Could I Have This Dance? (63 page)

“Did you ever see
Titanic?”
he asked. “Here we are. I’m Jack Dawson.”

“And I’m Rose,” she responded. “I can almost hear the theme song.”

The wind had picked up, and as she stepped down, they fell into a natural embrace. She lingered with her mouth on his, tasting the salt from the ocean spray on his lips.

She shivered and looked into his eyes. He seemed far away. Perhaps in a dream of his own, thinking of the future.

A chirping noise startled Claire to attention.
My cell phone. Who could be calling me now?
She lifted the phone from her pocket and unfolded it to answer.

“Hello.” She shielded the phone from the wind but couldn’t hear. She jogged to the bait shack and huddled against a wall which smelled of fish.

She glanced at Brett, who had stayed at the end of the pier. He was leaning over the water, with his hands in the air.

“Hello,” she repeated, louder.

“Dr. McCall? Detective Beckler, Lafayette PD. Where are you?”

“I’m standing on the fishing pier, across from Smithland Shoals.”

“I wanted to get your input on something. I think I may have gotten a break in my investigation into your brother’s crash.”

She leaned closer to the wall. “What?”

“I want you to listen to a 911 tape for me. I think we have a record of Clay’s voice.”

“Does he identify himself?”

“No, but the call was quick. It’s pretty convincing.”

“It can’t be Clay. Brett Daniels was the one who made the call from my phone.”

“Where did you find your phone? Was it in your car?”

“Sure. I told you that.”

“Why would he put the phone back into a wrecked vehicle, Dr. McCall?”

Claire looked at Brett at the end of the pier, as an uneasiness drifted across her mind. “I don’t know. Maybe he just threw it there during all the confusion.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think he’s the man you think he is. Dr. Daniels was on the scene for a reason. He’s the one who forced your brother off the road.”

She coughed. “That’s ridiculous. Brett’s not like that. He tried to save my brother.”

“Ask him about Lisa Dunn. My hunch is that this Dr. Daniels has a pretty sick way of chasing away the competition.”

The idea struck Claire as absurd.

“Let me play you the tape. I think you’ll understand.”

You must be misinterpreting the facts. And here I thought I was grasping at straws.
The wind whipped around the little bait shack. “I can hardly hear what you’re saying.”

“I need you to listen to the 911 tape. To see if you can identify Clay’s voice.” He spoke loudly. “Can I meet you somewhere?”

“I’m, well, I’m with Brett Daniels.”

“Now?”

She looked up to see him approaching. “Yes. We’re on the fishing pier, down from his place.”

She heard the detective curse. “Pretend you’re talking to your mother. Dr. Daniels is a sick man. He’s not the friend you think he is. I’m on my way.”

“Bye, Mom,” she said, feeling a bit foolish for following his instruction. She looked at the phone as the line went dead. None of this made any sense. But the detective sounded so convinced. She folded her phone and slid it into her back pocket again.

Brett leaned forward, taking her in his arms. “Where were we?” he said, kissing her again. “Who called?”

Claire’s mind whirled. Things were getting difficult to sort out. With Brett kissing her neck, the wind blowing through her hair, and the phone conversation clawing at her gut, she suddenly needed the world to stop. Facts floated by, but she couldn’t seem to grasp the truth. Brett had been her savior, the one who’d been there over and over when she had been afraid. Wasn’t that evidence enough of God’s leading, bringing Brett into her life?
When I’d just come back to Lafayette, isn’t that what Brett said?

She replayed the memory of what she’d spoken.
“I can’t seem to shake the feeling that maybe God keeps putting you in my path.”

What was it he said?

“These aren’t coincidences, Claire.”

“Claire?” He pushed his lips against her neck. “Who called?”

A knot rose in her stomach. She was a lousy liar. “My mom.” The words were out of her mouth, without hopes of retrieval.
Please don’t ask me what she wanted. My mind is blank.

He rubbed her back, his hands searching, caressing. He slipped his hand into her hip pocket and edged her forward.

She withdrew and stepped away. “Stop.”

He extracted his hand slowly from her pocket, knocking her cell phone out onto the pier. She leaned to pick it up, but he scooped it up quickly into his hand.

