Shroud of Fog: (A Cape Trouble Romantic Suspense Novel)
Page 22
But she still knew every curve and slope and hillock she and her mother had explored.
Her back to the broad trunk of a fir tree, she struggled to control her breathing. Maybe she should be trying to circle behind Benjamin, go toward the highway. At least she could hope for traffic. She could throw herself onto the road in front of the first passing vehicle.
Daniel might come to the resort.
Why would he? she asked herself in despair. He might have his suspicions about Benjamin, but he suspected others, too. What if he’d driven up to Elias’s mountain home?
“Please, Daniel,” she mumbled. “Please.”
She pushed off from the tree and kept going. Pain lanced up her leg with each step. I hurt it when I fell in that hole, she realized in despair.
It didn’t matter. She hobbled on.
“Sophie-ee,” the monster behind her called.
*****
Once Daniel determined that no one was in the SUV, he moved forward into the fog, his eyes trained on the ground. A city boy, he’d never done any tracking, but the mist made the forest floor soft enough he saw occasional deep imprints. There – fern fronds were broken off.
Daniel’s advance was slower than he would have liked, but he was unpleasantly aware that Billington could be two steps away from him and he wouldn’t see him. Damn this fog. He tried to move silently. The dark boles of trees materialized in the gray, then disappeared. The understory – salal and ferns – glistened with droplets of moisture drawn from the ubiquitous fog.
And then he heard, “Sophie-ee,” in a sing-song voice. “Where are you?”
Even as he felt a jolt of fresh adrenaline, he stopped in confusion. Shit. Had he passed them? It was all too possible. Were they behind him now? Off to the left? Not to the right – he thought.
For the first time he understood what she’d meant about how fog distorted sound. It didn’t just muffle the voice. Instead, he felt like he was in an echo chamber. Another, softly called “Sophie-ee” bounced around him like a ball in a ping-pong machine.
Ahead, he gambled. Blinking dampness from his eyes, he eased one foot forward, then the other, his weapon gripped two-handed as he searched the murk for any shape that moved.
“Sophie-ee! Where are you-uu?”
If anything, the voice sounded farther away. Where was Sophie? Hiding? Or running?
*****
The pain sharper with every step, Sophie pushed beneath the low-growing boughs of a cedar. Would she be completely hidden here? If only she hadn’t worn a bright pink shirt today! She’d tear it off, except her skin was so pale she was afraid she wouldn’t be any less visible.
She didn’t dare push back out the way she’d come. Instead, she dropped to her hands and knees to crawl, and then to her belly to wriggle. The low hanging limbs of the cedar scratched and clawed at her.
The sudden crunch of a footstep breaking a small branch came from frightening close behind her. She emerged from the spreading cedar tree and ran, lurching, her breath whistling.
And then, oh God, she was out of the trees. There was the lodge, rearing out of the fog but well off to her right. She might not have seen it at all, but for the lighted square of a window.
Could she make it there? Was his wife home? Would she – or could she - protect Sophie?
Does he even have a wife? Has anyone actually seen her?
A shout of triumph behind told her he’d spotted her.
She pelted toward the shore and the cover of grassy dunes. With each footstep she thought, Stupid, stupid, stupid. Should have stayed in the trees.
Too late.
The roar of the ocean was so close now. Over it, she barely heard the thud of running footsteps behind her. Rough grass had given way to thin, sandy soil.
The sagging remnants of a split rail fence appeared too late for her to avoid falling over it. Hurt. She crawled forward and felt her hands sink into the cool, gritty depth of real sand. Pushing herself to her feet, she staggered on, following a natural valley between the rise of dunes.
Maybe she should climb… Too slow. He’d be on her before she could reach the top.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a narrow vee to her left. She swerved and took it. She didn’t know this part of the dunes. She and her mother had rarely had occasion to come this far from the cabin and the river.
Benjamin might not know these dunes any better. Dimly she wondered whether they were even on resort ground anymore, and then she had a useless memory. In Oregon, the shoreline was all publically owned. The forest had been his, but the dunes weren’t. The realization fired something in her, and she broke into a sort of trot even though the loose sand sucked at her feet with every step, and, oh, she hurt.
*****
Daniel hadn’t know he was close to emerging from the treeline until he suddenly burst into the open. He’d swear the fog had thinned. Sometimes it did that, the dense wall rolling in off the ocean and settling in to stay amongst the trees as if trapped there. He flinched from a flash of remembrance – Sophie saying how thick the fog was that long ago morning, except she could see intermittent openings toward the water.
Where would she go? Toward the ocean or back into the woods?
A glint of headlights reflected oddly toward the lodge. He realized he’d heard the engine without taking conscious note. Now there was a flash of red, blue, white. Oh, damn. Should have told them not to use lights or sirens. If Billington saw that they were closing in, he might decide he had to kill her now and make his escape. He could still be deluding himself that he could drive away and an hour from now pretend to be returning from Portland.
Trotting across the open ground, Daniel thought for a moment the flash of movement he saw was an illusion. But the fog parted enough to allow him another glimpse, of the dark shape of a man.
