Nowhere Safe (30 page)

“Detective Rafferty? The one in the interview?” Patti DeForest asked.

Lazenby nodded.

“Is she the one who was Mr. Harmak’s stepsister?” Patti pressed.

Graham’s heart clutched at the mention of the police. “Who is that?” he asked.

“One of the Laurelton PD detectives,” DeForest snapped, dragging the attention back to himself. “I say we have a meeting. Get the parents involved, too. Talk to the people who knew her. Who are Ms. Livesay’s friends at the school? Does anyone know?”

Mrs. Pearce was hurrying up to join them and caught that last remark. It was the break before their last period class. She looked at Graham. “You walked out with her the other day. What were you talking about?”

“Molly,” he said shortly. “She’s in my last period class.”

“How did she seem?” Pearce asked.

“Fine.” Graham was irked and a line of sweat had formed down his back.

“Molly was talking to her friends about how you might come over and have dinner with them,” Pearce went on blithely. “I didn’t know you knew the family so well.”

“I don’t.”

He wanted to smash her teeth in. She had a bland look on her face, but he knew she was paying him back for not paying attention to her. “Molly has tried to set me and her mother up before. Man, I hope Claudia turns up soon,” he added dolefully for good measure.

They all expressed the same desire and the meeting broke up. Graham went back to social studies class and felt a pang of loss that Molly wasn’t in her seat. He had to learn the name of that other girl. The one in Mrs. Pearce’s homeroom. She’d looked so lonely.

But first things first. He needed to make sure his grave-digging the night before wouldn’t give him away in the light of day.

As soon as school was out he hurried to his car. HER car, really, but he was beginning to think of it as his.

As if she knew she’d crossed his mind, his cell phone rang and he saw it was Daria. Reluctantly, he put it to his ear, hoping to hell she wasn’t coming home early.

“Hello,” he said stiffly.

“Well, what kind of a greeting is that?”

“I’m in the car. Can’t drive while I’m talking to you.”

“Turn on the Bluetooth, dummy,” she teased. “It looks like I’m going to be here for at least tonight, maybe tomorrow, we’ll see.”

“I thought you weren’t coming back until Friday.” He tilted the rearview mirror, checking his appearance. He’d been a little scattered this morning. Hadn’t been able to think.

“Well, I don’t think I’ll be able to get away tomorrow, but I’m working on it. They’ve got me at an extra breakfast meeting tomorrow morning, and it really annoys me that they think they own me for every damn hour I’m here. I told them that it was for only one meeting, but they don’t listen. . . .”

Graham tuned out. He’d heard it all a thousand times already. As he readjusted the mirror, his gaze touched on the backseat. His heart stuttered. Was that a smear of blood on the black leather? Had Claudia bled through the blanket?

He glanced in the mirror again. His blue eyes were wild.

“. . . I told James that this was the last time—”

“I gotta go, Daria. Sorry.” He snapped off the phone. His hands were shaking.

With an effort, he stifled the panic and took a long, shuddering breath. No reason to worry. None at all.

He just had to get home and clean the backseat. That’s all. And make sure the body was buried deep enough.

And then . . . then he would make the most of his night, just in case she did come home tomorrow.

 

 

Keith Collier strolled into the station late Wednesday, apologizing for not answering his voice mail. He had a slacker mentality, September thought, viewing him with disappointment, so she was pleasantly surprised when he gave a much more detailed description of the female avenger, even to offering up ways to improve the composite drawing already done with changes in jawline and cheekbones. He worked with the sketch artist for nearly an hour and then pointed at the drawing and proclaimed: “That’s her.”

“That’s her?” September repeated.

“Yeah. That’s her.”

September gazed down at the picture. The girl in the picture was pretty, with large eyes and wide lips and a ponytail resting on her shoulder. Keith had wanted to put the baseball cap back in, but September told him the public needed to see her without the distraction of a costume.

She thanked Keith and as he left, she said to Wes and George, “Let’s get it out there
toute suite.
”

“Hope it works better than Jilly’s picture,” Maharis said glumly from Gretchen’s desk.

“Yeah,” September agreed, as she headed for the break room for her coat and messenger bag. She hoped it did, too.

Lucky watched Ugh drive into the lot of Bad Dog Pub a little after seven
P.M
. Once again she drove past the bar and looked for a spot on a side street. It took a while to find a place where she could fit the car in with its nose out, facing toward the road, just in case she was in need of a quick getaway.

Her pulse was running light and fast. She’d practically willed this meeting with him, but now that it was here, she was feeling light-headed and jazzed.

Her thermos of sweet dreams was in the glove box along with the stun gun and several other gifts from Mr. Blue. Beneath the passenger seat was an empty placard with twine looped through two holes. It was questionable whether she would actually be able to get him to write out his sins, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. Her mission, by necessity, often had to be altered at a moment’s notice.

She was in her black and pink plaid skirt, the pink sequined flats with white anklets, and the pink blouse. She’d plaited her hair into one long braid and tied a pink ribbon around the end of it, and she’d dusted on a light coating of makeup, emphasizing her lips with bubble-gum-pink lip gloss.

