With the Material Witness in the Safehouse

by Carla Cassidy

  She sagged against him. “Take me home, Ryan,” she said softly. “Please, just take me home.”

  It was after noon by the time they got back to the bungalow. He helped Britta into the bedroom where she stripped to her bra and panties and got into bed.

  “Ryan, please don’t go,” she said as he started to leave the room. “Stay here with me,” she said, her eyes already drowsy with the approach of sleep. “I know you’re exhausted. You’ll sleep better in the bed than on the sofa.”

  He was too tired to fight her, and the bed looked far too inviting. He shucked his jeans and pulled off his shirt, then crawled beneath the blankets next to her.

  She cuddled against him, and that’s all he knew.

  He awoke several hours later and found himself staring into her amazing blue eyes. “Have you been awake long?” he asked.

  “For a little while.” A tiny frown danced between her brows. “I’ve been thinking.”

  He rose up on one elbow, grateful that their bodies weren’t touching in any way. “Thinking about what?”

  “That night he took me, while I was unconscious, why didn’t he just tie me into the bow of a rowboat and drown me like he did Rebecca Johnson?”

  “I don’t know, Britta,” he answered. “There’s no way we can know the mind of the man responsible. Maybe he was experimenting with you, with the drug. It’s possible if you didn’t follow his command and drown yourself by walking into the sea, he intended to tie you to the bottom of a boat.”

  “Why would he dress us like that? With the gown and the seashell necklace? What could it mean?”

  “It’s obviously part of a ritual of sorts.” He ran a finger down the side of her face, her skin baby soft. “You’re trying to make sense of a madman. Until they catch him, until somebody can talk to him, we might never have the answers to those questions.”

  “It’s over, isn’t it?” she asked softly.

  “It’s over for us, but I have a feeling it’s just beginning for the town of Raven’s Cliff,” he replied.

  She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. “We won’t be leaving here together, will we?” She didn’t look at him.

  The thick lump that formed in his throat surprised him. “No, we won’t,” he replied softly.

  She closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

  SHE AWOKE TWO HOURS LATER. She was alone in the bed, the cold pillow next to her letting her know Ryan had been gone for a while.

  Ryan. She rolled onto her back and stared at the pattern of waning sunlight dancing on the ceiling. He was going to leave her again. After all they’d been through, after everything they had shared, he was going to walk away from her one final time.

  The pain that pierced through her was unimaginable as she thought of moving on, of living her life without him. After all she’d already lost, her identity, her job, her friends and almost her very life, it seemed particularly cruel that she was going to lose him, too.

  She couldn’t fight his past. She had no tools. She couldn’t go back and embrace the little boy he’d been, frightened by his parents’ fights, hiding in a closet. It broke her heart. He broke her heart.

  Wearily she got out of bed, driven by hunger and the need to spend what little time was left in Ryan’s company. A glutton for punishment, she thought to herself, as she pulled on a pair of clean jeans and a T-shirt.

  The minute she opened the bedroom door she realized she and Ryan weren’t alone in the bungalow. She could hear the sound of Ryan’s voice and another low, deep voice coming from the kitchen.

  She stood just outside the door and closed her eyes. She knew who was in the kitchen with Ryan. Her new keeper, the FBI agent who would take Ryan’s place.

  They were seated at the table, a large pizza in front of them. The new man had sandy blond hair and caramel colored eyes and as she entered the room he stood and offered her a friendly smile.

  “Britta, this is Special Agent David Kincaid,” Ryan said.

  “Hello, Britta. Ryan has been catching me up on everything that’s been going on. Sounds as if you’ve had a rough time.”

  She motioned for him to sit, then she took a seat at the table. “Yes, things have been difficult.”

  “Hungry?” Ryan pushed the pizza closer to her.

  “No, thanks,” she said. The hunger that had driven her from bed had disappeared the moment she saw the new man seated at the table. He was proof that her time with Ryan was over.

  She’d hoped for one more day. She’d hoped for one more night. “Are you from Boston, Agent Kincaid?” she asked.

  “Please, call me David,” he said. “And yes, Boston is home, although my wife is from the West Coast.”

  “So, what are the plans?” she asked, not looking at Ryan but rather keeping her gaze focused on David Kincaid. He looked like a nice man. Smile lines radiated out from the corners of his eyes and he seemed relaxed and open.

  “Tomorrow we’ll leave here and go back to Boston. We’ll put you up in a motel for a couple of days until you can make a decision where you’d like to be relocated,” David replied.

  “Is it safe for me to return to Boston?”

  “We’ll make sure you’re safe,” David replied. “Although the way things are going with the Boston Gentlemen gang members we don’t think there’s a high risk to you, but for the couple of days we’re there I’ll be with you.”

  She nodded, then finally looked at Ryan. “And what about you?”

  He held her gaze, and she saw his love for her there, shining from those warm green eyes of his, radiating across the table with the force of a physical caress. It was there only a moment, then gone, extinguished by a darkness that took its place.

  “I’m already packed up. I’m going to take off in the next hour or so,” he replied.

  An hour or so, that’s all she had left of him. It hurt so much. She felt as if her insides were being squeezed as hard as Kelly had squeezed her neck.

