I hung up and shot her a text message. Riley! Where are you? Call me as soon as you get this.
As soon as I pressed send, another call from Lourdes came in. I finally answered.
“What is it?” I said. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, so you better make it fast. No one else tried to murder you, right?”
“No, I’m safe,” Lourdes replied, her voice tight and strained. “But you’ll never believe what I just found out. Meet me in my room. It’s on the sixth floor in the second wing. Six-oh-nine. Get here now.”
She hung up before I could reply, giving me no choice but to obey her order. As I jogged across the bridge to White Oak’s other wing of rooms, I tried calling Riley again. Nothing but crickets and that dumb voicemail message over and over again. In the hallway outside Lourdes’s room, I gave up. Lourdes answered the door after one knock.
“Get in here,” she said, yanking me inside by the collar of my shirt.
“Ouch,” I growled as I rubbed my collarbone where her pointy knuckles had knocked against it. “What’s your damage, Heather?”
Her room was tiny, no larger than the master bathroom in my suite. One queen-sized bed was squished against the wall along with a small desk and a chest of drawers that doubled as a TV stand. It seemed impossible that White Oak had even bothered to build rooms this small, but I supposed they wanted to cater to every brand of tourist, even blue-collared ones.
Lourdes beckoned me over to the desk and opened her laptop. “I have to show you something.”
“This better be good,” I said. “Riley somehow managed to check herself out of the clinic this morning, and now she’s missing. You haven’t seen her around, have you? I can’t get a hold of her.”
“No,” Lourdes said, fiddling with a familiar video clip on her screen. “Forget about Riley for a second. Check this out.”
She turned the laptop toward me. My eyes widened.
“That’s my footage!” I shoved her aside and scrolled through the contents in her media files. “And these are pictures from my personal camera. You stole these?”
“Jazmin let me copy your hard drive,” Lourdes said. “I told you. We were working on something big, not trying to screw you over. And we were right. If you look closer—”
My stomach flipped as she clicked on one of the still images. It showed Tyler Watson’s room on the morning after his death. There was blood everywhere. Tyler’s body was still splayed out on the floor, his eyes wide and unseeing. I never wanted to see these photos again.
“Ugh,” I said, turning away. “What’s your point?”
“Look at the carpet,” she said. “What do you see?”
I squinted at the picture as she zoomed in. “Not much beneath the blood.”
“Look closer.”
I leaned toward the laptop. “Are you talking about those little triangular divots?”
“Yup,” she said, zooming back out and switching to a media player app. “Now watch this video that you took of the detective and Nick Porter.”
She pressed play. The audio was muted, but Lourdes didn’t seem to be concerned with whatever the two men were saying. The video had been taken at the bar in the Eagle’s View at King and Queens, when Daniel was conducting interviews with everyone who had been at the resort the night Tyler was murdered. Riley had hidden the camera behind a napkin holder on the bar. Half of the frame was blacked out, but I could still see Nick approach his stool and sit down. He set his cane near the camera lens.
“There!” Lourdes said. “Did you see it?”
“Did I see what?” I asked, exasperated.
She rewound the footage and froze it right as Nick raised his cane to put it on the bar top. She pointed at the very end of it.
“Right there,” she said.
My jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”
The end of Nick’s cane was shaped like a triangle, the perfect match to the divots in the carpet of Tyler’s room.
“You know what this means, right?” Lourdes asked. “Oliver Watson didn’t kill his son. Nick Porter did.”
Was it enough proof? I couldn’t decide. Nick had definitely been in Tyler’s room that night, and he had lied straight to my face about it. But why would Nick have wanted Tyler dead? Sure, Nick wanted to buy out King and Queens in order to turn it into another version of White Oak, but Tyler wasn’t in the way of that. If he was so determined, Nick could have buried Oliver in legal fees and bought out King and Queens anyway. Tyler was nothing but a pawn. Did that mean Nick had killed him accidentally?
