Victoria's Destiny

by L. J. Garland

  “And I’m off to Grandmother’s house. Glad you’re doing well, Ms. Spiere.” The large man turned to his partner, brought two fingers to the corner of his eyebrow in a crisp salute. “Take it easy, River.”

  An intimacy came to the room once the others had departed. The man she loved faced her, took her hand. “Where would you like to eat?”

  “Anywhere sounds good to me.” Sitting up, she lowered her bare legs over the edge of the bed. “Just get me my clothes so we can get out of here.”

  * * *

  “Slow down or you’re going to choke.” Vicki giggled.

  “Damn, beer never tasted so good.” River set the empty bottle on the table with a resounding thunk. A lazy smile curved his lips, and a light danced in his dark-blue eyes. “Of course, I could say the same for the steak and potato. A cliché meal, for sure. But I know what I like, and that was a damn good meal.”

  “A fine choice of fare, Detective.” She smiled. Goodness, he was handsome. Looking at him now, it was difficult to believe they’d survived a face-to-face encounter with a psychotic killer less than twenty-four hours ago. Or had it been a demon? Either way, it gave a whole new appreciation for the simple things in life. Like breathing.

  “You are amazing.” His fingers twisted the bottle around and around while he stared at her with an intensity that took her breath. “Most women would be cowering, unable to function. But here you are, eating a steak dinner.”

  “Most women haven’t had years of uncontrollable psychic visions to prepare them for a brush with death.” She gritted her teeth. The memory of her nanny’s murder came unbidden to her mind, the flashes so vivid and intense she fought not to flinch. “I’ve had plenty of experience. Though I’ll admit, I never expected to have a vision of my own fate, much less survive it.”

  He nodded, his easy smile returning. “So, how does it feel to have met destiny head-on and come out on top?”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Elation filled her chest. “All these years I believed I had no control, and all I needed to do was mix up the symbols before they came to pass.” She picked up her glass of wine, took a healthy drink. “Do you think it would work with anyone I had a vision of or just the ones involving a murderer? And how would I know which was which? I wouldn’t want to change something good that was going to happen. God, what if I changed something and the person got killed? It would be my fault.”

  “Whoa.” He held up his hand. “Slow down. This is all just guesswork.”

  “I know.” She emptied her glass, stared at him across the table. How could he ever understand? “I’ve spent most all my life wishing I could change the outcomes of my visions, and now that it looks like I might be able to, I’m not so sure it’s going to make anything better. It might make things worse.”

  “Okay, so there’s a new twist.” Leaning forward, he snatched two different sugar packets from the container on the table. In one hand he held a white packet, in the other a blue. “The way I see it, there’re good people—hard working, law abiding, honest citizens. And there are bad people—killers, rapists, scum who think they’re above the law.”

  “But how do I know which is which?”

  “That would be the trick.” He returned the packets and rubbed his jaw. “But if you were willing to work with local law enforcement, you might be able to figure it out.”

  She tilted her head. “Are you saying we should work together?”

  “I don’t know.” He took the napkin from his lap, tossing it on his empty plate. “It’s just a thought. But I might be able to help you with this new ability, and if we happen to put a few criminals behind bars, all the better.”

  At last, he believes me. “I think I like the sound of that.”

  “Me, too.” He smiled and signaled the waitress for the check.

  Vicki grabbed her purse from the floor next to her chair. “I’ve got to run to the ladies’ room.”

  “Sure.”

  After rising from her seat, she wound her way through the surrounding tables to the back of the restaurant where she located the sign for the restrooms. The short hall held two doors. She pushed through the one marked with the universal symbol for women.

  The first stall occupied, she entered the second, locking the door behind her. By the time she finished, the woman next to her had departed. Vicki opened the stall door, stepped out, and stumbled to a stop.

  “What are you doing here?” She clutched her purse to her chest as though it were a shield.

  “We only have a moment.” Matthew regarded her, his dark eyes serious, his mouth grim. “I need to give you this.” He held out a sleek black gun.

