Born To Die mtd-3

by Lisa Jackson

  It would work out. Most of those far away had been dealt with, which left him a clear shot at those who were near.

  He would have to tread carefully, as ever. One mistake now and he’d be exposed before his mission was finished, before he could be free. He couldn’t allow himself the sense of ego to think that the cops were stupid; he’d just been lucky, as so far they had been in different jurisdictions. And the actress had brought national attention. Because of her fame, Shelly Bonaventure’s untimely demise had caused a deeper scrutiny; because of her lifestyle, her death had been ruled an accident.

  He’d gotten lucky; he knew it.

  Now things were about to change.

  Now that his work would be nearby.

  The police here could possibly put two and two together.

  Smiling, he thought of that answer: it was far more than four. He glanced at his stack of photos, proof that the Unknowings had died, and felt a buzz of excitement sizzle through his veins. He was about to add another.

  Closer and closer to his ultimate goal.

  Grabbing a clean towel from the neatly folded stack that he kept on the same shelves as his boots, he patted off the sweat that still sheened his body, then slid into a thick robe. Calmer now, in complete control again, he sat at his desk, where his computer screen was already glowing. He dragged up all the information he had on Elle, then stared at her photo. He’d have to follow her, but that wasn’t a problem. She was a ditzy, scattered woman who could be dealt with fairly easily.

  He’d make her a priority.

  He was certain, with a little patience, the perfect opportunity would present itself.

  He’d be ready.

  All of Kacey’s worries about adopting a dog had melted the second Kacey had picked up Bonzi on Saturday and driven him home. Calm by nature, he’d sniffed around the perimeter of the house, decided a near-dead rosebush near the garage was his favorite spot to relieve himself, and accepted the dog bed she’d purchased as his own. He followed after her everywhere she went, toenails clicking, ears cocked, eyes bright with curiosity, but she found out on Sunday that if she walked him for half a mile twice a day, he was content to sleep away most of the rest of the hours.

  “Oh, right, a fine guard dog you turned out to be,” she chastised as she made herself dinner and he yawned in response. She thought about calling Trace O’Halleran and checking on Eli and Sarge, but she realized it would sound too much like the excuse it was.

  To her surprise she’d enjoyed herself on Friday night at Dino’s. Since then, she’d found herself thinking, no, make that fantasizing, about him and his son. She had even picked up the phone a couple of times to call and ask about Sarge, then had thought better of it. But she hadn’t put him out of her mind. At least not easily. And there were questions she had about him, and about his boy, about Eli’s absent mother. Though it didn’t seem as if Trace had a current girlfriend, he’d been recently involved, at some level, with Jocelyn Wallis, even ID’ing her when she lay in the hospital, clinging hopelessly to life.

  How close had they been? she wondered now.

  “None of your business,” she told herself, but it didn’t stop her thoughts from turning to him. She hadn’t dated much since her marriage had crumbled, and after JC she’d sworn off men for a while. But, she sensed, Trace O’Halleran could change all that.

  In a heartbeat.

  Elle stepped on the gas. Her minivan was zooming along the dark road, but she wasn’t worried, even though night had fallen hours earlier. She’d driven “hazardous” mountain roads since she was sixteen; they were no big deal. So, despite the crystals of ice that glittered on the asphalt in the beams of her headlights, and the light from a crescent moon rising high in the inky sky, she was confident.

  She pushed the speed limit and stared straight ahead through the windshield at the landscape, truly a winter wonderland. The road was a black ribbon cutting through acres of snow-covered fields, then through thickets of aspen and pine, where heavy-laden branches glistened with snow.

  Glancing at the dashboard clock, she realized it was nearly ten thirty, which meant she was a good two hours later than she’d expected to be. She’d spent longer than she’d planned in Spokane, at the mall, then even longer after stopping in Coeur d’Alene for a quick dinner on her way home for old time’s sake. Big mistake. No doubt Tom would be starting to worry. She’d have to give him a call.