I left Lourdes’s room without discussing it with her, much to her chagrin. I wasn’t like Jazmin. I couldn’t instantly process information like this. I needed time, but time wasn’t exactly on my side. Riley was still missing, and no matter how much I tried her phone, she didn’t answer.
“Riley,” I hissed into her voicemail. “I really need you to call me back. White Oak isn’t safe. We need to get out of here—”
The message recording software cut me off with a harsh beep. I called Riley back yet again, but it went straight to voicemail.
“I’m sorry,” said a computerized voice. “But the voicemail box you are currently trying to reach is full. Please try again later.”
I groaned in frustration and hurled the phone across the room. It hit the kitchen backsplash and shattered.
“No, no, no,” I said, rushing over to pick it up. The screen was black. I tapped the home button to no avail. It was dead. Even if Riley wanted to call me back, she couldn’t now. “Shit!”
Someone knocked on the door. Without thinking, I pulled it open. I instantly regretted my lack of vigilance. I should’ve looked through the peephole first. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had to stand face to face with Nick Porter and his deceitfully warm smile.
“Hi, Lucia,” he said, one hand on his cane, the other behind his back. “I thought you could use a nice dinner out, what with all the stress going on in your life right now. Would you like to go to Porter’s again? We never got around to the lobster. Or if you feel more like having a burger, we can arrange that too. I’m afraid I don’t often frequent the bars downstairs, but I assure you the service is just as stellar—”
“Sorry, Nick,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “I can’t tonight. I have a lot going on right now.”
“Oh?” One of his eyebrows—the one with the scar through it—lifted higher than the other. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No,” I replied. “It’s not. See you tomorrow.” I started to close the door, but the toe of his expensive leather loafer was in the way. “Nick? Your shoe is in the way.”
A grin crept across his face. “It is indeed.”
“Can you move it?”
“I’m afraid not.”
He lunged forward with too much grace for a man who spent most of his days limping around on a cane. I screamed and dodged to the side, but he was too quick. He tackled me to the floor of the suite and slammed the door shut with his foot, locking us inside. His body weight pinned me to the floor as he revealed what he held in his other hand. It was a syringe, which he uncapped with his teeth. As he pinched my arm with his free hand, I bit as hard as I could into his shoulder. He shouted and spat the cap out.
“You stupid bitch,” he snapped, all of his handsome grace gone as his face twisted with rage. “I almost let you live.”
He thrust the needle into my skin and depressed the plunger, dispensing whatever chemical resided inside. Almost immediately, my world faded to black.
10
The drug was like sludge in my system, weighing down everything from my toes to my eyelids. I struggled through the stupor, finally waking up in a wood-paneled room. If it weren’t so cold, the red-and-black flannel sofas and quaint decorations would have been cozy. The hearth was dark and ashy. No fire had been lit there for several years. A fine layer of dust coated the hand-carved wood furniture. The one room had everything, including a queen-sized bed with a dusty duvet, a
kitchenette with a rusty tea kettle, and Gina James, unconscious and tied to a chair near the stove.
“Gina,” I hissed.
She didn’t move. I couldn’t either. Like Gina, I was bound to a chair with mountaineering rope. It had been tied so tightly that my skin was patterned with red welts. I wriggled to and fro, testing the rope, but I only succeeded in aggravating my skin more.
“That won’t help,” said a cold voice. Nick emerged from the adjoining bathroom, drying his hands. His cane leaned against the wall, but his usual limp was gone as he crossed toward me.
“Nick.” Whatever he’d injected me with made my tongue heavy too. “What are you doing? Where are we?”
“We’re at King and Queens,” Nick replied. He struck a match and lit a gas burner on the stove top. He turned up the flame and warmed his hands over it, but the heat didn’t reach across the room to me. “The main building may have burned down, but not many people know about these cabins. They were built for guests who wanted a more rustic type of vacation. They were my favorite place to stay, but that idiot running my resort deemed them too annoying to repair. I’m actually glad he left them be. He ruined everything else with his filthy touch.” He leaned against the counter and gazed around the petite cabin. “This particular cabin was reserved for the Watsons’ personal use. Look.”
