The Messenger: A Novel

by Burke, Jan

  “I’ve been replaced, huh?”

  “Ha, ha. And if this is jealousy, no—of course no one has replaced you, Amanda.”

  “It’s not jealousy.”

  “Good. But you seem to have some problem with Tyler. Other than not acting his age and rising from the dead, I mean.” He suddenly grew serious. “Did he…hurt you in some way? Try to put a move on you?”

  She blushed. “No.”

  “Oh, ho! So that’s the problem!”

  “No!”

  “Hmm.”

  “Don’t ‘hmm’ me.”

  “So you don’t find him at all attractive?”

  “Oh, for—yes, he’s attractive. Very attractive. Satisfied? And he doesn’t have the slightest interest in me, which makes him like half of the men I meet. The other half know I have money.”

  “That’s so untrue—”

  “Let’s not argue about it.” She smothered a yawn. “I should go home and get some rest.”

  He hugged her and said, “I really do think you’ll feel better about all of this after you’ve had some sleep.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  She sat in the chair Tyler had recently vacated, pressed the button on the intercom line, and dialed seven. A woman answered, and Amanda asked for Alex.

  “This is Alex,” the woman said.

  “You’re…” She managed to prevent herself from saying “a woman.”

  “Is this Ms. Clarke?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you ready to leave?”

  When Amanda said she was, Alex said she’d be right up. Amanda hung up.

  The head of Tyler’s security was a woman. Named Alex. Well, why not?

  She looked up to see an expression of unholy glee on Ron’s face.

  “You could have warned me!” she said, but laughed.

  16

  A few minutes later, she wished Ron had issued another warning. Maybe, Amanda thought sourly, Alex Danton had decided to get into this line of work because being a supermodel involved too much travel. She was slender, tall, blond, blue eyed, and yet her features were just exotic enough to keep her from looking like she came out of some Orange County beach girl tribe.

  She smiled, introduced herself with a warm handshake, and turned to Ron. He must have grown accustomed to her, Amanda thought, because he said a quick hello and announced that he was going to bed.

  “Will you be all right, sir?” Alex asked. “Anything I can do for you?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you,” he said. He asked Amanda to come by after she’d had some sleep, and left the room.

  Alex stared after him a moment, seemed to recall Amanda’s presence, and turned to her with a smile. “Shall we go?”

  As they walked to the elevator, she said, “You probably know this house better than I do, so it must seem silly to you to have an escort.”

  “A little,” Amanda admitted.

  Once the elevator doors closed, Alex said, “Neither of them warned you I was female, did they?”

  “No.”

  “Men. Of all the stupid things…”

  By the time they were driving past the front gates, the sky was beginning to brighten with the approaching dawn, and Amanda felt perfectly at ease in Alex’s company. Alex did most of the talking, but Amanda noticed that she stayed sharply aware of their surroundings.

  Amanda learned that Alex had become manager of the security business and co-owner with her mother after its founder, her father, had been in a car accident.

  “He was driving a little rental car, tailing someone, when a lady in one of those fat-ass SUVs ran a red light. He was in a coma for about three weeks before he died. Mr. Hawthorne came to the hospital and helped me before Dad died. I don’t know what we would have done without him.”

  Amanda glanced out the car window and saw something moving in the woods. She drew in a sharp breath and froze—then saw the misty forms of the four ghosts, weaving in and out among the trees. They floated effortlessly, keeping pace with the car. She turned resolutely away from them. What had Alex been saying? Oh yes—parent killed as a result of a car accident. No wonder her own mind produced the ghosts.

  “I’m glad he could help you,” Amanda said. “I probably could have used something like that when my folks died. But at least Ron was there for me.”

  “Are you two…?”

  “Involved? No. A brother-sister kind of thing. Not more.”

  “No one else comes by to see him, but I understand he doesn’t want anyone else to visit just now. So…no girlfriend?”

  “No.” Amanda looked at her curiously. “Are you interested in him?”

  “Ron doesn’t talk to me much,” Alex said, and slowed the car.

  Amanda wasn’t sure what to make of that answer, but decided that as long as they were exchanging information, she’d ask a few questions of her own. “Do you know Mr. Hawthorne well?”

  “I don’t think anyone does,” Alex said distractedly. “That said, I’d do anything for him.”

  She stopped the car.

  Amanda saw that she was staring into the woods. “What is it?” she asked nervously.

  “Oh, nothing bad. Thought I saw Shade running through the trees. That doesn’t make any sense, though.” Alex let the car creep forward again.

  “Why not?”

  “He was up on the third-floor deck, last I saw him, just as we pulled away from the gates. Up there watching us—nothing gets past him.” She smiled. “Probably some other dog out chasing squirrels. More I think about it, I’m sure it wasn’t Shade.”

  Amanda wrapped her arms across her stomach, suddenly feeling it pitch.

  “You okay?”

  “Afraid of dogs.”

  “You need me to pull over or anything?”

  “No, just get me home.”

  “Sure.” She paused. “If you’re afraid of them, it probably won’t help to know this, but I’ve been around a lot of dogs and I don’t think Shade would hurt you.”

