by LENA DIAZ,
Perhaps the most worrisome issue was that if Brielle was busy talking to Dalton and Mason out front, couldn’t Bethany just have told them she was going inside to get out of the cold and see her old friend again? Why wouldn’t she use the front door? The only reason to use the back door was if she didn’t want to be seen by the Seekers. And there was only one reason Hayley could think of for Bethany not to want them to know she was here.
Bethany was The Ghost.
Oh dear Lord. She had to get to Dalton.
“O-okay. Sorry. Still so shocked to see you that I’m not thinking straight. I didn’t mean to leave you out there in the cold.” She forced a smile. “I’ll, ah, go open the back door right now.” She turned around.
“Hold it.”
The unmistakable sound of a round being chambered had Hayley stiffening.
“Turn around.”
She slowly turned.
Bethany had the barrel of a pistol pressed against the screen. “You never were good at hiding your emotions. I can tell you aren’t buying my story. Looks like we’re going to do this the hard way.” She raised her other hand, revealing a wicked-looking knife.
Hayley drew a sharp breath.
Bethany rolled her eyes. “I’m not planning on stabbing you. Not yet anyway.” She slashed the screen from corner to corner, making an X, then put her knife away. “Climb out the window. Make any noise, scream, do anything to alert your lover and I’ll blow your stupid head off. Then, when he runs in here to rescue you, I’ll shoot him too. Got it?”
Hayley nodded.
“Do it. Now.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dalton sat on the front porch steps, holding the phone away from his ear so that Sampson’s yelling wouldn’t destroy his hearing. While she ranted about him not leveling with her and keeping her in the loop, and mucking up her crime scene at Hayley’s cabin, he practiced trying to blow out his breath like smoke rings in the freezing cold air.
His toes were starting to lose feeling inside his boots. But no way was he going inside the warm cabin until this conversation was over. Hayley had already been through so much. He didn’t want to clue her in about her friend being The Ghost until this was over and there was no more danger to her or anyone else. She’d earned a reprieve from worry and stress. He was going to do everything he could to let her enjoy this break for as long as possible.
Something Sampson said caught his attention. He put the phone back to his ear. “Wait, what did you just say? About the car on the gas station’s video?”
“Are you even listening to me?” she accused.
“Partly. Tell me about the car.”
She cursed him up and down, then sighed loudly, as if she’d finally run out of thunder. “I said your people don’t need to search for the car anymore. We found it in the woods behind Miss Nash’s rental cabin. And you’re in luck. There are shoe prints leading from the car to the back door. And tool marks on the door. That lends credence to your theory that someone else is involved and planted the evidence.”
“It’s not a theory. It’s a fact. I told you—”
“Hayley’s innocent, yeah, yeah. I’ll go with hard facts to come to my conclusions. But it’s leaning in your favor, especially since I can corroborate that she was with you at the park, then after that at Camelot without an opportunity to put those items in the cabin herself. Plus, having met her, and knowing her history with badgering my former fellow Gatlinburg officers over finding her friend’s alleged killer, that sure doesn’t jibe with her being the killer. So, yes, I agree with you that she’s likely not the suspect we should be after. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk to her. She’s not in the clear just yet.”
He made a circling motion with his hand. “Hold it. Rewind. If Bethany arrived in that car and parked it in the woods, then broke in and planted evidence, why is her car still there?”
“Good question, Sherlock. One we’ve been asking ourselves as well. So I sent the CSI team to scour the yard, the woods, the driveway, you name it, looking for evidence that there was another vehicle. My theory was that she has a partner, someone helping her. But there’s nothing to indicate any other vehicles were parked here except for that huge truck of yours. I sent a guy up to your house to find tire tracks on your driveway and compare them to the ones at Miss Nash’s. They match. I don’t suppose you gave the perp a ride in your truck when you and Miss Nash left out of there in such a hurry, did you?” She chuckled.
Dalton wasn’t laughing. He was staring at his truck, parked in the gravel at the end of the house. And the toolbox that ran the width of the bed. A toolbox plenty big enough for someone to hide in.
“I’ll call you back.”
He shoved the phone in his pocket and yanked out his pistol. A few seconds later, he was looking down into the toolbox at a pile of blankets, blankets that he hadn’t put there. Blankets that would have kept someone warm and cushioned from bumps during the long drive to the cabin, and while waiting for an opportunity to climb out and go inside. When no one else was on guard.
Oh dear God, please, no!
He tore off toward the house, taking the steps two at a time. Having seen the autopsy photos of The Ghost’s victims, knowing how Bethany liked to inflict as much pain as she could before finally killing them—a detail that he hadn’t shared with Hayley—he didn’t follow his training. He didn’t wait for backup or slowly clear the cabin. Instead, he swept his pistol out in front of him, running from room to room. Even before he reached the master, the tomblike silence had fear curling through his gut.
He burst inside, then stumbled to a halt. Cold, bitter air blew in through the open window. The slashed screen fluttered in the breeze.