  She shifted her focus from the gun to his face. “I could’ve used that last night. But you’re too late, the killer’s dead already.”

  “Take it.” He peered over his shoulder then pressed the weapon into her hand.

  She curled her fingers around the cool metal, the feel of it alien yet oddly comforting at the same time. Matthew had watched over her, arriving at critical moments in her life. She’d always trusted him, thought of him as her personal guardian angel. But a gun?

  “You need to know that’s not a little peashooter. It’s a Walther PPK .380, and it’s got a kick. So, when you pull the trigger, make sure you’ve got a solid grip on it, or the recoil might send the gun flying.”

  “You think I’m going to…?” She’d never shot a gun, and a man she’d seen less than a half-dozen times had just handed her one—in a public restroom of all places.

  “It’s a distinct possibility.” He watched her in the mirror over the sink, and the uncertainty residing in his eyes induced her stomach to tremble. “But for the moment, keep it in your purse.”

  She did as he instructed, tucking the gun into her handbag. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  Setting his hands on her shoulders, he swiveled her toward the door and urged her forward. “Tell no one you have it. Not even River.” Opening the door, he pushed her through. “You’ll know when you need to use it.”

  Vicki stood in the hallway. Questions swirled in her mind. Pivoting on her heel, she pushed back into the bathroom.

  “Matthew?” Her voice echoed against the dark slate floor and tiled walls. With two long strides, she checked the stalls, finding them unoccupied. Where did he go? She tilted her head, gazed into the same mirror he’d stared into moments before.

  She exited the bathroom, pausing outside. The door closed behind her with a soft thump. What the hell had just happened?

  She shuffled toward the table, her focus fixed on the chair she’d sat in during dinner. She’d eaten a steak and drank a glass of wine while in that chair. And it had all seemed so normal.

  Except now, I have a gun in my purse.

  She ran her hand over the soft leather, detecting the weapon’s bulk beneath her fingertips. Will River figure it out? Does he have some kind of cop’s sixth sense that might alert him to the fact I have a concealed firearm in my handbag?

  As she approached the table, he rose from his chair, shrugged on his jacket. “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah.” She clutched her purse, not daring to set it down while he helped her with her coat.

  Outside, the sun had set, and the cold evening air nipped at her face and hands as she and River strolled down the sidewalk. When they reached the Malibu, he opened the door, and she slipped into the seat. The crisp moonlight beamed through the windshield, illuminating the dashboard and most of the interior. The atmosphere seemed eerily similar to the previous night, eliciting a severe shudder that set her teeth to chattering.

  River slid into the driver’s seat, gave her a sidelong glance then started the car. “Finally catching up with you.”

  “What?” She clenched her jaw to quiet her clattering molars.

  Reaching over, he took her hand in his. “Damn, your fingers are like ice.” He pulled out of the parking space and eased down the street. “You need to talk. Hell, I need to talk. We have to get it out, go ov
er it in whatever detail is necessary, or last night will haunt us with second guesses and maybes for years to come.”

  She stared at him, the instrument panel’s soft glow lighting the handsome planes of his face. Concern for her well-being etched his features and tore at her heart. I love him. How can I keep secrets from him?

  “The thing we have to remember,” he said with a squeeze of her hand, “is we survived and the bastard who attacked us is dead. It doesn’t matter what decisions we might or might not have made. We lived through it.”

  She nodded and stared out the window. The bridge connecting Savannah to Tybee Island loomed in the distance. Below it, marsh grasses moved ghost-like in the ocean breeze, and the dark winding currents of the Bull River glinted beyond.

  As the road curved and they mounted the bridge, he glanced over at her. “I say two cold bottles of beer—”

  “Wine,” she cut in. “Chardonnay.”

  “Okay.” His cheek twitched and then dimpled with his smile. “Two glasses of wine and a warm bath to soak in—”

  “Bubbles, too.”

  River laughed. “Absolutely. Chardonnay and a bubble bath. Then we’ll talk.”