  “I’m not afraid of Shade—not much, anyway. But if it’s another dog…”

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to make sure you get in all right, and then I’ll take a look around—if that’s okay with you?”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  They each watched for any other sign of the dog as they made their way down the long drive that led to the house. “I don’t see him, do you?”

  “No,” Amanda said.

  Except for the porch light and the small lamp on a timer in the front room, the house was dark.

  “You’ll be here alone?” Alex asked.

  “Yes. It’s all right—”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll come in with you, just to be on the safe side.”

  “I don’t mind.” In truth, Amanda was relieved.

  Asking Amanda to stay beside her, Alex did a quick but thorough search of the house.

  “Okay,” she said, and handed Amanda a business card. “My cell phone number’s on there. Give me a call if you feel worried or see anyone hanging around here who shouldn’t be. I’ll take a look outside to see if that dog is around—lock up after I step outside and set your security system on, okay?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh—almost forgot—Mr. Hawthorne said to tell you that until the car business gets straightened out, I’m to take you wherever you need to go.” She smiled. “You will call me, won’t you? I’ve enjoyed meeting you.”

  “Yes, I will. I’ve enjoyed meeting you, too. And please give him my thanks.”

  Amanda dragged herself upstairs. Whatever adrenaline had kept her going until now had drained off. She felt woolly headed, not able to keep her thoughts straight. She put on her pajamas, but she could not resist stepping out onto the balcony. Alex was finishing a circuit around the house. She waved, shrugged her shoulders, then pointed up the hill.

  An outdoor light on Tyler’s deck revealed Shade peering through the deck railing. He wagged his tail. She waved at him, felt like a fool for do
ing so, then waved good-bye to Alex.

  “Set that alarm,” Alex reminded her.

  So she locked the door to the balcony and used the upstairs keypad to engage the security system, heard Alex drive off, and went to bed.

  She lay in the darkness thinking of Tyler Hawthorne, of how horrible it had been when she thought he was dying, of those brief moments in his desert home when she felt quite sure he was drawn to her in some way—of the moments later this evening when she was quite sure he was not interested in her in the least.

  She was tired, she was confused. Her muscles had started to ache from the accident.

  She closed her eyes, and was nearly asleep when the room suddenly grew cold.

  The ghosts were back, watching her.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  As usual, they didn’t answer.

  17

  Brad Clarke looked back at the desert mansion. No one had followed him. Good. He could have a minute of peace and quiet, which he wasn’t likely to get inside the house. It was nearly dawn, but music was still blaring.

  He walked along a pathway leading to one of the guesthouses. As he neared the guesthouse, he smelled cigarette smoke and swore to himself. He had been seen. The smoker waved to him—Colby.

  “Thought you’d left,” Brad said. “Haven’t seen you around.”

  “Oh,” Colby said in a low voice, glancing toward the bedroom window. “I’ve kept myself occupied out here.”

  Brad smiled. “Entertaining one of Rebecca’s friends?”

  “Oh, I wasn’t so selfish that I only entertained one,” Colby said, and Brad laughed.

  “Shhh,” Colby warned. “You’ll wake them before I make my escape. Just wanted a moment outside before I started home again.”

  “Glad you could make it to the party.”

  “Me, too.” He paused, then added, “Your cousin’s cute.”

  “Dude—”

  Colby raised his hands in mock surrender. “There’s been enough fighting over her for one evening, don’t you think? Anyway, I’m taking off. Thanks again for the invitation.”

  “You’re welcome. Do it again sometime.” Brad didn’t remember inviting him, but then, that could be said for more than half the people here. He’d lay money on Rebecca being the one who told Colby about the party. But he said so long to Colby and turned away from the guesthouses. He wanted to avoid any other chance meetings.

  He had come outside for some air, and to get away from Rebecca, who was pouting over Tyler’s departure. Brad had been kind of surprised about the fight, because Tyler had seemed like such a mellow person.

  “Hello, Brad.”

  Brad felt the color drain from his face. Evan and Daniel. “You guys can’t be here!” he said in a furious whisper, looking back at the house.

  “Can’t we?” Evan said.

  Brad struggled, but they had him in a headlock, then gagged and bound him before he had a hope of summoning help. He felt raw fear, thought he was as afraid as it was possible to be afraid—then they blindfolded him. He tried screaming into the gag, and they slapped him hard. He felt them lift him, carrying him roughly between them, and he began to cry, which made it hard to breathe.

  They loaded him into the back of some vehicle—a van or a pickup truck—he didn’t know which. He only knew that he was scared shitless. The metal surface he was on was ribbed and cold as ice. The vehicle bumped along and he bumped with it, jarred with every pothole, rolled with every curve.

  Being kidnapped was not the experience he had seen on television. The rope chafed and the duct tape made him feel suffocated. There were no convenient opportunities for escape.

  He began to realize that “kidnap” was probably the wrong word.

  The right word was “murder.”

  They were going to kill him. He felt sure of it.

  Why were they angry with him? He had called them earlier, told them right away that Tyler had left the party.