“Let me see this thing,” he said, laughing. “I’ve never seen a pink one before.”

Her throat was suddenly dry. “You’ve never seen it before?”

His expression was blank, clueless of her probing. “No. But don’t get me wrong, pink is okay for you. It’s just—”

She backed away, edging closer to the end of the pier. “Brett, you’re scaring me.”

“What’s wrong?” He stepped forward, but she moved again. Away. Just out of reach.

“You said you used my phone to dial 911, remember?”

He looked like a deer in the road, frozen by car headlights. In a moment he turned his eyes away. “Oh, yeah. I guess I forgot in all the excitement.”

Did you forget? Or?
She took another step back and looked at the long row of boards leading to the shore. Behind Brett. “Brett, who was Lisa Dunn?”

He squinted and wiped the mist from his forehead. “An intern. She didn’t make it.”

“Did you scare her away?”

Brett laughed, a nervous laugh, a forced laugh.

He had been so slick, but now Claire was beginning to understand.

She stared at him, seeing him as if for the first time, as a horror began to dawn. And along with a nauseating dread, a fury rose within her, anger at her own blindness and at Brett.

“Why, Brett? Why?”

He stepped toward her, and again she maintained her distance by a step closer to the edge.

“It’s not what you think, Claire. It was an accident. I swear—”

“You thought it was me, didn’t you? You wanted me to die.”

“No!” He hung his head. “I only wanted to frighten you.”

“Was it you on the phone? Trying to scare me away?”

He held up his hands edging even closer. “Remember when I first tried to kiss you?”

She nodded.
Where’s he going with this? I wonder if I can beat him to the beach?

“Every time I wanted you, you slammed the door, Claire. I knew you’d never fall for a guy like me.” His voice began to weaken. He was on an emotional precipice, about to tumble and cry.

She studied him as a rising horror seemed to threaten her breath.

“The first time you were scared, you turned to me. And suddenly, I was the one holding Claire.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. The lifeguard boy that Claire had imagined … was gone.

“It was you! I would resist your advances, so you threatened me. And I turned to you.”

“I was your hero.”

“I told you about being chased by Mr. Jones. I ran back to you after that.” She paused, incredulous. “So you thought you’d chase me? Scare me back into your arms?”

“Into my arms or out of the program.” He held up his hands and stepped forward again. “Either way, I win.”

“Didn’t you think I’d recognize your truck?”

He shook his head. “Not at night. Not with my brights on. You’d never see the vehicle.”

She stumbled backwards. “You killed my brother.”

“It was an accident, Claire. I promise,” he stuttered. “I only meant to scare you.”

“Get away,” she shouted. “Get away!”

“Claire,” he begged, his voice on the edge of tears. He lunged forward with his arms open.

She sidestepped quickly to evade his grasp, but slipped on the boards which were slick from the ocean spray. She skidded forward beneath the wooden railing, her leg scraping the edge as she fell.

In a moment, she was airborne, in a free fall toward the frigid ocean. There was no time to brace for impact. She heard a scream, her own, and plunged into the sea.

Chapter Forty-Seven

C
laire surfaced, coughing, tasting the ocean brine and feeling cold. A death-grip cold like she’d never felt before. She wrestled off her sweater and tried to swim toward the beach, but the current was strong, pulling hard away from shore. A wave slammed her forward into a wood piling, sending her chest and abdomen scraping against the barnacles.

Above her, she heard Brett scream, a muffled cry of distress which seemed far away, his voice dissipated by the howling wind. She grasped at the piling, pain searing through the lacerations on her chest. Her hands were quickly going numb, and she’d only been in the water a few moments.

I’m going to die. Just like Clay. Alone. I can’t last long in water this cold.

There was more yelling above, and then a splash beside her, and Brett’s voice, gurgling and screaming her name.

A hand gripped her ankle. He was dragging her under.
He’s trying to kill
me.

I’m going to die.

For a moment, she was tempted to let the piling go. She tried to speak but her chin quivered, and the air escaped without sound. It would be so easy to slip beneath the water and surrender to the current.

