Pushed to the Limit

by Patricia Rosemoor

  When this was over, when Fox was caught and imprisoned, she would leave Stone Beach, would leave Benno, and try to put the pieces of her life back together. He would understand, she told herself. Though he hadn’t yet told her why, he, too, had felt it necessary to leave Stone Beach and this had been his home.

  Even as she rationalized, Benno hugged her closer, rubbed his cheek against her hair.

  And Sydney felt an impending sense of loss she refused to define.

  “I SHOULD ARREST the both of you,” Brickman said when Benno and Sydney walked into his inner office at the police station.

  “On what charges?” Benno asked.

  Not in the best of moods, he wasn’t about to put up with Brickman’s garbage this early in the morning. It wasn’t much after the crack of dawn and he hadn’t slept well. Besides which, his arm was killing him though he’d pretended otherwise with Sydney. Flesh wound or no, he’d have to be dead to ignore the steady throb that was keeping him on edge.

  Leaning back in his chair, Brickman eyed first his, then Sydney’s rumpled, filthy clothes. “You were supposed to be home before dark.”

  “I’m here now,” she said. “Benno told you I wasn’t trying to skip town. Someone had to do your job, to look for the man you refused to believe existed.”

  The lawman scowled at the reprimand. “And did you find him?”

  Benno squeezed Sydney’s hand, signaling her to let him handle the jerk. “We tracked the man to The Sea Breeze Apartments in Seaside. Did you run a trace on the car?”

  Brickman leaned toward his desk but was obviously in no hurry to appease them. He fiddled with a manila folder, opened it and took his time checking his notes.

  “The plates are registered to one William Emerson of Cannon Beach,” he finally said. “The Oldsmobile, however, belongs to Henry Pollack of Seaside. He reported the car stolen three weeks ago. Emerson never even noticed the switch.”

  “Benno, you were right about the theft.” Sydney didn’t sound too surprised.

  “What is the name of this mystery man?” Brickman asked her, his expression passive. “And why did you decide to look for him in Seaside?”

  “His name is Al Fox. We traced him to Seaside through a liquor store receipt and an arcade coin.”

  The noise Brickman made sounded more like a bark than a laugh. Shaking his head, he said, “Quite the amateur detectives, aren’t we? Maybe I should arrest the two of you for concealing evidence.”

  Sydney pulled free of Benno’s restraint and placed both hands on the desk. She leaned close and stared Brickman directly in the eyes. “Evidence you weren’t willing to look for in the first place?”

  The lawman ignored that and stared back. “So where is this Al Fox now?”

  “He could be in Stone Beach for all we know,” Benno said. “Someone followed us from Seaside. Took a couple of shots at us down on the beach last night.”

  “On the beach, huh?” He seemed to notice Benno’s bloody sleeve for the first time. “He got you in all that fog? Must have been a damn good shot.”

  “Or a lucky one. So, how about it, Brickman?” Benno asked as Sydney straightened and offered him her silent support. “Are you ready to give a little here? We got you a name and a place to start. Two places. In addition to Seaside, you might check out the L.A. area for some history on Fox.”

  “Why L.A.?”

  “Show him the clipping, Sydney.”

  When she dug into the bag that could hold half a person’s possessions, Benno noticed she carefully removed the article from the zippered compartment. And, just as carefully, she concealed Martha’s note and mother-of-pearl pen.

  “We found this in his apartment.” Sydney handed over the yellowed newsprint. “This proves he set me up.”

  Brickman’s brows shot up. “A vendetta?”

  “Why else would he have hung onto this for three years?”

  “What about a motive?”

  “I can’t explain it. I swear I never saw Fox before we met in Lincoln City.”

  Brickman added the clipping to his file. “Give me some time to work on this.” His expression changing subtly, he asked, “The two of you won’t be leaving town again today, will you?”

  Not about to commit himself, Benno shrugged. “Nothing planned.”