  Brad missed Eduardo and wondered what had become of him. Eduardo was so much easier to deal with. Eduardo was rich and sophisticated, world traveled, and world weary in a way that made him seem pretty cool. Best of all, he had taken a liking to Brad and had provided an easy way to pay off a big gambling debt while Brad waited for his next payment from his trust fund.

  But Eduardo hadn’t been around lately. Eduardo had said that Evan and Daniel were his assistants, and that Brad should do as they asked. Now he wondered if all three of them were working for some Mafia boss.

  They had always been mysterious. Brad knew it wasn’t just the need for quick money that had brought him to this situation—he had enjoyed the intrigue and the chance to do something on his own without Rebecca having anything to say about it.

  And until tonight, he had convinced himself that it wasn’t dangerous or criminal. All he had to do was to spy a little bit on his cousin’s new neighbor. Not even spy, really. Just tell them if Tyler left for a few days—they said he traveled a lot. He was to make sure Tyler was invited to the desert party, and Brad had figured out that all he had to do to make sure Tyler showed up was to invite Amanda. If Rebecca didn’t get it that Tyler was interested in her, Brad wasn’t so blind. He had picked up on that right away.

  They had been happy with him when he told them Tyler would be at the party. And then they said Brad was to tell them when he arrived, when he left. That’s all.

  And that’s exactly what he did! He followed his orders. He didn’t harm anyone. And now look what had happened to him. It was so unfair.

  The vehicle stopped.

  His heart started pounding and his throat went dry.

  They pulled him out and stood him on his feet. They took the blindfold off, and he blinked in the bright light of a desert morning. No buildings nearby. Nothing but mesquite and sandy hills and dirt roads. The vehicle turned out to be a big white pickup truck with a windowless shell covering the back.

  Daniel took the gag out.

  “Why—” Brad started to ask, but Evan punched him hard in the gut and all the air went out of him.

  As the blows rained on him, he thought they would bury him out there.

  They put duct tape over his mouth and eyes, made sure the knots on the rope that bound him were good and tight, and threw him back in the bed of the truck, where the landing was just one more way to inflame pain so intense it consumed every thought.

  Eventually, he went into a kind of numbed state, still feeling the pain, but trying to think of how he might survive.

  For a time he had hoped someone had seen them take him. Colby, maybe? That hope faded fairly quickly.

  Rebecca would miss him—eventually. With the party going on, though—how long would it be before she was even sober enough to notice he was gone? Who else would look for him? No one, in all likelihood.

  He had never been badly injured in his life, and any time he had sustained a minor injury, someone had cared for him immediately, done something to lessen the pain. This pain was as different from what he had felt before as a volcano was to a match.

  But the pain wasn’t the worst of it.

  The worst was the fear.

  Being so afraid—believing he was about to suffer more than he had thus far, and then be put to death—was exhausting. Over the hours, terror hollowed him out. He felt as if his skin was a shell of pain encasing nothing but more pain.

  By the time they unloaded and untied him, more than his hands and feet were numb. It hurt when they pulled off the duct-tape gag and blindfold, but he hardly made a sound. He blinked at the light, and noted in a distant way that he was in the kitchen of what seemed to be an old house.

  They waited only until they were sure he could stand up. They lit a candle and marched him to a doorway, then down a set of concrete stairs. They hurried back upstairs, taking the candle with them.

  He had not struggled against them.

  Only by using the last remaining bit of his tattered willpower did Brad prevent himself from throwing up. He hadn�
�t noticed the smell of the basement until Evan had opened the door to the stairway. If he had felt he had any choice about it, he wouldn’t have gone down the stairs at all, but whatever resistance he might have had in him had been beaten out of him hours ago.

  The stench proved to be an unwelcome stimulant, reviving awareness.

  There was not the slightest doubt in his mind that he was down here with at least one rotting corpse. Maybe they had killed Tyler Hawthorne, and now he was next. Whoever it was, there was no doubt in his mind that he, too, would become a rotting corpse in this basement, and he found he had just the slightest rebellion against this left in him.

  It was only a thought, no more.

  Because of it, he attempted to stay on his feet.

  The wall behind him was cold and damp, and where it touched his skin—he tried very hard not to think about what might make it feel the way it did.

  Suddenly the stench increased and the temperature dropped.

  A foul breath blew against his face as a deep voice asked, “Would you like to leave here alive, Bradley?”

  18

  Amanda’s phone rang. It seemed terribly early to her, but when she glanced at the clock as she lifted the receiver, she realized it was noon.

  “Amanda? It’s Tyler. Did I wake you?”

  “It’s all right. What’s up?”

  “First, I wondered how you are feeling. I didn’t realize how badly your car had been damaged until I got the report this morning.”

  “I’m a little stiff and sore, but it’s not bad.”

  “Alex just told me that you’re there alone.”

  “Yes.” Sort of, if you don’t count ghosts.

  “Could I talk you into staying here for a few days? Just until we’re sure the problem with Sam’s family is cleared up? Alex will be here, and the rest of the security staff, but if you’d like to invite your cousins or someone else to stay here as a chaperone—”

  She smiled to herself. “I think I can manage without a chaperone at this point in life,” she said. “But thanks.”

  “Will you stay with us, then?”