by Diane Capri
Her eyes snapped open. She couldn’t see anything in the inky room. She felt something on her face, across her mouth. She struggled to breathe. Her hands flew to her face. Duct tape.
The silhouette of a man loomed over her, a ski mask over his face. He lunged with his right hand. Jess grabbed his forearm. Something glinted in his hand. He swung his other arm, smashing Jess across the face. She kicked up at his side and twisted the man’s arm.
In the faint glow from the street lights that crept between the curtains, the glinting object became a glass and steel tube. A syringe.
The man shifted more weight to his right. She dug her nails into the man’s arm. The needle hovered inches from her neck.
She brought a knee up between her and the attacker. She snorted air through her nose.
He angled the needle toward her face, the tip was so close she could barely focus on it.
She pressed the air down into her lungs, tensing her muscles, and rammed his hand sideways. The needle scraped across her shoulder and smashed into the chest of drawers, snapping off the syringe.
The man snarled, and threw his weight back and forth, ripping his arm from Jess’s grasp, and bringing his knee down on her chest.
Her lungs burned. She felt two hands around her neck. Tight. She squirmed and bucked. Shifting her weight. Using her legs to angle her sideways across the bed.
The man tightened his grip. Closing around her throat.
She gagged hard. The skin around her mouth strained against the strong tape. She ran her hands up the man’s arms, searching for his face. She couldn’t reach.
She kicked up her legs. Bringing her knees up. Hard and high. Her attacker grunted.
Blood pounded in her ears. Her face throbbed. She pulled on the man’s elbows. A hard jerk. Widening the distance between his arms. Bringing his face closer to hers.
She whipped her hand upward. Fist clenched. Shoving hard. Reaching soft flesh and bone. Under his chin. His neck. Ramming her knuckles into his windpipe. He gagged and twisted his torso, deflecting her blow.
She couldn’t escape his chokehold. She punched again. Barely reaching. He’d pulled back. His face out of her reach. Her head pounded. Vibrating as hard as a jackhammer. Her lungs strained to suck the gallons of oxygen her body was demanding through her nostrils.
She threw her legs to one side. Away from the door. Away from the man. Leverage to escape the confines of her bed and his grip. Her movements were slow. Her arms wavered, fell back down, laid across her chest.
No. She mustn’t stop. She forced her hand upward. Slow. Like moving lead through treacle. Her head rolled forward, desperate to ease the crushing force on her windpipe. She felt the man’s jacket. She pulled. Too weak. She slid her fingers along its edge and felt leather and cold metal. She fumbled and gripped. Her fingers searching. The metal moved. She felt a click.
Light flashed. Intense and white. A roar filled her ears, half percussion and half the hissing of a thousand snakes. A hot blast ripped her grip away. The white faded to black. Not pitch black. Not everywhere. A silhouette. Broad shoulders. Thick arms. A ski mask.
The man jerked sideways. She felt his hands slide from her neck. His body tumbled onto her side. Away from the door. Her arms wouldn’t move. Her legs were numb. She rolled to push him off. Just a small tilt of her body.
His tumble continued. Onto the floor. His head smashed hard into the thin carpet. His arms clattered over the metal edge of the bed. His boots thumped, toes first.
She rolled her head forward, curling her neck around the screaming pain in her windpipe.
She brought her fingers up to her mouth. They grabbed at her chin. She forced them up to her mouth, but they scraped through her hair. She willed them back down, over her eyelids and her nose. Down to the rough tape across her mouth.
Her vision was no more than spots. Her head throbbed, and her heartbeat swooshed in her ears.
She scraped with her nails, catching an edge of the tape. Picking at it with the tips of her fingers. She rolled up a corner. Gripping the sticky backing, she gave it a hard yank.
Pain erupted across her face. Air rushed into her lungs. She choked and coughed. She rolled forward, curling slightly. She drank air in giant lungfuls, gasping and choking and fighting to keep herself from swallowing her tongue.
She pried one eye open, squinting at the painful bright light. She felt something wet on her hands, and an acrid burning smell drifted into her nose.
There was noise. Voices. Or one voice. The buzzing and pounding in her head stopped the voice from getting through. She was rolled onto her side. Her legs were moved, curled up halfway. Her arms were pulled from under her.
A scream rang out. High pitched. Short. The physical impact of shock. There were more noises. Definitely more voices. The ringing in her ears was fading. She panted. People meant protection. Safety in numbers.
A siren wailed in the distance.
The voices grew louder. Beth’s face appeared above Jess. Her lips moved. Jess heard nothing but the ringing and the siren.
Beth lay a cold towel on Jess’s forehead. A couple came into the room and stared. The woman had her hands over her mouth. Beth pushed them out.
The whistling faded as the siren came louder.
Beth looked at the man on the floor.
“He attacked me,” Jess said, though her words were incoherent.
Beth patted Jess’s arm.
“He attacked me,” she said again, her words more intelligible this time.
Beth nodded. Slow. Deliberate. “Well, you killed him. That’s for sure.”
