Double Take ft-11

by Catherine Coulter

  After he’d left Charlotte, he’d stood by his rental car a moment and felt cold to his soul. He knew something wasn’t right about Charlotte. He knew too that something really bad was out there that concerned Christie, waiting for him to find it.

  Savich and Sherlock, with Sean and his nanny Graciella, had arrived a little after six o’clock, welcomed by all, especially Sherlock’s parents. Isabel called out over their heads that she’d made her baby’s favorite sausage enchiladas.

  Sean had yelled “Yes!” until told by his mother that she was Isabel’s baby, not him. Sean had looked puzzled a good long time about that.

  Of course, there’d been more discussions, more plans made over a big pot of coffee—until all of them, in their pajamas and their jet lag—were shooed off to bed by Mrs. Sherlock.

  And now, as Dix lay in the sinful big bed, Ruth’s head on his shoulder, he thought of the endless string of lies he’d told the boys, and felt the knife of guilt twist in his gut. And if that wasn’t enough, he realized he hadn’t told Ruth he loved her. What a moron he was. What was a marriage proposal without at least some mention of love? He was an idiot. He’d tell her first thing in the morning when she awoke, warm and soft with sleep.

  His last thought before he fell asleep, his face against Ruth’s hair, was about Christie. I’m going to find out what happened to you, Christie. I’m going to find you justice. And then I’m going to let Ruth share my heart with you.

  CHAPTER 36

  Cheney stood at the front window of his condo, leaning to his left so he could manage a glimpse of his partial view of the Golden Gate. Julia was asleep on his sofa, sprawled on her back. He was glad she’d wanted to come home with him, away from the media, the crime scene tape, the neighbors, and maybe another visit from Makepeace. Suddenly she said clearly, in an anguished voice, “Linc, oh Jesus, no! Linc!”

  She began to sob, deep wrenching sobs, and she wept, saying over and over, “Linc, oh no, please Linc. Don’t leave me. No!”

  He gathered her up, rocked her. “Julia, wake up. You’re okay, it was a nightmare. Come on, wake up.”

  She did immediately, staring up at him in the dim moonlight coming through the front window.

  “You had a nightmare. You’re okay now.”

  It took her a moment to gain control. “Thank you, Cheney. I guess with all the stress, those nightmares are slipping right in.”

  He wondered how often she dreamed of Linc, but now wasn’t the time to ask. “You want some warm milk or something?”

  She managed a grin. “No, I want to go back to sleep. Why aren’t you in bed?”

  “I’m too hyped up, I guess. I’ll go sack out soon now.”

  “You’re afraid he’ll come here, aren’t you?”

  “My address wouldn’t be all that hard to find out. Thanks to Captain Paulette, there’s a squad car down the block keeping an eye on the place. It wouldn’t be Xavier’s best move to try it. Actually, it’d be nuts.”

  “He is nuts.” She shivered. Without thought, he pulled her close again, felt her hair against his face.

  She said against his neck, “Can you believe Kathryn wondered if we were lovers? I haven’t even known you a week.”

  He was silent, thinking she didn’t sound at all angry or alarmed, perhaps only surprised, maybe even curious. She was wearing one of his white undershirts, and it was falling off her shoulder.

  Julia said, “You didn’t believe anything she said, did you?” He was aware that she smelled of something soft and flowery. “Fact is, she could have heard or deduced most of it and guessed the rest. Pretty commonsense stuff, all dressed up with purple prose—that’s what I thought when she said it. ‘His core was black, his pride was purple’—and the bit about his aching feet, come on, give me a break.”

  “When you say it, away from her drama and atmosphere, it does sound like some ridiculous tale a good storyteller could spin.” Cheney said, “She’s some showman. I suppose that’s her greatest skill.”

  “But she did say she thought he had an author’s name.” He frowned. “Yes, she did say that.” She yawned. “You’re still dressed.”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned down and pulled her blanket over her. “Go back to sleep, Julia.”