  Brickman turned to Sydney. “And where will I be able to find you?”

  Before she could answer, Benno ushered her toward the door. “We’ll let you know.”

  “If I hear anything, I’ll be in touch,” Brickman called after them. “I expect you’ll do the same, not that I’m giving you license to do any investigating. But just in case you do learn something of value. No more holding out on us or I may have to reserve a jail cell for the two of you.”

  “Don’t worry, Officer Brickman,” Sydney said tightly. “I wouldn’t think of concealing information from you.”

  No sooner had they gone through the outer office and landed on the sidewalk than Benno jumped on that lie.

  “You wouldn’t think of concealing anything?” he repeated in a low voice. “What the hell do you call hiding Martha’s note and pen?”

  Sydney stopped cold. “Insurance. I’m not convinced Brickman isn’t involved. Martha may have plotted the murder, but she’s got that man tied around her little finger.”

  “According to Kenneth, Brickman started sniffing at Martha’s heels the moment he saw her, but she’s never given him a second look.”

  “Until now. How do we know Brickman’s not involved?” Sydney demanded. “Don’t you think it’s curious that he accepted what we had to tell him so easily? He’s never believed me before.”

  A passerby knocked into Benno’s wounded arm. He flinched and cursed under his breath.

  “Maybe it’s the wound,” he said with a groan. “Maybe that convinced him we’re on to something.”

  “And maybe he already knew about it. How did the assailant know how to find us?”

  “Assuming it was Fox... from Vita.”

  “Or from Officer Mick Brickman. You did tell him we were going to Seaside,” Sydney reminded him. “What’s to say it wasn’t Brickman himself waiting for us. He does have a gun.”

  “Too bad I didn’t take the bullet. If I had, we could have dug it out to see if it matched the ones fired from Brickman’s gun.”

  Sydney’s jaw tightened. “Go ahead, joke all you want. I say Brickman needs watching.”

  “Brickman is ineffectual.

  But underneath, Benno suspected she could be correct.

  When the bullet had grazed him, he’d wondered for a second which of them had been the intended target despite the clipping they’d found. Thoughts of a vendetta being played out against him kept crossing his mind. Brickman had always cozied up to Parnell Anderson.

  Too much to take in until he could think straight, Benno decided, cradling his arm.

  And Sydney was staring at him doing so. “Are you ready to see a doctor yet?”

  “I don’t need a doctor,” he hedged. Surely an antiseptic would prevent infection and a few painkillers would put him out of his misery for a while.

  “You’ll see a doctor anyway if I have anything to say about it.”

  He didn’t savor her determined expression. She was going to be a pain in the butt until he gave way. He might as well make the most of the situation.

  “All right, I’ll cut you a deal. I’ll take my arm to a doctor if you agree not to take yourself to a motel.”

  Sydney frowned. “Martha isn’t going to let me stay at her brother’s house.”

  “But you can stay at mine.”

  The frown deepened. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you really want to be alone in light of everything that has been happening? You could be a sitting duck, an easy target for a murderer.”

  Benno could tell that idea didn’t thrill Sydney. Before she could rationalize, he headed for the Thunderbird which was parked several yards away. Luckily, a couple of healthy teenagers had helped him free t
he car from the sand when they’d left their hiding place that morning.

  Opening the driver’s door, he insisted, “You’ll be safer at my place.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” she muttered, going around to the passenger side.

  Benno clenched his jaw. Sensing Sydney’s confusion about him had kept him awake most of the night. Too much time to think. Too many bad memories, especially surrounding The Sugar Loaf, which seemed destined to forever play an important role in his life. He threw himself into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He wondered if those things he told Sydney about his background had a chance to sink in and turn her off. What would she think if she knew what had happened that fateful night twenty years before.

  Whatever the reason, he was feeling like hell and not liking the unfamiliar turmoil one bit.