The siren was close. It stopped. Two paramedics hustled into the room. Jess didn’t move. She wanted to tell them what had happened, but her jaw stayed still and locked.
They knelt on either side of her and moved her arms. They shined a bright light in her eyes. She stared at it. She blinked once, which made it better and went back to staring. They took the light away. A black spot drifted in front of her. They attached an oxygen mask to her face and stuck a needle in her arm. She saw a transparent bag hanging on a hook above her.
“I wum-um wag-ah when,” she said. The mask was muffling her voice. She reached for it. One of the medics pulled her hand away, and shook his head.
They slid her onto a stretcher and carried her out of the room. The body lay on the floor, its arms and legs at awkward angles, an irregular pool of blood around its chest.
At the bottom of the stairs, Nelson appeared in her field of view.
“E attaracked me,” she said, “Did a kill ’im?”
Nelson nodded. “Looks like you did.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Randolph, Washington
Friday, September 30
12:00 noon Pacific Time
Jess groaned. She rolled sideways. Soft, crisp cotton brushed against her face. Her throat was dry and sore. A machine bleeped in the distance.
She opened her eyes. She was in a hospital bed. Wires and tubes dangled beside her pillow. She followed them down. They were attached to her. She reached for her neck. Taut plastic and tape pulled at her skin. An IV.
Elisha Harvey’s face appeared at the door. “Take it easy.”
Jess grunted.
Elisha checked a machine by the bed. “You’re going to have a headache.”
Jess grunted again. “I already have a headache.” Her voice rasped. “What happened?”
“I wasn’t there. Captain Nelson will have to fill you in.”
Jess lay back. “And no doubt give me a lecture.”
“Damn right,” Nelson said from the door.
Elisha made her excuses and left the room.
They stared at each other in silence. Nelson whistled. “Your lawyer is outside.”
“Do I need him?” Jess rasped.
“You might. A CSI team from Seattle has been camped in your motel room all night, and I now have more help than I can use.”
She frowned.
“State police. Two p
eople murdered in two states. One person at both scenes. Bound to get their interest.”
Nelson opened the door.
Miller walked in. He smiled. “You’ve been busy. How you feeling?”
Jess lifted her arm with its IV. “Been better.” She pointed at Nelson. “You let him talk to me without you.”
“We’ve had plenty of time to catch up. The short summary is that the crime scene shows you shot the man with his own gun.”
Jess frowned.
“It was still in his holster. An open thing. Quick release. Just a couple of straps. You must have caught the trigger.”
“He was trying to strangle me.”
Miller rubbed his hand over his neck. “As your bruises show.”
“He nearly succeeded.”
Miller took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Why strangle me if he had a gun?”
Miller smiled. “You apparently left a note at the front desk informing them you were checking out first thing.”
“I—”
“We know. You didn’t write it. You didn’t write the text you sent Carter saying you were taking a week off, either.”
She shook her head.
“Car rental company got a call to extend your contract a week, and that you’d be dropping it off in LA.”
Jess lifted her head and opened her mouth.
Miller held up his hand. “Yes. Someone was setting you up. That appears obvious.”
Jess lay her head down. “He had a syringe as well.”
“Like Norah Fender. It’s being analyzed,” Nelson said.
“I broke it.”
Nelson nodded. “Blood tests show you have traces of scopolamine in your blood.”
“A date rape drug.”
“And worse. Looks like it was only scratched across your skin, but the syringe had enough to quell an ox.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, thank you.”
“Figure of speech.”
“More importantly, he was apparently trying to abduct you, and you killed him in self-defense,” Miller said.
“A working theory,” said Nelson.
“Oh, come on—”
Nelson held up his hand. “We are still gathering evidence.”
“Which will only support—”
“I am not jumping to a premature conclusion.”
“There’s—”
“No! There appears enough evidence to not detain Miss Kimball, but I will not judge the investigation until we have completed our inquiries.”
Jess sighed. “More importantly, who attacked me and why?”
“We don’t have answers to either yet.”
“Fingerprints?”
“Haven’t turned up anything yet.”
“A mystery man comes to little old Randolph just to kill me?”
“Abduct you,” Nelson said.
“A fine distinction.”
He shrugged. His phone rang. He checked the display and muted the ringer. “The doctor will probably let you out this afternoon, but you’re not to leave Randolph. Under any circumstances. Understand?”
She nodded.
He looked at Miller. “And I’m expecting you to ensure she doesn’t forget.”
Miller nodded. “Nothing less than life threatening.”
“If it’s life threatening, you come to me.”
“If that is practical.”
Nelson harrumphed. “Don’t push your luck.” He left the room, dialing on his phone.
Miller drew a chair to the side of the bed. “What’s going on, Jess?”
She closed her eyes. “According to the signatures on the hospital records, Peter Whiting could be Crystal Mackie’s son. Crystal Mackie disappeared right after the birth. A nurse was involved in selling the baby. Fourteen years after the boy is sold, the nurse gets killed. Right as we go to interview her.”
“We?”
“Crystal’s mother, Charlene Mackie and I.”