She felt herself being torn away from the pier. Her hands were numb, refusing to obey. She kicked to be free of his grip, but he was too strong. Her hands broke free of the pier. She turned to lash out with her arms, choking on the water as she was pulled away. But as she struggled to reach him, her arm fell onto an open ring. She flailed for life, securing her grip around an orange rescue ring.

And then, the hand on her ankle was gone. Shivering violently, she managed to speak. “Br—Brett!”

There was noise above, and a man’s voice yelling her name. But she could not speak again. She could only clutch in desperation to the ring in her arms.

The ring tugged forward, and for the first time, she realized it was attached to a rope. She was being pulled to safety.

The water made her heavy, too heavy to be lifted from the waves. But Claire hung on, unaware of time, aware only of the ring in her arms. She knew little else except for bone-chilling cold. Suddenly, she felt a heaviness beneath her. She could not feel her feet. But there was the sensation of pressure.
My feet are dragging on the sand.
She fought to stand, and a breaking wave crashed her forward. Then there were arms, strong arms, dragging her from the surf.

“Don’t try to talk. I’ve got you now. You’re safe.”

She recognized Detective Beckler.

In the distance, she heard a siren. Help was on the way.

A few minutes later, inside a rescue vehicle, her clothes were stripped away and warm, dry blankets were placed against her skin. An IV was inserted, and an oxygen mask slipped over her mouth and nose.

She looked up to see the detective, leaning over her.

She caught his eye. “Brett Daniels did this. He was trying to drown me.

He shook his head. “I had thrown two life rings that were swept away before he jumped in with the last one. Brett Daniels saved your life.”

“Where is he?”

He looked toward the surf and shook his head. “Out there.”

The following afternoon, lying in her hospital bed, Claire listened as Detective Beckler played the 911 tapes.

The first voice was the emergency operator, a female.

“911 emergency.”

“Someone’s following me.”

Claire leaned forward. The voice was strained, but it sounded like Clay’s.

The female voice continued, “May I have your name and your location.”

The sound of wind distorted Clay’s answer.

The sound of screeching tires, and a gasp was followed by a dull thud.

The detective stopped the tape. “I think Clay braked and was struck from behind.”

Claire looked up. “I guess that explains the orange paint.”

“Exactly. My theory is that when Clay was struck, he dropped the phone.”

He restarted the tape. The only sound was that of the wind and what sounded like a frustrated cry. “Ahhh!”

A few seconds later, the sound of tire rubber against the blacktop preceded the sickening crunch of metal against metal, brief silence, then breaking glass and a second deafening thud.

Claire put her hand to her lips. “Is that it?”

Beckler shook his head. “No. A second call came in moments after this call. Listen to this.” He inserted a second tape.

911 emergency.

“This is Brett Daniels. There’s been a terrible accident on the beach road near the lighthouse. A girl’s been hurt bad. My orange truck is parked off the road at the site. I’m a doctor. I’ll do what I can, but I need a paramedic crew now.”

Beckler snapped off the tape. “That’s all we have from Dr. Daniels. He ended his call before the operator could respond.”

A knot rose in Claire’s throat. “He told me he made the call from my phone! But he called from his own phone. Clay had made the call from my cell phone.” She shook her head incredulously. “Brett told me that he didn’t recognize my car, that he didn’t know Clay was my brother.” She halted. “But he told the operator it was a girl. He must have recognized my car. He thought it was me or he wouldn’t have told them that a girl had been hurt.”

The detective nodded soberly. “There’s more.” He put back in the first tape. “Clay never turned off his phone. We have a record of the first few moments of Brett’s arrival as he climbed down to the scene. Listen to this.”

The sounds were muffled, a voice cracking and anguished. “Claire! Claire!” Then softer. “Claire! I was just trying to scare you,” the voice sobbed. The sound of crunching glass and a gasp. “Claire?” A curse followed, and the line went dead.

“I think what we are hearing is Brett looking in the car, not seeing your body, then seeing Clay outside the vehicle, and Brett realizing that it isn’t you.

“Did Brett terminate the call from my phone?”

The officer shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s possible he found it and terminated the call, before throwing it against the dash in frustration.”