He crossed to the bed and picked up a frame from the nearby table. I shook as he neared me, but he didn’t touch me. He just shoved the picture under my nose.
“The Watsons.” He pointed to each member of the family in turn. “Richard, Stella, Odette, and Oliver. This was the year before the fire. Look at Oliver. What do you see?”
I squinted at the weathered photo. Little Oliver Watson glared back. “I see an annoyed kid who probably didn’t feel like sitting for a picture.”
Nick shook the frame and snarled, “Look closer.”
“I’m looking, Nick. I don’t know what you want me to see.”
“There.” He jabbed his finger at Oliver Watson’s face. “Do you see that scar?”
I leaned in to see the tiny pixelated scar that split Oliver’s eyebrow in half. “Yes, I see it. So what?”
“Look at me.”
I obeyed, staring into Nick’s lightning blue eyes. For a moment, I didn’t catch it. Nick’s visage—once so composed and calm—was now angry and violent. I almost missed the tiny scar in his eyebrow, just like Oliver Watson’s in the old picture.
“Oh my God,” I said. “What the hell is going on? Who are you?”
“I’m Oliver Watson,” he said.
“I—what?”
He strode over to Gina and kicked her chair. “Wake up, bitch. You’ve got some explaining to do.”
Gina jolted awake, her head lolling on her shoulders. From the bleary look in her eyes, Nick had drugged her too. “N-Nick, please don’t do this—”
“Shut up,” he ordered.
“The two of you know each other?” I demanded. “How?”
Nick dragged Gina’s chair across the room and planted it in front of mine so the two of us were face to face. “Why don’t you explain how we know each other, Gina? I’m sure your version of events is fascinating.”
“Nicholas—” she pleaded.
“That’s not my name,” he barked. “Tell her!”
Gina trembled and dissolved into tears. Nick shook her chair.
“Don’t you dare,” he ordered. “You think you have the right to cry? You ruined my life!”
“Nick, stop it!” I said. “You’re going to hurt her.”
“She deserves it,” Nick said.
“Just tell me what’s going on,” I replied. “What do you mean you’re Oliver Watson?”
Nick drew a third chair into our midst and straddled it. “It was no secret my father had a multitude of affairs. He adamantly insisted on protection, but Gina here convinced him to slip it in unwrapped.”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “That’s disgusting.”
Gina wiped her nose on her shoulder, leaving a trail of snot on her sweater. “That isn’t what happened.”
“It’s exactly what happened,” Nick snapped.
“You told me you never slept with Richard,” I said to Gina. “Why did you lie to me?”
“Because Nick had you under his spell,” she replied, acidity seeping into her tone. “Friendly neighborhood Nick Porter, the golden boy of Crimson Basin. What utter crap. I did what I had to do.”
“Which was what?” I demanded.
“She burned down King and Queens,” Nick spat. “Twice.”
“You selfish brat,” Gina said. “I wish you’d burnt to death with the rest of your family.”
I slid my chair forward so the legs of it thumped against the floor. “Hello? I’d like to know why I’ve been kidnapped!”
“Because you almost found out what he did,” Gina said as she glared at Nick. “He was the one who murdered the Watsons. All of them.”
“Start at the beginning,” I said. “If Nick’s the real Oliver, then who’s Riley’s father?”
“My son,” Gina said. “Noah.”
My body went slack at the revelation. “I’m so confused.”
“When I found out I was pregnant, Richard acted like it was the end of the world,” Gina said. “He pushed me to get rid of it, but I refused. Then he tried to pay me off to leave Crimson Basin.”
“I can’t believe my own father would stoop so low as to sleep with the help,” Nick said, rolling his eyes. “What a disgrace.”
“The help?” I said. “Gina, you worked at King and Queens? I thought you were a guest.”
“I was a maid,” Gina replied. She kicked Nick’s chair. “And for your information, your father harassed several members of the staff. We were all too scared to say anything.”
“Shut up,” Nick growled.