  “Any news while I’ve been sleeping?” she asked, her voice huskier than usual. She cleared her throat and reached for a slice of the pizza.

  “Chief Swanson called to check to make sure you were okay,” Ryan said. “He’s going to have his hands full. We know Rebecca Johnson was a victim five years ago and that you were almost a victim. Now he’s going to have to investigate to see if there were any victims between those times. Because of the time span he’s certain that whoever is responsible is a local.”

  Britta looked out the window where the purple haze of dusk was falling. In the distance the top of the lighthouse was visible. The lighthouse that hadn’t been lit by Nicholas Sterling III on the night of the anniversary of the deaths of Captain Earl Raven’s wife and children; the lighthouse where a curse had been born.

  A serial killer on the streets, a mysterious fever sweeping the town and secrets lying just beneath the surface. She was ready to leave Raven’s Cliff behind.

  She’d been located here by a rogue FBI agent because he’d thought it would be easy to get to her in this sleepy fishing village. She’d survived a gang, a murderous FBI agent and a serial killer. But at the moment she felt as if she might not survive losing Ryan.

  She wanted to weep, but there had been too many tears shed over the past couple of days. She was cried out. She took a bite of the pizza, but it tasted like cardboard. She laid it back down and got up from the table. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling very well. I’m going to lie down for a little while longer.”

  Returning to the bedroom she blinked at the tears that burned in her eyes. She would pack, that’s what she’d do.

  She opened her suitcase and began to grab the things she’d hung in the closet. Action, she needed action to keep her mind off her pain. Keep moving, she told herself as she pulled clothes off hangers and piled them on the bed.

  She’d cleared the closet when Ryan knocked on her door and peeked in. “I’ll bet you can’t wait to leave this place,” he said as he came into the room and closed the door behind
him.

  She finished folding a sweater, placed it in the suitcase, then straightened and looked at him. “I’d rather be leaving here with you.”

  He jammed his hands in his pockets, a deep frown creasing his forehead. “David is a good man. I’ve worked with him before. If you want to get him talking, just ask him about his wife and kids. He’ll keep you safe and see you settled someplace where you can build a new life.”

  “I want a life with you.”

  “Britta, please.” Stark pain raced across his handsome features. “It’s better this way.”

  “Better for who? For me? For you?” She took a step toward him. “Are you sure, Ryan? Are you sure you want to tell me goodbye again?” She wanted to grab him by the arm, wrap her arms around his neck and hold him close until he changed his mind.

  “Someplace inside you there’s a little boy who wants to believe in love, who wants to believe in a happily-ever-after. Let him out, for God’s sake, let him out.” She’d been wrong—she hadn’t finished crying, for she was crying again, unable to stanch the tears that flowed down her cheeks.

  He remained stoic, hands still shoved in his pockets and those beautiful eyes of his shuttered and closed off. “I just came in to tell you goodbye,” he said.

  And then he turned on his heel, walked out the door and closed it gently behind him.

  She stared at the closed door for a long time, her tears continuing to fall. She moved back toward the bed and sat on the edge. She remembered this pain. This was the way she had felt the first time he walked away from her, from any idea of them together.

  At the moment her heart hurt so badly she wasn’t sure she’d survive the night. And yet she would. She’d survive, and tomorrow she’d be moved to a motel in Boston. She’d spend the next couple of days trying to decide what path to choose for her future.

  Eventually she would be happy again. Maybe she’d find another special man and maybe she wouldn’t, but she would find happiness.

  She got up from the edge of the bed and moved to the window and peered out, where night shadows had begun to fall and fog had begun to form.

  She’d find her happiness once again but she wasn’t so sure about the people in Raven’s Cliff. She turned away from the window at the knock on her door. “Yes?” she said.

  “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything.” David’s voice called through the wood.

  “No, thanks. I’m fine,” she replied. A minute later she heard the faint tinny sound of the television coming from the living room.

  She moved back to her suitcase and finished folding the last of her clothes, leaving out only what she would wear the next day when they left Raven’s Cliff behind.

  She could pick where she wanted to go, anyplace in the United States, and yet the only place she wanted to be was in Ryan’s arms. She could pick what kind of job she had, a new name if she wanted it, but what the FBI couldn’t give her was the man she loved.

  Maybe she should just go to bed, she thought. Even though it was early and she’d had a nap, either the sleeplessness and the trauma of the night before or Ryan’s abandonment had etched a deep weariness inside her.

  She sat on the bed once again, her head filling with thoughts of Rebecca Johnson. Had Rebecca been the first victim of the serial killer who now walked the streets of Raven’s Cliff? Had there been others?

  She’d be leaving here with many questions. What was causing the illnesses? Would they ever find Camille Wells’s body? Was the mayor on the take, and why had Britta verbally attacked him the way she had that day? Would Swanson be able to catch the serial killer before another young woman was cast into the sea?

  So many questions and no answers, but it was easier to focus on all these things than it was to think about Ryan, to mourn for what might have been.

  With a gasp of surprise she jumped up as her bedroom door burst open and Ryan stood there.