  Sean Savich’s eyes popped open. Something didn’t smell right. That was it, he wasn’t in his own bed or in his own room. He was someplace else, someplace scary. He knew a monster was hiding in the closet. The monster could see his bed, could see him. He was sure the door was slowly pushing open and he nearly stopped breathing. Even though Graciella had showed him there were only clothes and shoes in the closet, he knew she didn’t understand, didn’t know what he knew. This wasn’t his closet, so he knew Graciella couldn’t see the monster; it hid itself until she closed the door. And then it waited a long time before it slowly oozed out from its hiding place in the closet wall and tasted his clothes, getting his scent. The monster was coming out of the closet now, and it was bad.

  Even though Graciella was sleeping in a twin bed not ten feet away from him, it wasn’t enough. No way could she save him in this strange place. Sean’s heart pounded. He watched the closet door as he slithered out of the narrow twin bed, slipped through the bedroom door, and ran as fast as he could down the hallway. It was strange, he didn’t know where to run since he didn’t know where he was. A huge black shadow barred his way. He sobbed and closed his eyes as he ran through the shadow. He was heaving when he eased inside the first closed door. He saw two people sleeping in a big bed. He raced to the bed and climbed up to burrow between them. Something wasn’t quite right, but he didn’t care because they were big and he was too afraid of what was lurking in the hall. He was safe now. Sean pressed closer. They wouldn’t let anything hurt him. Everything was all right.

  At seven o’clock in the morning, Dix was jerked awake by the sudden jab of an elbow in his neck.

  “He’s still asleep,” Ruth whispered.

  Dix slowly lowered the little boy’s arm and turned slowly to his side to face Ruth. Sean was between them.

  Dix whispered, “Nightmare, I guess. Did he wake you up when he came in?”

  At that moment, they heard Sean’s name shouted from outside the door. It was Sherlock, and she sounded scared to her toes.

  Ruth slipped out of bed, pulled on the robe she’d tossed over the end of the bed, and opened the door. “Sherlock, it’s okay. Sean came to sleep with us in the middle of the night. He’s okay.”

  Sherlock rushed into the bedroom, as if she couldn’t believe what Ruth had told her was the truth, and skidded to a stop. She shook her head, relief pouring off her. “Oh, Sean.” Graciella came running into the room on her heels, her face pale as the moon.

  Sherlock saw her little boy in Dix’s arms, dead to the world, and sucked in a deep breath. “All right, then. It’s okay.” She turned to give her husband a blazing smile.”Dillon, we’re in here.”

  Dix said, “Nightmare, strange house, and we’re the first bedroom next to Sean’s. He landed here. There was no problem.”

  Sean yawned, raised his head, looked at Dix and smiled. “Hi, Uncle Dix,” he said. “Where’s my mom?” And he turned to look at the other side of the bed, stretched out his small hand, and frowned. “Where’s Mama?”

  “Well, that’s a fine thing for him to think, isn’t it?” Sherlock said.

  Savich laughed. “Hey, Champ, you ready for some Cheerios?”

  Dix got another elbow in the neck when Sean dashed out of bed to get scooped up by his father. He saw Savich whisper against Sean’s cheek, “Hey, you’re at your grandparents’ house, in San Francisco. Do you remember that?”

  Sean reared back in his father’s arms, studied his face a moment, and said, “Cool. I can play with Grandpa and Grandma.” Dix said, “I remember when Rob would wake up with a nightmare and come running. Rafe usually came running in right behind him, didn’t want to be left out. That kid could make up scarier tales than Rob, who’d actually had the nightmare.�
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  Ruth said as she punched him lightly on his bare shoulder, “The boys are in good hands, Dix, stop worrying about them. Mrs. Goss and Chappy will spoil them rotten. Tony and Cynthia will take them to NASCAR, and all of them will be in Rob’s cheering section at the ball game tomorrow. And by the time we get back to Maestro, Brewster will rule at Tara.”

  Dix realized he still hadn’t told Ruth he loved her.

  CHAPTER 37

  SAN FRANCISCO

  Tuesday morning

  The reason Cheney kept checking his rearview mirror was because of Kathryn Golden’s phone call at six-thirty that morning. “I had another vision, Agent Stone. It was him, the man who wants to kill Julia. He’s been to Pacific Heights, he managed to break into Julia’s house, I saw him, and then he came out again because she wasn’t there, and he was angry. He knows about you, Agent Stone, I think he’s found out where you live. He doesn’t know if Julia’s there, but he’s coming. He’s in a car, driving. He looks calm, but he isn’t, not really—it’s like a layer of snow covering up a fire. He’s coming. Please be careful.”