  “Let’s stop playing games here.” His temper flaring as he faced her, he made it an order rather than a request. “What we’re involved in is serious business. You’re going to move in with me for your own good. I won’t touch you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Sydney immediately softened. “Benno, no. Don’t think such a thing. I’m not worried about your molesting me.”

  He wasn’t sure how to take that. Coolly, he said, “Good.” He concentrated on pulling the car out of the parking spot. Best that he keep his emotional distance. “Then you have no reason to refuse.”

  “But first we’re going to get you to a doctor,” she said, her tone resigned.

  Benno was feeling anything but resigned. He was filthy and hungry and bad-tempered. He never should have complicated his life with a stranger’s problems. A loner by learned response, he should have stuck to his code and stayed uninvolved.

  Then maybe he wouldn’t be hurting either outside or in.

  THROUGH THE SLITS of Venetian blinds, he watched the Thunderbird pull away.

  Game time was over.

  He was frustrated and yet bored, tired of playing cat and mouse. He’d almost blown it the night before. He couldn’t take any more chances or he might lose everything.

  The Raferty woman wasn’t going to break on her own, so he would have to get rid of her in the most expedient way and make it look like suicide.

  He would do it tonight.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE BUILDING NEAREST the beach on a cul de sac west of

  Main Street, Benno’s cottage reminded Sydney of the man himself. Having weathered countless storms, the small house remained proud, unbroken, solitary. Standing over his bed, she listened to Benno’s deep, slow breathing. He’d passed out, the combination of exhaustion and pain killers prescribed by the doctor too much for him to resist.

  Golden light streamed through a break in the curtains, darting a shaft across the bed. The white gauze protecting Benno’s wounded arm gleamed against his olive skin. His chest was bare but for a silky matting. The knowledge that he might be naked beneath the sheets stirred her.

  The dark shadow on his face had grown to a rough beard stubble, making his chin scar prominent. He was as tough as they came. And yet, asleep as he was now, Benno projected an innocent quality, the very idea at odds with Sydney’s image of the dark knight who rushed headlong into danger.

  She moved away from the bed and adjusted the window coverings, throwing the room into a cool darkness before edging out quietly and closing the door. A cozy one-story, Benno’s cottage consisted of a living room, kitchen, two small bedrooms and a single bath. She’d been thrilled to move in temporarily if for no other reason than to bid Martha Lord good riddance.

  Shaking away the unpleasant memory of their fair well, she picked up the telephone and punched out a Seattle number she had looked up in her address book.

  While she waited for someone to answer, she looked around with pleasure and a sense of peace. The decor reflected the view out the windows. Sand colored walls. Loveseat and couch in a muted wild grass print. A coffee table with a driftwood base, glass top decorated with shells and a single starfish.

  Three rings and a connection was made.

  “This is Honor,” came a low, husky, prerecorded voice. “Sorry that Nora and I are busy... but if you leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  Sydney hung up rather than leaving some obscure warning that might frighten Honor when undoubtedly the actress wasn’t even involved in this mess.

  Arms tight across her chest, she approached the fireplace and studied the canvas hung above the mantle – The Sugar Loaf, painted not on a sunny day, but on one preceding a storm. The sky was dark and threatening, the sea roiling and careening up the sea stack’s rocky sides. Recognizing the danger they’d been in more clearly than before, she rubbed her arms and turned away from the oil painting.

  The bay windows on the opposite wall gave her a perfect vista of the beach to the north. With a start, she realized Benno had a clear if distant view of the unusually shaped sea stack that had played such an important part first in his life, now in hers.

  Too restless to sit and wait for him to wake, she decided to take a stroll along the beach. Quietly, she left Benno’s home. The sun shone brightly over the sand as if the storm had never been. She glanced back at the cottage with its peeling white paint and sea blue outside shutters that would keep the winter storms at bay. Then she turned north and was drawn inexorably to The Sugar Loaf.