  “Ryan, what are you doing here?” she asked. Her heart began to beat an unsteady rhythm at the sight of him.

  “I forgot something,” he replied. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

  “Where’s David?” she asked.

  “I told him to take a walk.” Ryan stalked toward her, a determined glint in his eyes.

  “What did you forget?”

  “You.”

  She stared at him, afraid to believe, afraid to hope. She wanted to throw herself at him, grab hold of him and never let him go, but instead she remained rooted in place as he jammed his hands in his pockets and gazed at her with fiery eyes.

  “I was halfway out of town, so sure that I’d made the right choice, that I was doing what was best for everyone involved by leaving you.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and tugged at his chin. “I love you, Britta.”

  The words swirled around inside her head, cascading warmth through her body. “I know you do,” she replied softly. Again she fought the impulse to throw herself at him. But he hadn’t committed to anything yet. Maybe he’d just come back to unburden his soul and the end result would be the same. She’d be left alone.

  “It terrifies me,” he said in a low voice.

  She finally took a step toward him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said. “We love each other, Ryan. We’ve been through hell together and come out on the other side. We’ve lived together and we’ve fought together. And nobody called the cops, nobody threw a single punch or a dish. You had a wonderful role model on what an unhealthy relationship is all about. I challenge you to find anything in our relationship that is unhealthy.”

  He smiled then, a slow upward curve of those lips she loved. “Aah, Britta, you challenge me on every level.”

  In that smile, in the smolder of his eyes, she knew he wasn’t going anywhere without her. Her heart soared as he reached out to her, and she flew into the embrace of his arms.

  “I’m always going to be eleven years older than you,” he said.

  “That doesn’t matter, there are times you act like an adolescent boy,” she said teasingly.

  He tightened his arms around her. “I can’t believe how close I came to losing you forever. The thought of you in that boat shop, the terror you must have felt, the idea that you could have wound up like poor Rebecca Johnson drives me crazy.”

  “But I didn’t,” she replied. “I’m here and I’m safe and I’m ready to move on to my future with you.”

  “I want that, too, Britta. I’ll relocate wherever you want to go. I can work out of a field office anywhere in the country.”

  “I’ll be happy anywhere on earth but in this place,” she replied. “In fact, I can’t get out of this cursed town fast enough.”

  “As far as I’m concerned we can leave tonight…now. I’ve wasted enough time. I’m ready to start our future this minute. I’m planning on being your handler for the rest of your life, Britta,” he said.

  She smiled up at him. “Now, darlin’, you know I’m a woman who refuses to be handled,” she said in her best imitation of his Texas drawl.

  He laughed, then lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her with all the tenderness, the passion and love she knew he possessed.

  When the kiss ended she smiled up at him. “I remember we talked about kids once, about having them. I want that, Ryan. Someday I want to have your babies.”

  “I’d like that, and we’ll make sure they speak not just English but two other languages, as well.”

  She looked up at him curiously. “Two languages?”

  His eyes lit with a devilish gleam. “We’ll teach them to speak Norwegian and Texan.”

  She laughed, then sobered. “We’ll teach them one more language, as well.” This time it was his turn to look at her curiously, and she smiled. “We’ll teach them the language of love.”

  With those words he took her mouth again in a kiss that stole her breath and sealed her future.

  The town of Raven’s Cliff might be cursed, but at the moment Britta felt as if the curse that had bee
n on her head had been lifted, banished by the shining light of Ryan’s love.

  THE FRONT DOOR to the faded yellow cottage slowly creaked outward. He looked first to the left then to the right, satisfied that the streets were deserted. It was after midnight and he didn’t expect to meet anyone on his outing.

  He carried only his car keys and one other item with him as he got into his car. The last thing he wanted was to be seen, and the cloudy night and deep shadows coupled with the ever-present thickening fog worked to his advantage.

  It had been almost two weeks since the body had been pulled from its watery grave in the sea. DNA results had confirmed that the body was of Rebecca Johnson. Yesterday the town had mourned the woman who would have been one of its own if fate and a madman hadn’t intervened.

  Even though he hadn’t been at the official ceremony, despite the fact that he had no contact with the townspeople, all he had to do was read the newspaper to know that everyone was on edge.

  People were getting sick, and a serial killer walked the streets. The paper had run an article about Captain Earl Raven, complete with interviews by locals who had commented on the curse of the old man.

  It didn’t take him long to reach his final destination. He parked just outside the old iron gates that led to Raven’s Cliff Cemetery. The cemetery was as old as the town and a popular tourist attraction for those who loved reading old headstones.

  He grabbed the item that he’d brought with him from the passenger seat and left the car. The black clothing he’d worn allowed him to perfectly blend into the night as he walked the path toward the newest grave.

  When he reached it he stared at the headstone visible in a sliver of moonlight that suddenly appeared. He knelt down and ran a hand over the lettering on the stone. Rebecca Johnson. The engraved name was followed by the years of her birth and her death.

  He placed the white rose he’d brought with him gently on the grave, then stood and stared out in the direction of the sea, where the moonlight caught and glittered for a moment on the top of the Beacon Manor lighthouse. The light was there only a moment, then doused by the storm clouds gathering strength.