  “Yes.” She laced her fingers with those of the man she loved and trusted. It would be good to expose the nightmare, be rid of it. Maybe everything would be all right after all. “Then we’ll talk.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Thanks, man,” Lenny said and exited the restaurant. In the crook of his arm, he carried a bag of Chinese takeout, the scent of which wafted to his nose and had his mouth watering. The keys to his Jeep jingled in his hand while he unlocked the door and climbed inside.

  He placed the bag in the passenger seat, thoughts of Becca never far away. He’d asked her what she wanted for dinner, but she’d told him to surprise her. Burgers and pizza seemed a bit mundane, so he’d taken a chance on fried rice, dumplings, and beef and broccoli. He licked his lips, the idea of seeing chopsticks in her fingers strangely sexy.

  He eased along Tybee’s streets, heading back to the beach house and the woman he’d fallen for. Holy Moly, she was sexy. She had those deep, dark bedroom eyes that stopped a man in his tracks and legs that made him beg for mercy. The gods had blessed her not only with hotness but artistic talent as well.

  But for all her exotic beauty and prolific creative ability, the thing that impressed him most was the brain in her head and her fearlessness at using it. Like when she’d asked him about the tricks of the undercover reporter trade, and he’d decided to show off his latest gadget. He’d hooked the camera pen to his laptop and pulled up the pictures he’d taken at her art show. The first picture had been of her. And Jeez Louise, hadn’t she looked amazing? A shiver of appreciation rolled through him at the memory. Although he’d left less than thirty minutes ago, seeing her again filled him with anticipation.

  As he rounded the corner into her neighborhood, the bag of food shifted in the seat. He reached over to keep it from dumping onto the floorboard. The top of the paper bag crinkled in his grasp, and he glanced down.

  Brown bag.

  Lenny jerked his hand away. The coarse paper left a strange icky sensation on his fingertips. If a powdery substance coated his hand, he wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised. He pulled the car to the side of the road while he wiped his palm against his pant leg.

  He stared at the passenger seat. Good God, there’s a brown paper bag right next to me. Just like Vicki predicted. The heavy thump of his heart pounded against his sternum, but he fought not to panic. Got to think this thing through. What does it mean? He shifted his gaze out the windshield where bright streetlights lined the road and garbage cans stood sentry at the end of driveways.

  Okay, so Vicki saw a brown bag in her vision of me. But the killer’s dead. That means her vision is null and void. His focus moved back to the bag. Or is it?

  A, S, and D. The first part of the vision she’d seen for him. Three letters that set his fate in motion. An image of his laptop keyboard filled his mind, the three telltale letters snuggled together on the left-hand side. Why didn’t I see that when Vicki first mentioned it?

  He squeezed his eyes closed. Before he’d gone to get takeout, he’d used the computer. Even typed the cursed letters ASD to connect to the camera pen and upload the pictures from Becca’s show.

  The matte-silver tube.

  Oh, crap. Was the tube Vicki saw in her vision my camera pen? The manufacturer is Advanced Surveillance Depot. ASD. Wait, Vicki said the visions she saw for Becca and me were done because the killer is dead. He looked at his pen again. But, damn, if those three letters aren’t etched into the matte-silver casing.

  Sweat coated Lenny’s palms. Air rushed through his parted lips as he took one deep breath after another. His stomach rolled with the realization three of the five signs Vicki predicted for him had already come to pass.

  If it was true, if her vision wasn’t void just because the killer was dead, then Becca might be in trouble. With a cursory glance in his rearview mirror, he stomped the gas pedal, the back wheels of the Jeep slinging grass and dirt in his wake. When he yanked the steering wheel, tires squealed against the pavement in protest of the sharp turn. The sudden change in direction sent the bag of food tumbling to the floorboard, boxes of rice and dumplings spilling open.

  Thoughts of the amazing woman he’d fallen for filled his mind. Meeting her had changed him. Compelled him to be a better man.

  Dear God, what if something has already happened to her?