Now, throwing on a long, black raincoat, she walked into the bar, carrying only a small wallet in her pocket that held her fake identification, ID that said she was Alicia Trent. She had to leave her stash of “self-defense” equipment in the car, but she intended to wangle Ugh out of the bar anyway.

Inside the door, she turned directly to the restrooms, which were marked
POINTERS
and
SETTERS
. It took her a moment before she got it, so tense were her nerves. She went into a stall, took off her coat and folded it over her arm. Then she flushed and walked back out, checking her appearance. If she didn’t get carded it would be a miracle, though maybe she looked like she was play-acting. Maybe that wasn’t what he was looking for.

Tough. She was here. So was Ugh. It was time to make contact.

The bouncer proofing patrons at a podium said, “ID,” in a bored tone. She handed it over and he did a serious check on it, but she knew it was probably good enough for him. If the police caught her, and a background search were done, well, that was another story, but here she felt confident he wouldn’t find anything amiss.

Her eyes searched past him and she located her target sitting at the end of the bar. A television tuned to a news program hung from the ceiling directly in his sight line, but his attention had been drawn to his right by a couple seated at a nearby table. The guy looked pretty young but the girl beat him by a mile with her baby face, slim build, and tiny stature; she couldn’t be more than five feet. Height was another thing Lucky had against her. Five foot seven was just too tall for a man like Ugh.

She would have to give the performance of her life.

“Okay,” the bouncer said, eyeing her short skirt and length of bare leg.

As she moved in on Ugh, his odor enveloped her, chokingly thick. She had to fight down an urge to gag and steeled herself with a cold mind and laserlike focus.

“Hey,” she said, moving up beside him, startling him. He reared back as if caught in a nefarious act.

“Hey,” he said after a moment.

“Oh, sorry. I thought you were someone I knew. . . .” She glanced around the room, feigning confusion.

“He’s not here?” Ugh asked, his interest rising.

“Apparently not.” She turned to meet his gaze directly, her stomach quivering.

“His loss.”

She smiled. “I guess so.”

“What are you drinking?” he asked.

Swiftly she glanced at his drink and saw that it was a mug of steaming coffee. She didn’t catch a hint of rum or whiskey and thought maybe it was devoid of alcohol. “I’m not really much of a drinker,” she said. “Maybe some white wine?”

He signaled to the bartender and ordered her a glass of Chardonnay. “That okay?” he asked.

“Perfect. I see you’ve got coffee.”

“Nothing can take the place of good strong java,” he said, his gaze all over her face and body. She was glad she’d smashed her breasts down.

Laying her coat on the bar, she searched the pocket for her wallet as the bartender came back with her glass of wine.

Ugh’s hand reached out and dropped over hers. “My treat.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“But you’re not drinking.”

He picked up the mug with his free hand and leveled a gaze at her. “That’s not how I take my pleasure.”

His smile was pure evil, at least to Lucky’s way of thinking. It was an effort not to react with revulsion. He hadn’t lifted his hand from hers and her skin felt like it was moist and blistering beneath his touch.

Pulling back her arm, she eased away from his touch, but covered up the move by turning more toward him. “I really was supposed to meet someone else, but he’s not the most reliable guy.”

She spun the stem of her glass meditatively on the bar and he watched her with such craving that she had to look away, toward the television, just to break the intensity. “My name’s Lucky,” she said.

He sucked in air and laughed silently, loving it. “I’m Graham.”

Her mind was racing. She could probably get him to leave with her right now. But how to finagle him to some rendezvous where she was in control? He might be unaware of her plans for him, but he was still dangerous and unpredictable.

And then a picture came on the television. A drawing of, oh God,
herself
! The volume was turned down and the noise from the bar was too loud to hear, but she knew that was her.

How? How did they know?

His hand had stolen around the small of her back, resting lightly there. Was it her imagination or was the bouncer staring at her again? Had he seen the picture? Did he know?

She had to leave. Immediately. Had to get out of the spotlight.

Leaning into Ugh, making sure she kept his attention off the television until the bulletin passed, she whispered, “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

She put a finger to his lips to stay any more questions, then she swept up her coat and sauntered toward the front door, giving him a good look at her swishing ass, hoping that was what imprinted on his memory, not her face.

Once outside she sprinted toward her car. Leaping inside, she jammed the key into the ignition and threw the Sentra into gear. She slammed hard into the bumper of the car ahead of hers, but managed to get out without further incident. Then she drove as fast as she dared, little trills of anxiety running up and down her spine, and when she got to the Creekside Inn she buried herself inside, shoving a nightstand in front of the door, shaking and gasping from exertion and fear.

What if the desk manager saw the sketch and knew it was her?

She switched on the television in the room and chewed on her nails as she waited for another news break. God. She needed more time.

What if Ugh saw it later and remembered?