  Before she could hit auto dial, a coughing attack erupted in her throat, and she gave up on the phone and quickly unwrapped a cherry-flavored lozenge, sucking on it with vigor. She was feeling a little feverish, too, but she wouldn’t admit it to Tom and the kids.

  Things just had to get done, and if she didn’t do them, who would?

  The holiday season was always super busy, and this year, with a new house and neighborhood, the pressure was on. She intended that her house on Aspen Circle would have the best Christmas display in the entire cul-de-sac.

  Squinting against the sudden glare of headlights, she exhaled heavily. She’d met a few cars traveling the opposite direction, and though no one had sped fast enough to pass her, there were distant beams that occasionally reflected in the rearview mirror, from a vehicle far behind her. At least she wasn’t totally alone on this lonely stretch of highway.

  She needed to get back to Tom and the kids. He’d agreed to watch them while she made her hasty trip to Spokane for some major Christmas shopping. While at the mall, she’d found the cutest new addition to her grapevine reindeer herd, a new Rudolph that would knock the fading nose off her original once he was set up near the little fir tree in the front yard and plugged in.

  Yep. Rudolph II was phenomenal, and he’d been on sale. Twenty percent off with the coupon she’d clipped from the local paper. She couldn’t wait to display him in the frozen, snow-crusted grass, but she hoped the neighborhood would respect her display. Last year a couple of kids in the old neighborhood thought it would be funny to see Rudolph I mounting one of the female deer.

  Elle hadn’t found any humor in the situation. Not at all. Talk about bad taste. Then again, some of those hoodlums had been cretins. So maybe, in some ways, the move to Grizzly Falls was a godsend.

  She coughed again and wished the damned antibiotics would kick in. Yeah, it had been only one day, but she’d been fighting this crud forever. And no bug was going to keep her from this weekend’s price-busting sales. She’d missed Black Friday and Black Saturday, but damn, she’d scored big on Black Sunday, or whatever it was called.

  Without slowing, she hooked up her iPhone to the console, then found her iTunes list and selected a special holiday mix she’d created herself. The music started to play, and within seconds she was singing along with Faith Hill as the wheels of her Dodge ate up the miles.

  Her only problem, other than the nasty flu — pneumonia, really? — was that she wasn’t all that familiar with the roads around these parts. As she’d told the doctor, she’d been an Idaho girl all of her thirty-five years, well, except for that one summer when she’d driven to L.A. and thought she’d bleach her hair blond, live near the beach, Venice or Malibu or somewhere that sounded exotic, and learn how to roller-skate in a bikini.

  Big mistake.

  Too hot. Too crowded. Too many other beautiful blondes.

  She’d returned to Boise four months later, her proverbial tail between her legs, and decided being a “hick from the sticks,” as she’d called herself, wasn’t such a bad thing.

  Besides, she’d met Tom Alexander, hadn’t she? The love of her life. Or at least he had been when they had dated and were first married. Over a dozen years and two kids later, some of the passion had slipped out of their relationship. Lately, Tom had been distant.

  Caught up in her worries about her husband, she sped past a road sign, just catching sight of it in the corner of her eye. “Crap!”

  She realized she’d missed the turn and slowed at the next wide spot in the road and did a quick one-eighty. Some of the roads around here w
ere so poorly marked and confusing! And it didn’t help that it was dark, not a streetlight for miles. At the corner, she turned toward Grizzly Falls and noticed that the vehicle that had been following her at a distance was much closer now. It, too, turned toward town and followed the two-lane road that wound along the banks of the river.

  Elle glanced at the dash clock again. She wouldn’t get home until after eleven, and Tom would be worried sick. She probably should call.

  In her rearview she noticed the car behind her was catching up to her, the harsh glare of its headlights reflecting right into her eyes. “Bastard,” she grumbled, then turned on her Bluetooth, but, of course, it was dead.

  Perfect.

  She’d forgotten to charge the damned thing. That was the problem. There were just too many devices to keep alive, along with juggling the demands of a family, keeping the house, volunteering at the school and, of course, shaking this damned flu, or whatever it was.