He broke into a full run. He knew this ground. He’d broken up parties here. Nothing but a killer was between him and the dunes. In his fear, what couldn’t have been more than a minute seemed to take five. The mostly collapsed fence emerged from the fog.
He’d have vaulted it right away, but a dune rose precipitately just over the rotting split rails. He took a chance and turned left, away from the lodge, looking for any opening into the dunes.
The hunt had now become silent. Billington was no longer calling her name. That mean Billington now knew he was being hunted.
*****
It was a maze here, between the wind- and water-shaped dunes. Sophie didn’t let herself slow down. Instinct drove her. Left here. Right there. Climb a little. Slide down the other side.
Patches of tough, coarse beach grass clung to the sides and tops of the hillocks. She knew the shrubby beach knotweed. Other, smaller plants. She and her mother had taken pleasure in identifying them. Sea watch and sea blush, so pretty when shyly in bloom.
Nothing big enough to hide her.
Should have stayed in the trees.
Too late.
Exhaustion was tugging at her every step, slowing her further. Was he right behind her? Would she even hear him before a hand closed on her? Even her terror had become dulled, until it spiked at a sudden glimpse ahead of the surf.
If the fog abandoned her…
Maybe…maybe she should try to burrow into the sand. Mommy had let Sophie bury her sometimes, until only her laughing face was visible. Sometimes Sophie let Mommy bury her, except she always got scared before much more than her legs was covered. Now, though…
So long as I can breathe.
But what if he was close? So close, he’d be on her if she stopped?
But I can’t go on, she knew in despair. He’d find her eventually. She should have turned back toward the road. There was no one at all out here except her and her deadly pursuer. No possible rescue.
The dip between dunes forked again, and she chose the way that led inland. Mustn’t let herself be driven out onto the beach, where she would be completely exposed.
Another dodge, almost back the way sh
e’d come, and she saw a steep slope of sand no vegetation had managed to take root in. She scrunched down as small as she could make herself and pulled frantically at the rise above her, causing a sliding avalanche of cold sand.
More, more. Bury me.
On an icy chill of horror, she thought, Oh, dear God – was this where the bodies of all those other women were?
*****
Daniel moved as if he was clearing a warehouse piled with shipping crates. The enemy could be behind any one of them. He held the Glock in firing position. A part of him was cold and purposeful. He wanted to kill this scum. He almost hoped he had to. It would be like eradicating smallpox. Nothing to mourn.
The fog had altered subtly, until it was no longer evenly dense. Now it thinned into moving wisps and then deepened abruptly, unpredictably.
The constant choices of which way to go were making him crazy. Sometimes he thought he saw footprints, sometimes not. Sophie could be anywhere in this strange labyrinth, so beautiful on a sunny day, so threatening in the fog, with dusk nearing and a killer stalking her. Daniel stopped every few feet to spin in place, searching his limited sightline.
He was about to make another choice – left? straight ahead? – when movement in his peripheral vision brought his head around.
Gotcha, he thought with grim satisfaction, and stepped silently forward.
*****
The sand was still slithering downward, but too much of her remained exposed. She felt betrayed. All these years, she had hated fog with a passion, and now that she needed it desperately, it was abandoning her.
If he came this way, he would see her.
And then she heard a rasp of breath.
Sophie went utterly still.
Oh God oh God, there he was. If he turned his head, he would see her. He took a step, another, looking all around him.
Make me invisible.
As if she’d made a sound – I didn’t, I didn’t! – he swung toward her. A furious dark gaze pinned her.
Run, run, Sophie, he’d said. There’s nothing better than a good chase. But he didn’t look like he’d enjoyed this one.
With a guttural sound low in his throat, he leaped forward.
Sophie struggled to free herself, and when his hands closed on her, she screamed.
*****
Oh, Christ.
The sound of her scream ripped Daniel open.
He gave up on silence and ran again. The soft sand underfoot had become a curse. It felt like a bad dream, the kind where you tried to run full-out but had the sensation of molasses sucking at your feet.
Quicksand.
And then he was on them.
Billington had clasped a hand over Sophie’s mouth. The other arm was locked around her throat. Still, she fought wildly, small desperate sounds escaping. She was kicking backwards, and he gave a grunt of pain.
“Let her go!” Daniel yelled. “It’s all over.”
Her captor wrenched her around so that her body shielded him. Above his hand, Sophie’s wild eyes found Daniel’s and never looked away.
“The hell it is!” Billington snarled. “Back off. I’ll break her neck.” The muscles in his arms knotted as he tightened them.
“Hurt her and you’re dead.”
“She’s dead if you don’t turn around right this minute and go back the way you came.”
There wasn’t much room to maneuver here in the narrow cut between knobby dunes. Every time he took a step, Billington did, too. Daniel didn’t have a shot. Billington had wrenched Sophie up on tiptoe to make her a better shield. His shoulders were broader than hers, and glimpses of his head came – but head shots were chancy. And if he moved at the wrong moment..if she moved…
She was still watching Daniel with something like trust. He met her gaze, tried to convey reassurance, and something more.
