her life and proceeded into the room to face the man
who’d done his best to end it.
Kevin lay helpless, protracted on a circle bed--a contraption that, as near as she could guess, automatically and safely turned the patient, probably to prevent bed sores or other such maladies. What looked to Lyssa like giant tongs protruded from his skull as if his head were a planet surrounded by metal rings. A soft hissing emanated from the oxygen supplied to him through nasal prongs, and a steady beeping issued from a cardiac monitor.
Despite everything, she felt a flicker of pity for him. But not enough to ever forgive what he’d tried doing to her. Only sheer force of will brought her to the head of the bed, gave her the strength to stare at his bruised face, meet his pale icy eyes. “Why, Kevin? What did I ever do to you?”
A derisive laugh died in his throat, the effort obviously paining him. “Why?”
“Yes, why? You owe me an explanation and I want it.”
“Always the smug, superior witch, aren't you?”
Lyssa drew in a breath of pungent antiseptic smells, then sighed. Same old song and dance. Was this worth putting herself through? She turned to leave.
“Stay. Listen.”
She spun around. “Not to this garbage. If that’s all you want, I’m out the door.”
“Not all I want to say.” His eyes looked angry and the monitored beeping increased with every word. “You always ruin things…for me.”
“Me ruining things for you?” Lyssa snapped. “I’ve stayed out of your life.”
“Not true. I know you got your dad…to queer my deal with Savage Cosmetics…‘cause Ginger couldn’t stay out of my bed.” The beeps leaped faster, the rhythm irregularly. “Savage was going to make me a…superstar. The Cindy Crawford of my gender.”
“If you lost the spokesperson contract with Savage Cologne it was your own doing. I never asked Dad to use his influence with Michael Savage one way or the other on your behalf. You got the job on your own and I presume you lost it the same way. I didn’t care what happened to you after–-” She clamped her mouth shut. He knew after what.
Kevin acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “Hah. I figured out how…to pay DeHavilands back. Their precious Purity lost forever.” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. The graphics on the monitor screen danced crazily. Then his cold gaze was on her. “You…ruined. You saw me.”
So, they’d been right. He hadn’t wanted it known he’ been at Craig’s house that night. Her pulse skittered. “What were you doing at Windance?”
“Wayne was backing out of our deal to steal…Purity. He was going to destroy the faux. Wouldn’t listen to reason. Left me no choice. Couldn’t let him ruin this deal. Not him. Not you.” A glazed look came over his eyes, and his voice took on a singsong tone as if he were talking to himself. As if he wasn’t actually aware that Lyssa was there. The beeping sounded less frantic. “But you wouldn’t die as…easy as Wayne.”
A layer of ice spread through her stomach. He had killed Wayne, but how was Craig going to take the rest of the news? Kevin had had a partner alright. Not Ginger, but Wayne. She clenched her hands tighter together. “How did Wayne die? How did you murder him?”
She held her breath, waiting.
Kevin’s eyes were closed again. She realized the monitor had reverted to a steady, regular rhythm, and heard now his even breathing. “Kevin?”
The door swung open and the nurse entered. She went
directly to Kevin and checked his pulse and the monitor. “You’ll have to leave.”
“But I--”
“He’s asleep,” the nurse said. “The medication, you know.”
“Kevin confessed,” she told Craig the moment she joined him in the hallway. “But he fell asleep before I could get him to tell me how he killed Wayne.”
Craig swore. “Did he tell you why?”
How did she soften the blow? She could think of nothing that would make what she had to say any easier for him to hear. Recounting her discussion with Kevin as specifically as memory allowed, Lyssa told him of Wayne’s part in the plan to steal the Purity.
He looked dumbstruck and betrayed. S
he led him to a bench and made him sit. After a moment, Craig said, “I was always fond of Wayne. Always felt a little sorry for him. My grandparents adopted him after being told they couldn’t have children of their own. A year later my father Paul was born. It was obvious, even to me, that Granddad, Channing Rival, didn’t love Wayne the way he loved Dad. He treated him as though he were a disappointment at every turn. The harder Wayne tried, the bigger he failed.”
Lyssa nodded and took his hand.
Craig was quiet a moment, staring at the traffic in the busy hospital hall. “Worse still, Dad learned his father’s prejudice for Wayne and came to think of him as inferior. A screw-up. How that must have hurt Wayne.” He leaned his head against the wall. “I remember once seeing a look of pure hatred in his eyes after Dad dressed him down in front of Stacey and me for selling a pendant to a long time customer for a hundred dollars less than the sticker price. It was absurd. Dad would have done the same for this particular customer.”
Pity for Wayne wound around Lyssa’s heart. She didn’t approve of what he’d done, but she could understand the years of frustration and impotency that had probably led him to the point of wanting to strike back at the Rivals.
“Why didn’t Dad see what damage he was doing to his brother’s spirit? Didn’t he care?” Craig asked so quietly she had to lean closer to hear.
He turned toward her, his dark eyes almost black with emotion. “It was shortly after that incident that Stacey started dying her hair, adopting her outrageous fashion style. Obviously to protest her father’s treatment in the only way she knew how, by embarrassing the other Rivals. It didn’t endear her to anyone. In fact, both Granddad and Dad thought less of Wayne for being unable to control his daughter.”
“Poor Wayne.”
“Yes, poor Wayne. I loved my dad. He was always so good to me. So was granddad.” But Craig was ashamed of them both for their treatment of Wayne, ashamed of himself for not righting the wrong before he’d left for Europe. “He probably saw his life slipping away, nothing to show for all his years of loyal service to a family that neither loved nor appreciated him. He was going to hurt me in the only way he could, by stealing the Purity.”