The sound of a loud engine starting up had him whirling around and sprinting for the front door. He leaped off the porch and tore down the driveway after the fleeing taillights of his truck. Hayley was driving, and Bethany was sitting beside her, pointing a pistol at her.
He dropped to his knees and fired at the left rear tire. But the truck turned out of the driveway a split second before he squeezed the trigger. He ran across the front lawn, firing two more shots at the tires before the truck disappeared around a curve.
He let out a guttural yell, then grabbed his phone and punched Mason’s number.
When Mason answered, Dalton gritted out, “She’s gone, Mason. God help me, The Ghost has Hayley. Use that fancy computer of yours and get the team, the police, hell, everyone looking for my truck. She’s holding a gun on Hayley and Hayley’s the one driving. Tell everyone that. I don’t want her hurt.”
“I just pulled over and I’m sending out the notification right now. What’s your license plate number?”
Dalton rattled off the information.
“Okay, message sent. I’m heading to the cabin now. Tell me exactly what happened.”
He paced back and forth across the lawn, unable to stand still with the frustration and rage boiling through him. He told Mason about the car that Sampson had found, about his toolbox, the blankets.
“Our supposed guest must have been in the car in the woods when I was at Hayley’s cabin. She was planning on planting evidence when she could get into the house. But when I took Hayley with me to the crime scene at the park, she realized her plan might not work, that I’d tell the police Hayley couldn’t have left those things since she was with me the whole time. She changed plans, got some blankets and waited for me to bring Hayley back home. She probably hid in the bushes by the garage, then purposely left the front door ajar to get me into the house. That’s when she climbed in the back of my truck and hid in the toolbox.”
He stopped pacing, and scrubbed the stubble on his face. “You know what this means, don’t you? She’s been using Hayley as her fall guy all along, probably hired us as a front, too, because everyone was getting too close in the drug-and gunrunning investigations a
nd she needed an excuse for why some of the bad guys might mention her as one of their cohorts. She used her job as a freelance reporter as her cover. She needed everyone to believe she was researching a story and the bad guys had found out and she needed protection.
“We’ve been used, Mason. Used like crazy. And she’s been laughing at us this entire time. But it’s falling apart on her, so she’s changing the game plan. She doesn’t care anymore if we know she’s The Ghost. What’s her next step, Mason? What’s her new plan? Tell me why she took Hayley if she knew we were on to her? We didn’t believe that Hayley was The Ghost. What was the point of taking her?”
“I’m almost there. We’ll figure it out together. We’ll find her. Don’t worry.”
“Just hurry.” He hung up and jogged back toward the cabin. Only then did he see what was waiting for him. A yellow piece of legal paper fluttering in the breeze, pinned to the front door with a knife. Somehow Bethany had brazenly snuck the door open and left that note while he was talking to Sampson. He yanked the paper free and scanned its contents. It was another murder list, just like the others. Except The Ghost had added Seth’s name at the top, as if to brag that he was the first victim, and the Seekers had never figured it out. But there was another new name on the list, at the bottom.
Hayley Nash.
He fell to his knees and shouted his rage to the branches and skies overhead.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Take a left,” Bethany ordered once they finally reached the main road.
Hayley hesitated. A left would take them past Dalton’s home toward Camelot, which was likely empty if everyone was out searching for The Ghost. But a right would take them past her rental cabin. Were the police still there, processing the scene? Maybe she could honk or swerve as she drove by and get the police to go after them.
The cold barrel of the pistol pressed against her cheek. “Left. And don’t drive crazy if we pass any other vehicles. I go down, you go down. Remember that.”
Hayley turned left.
They were just starting to pass Dalton’s house when an older blue sedan barreled out of the driveway straight toward them. She screamed as the car rammed into the back side of Dalton’s Silverado, spinning it around. Trees and sky seemed to whirl in circles.
“The ditch, the ditch,” Bethany yelled.
Hayley frantically fought for control but the truck skidded off the shoulder, hopped across the ditch and slammed sideways against a stand of trees. Dirt flew up in a cloud around them and rained down onto the windshield.
Bethany smacked the gun against Hayley’s shoulder. Haley retaliated with a fist against Bethany’s jaw, sending her crashing against the far door. She drew back her fist again, then stopped. The gun was pointing at her again, inches from her nose. She slowly lowered her hand.
“Get out,” Bethany snarled, waggling her jaw as if to see whether it was broken. “Hurry. Before I decide to shoot you right now.”
Hayley pushed open the door and carefully lowered herself, trying to reach the running board without falling. A hard shove sent her tumbling out, banging her shins against the truck as she fell to the ground. She rolled sideways, cursing at her friend. Former friend.
“You’re pathetic, Hayley. I don’t know what Chandler ever saw in you. I truly don’t. Get up.”
Adrenaline and anger gave her the strength to stagger to her feet. Blood dribbled from a gash on her right knee. Yet another pair of jeans was ripped clean through. She glared at Bethany. “Some way to treat a friend. What now?”
“Yes, well. Business is business.”
“Business?”
“Later. Do be a dear and check on the other accident victim, won’t you? And hurry up.” She raised her pistol, her cold eyes letting Hayley know she wouldn’t hesitate to use it.