“Richard Watson was a snake,” Gina said, ignoring Nick. “All of the Watsons were too proud and mighty. Richard treated Noah like a pariah. His own son.”
“He allowed him and you to stay at King and Queens,” Nick said. “You forced Noah to befriend my sister. It wasn’t enough to ruin my parents’ marriage? You had to break our family apart too?”
“The Watsons were already broken,” Gina replied. “All I did was expose the cracks. When your father refused to acknowledge Noah as his son, it made me realize that the Watsons didn’t deserve their empire.”
“You started the fire at King and Queens,” I said. “You killed all those people.”
“Then she put her own son in my place,” Nick hissed. “I barely survived. I still have the burn marks.”
He yanked up his pant leg, exposing the scars I’d seen that one day in the spa. Now, I understood how he’d gotten them. He was the lone survivor of the original fire that burned King and Queens to the ground and trapped Richard Watson and the other victims in the debris as ghosts.
“She kidnapped me,” Nick went on. “Pretended that she was my legal guardian and raised me far away from King and Queens to make sure that her own son could take over my family’s legacy. I didn’t know who she was. When I found out the truth, I ran away and began planning.”
“Noah deserved what Richard never gave him,” Gina said. “You didn’t.”
“Who are you to decide who deserves what?” Nick spat. “Look at us now, Gina. I’m the successful businessman you never wanted me to be, your son is dead, and you’re about to join him. Funny how things work out, isn’t it?”
“Ugh, you’re sick,” I said.
Nick rounded on me, his teeth bared in a grin. “Don’t worry, Lucia. I haven’t forgotten about all the loose ends I need to tie up. For instance, there is one half-Watson still remaining.”
My heart thudded against my rib cage. “Riley. She was missing earlier. What did you do with her?”
He rotated a chunky gold ring around his middle finger. “Currently, the young Miss Watson is trapped on the King and Queens ski lift. If you don’t hand over all the evidence you have against me, she�
��ll fall from the highest point.”
“You’re here,” I reminded him. “How are you going to push her off?”
“Oh, I’m not,” he replied. “My father will.”
His grin widened as he watched the horror infiltrate my expression.
“Did you think you were the only psychic in Crimson Basin?” he asked. “I was honing my skills long before you arrived here, Madame Lucia. My father and I have an unusually close bond. It’s why he’s so powerful. He’s been feeding off of me.”
“You can’t,” I whispered.
Nick lifted out of his chair to stroke my cheek with one long finger. “I can, Miss Star. I’m going to kill Riley Watson.”
Boom!
The door to the cabin burst open, and a monster of a man crashed into the room. His skin was raw and blistered. Some of it had freshly scabbed over. Other parts of his body were heavily wrapped in gauze, including his neck.
“Noah!” Gina gasped. “You’re alive!”
It was Oliver Watson—the fake one who’d been the first to invite me to Crimson Basin. By some impossible miracle, he’d survived the second fire at King and Queens as well as the self-inflicted ice pick wound in his neck. He no longer looked human. Sheer force of will had kept him alive for this long. His injuries were extensive, and he seemed to have cared for them himself. He paid no attention to me or Gina, honing in on Nick instead.
“You will not touch my daughter,” Oliver declared.
Nick backed up as Oliver advanced toward him, but the cabin wasn’t spacious enough for Nick to go far. “What are you doing to do about it? You’re half-dead.”
Oliver roared and lunged across the room. He tackled Nick to the floor. Neither one of them was a brawler. They had both been brought up as wealthy boys of privilege, and street skills had not been included in their etiquette classes. Oliver used his leftover skiing muscles to pin Nick down and hammer his fist into Nick’s head. Nick grabbed Oliver’s hands and dug his fingers in. Oliver’s skin—burned and ruined—ripped. With an anguished howl, Oliver rolled off of Nick to cradle his hands to his chest. Nick, his eyes black and blue from Oliver’s punches, crawled toward his cane leaning against the wall. Oliver reeled his legs in then kicked Nick square in the chest.
Deadly Visions Boxset Page 55