  Lenny slammed on the brakes, and the SUV slid the last ten feet to a stop. Angled across the driveway, the car’s headlights pierced the darkness and illuminated the front of the house. He shoved the door open, tore across the yard. When he approached the steps to the porch, he stumbled to a stop.

  “Oh shit.”

  A yellow daisy peeked through the stair’s open risers.

  He’d prayed he was wrong. He’d hoped the killer’s death had taken Becca and him off Fate’s list. But the damned yellow daisy smiling up at him pretty well cinched it. The nightmare wasn’t over. Not for him or the woman he loved.

  He took the steps two at a time. No sooner had he turned the doorknob and stepped into the foyer, her name on his lips, than the brittle sound of glass breaking against tile met his ears. When Becca’s scream filled the beach house, icy adrenaline shot through his veins.

  With a calm that surprised him, he retrieved the heavy-gauge frying pan he’d placed inside the coat closet when he’d believed the killer still alive. In the kitchen, Becca fought her assailant, her yelps and curses echoing off the walls. She fought for her life while he silently skittered down the hallway.

  Holding the pan with both hands like a baseball bat, he raised it to his shoulder. Fate wants to take a shot at me and my lady? Fine. But I don’t go down easy.

  * * *

  As he exited the bridge onto Tybee Island, River reached over and took Vicki’s hand in his. Moonlight beamed through the window, illuminating her face. Stress and concern etched her features.

  He laced his fingers with hers and squeezed. They would get through this together. They’d discuss what they’d seen and what they thought about it. River gritted his teeth. Of course, he might be the one who needed extra help. The things he’d witnessed didn’t fit into his neat, rule-oriented box. Hell, what he’d seen didn’t fit anywhere, box or otherwise. But he couldn’t deny it had happened.

  River stopped and flicked on the blinker to make a left into Becca’s neighborhood. A sigh whispered through Vicki’s lips. When her eyes closed, he sensed some of her anxiety slip away. He imagined two words floated through her mind—almost home.

  The shrill chirp of her cell phone shattered the silence in the car. Leaning forward, she grabbed her purse and pulled the phone from an outside pocket.

  “Hello?” A smile tugged the corner of her mouth. “Oh hey, Lenny. We’re almost—” Her smile had morphed to a grimace. The crinkles at the corners of her eyes deepened. �
�Oh my God.”

  He gripped the steering wheel. “What?”

  “Lenny…Oh God. Okay, okay. What was that?”

  The oncoming lane cleared, and River floored the accelerator. The Malibu sped into the quiet neighborhood. Tires squealed when he braked for a stop sign. After a quick check for other cars, he shot through the intersection. Something was wrong, and instinct told him to get his ass to the beach house quick.

  “He what?” Vicki reached over and squeezed River’s forearm. “Oh…God.”

  “What?” His gut twisted.

  “They were attacked.” She choked the words out. “Lenny’s alive. But…but….”

  “What?”

  “Becca.” Her fingers dug into his arm. “He took her. Whoever attacked them took her.”

  River yanked the wheel, almost sending the car into a spin. He compensated, brought the Malibu under control, and aimed toward the end of the block. “Did he see him? Did Lenny see the bastard who took Becca?”

  “No. He said the guy came out of nowhere.” Her chin quivered. “Caught him from behind.”

  “Shit.”

  The beach house came into sight. In the driveway, Lenny’s Jeep sat canted, the headlights bathing the crisp white porch and peach lap siding. Did he sense something was wrong, too?

  From the shadows at the side of the house, an enormous black truck emerged and tore across the lawn. River jerked the wheel, narrowly averting collision. The Malibu spun, clipping the mailbox. The fiberglass bumper scraped down the side of Lenny’s car, and the sickening crunch of crumpling metal tore through the air.

  “That’s him!” Vicki yelled above the noise. “Becca’s in there!”

  River revved the engine. “What about Lenny?”

  Vicki put the phone to her ear. “Lenny? We see her. Do you need us to—?” She shook her head, ended the call, then tucked the phone into her purse. She looked at River. “Go. He’ll call for help.”