The blue car had ended up on the shoulder, as if it had been purposely parked there. But glass all over the road told another story. Both of the front side windows had blown out. And the windshield was a spiderweb of cracks, with a smear of blood across it. A man was slumped over the steering wheel. He must have hit his head on the windshield. There wasn’t any sign of an air bag, probably because it was an older vehicle, one of those classic cars people collected.
They reached the driver’s door and to Hayley’s relief the man groaned. He was still alive. Then she realized who he was—one of the Seekers, the former profiler. Bryson.
“Get him out of there,” Bethany ordered. “We need his car.”
“He’s injured. We have to help him.”
Bethany fired a shot through the door. “Not anymore.”
Hayley covered her mouth in horror. Bryson had fallen to the right side of the bench seat. The only thing holding him in place was the seat belt. His eyes were closed. Blood matted his hair and ran down the side of his face. There was a small hole in the left side of his suit jacket, near the lower part of his rib cage, marking the entrance wound. Hayley couldn’t see the exit wound.
“Get in.” Bethany motioned with her gun.
Not wanting to give Bethany another excuse to shoot him, just in case he was still alive, she opened the door and unbuckled him. She threaded the belt around his arm until he was freed. Then she ran around the car to the passenger side.
“What the heck are you doing? Get back here. Just shove him in the floorboard.”
She wasn’t about to leave an injured man in the car to die, if he wasn’t dead already. He’d have a better chance on the side of the road. Hopefully someone would drive by and help him.
She yanked open the passenger door and used all her strength to pull Bryson out as gently as she could and roll him onto the grass away from the tires.
“Stop messing with the dead guy. Get in the driver’s seat.”
“Coming,” she yelled. She gasped in surprise when Bryson opened his eyes and blinked at her.
He groaned.
“Shh,” she warned, pressing her finger against his lips. “Close your eyes. Play dead.” She yanked his tie off over his head and wadded it against what must have been the exit wound, his right hip area where he was bleeding the worst. Then she grabbed his right hand and shoved it against his tie. “Hold that tight. No matter what, don’t let go. That’s all I can do for you right now. I’m so sorry. Hold it tight. Someone will come along. Just hold on.”
“G-gun,” he whispered, his voice faint. “Take...my gun.”
“What are you doing?” Bethany shouted. “Reading his last rites? Get over here.”
She bit her lip, then flipped back his jacket, looking for his gun. He was wearing a holster, but it was empty. Disappointment slammed through her.
The sound of shoes on pavement told her Bethany had lost what little patience she had.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered again. “Please.”
A bubble of bright red blood dribbled out of his lips. His eyes closed.
She whispered a frantic prayer, hoping she hadn’t just witnessed his last moments. She shoved herself up. But her knee protested, sending her stumbling against the car. Bethany had just reached the front bumper, but stopped and followed her to the driver’s door.
She held up another gun. “Was this what you were looking for on the dead guy? Lucky for me, it fell out when you were so gently pulling him out of the car.” She laughed and got into the front seat, pointing the gun at Hayley the whole time. She tossed Bryson’s gun in the back seat and slid all the way over.
Hayley sat behind the wheel and shut the door, dismayed to see Bryson’s blood all over her hands. Please let him be okay. “Where to now?”
“To Camelot, my lady. Drive.”
She started the engine and pulled out onto the road.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As Dalton drove the Mercedes down the long narrow road from the cabin, Mason checked in with the Seekers and then Detective Sampson to get updat
es. When he hung up, his face was grim.
“Tell me,” Dalton gritted out. “Is she—” He choked, then cleared his throat. “Have they found Hayley?”
“No.” Mason squeezed his shoulder. “They haven’t found her yet. Don’t give up hope.”
“You saw what that witch did to the others.”
“There’s a reason that Bethany didn’t just kill Hayley outright. She went to a lot of risk, a lot of trouble, taking her as a hostage. That reason, whatever it is, is keeping her alive. Have faith.”
“I’m trying, believe me. What’s everyone doing to find her?”
“Everything that can be done. Brielle and Kira are coordinating with Sampson. Most of the others are out driving the roads, looking for your truck. You and I can set up the command post at Camelot and see what’s been searched and what hasn’t. Roadblocks are up. She’s not getting off this mountain. It’s just a matter of pounding the pavement, finding every cabin and business out this way. This isn’t one of the more populated mountains in the area. We’ve got enough manpower to make this happen.”
“You said most of the others. Has everyone called in?”
“Everyone except Bryson. Last I heard he was going to your house to check on your dogs. He should be calling in soon for an assignment.”
A sharp curve up ahead had him slamming the brakes. Mason swore as papers went flying into the floorboard.
“My truck’s brakes aren’t as touchy as yours.”
Mason rolled his eyes and retrieved the papers and folders.
“Wait.” Dalton motioned toward one of the folders. “That’s the rap sheet on Chandler Harding. Open it.”
“Chandler who?”
“Harding. He was Hayley’s boyfriend in college. After she broke up with him, Bethany dated him and got engaged. He was killed a few years later.”