  And he’d thanked her, hung up, and sneered. Another safe guess on her part. The only thing that had surprised him about her “vision” yesterday was her guess about the assassin’s name. Maybe she knew someone in the SFPD and that person had leaked it to her. Yeah, that was possible, even Julia had mentioned that. And now she’d called him to tell him something else equally obvious. It wasn’t such a stretch to realize he was keeping Julia safe at his place. Of course Makepeace was out there. But on the road? Could be. He sneered again.

  But as he negotiated the heavy morning city traffic, he kept chewing on it, and checked his rearview mirror more often than he would have if Kathryn Golden hadn’t called with her damned vision.

  Julia sat quietly beside him, a lot calmer than he was, even though he’d told her about Kathryn Golden’s call. She’d said only, “It can’t hurt to listen.”

  Now he worried that Makepeace had come around and seen the cops guarding his condo and decided to wait for them to leave. Maybe he was now following them. He thought about calling Frank Paulette, asking for backup. But what would he tell him? A whacked-out psychic had a vision?

  He looked back again. The San Francisco morning rush-hour traffic was thick, but he didn’t see anyone acting suspicious, no one moving up through the tangle of cars to get closer. Maybe he was hanging back, biding his time.

  Cheney was freaking himself out. He had to calm down. He wasn’t about to scare Julia any more than she had to be. He looked over at her. She was still quiet, starting at nothing in particular that he could see. What was she thinking?

  He checked the rearview mirror again.

  Julia said, “Do you see him?”

  “No, I don’t. The chances are he’s nowhere close.”

  “If Kathryn’s right and he’s already been to my house, maybe it would be safe to go home for at least a shower and some clothes. Maybe we call Soldan Meissen after that?”

  She still sounded more calm than he felt. He said, “First I’d like to introduce you to some FBI friends of mine who just got into town last night—”

  He had subconsciously registered a white Dodge Charger and now his brain zeroed in on it. The Charger was moving up, not going all that fast, not all that obvious. But the Charger was passing a black Ford SUV, weaving easily back and forth in the lanes on Geary, efficient and smooth, as if out for an easy drive. Cheney couldn’t see the driver, couldn’t even tell how many people were in the car, but he knew it was Makepeace, felt it in his gut. So you’re coming for us, are you? You want to get this show on the road? Fine by me, you crazy mother.

  The Charger was only four cars back now.

  Cheney turned to her. “Julia, I want you to hold on, okay?”

  “What? Oh, he’s here? Kathryn was right?”

  “Whatever. Yes, I think Xavier is behind us, coming up now. He must really be pissed to come after you in full daylight, in damned rush hour, in the middle of San Francisco. I want to get out of all this traffic. If he starts firing we have to be able to move out fast. I’d just as soon avoid any civilians getting hurt too.”

  She looked back. “The white Dodge Charger?”

  “Yep.”

  “He’s three cars back. Where are we going?”

  “Hold on,” he said again, whipped the Audi around a station wagon, and floored the gas. She was thrown back, felt her seat belt tighten against her chest. Oddly, she wasn’t scared, not particularly, more excited really, and wasn’t that screwed up? She grabbed the chicken strap, jerked around to look back—

  A bullet exploded the back window, spewing spears of glass everywhere, embedding itself in the back of Julia’s seat.

  “Get down, all the way! Keep your head covered,” Cheney yelled.

  Julia popped her seat belt and squeezed down as far as she could into the small space in front of the passenger seat.

  Cheney tossed her his cell. “Punch four—it’s Captain Paulette’s personal number.”

  Another bullet came through the jagged-edged mess of glass and slammed again into the back of the passenger seat. With no glass window to slow it down, the bullet tore through and drilled into the Audi’s glove compartment, not an inch above Julia’s bowed head. He nearly stroked out. “Try to scrunch down more! Lower!”

  Cheney looked in the rearview and finally saw Makepeace, in his sunglasses. It would take some time before they heard any cop sirens, before the sound of approaching cops might force Makepeace to peel away. What could he do in the meantime? The truth was, he really didn’t want Makepeace to peel away. He wanted to bring him down, but first he had to protect Julia, he had— He said aloud, “The thing is, Julia, I know San Francisco very well and Xavier Makepeace doesn’t.”