  Slipping her phone out of the console, she pressed the two key, her shortcut to home. After the third ring, Tom answered.

  “Hey,” he said, obviously recognizing her number. She heard the muted sound of the television in the background. “Where are you?”

  “God, I wish I knew. On the right road, though. I think.” The sign had said Grizzly Falls this way, hadn’t it? The vehicle behind her was coming closer, right on her tail. “Shit, there’s a guy behind me with his lights on bright. About to burn my eyes out.”

  “Slow down. Let him go by.”

  No way. Let the jerk ride her ass. She was tired and anxious to get home, didn’t need the aggravation of the bastard’s brights. Into the phone, she said, “Look, I’m probably still about twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes away. I couldn’t resist the sales. So, how are the kids?”

  “Unhappy that I made them go to bed at ten. They weren’t quite in the back-to-school mode. I had to become the”—he lowered his voice—“dreaded Sleep Enforcer.”

  “Which they hate.”

  “Copy that.”

  She laughed as she took a sharp curve one-handed. The car behind her didn’t slow for a second. In fact, he seemed even closer, right on her damned bumper! Her tires slid a bit, then caught, and her laughter gave way to another coughing fit. Lord, she was sick of being sick! “Oh. . Tom. .,” she managed, distracted by the car on her tail and her inability to catch her breath. “I. . I have… to. .”

  “Shit!. . Tom!” She was coughing, her eyes were watering, and the car was slipping toward the narrow shoulder.

  Bam!

  Metal crunched and her car leapt forward. Her seat belt snapped tight.

  “What the hell—?” She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the huge truck behind her. He’d hit her? What kind of an idiot was he? She didn’t have time to worry about it. The damned van was skidding. “You son of a bitch!” She dropped the phone and grabbed the wheel with both hands.

  Too late!

  The van was out of control! Sliding ever closer to the shoulder and the rushing, frigid river beyond.

  “Damn it!”

  She drove into the skid, then slowly turned the wheel as the front tire hit the shoulder. She was adding pressure to the brakes, trying to stay calm, though her pulse was jumping, her heart pounding, sweat instantly upon her hands.

  “Elle?” She heard Tom’s voice faintly from the phone, which was now on the floor.

  “The bastard rear-ended me!” she screamed.

  “What?”

  “I said… oh, no!”

  In the mirror, she saw the behemoth of a truck bearing down on her, bright lights glowing with evil fire. What was the matter with him? Oh, Lord, he was going to hit her again!

  She slid from one side of the road into oncoming traffic, then, overcorrecting, skidded over the icy asphalt and onto the shoulder again.

  And still the truck was behind her.

  “Tom!” she screamed. “Call nine-one-one!!!! This guy’s trying to. . oh, Jesus. .” The corner was only a hundred feet away, a sharp curve right before the bridge.

  The truck’s engine was deafening; its high beams were blinding in her side mirror. The idiot was going to pass her!

  Good. Let him go by! Remember to get his damned license plate number. .

  Oh, God, the grille of the truck was so close to her left rear panel! Too close! With a sick sensation she realized the driver had no intention of going around her. He was going to hit her again!

  She had no choice. Though her Dodge was still sliding, she stepped on the accelerator to outmaneuver him.

  Too late!

  Bam!

  Another shot to her bumper. Off center this time and hard enough to snap her neck.

  Her van careened to the right. She stood on the brakes, but the tires kept moving, ever closer to the edge of the road and the river below.

  The bridge… if she could just reach the bridge.

  Bam! With the groan of twisting metal, she felt her vehicle take flight.

  Over the edge of the road, above a strip of snowy bank, then the Caravan dived nose first into the swift, ice-cold river.

  CHAPTER 20

  Since Friday night with Kacey, it seemed to take forever to get through the rest of the long weekend. Between his chores, taking Eli to see Sarge, the recovering dog, both Saturday and Sunday, who so far was doing okay, Trace had spent the rest of his time trying not to think about his son’s new doctor. He’d told himself after Jocelyn that he was through with women for a while, at least until Eli was older, but now, here he was, in the damned barn, thinking about Dr. Acacia Lambert and wondering how he could see her again.