  A comfortable pace brought her to the boulder-strewn area in less than ten minutes. A few children played in the shallows and a teenager sat on a shelf halfway up the north side. No one paid her any mind as she scrambled over rocky ledges pocked with cracks.

  At the base of the sea stack, several depressions made perfect tidal pools partly filled with sea water where lush carpets of brown and green seaweed protected clusters of barnacles and blue muscles. She spotted a purple starfish and several red sea urchins with three inch spines. Green sea anemones shimmered on the tidal pool’s floor.

  So much life had almost been the host to death twelve hours before.

  Almost.

  If Benno had died trying to save her, she would have been burdened with guilt for the rest of her days. If she had come away alive without him to guide her to safety...

  But they were both alive, and she had come away with something very different than guilt, a knowledge at once exhilarating and unwelcome.

  Nestled together in the heart of cold, compassion less rock, they had shared something warm and special. Something scary. Sydney had to face the fact that her feelings for Benno had gone beyond mere caring. No matter how much she rationalized, no matter how many times she reminded herself that she’d believed herself in love with an imposter barely a week before, she couldn’t shake the certainty: she was in love with Benno DeMartino.

  Now what was she going to do about it?

  Discomfort and indecision sweeping through her, Sydney decided to get away from The Sugar Loaf and head back toward the cottage via

  Main Street. Benno wouldn’t be awake for a while, so she might as well browse through the shops. Hotfooting it over the sand strip and along another cul de sac, she headed toward the center of town. Her enthusiasm was short spent. Though she studied the merchandise displayed in the store windows, she didn’t bother to enter any of the shops. Her thoughts kept wandering to Benno.

  Had he awakened?

  Would he be anxious when he didn’t find her?

  About to give up the pretense of shopping altogether, Sydney was alerted when she drew near Stone Beach Photos.

  Standing on the curb several yards away, Parnell Anderson and Mick Brickman were huddled together. Their conversation seemed almost conspiratorial and she was reminded of the memorial service. Of the two men, Parnell seemed the more forceful. The leader. Whatever he was saying was putting Brickman out of sorts. The lawman’s fists were wedged at his hips and his face was drawn into a scowl.

  Sydney couldn’t help herself. Pretending interest in a window display she didn’t really care about, s
he edged her way closer and did her best to eavesdrop while watching the men’s reflections in the glass.

  “This is the best opportunity we’ve had to nail him,” Parnell was saying, “so don’t blow it.”

  Brickman opened his mouth to answer, then noticed Sydney’s presence. Their eyes met in the window. His jaw snapped shut and he inclined his head to his companion. Parnell turned and caught sight of her. When he motioned the other man away, Brickman left immediately.

  Disappointed that she hadn’t heard more, Sydney started to move along herself but was brought up short when Parnell Anderson suddenly stopped her.

  “Miss Raferty,” he said, standing directly in her path. “I hear you’ve been having yourself some trouble.”

  “Not of my own making.”

  “No, not unless you count the company you keep.”

  Figuring he meant Benno, whom he didn’t like, she merely said, “Really?”

  “I heard you moved in with DeMartino.”

  “He was kind enough to lend me his guest bedroom – not that it’s any of your business.”

  “You don’t have to justify your sleeping arrangements as long as you’re satisfied.”

  Outraged, Sydney tried to brush past him, but Parnell used his arm as a barricade.

  “What is it you want?” she asked through gritted teeth.

  “To warn you about DeMartino.”

  “I don’t need your warnings.”

  “I think you do.” He lowered his arm and sounded like a cat who’d cornered a tasty snack when he said, “I would lay odds that he never told you why he left town only two days before high school graduation.”

  “Maybe he did.”

  Parnell took a close look at her expression. He lips drew into a smirk. “I didn’t think so.”

  “When and if Benno wants to tell me,” Sydney said, pretending a disinterest she wasn’t feeling, “I’ll be happy to listen.”