“Back away! Do it now!” Billington’s voice was rising in panic. He had to be sweating. Maybe his hand was slippery. He was trying to drag Sophie backward, even though he risked losing some of the cover she provided.
She didn’t struggle, but she didn’t cooperate, either. She had let herself become a dead weight.
“Bitch!” he screamed.
Daniel heard a wretching noise as that forearm tightened inexorably. He didn’t let himself get distracted. Following, step for step, never letting his weapon waver, he kept his eyes on Billington Wait. Wait.
Suddenly there was a flurry of movement and a roar came from the bastard, who dropped his hand from her mouth. Daniel saw blood. He also saw that Billington was reaching behind himself. Weapon, he thought, with cold certainty. The next moment, Sophie shoved an elbow backwards. The roar became a bellowed invective, and Sophie collapsed to the sand.
Daniel lunged right over her, his shoulder slamming into Billington’s mid-section. He went down, Daniel on top of him.
“My arm’s broken! My arm’s fucking broken!”
Even so his body heaved and a fist connected with the side of Daniel’s head. He saw his moment and jammed the barrel of the Glock into the bullish neck. He growled, “So much as twitch, and you’re dead.”
Billington went utterly still, his face frozen in a rictus of pain and fury.
“Roll over. That’s it. Very carefully.”
The scum obeyed, his eyes burning with hate. And there it was, a handgun shoved in his waistband. Daniel yanked it out and tossed it aside.
And then, ignoring the screams of pain, he wrenched the other man’s wrists behind him and cuffed him.
Rising above him, he groped for his phone and called for backup even as he turned his head in search of Sophie. She had stayed where she’d fallen, but managed to sit up. Her hair was tangled around her face. One cheek was misshapen and discolored, that side of her mouth swollen grotesquely. She looked dazed, disbelieving.
He said her name, hard and rough, and saw her try to smile.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Honey, let’s not try to get that T-shirt over your head,” the nurse advised. Middle-aged, kind and sensible, she had become Sophie’s best friend this past couple of hours at the E.R. “It’ll be easier to wear the hospital gown home. We’ll let you borrow one of our oh-so-beautiful blankets, too, to keep you warm until…”
Daniel’s voice, loud and peremptory, penetrated even through the closed sliding door and the curtain that maintained Sophie’s privacy. “Where is she?” He sounded as if his patience had reached the snapping point.
The nurse’s eyebrows rose. “Would that be your ride?” she said in amusement, just as the door was thrust open and the curtain aside. Daniel filled the tiny room.
“That would be him,” Sophie got out, before the nurse stepped back to let him take her place.
As if no one else was there, his gaze swept her, from her heavily wrapped leg to the now-drippy ice pack she kept pressed to her cheek and mouth. His survey paused on every visible scratch, and his jaw got tighter and tighter until she’d have sworn she could hear teeth grinding.
“He hurt you.”
“Except for the face,” she eased the ice away, “I did most of the damage myself.”
He swore, then stepped even closer so that he could thread his fingers into her hair to cradle her head. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” he said in a low rumble. “Booking him took a goddamn eternity.”
The sound of the glass door sliding closed made Sophie realize they were alone now.
Her eyes closed for a moment. On an exquisite sense of relief, she tilted her head to rest against his big hand. “I do know. You warned me. It’s okay. The doctor just barely finished with me.”
“Your leg broken?”
“No, just sprained. Although I’m going to have to use crutches for a few weeks.” She hesitated, lifting her head so she could see him. She knew how he’d react. “My cheekbone has a hairline fracture. It may be awhile before the swelling goes down.”
He growled something better left unheard but his embrace stayed gentle.
“County jail. It’s in North Fork. One of the detectives transported him for me.”
“He told me he killed my mother.”
“Yeah.” Daniel cleared his throat. “You said that. We have additional confirmation now. The detective – Seth Holbeck – called to say they got a pretty decent partial fingerprint off the back of the heart pendant your mother wore. No match in any database he ran, but once we printed Billington, we all took a look. I’m no fingerprint expert, but it was like two cherries lining up. We could all see it.”
“He could claim he found the necklace later.”
“Wouldn’t do him any good, not when he had all the other jewelry, too. We’ve already matched a couple of pieces up to victims. How would he have explained those?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter anyway. He’s a serial sexual predator and killer. Maybe his first thought was to recover the jewelry to protect himself, but I’m betting the minute he saw you, he targeted you as his next victim.”
“He hasn’t admitted anything?”
Daniel grunted. “Not yet. Won’t surprise me if he does later. He’ll want to brag, or think he’s going to cut a deal.”
She shuddered. “A deal? If it’s true there were all those other women, too?”
“Oh, he’s never going to walk out of prison even if he doesn’t get the death penalty.”
Sophie finally voiced a thought that had stuck with her like a burr since she understood the implications of the collection of jewelry in the shoebox. “Do you think he kept killing women? I mean, other places he’s lived?”
“I doubt he was capable of stopping,” Daniel said, his voice harsh with the hideous knowledge. “I alerted the FBI. Agents are on their way to interview him, and they’ll be searching his house in Beaverton. I’m going to bet they find mementoes there, too.”