  He pressed down on the gas again and soon the Audi’s speedometer passed seventy miles an hour in the middle of San Francisco. The hit of it all was more powerful than a Turkish double espresso.

  And then he knew exactly what he was going to do.

  “Julia, tell Captain Paulette we’re heading west to Ocean Beach, just south of Cliff House.”

  The chances were good no one would be on the beach this early in the morning. It was cold and windy and the air was thick with mist. It would be foggy out near the ocean. And that meant a long stretch of empty beach.

  Julia said, “Captain Paulette, this is Julia Ransom. I’m with Cheney and we’re in a bit of trouble here—” and he listened to her tell Frank exactly where they were, and where Cheney was headed.

  He saw her punch off the cell and lay it calmly on the floor next to him. He gave her a quick smile. “Hang in there, this might get a bit hairy, okay? Keep down.”

  She heard another bullet strike metal, then the sound of a distant siren.

  Cheney cursed but didn’t slow.

  Julia said, “The cops can’t ignore two maniacs speeding through the city. If there are enough of them, they might box him in.”

  Dream on, he thought, but said, “Might happen, but it’s not what I want. Now, we’ve got to make it to the beach. I’ll try to keep this guy off us, Julia.”

  Cheney jerked to the left across Geary onto 29th Avenue amid blaring horns, ripe curses, and the sound of screeching tires. He dodged and swerved, cannoning his way through the Richmond District, with its narrow streets, funneled by cars parked bumper to bumper along the curb on both sides. He looked back, grinned at the white Charger speeding after him. “Oh yeah, nearly there now, nearly there, stay with me,” his mantra now, she thought, and when she heard him say it again, she laughed.

  “Hang in, Julia.”

  “No problem. Can I come up now?”

  Cheney looked back to see the Charger cut off by a screaming Chevy driver, then saw Makepeace back up and swerve around the parked cars on 29th. He’d gained most of a block on him. “No, stay down. He’s still there. That’s right, you putz, don’t give up on us yet. Come on, come to papa.”

  There we
re more sirens now, and they were closer.

  Makepeace fired twice. One bullet tore off the passenger-side mirror, sending it crashing against the side of a parked car; the other grazed the rear bumper of a Miata backing out of a driveway.

  Cheney flew across Fulton and into Golden Gate Park, saw a huge Lexus nearly on him. He slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the right at the same time. He thought he felt the heat of that big monster as it roared past, massive enough to smash his Audi and kill both of them. He caught a glimpse of a woman’s white face, the terror in her eyes, before he took an insane fast left turn on John F. Kennedy Drive, nearly shearing off the front fender of a parked station wagon.

  There weren’t many cars in the park, thank God, but he had to slow some for a dozen or so bicyclists and a long tail of runners. He laid on the horn, giving them time to scatter, which they did. They jetted past the bison paddock, and took a fast right. It was a straight shot now. Julia eased up into her seat. She saw the Queen Wilhelmina Tulip Garden and the Dutch Windmill on her right, saw the looming red light, and managed to hold back a scream as Cheney drove straight through the light onto the Great Highway.

  CHAPTER 38

  Horns blared, brakes screeched, and rubber burned as he swerved and dodged the two-way traffic.

  Cheney yelled, “Did I ever tell you I learned to drive in a four-by-four on the beach?”

  He was smiling as he ripped across the Great Highway onto the long concrete parking lot, thankfully empty of cars and people, just as he’d hoped. The parking lot ran along the storm wall that rose above the beach a good six feet. Julia saw the storm wall looming diagonally up in front of them. She didn’t consider the narrow openings for beach steps until—her heart nearly stopped when they went airborne.

  “I won’t kill us! Hang on!” Incredibly, he was laughing with something like joy as they flew, and, truth be told, she felt a tickle of joyous terror in the air herself.

  The Audi landed hard on sand, still damp from high tide, slamming them against their seat belts, snapping their jaws together. Cheney whipped the Audi hard left, and the car flew forward along the beach wall. “I used to race dune buggies on the beaches in South Carolina, mainly Hilton Head. Come on, you maniac, come on, you can get me. Hot damn, he just went flying through.” He hit the steering wheel with his fist and yelled, “Gotcha!”