  “Don’t be stupid,” he told himself as he finished feeding the cattle, who were housed during the coldest days of winter in the long barn.

  He pushed aside all thoughts of her easy smile and the glint of humor he caught in her gaze. Starting something up with her would only spark trouble, and he’d seen more than his share.

  He had even considered calling her again but had thought better of it. Besides, they hadn’t really gone on a date so much as eaten together out of convenience, for the sake of Eli. He wondered about her interest in his son. It seemed more than professional, but then, he was probably reading more into the situation than there really was.

  She was also attracted to Trace; he’d been with enough women to recognize the signs. But she’d been guarded as well. So it was best to just let it lie.

  Besides, he had enough on his plate. Eli’s arm seemed to be healing, but his persistent cough was deep and rattling and just wouldn’t go away. His temperature was closing in on a hundred, or had been last night; he’d check again once the boy was awake for the day, but Trace was starting to worry.

  For now, though, he had work to do. The smell of cattle, dung, and urine mingled with that of the dry hay in this hundred-year-old wooden structure that stored feed as well as provided shelter for the animals. The oldest part of the building, the middle section, where the cattle were now milling, was the original barn and was constructed of long-weathered cedar. It rose three stories high, and in the loft overhead, bales of hay were stacked to the ancient rafters. On either side of this central piece, additions had been built over the decades: a pole barn on one side, an enclosed shed that ran the length of the building on the other.

  This morning the cattle, restless at being cooped up during the latest series of storms, bawled and pushed toward the trough he used for feeding in the winter. Their russet and black coats were thick and shaggy; their noses wet as they buried them into the hay he’d spread.

  “Hold on. There’s enough for everyone,” he told one particularly pushy whiteface.

  Then, satisfied that the cattle were cared for, he hung his pitchfork on a nail near the door and automatically whistled for the dog.

  “Okay, that wasn’t smart,” he muttered. Sarge was still at the veterinary clinic and would remain there until Jordan Eagle said he was well enough to leave.

  He left the lights on and stepped outs
ide, where the sun hadn’t yet risen and morning stars crowded the sky. Trudging to the stables, his boots crunching through the snow, he then fed and watered the horses, patting the youngest gelding’s black nose. The horse had been named Jet for his coloring, but after Trace had bought him, Eli had decided to call the gelding Jetfire, who, he claimed, was a Transformer. “Hey, boy,” he said, now scratching the horse behind the ears after he’d measured out the grain. “Maybe you’ll all get out today.”

  Let’s hope, he thought, as all the animals were getting antsy. He didn’t blame them, as he hated to be cooped up as well.

  “Later,” he said to the small herd as he headed outside again, following his own path to the house, where the woodstove was already warming the kitchen and the coffee had brewed. He stomped the snow from his boots, wedged them off, one toe on the heel of the other, then carried them into the house. Once the boots were warming near the fire, he poured himself a cup of coffee and, though he knew it was way too early for any kind of response, checked his phone messages. Of course there were none. He’d hoped that someone who knew Leanna would call him, let him know where she was.

  Now he examined the scrap of paper he’d taken from the desk with contact numbers for Leanna. Checking the time, he shrugged and dialed the Washington number, but it just rang and rang. No answering device. He then called the Phoenix number, also to no avail, but at least this time he could leave a message on voice mail after a computer voice said, “Please leave a message after the tone.” He took the time to explain who he was, that he had been married to Leanna and would like to get in contact with her. Finally, he called the attorney with the firm Leanna had used when they’d divorced, one Kelvin Macadam of Bennett, Stowe, and Ellsworth in Boise, but, of course, their offices weren’t open today. After that he was pretty much out of options.

  So much for chasing down ghosts of ex-wives.

  Sipping from his cup, he snapped on the small television he’d set on the butcher-block cart his mother had used as a baking station.