“And she didn’t do it?”
“I was with her all the time.”
“Right.”
“Nelson and I started looking for the father. Crystal’s boyfriend is sterile.”
“Nelson said you think it might be Meisner?”
“Crystal was last seen headed in the direction of his estate.”
“Nelson told me.”
She sighed. “He’s denied any connection with Crystal, but I found his name in an entry log at the Capitol building.”
“North Entry Lower. Mandy told me.”
“We need to talk to Meisner.”
Miller shook his head. “Nelson has. He said she was just visiting. Said he wasn’t going to turn away one of his employees who came to visit.”
“Even on the weekend?”
“Yes. And it’s funny she turned up on a weekend when he happened to be working, don’t you think?”
“It’s as suspicious as hell.”
“Even so, plausible deniability is the hardest thing to fight.”
“The owner of The Montpellier is Meisner’s brother. He practically threw me out. That’s why I ended up in The Plum. A much easier place to attack a sleeping guest.”
Miller nodded. “I wondered why you were in that place.”
“Apparently, The Montpellier was full.”
“I passed by this morning. Didn’t seem busy.”
“I had the feeling it was an excuse.”
“I’ll check. Might be something we could use.”
Jess lifted her head. Her balance swam. She closed one eye and stared at Miller. “When can I get out of here?”
He laughed. “When you don’t need to close one eye to stop the world spinning.”
She lay back. The warmth and the cotton and the softness rose up to meet her.
“Touché,” she murmured.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Three hours later, Jess sat on the edge of her bed. The doctor had checked her reflexes and declared her free of the drug. Elisha removed the IV and the heart monitor’s sticky electrodes. The latter activity was enough to ensure she was truly free from the drug’s sedative effects.
Miller was waiting in the lobby. He gestured to his car, and they walked in silence. She buckled her seatbelt.
“The man you shot was Karl Blackstake,” he said.
“Never heard of him.”
“No surprise. He’s spent a long time keeping his name under the radar. They found him on a twenty-year-old driver’s license in West Virginia. And he has a record. One conviction for auto theft at age nineteen. The car he used when he attacked you was stolen, too.”
“So presumably he was someone’s hired hand.”
Miller hummed. “Indeed. And I just heard that one of Meisner’s security detail identified him.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Appears he did occasional work for the senator.”
Jess twisted around in her seat to look directly at Miller. “They said that?”
“It took a while, but yes.”
“Well? What does Meisner say?”
“Nelson is interviewing him.”
“At the station?”
Miller laughed. “At his mansion.”
Jess sat forward. “But if he worked for him. That’s a heck of a link.”
“Doesn’t mean Meisner knew what he was doing.”
“Whoa—”
“No. It’s a link between them, but it doesn’t mean he was acting under Meisner’s orders.”
She exhaled. “You mean he just decided to hold a grudge against me?”
“It’s what they’d say in court.” He shrugged. “It’s what I’d say.”
“This is insane.”
“No. It’s called a lack of evidence.”
“He set up the attack on me. And if Meisner was having a relationship with Crystal Mackie—”
“But think about it. Even if he was having a relationship with Crystal Mackie, it doesn’t mean he had anything to do with her disappearance.”
“It gives a motive.”
“But Crystal Mackie might still be alive.”
“Since I started linking Peter Whiting to Crystal Mackie and a possible father, people have died. I was almost killed. Someone is trying to stop us from finding something.”
“Exactly. Someone. You don’t have anything other than conjecture.”
“The spouse or lover is always the most likely—”
“‘Most likely’ isn’t evidence Jess.”
Jess sat in silence while Miller drove twenty miles toward Seattle. They stopped at a mall where Jess bought toiletries and new clothes. Three miles farther on, he pulled into the parking lot of a fifteen-story Marriott.
“We have rooms on the top floor,” he said.
“I thought you were in charge of keeping me in Randolph.”
“I told Nelson. He eventually agreed you might be safer out here.”
“You know, Meisner’s achieved what he wanted. He’s driven us off.”
“You don’t have evidence it was Meisner, and you’re lucky to be alive. Leave it to the police. From what I’ve seen of Nelson, he won’t do anything without strong evidence. That’s the definition of good police work.”
She sighed. “Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith.”
“Take a shortcut, you mean.”
“Meisner is laughing at us.”
“He might be doing all sorts of things, but if he’s guilty, he’ll play the plausible deniability card like a grand master. If we don’t have him tied up tight, we don’t have him tied up at all.”
“Even though his man tried to kill me.”
Miller gave a sympathetic smile. “At least he didn’t succeed.”
“If Blackstake was working for Meisner, and he’s gone, I wonder what Meisner’s going to do?”
Miller shrugged. “Surely nothing now the spotlight’s on him.”
“So, it’d be a good time to spook him. Make him do something he wouldn’t normally do. Now. While he’s under pressure.”
Miller shook his head. “Don’t do anything, Jess. Scaring Meisner might make you feel good, but it won’t make Nelson’s job any easier.”
She got out of the car. “I don’t want easy. I want justice.”