 

 

Graham waited forty-five minutes and when the girl didn’t return rage boiled up inside him. “Lucky, my ass,” he muttered, stomping out of the bar and turning around in the parking lot, seeing if by some chance she was outside, waiting for him.

But no. The bitch was gone.

He went back into the bar, his mood black, but no one else caught his eye. He’d liked the look of the girl with the guy who’d been seated near him, but they’d left shortly after Lucky did and he’d never really had a chance with her anyway.

He wanted to cry with frustration. He knew he should be lying low after what had happened with Claudia, but instead of slaking his desire, her death just made him want more of the same.

He had to leave. Head to his father’s basement. He couldn’t be under Daria’s thumb any longer. She was cramping his style. Worse, she seemed to think she owned him, like they were meant to be together forever and ever.

But could he leave the bodies at her place? There were two of them now. Claudia had finally stopped making that ugly rasping sound, but if she hadn’t, he would have put her in the ground anyway.

No. He had to move them to his father’s. Maybe he should head over there now and start digging into the earthen floor. He couldn’t just take the bodies there if the ground wasn’t prepared. His father, though nutty and weak, was still ambulatory and could take it into his head to have a peek in the basement if he sensed Graham were there.

But he didn’t want to move them tonight. He wanted to fuck that tight piece of ass that had
walked out on him.

Trying to calm himself, he thought about his collection of porn and drove home with his mind on his favorite videos. But even so, he couldn’t get the chick in the little skirt out of his head. He could already hear her cooing his name as he slipped his hand up between her legs.

Around midnight he fell asleep in a chair in front of the TV, paying no attention to the “actors” groaning and screwing and screaming on screen. In the wee hours he heard something that sent him bolt upright, instantly awake: a door opening. Immediately he switched off the television, though the DVD was long over. It was still in the player, but he didn’t have time to remove it and stash it away.

Instead he looked around for a weapon. Nothing.

Creeping toward the hall, he thought he saw movement in the mudroom. Darting quickly, he grabbed the Maori figurine and then jumped into view, holding it high over his head.

Daria snapped on a light at the same moment, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Graham!” she shrieked.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw, through a gap in the curtained window, the glow of red taillights from the departing cab, lights that winked out as the vehicle turned the bend in the driveway.

“Fuck, Daria. What’s with this sneaking in? You trying to get yourself killed? Give me a goddamn heads-up next time!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She looked ready to cry. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“I hate surprises! GODDAMN HATE THEM,” he roared.

“I know. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”

It took everything he had—e
verything!—
for him to put down the figurine and slam back into the den. Quickly, he ejected the DVD and slipped it into a nondescript jewel case, stuffing it behind one of the tomes in her bookcase temporarily.

About a half hour later, he heard her tentative knock on the den door.

“What?” he barked.

“Are you coming to bed? It’s really late.”

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” he said through his teeth.

“Okay.”

Sneaky old hag, he thought, hearing her footsteps head back to the bedroom. No consideration for the fact that he had to get up in the morning and teach those fucking whiny brats. Maybe Molly would be back; that would be a plus. But probably not, he thought, falling into despair.

It was all Daria’s fault. He hated HER. He wondered if he could keep sleeping in the den until he made the move to his father’s. But he hated his dad’s place, too. Hated the old, musty, broken down wreck of a house, hated his father’s constant throat clearing and whining.

But he couldn’t stand being with Daria anymore at all. He loved her house, the grounds, the whole place. If it were his, he could be happy here. He wouldn’t need anyone. He could maybe keep his thoughts away from the dangerous paths they wanted to follow and just live.

Daria had money socked away in bank accounts, too. There was online access. All he had to do was learn the codes and maybe he could wheedle those out of her. If there was enough money, maybe he could even quit his job.

He just had to get rid of her. That was all.

Staring into the dark, he let himself fall asleep again and was dead to the world until his eyes suddenly flew open, attuned to his internal clock. It was early morning and he needed to get ready for school.

He’d barely gotten any sleep and that made him cross. It was still dark outside so he had a little time, but he was sick to death of the daily grind, sick to death of everything.

The idea of walking through HER bedroom to use the en suite bathroom made his stomach turn. He had to think about that for a while, so instead he pushed the button on the coffee maker that he’d already prepared for the morning. His full strength stuff. She could just make a face when she drank it or not drink it at all.

Swallowing down his first cup, he felt better, more resolved. All he needed was a solid plan and then he would be good to go. The next time Daria went on a trip—and he sure as hell hoped it was going to be soon—he would move the bodies. In the meantime, he would figure out how to access her accounts and then he would decide what to do about her. He couldn’t get rid of her yet, much as he might want to. He would have to wait until everything was in order.

“Graham?”

She came out of the bedroom in her bathrobe, looking worn and tired, and there were smudges of leftover makeup beneath her eyes.

“Good morning,” was all he could croak out.

He could see the relief cross her face and she sighed and came over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He was still in his clothes from the night before and he suddenly wanted to rip them off and get in the shower. But she gazed up at him with that
look
on her face, the one that sent warning bells off in the back of his head. She wanted to make love and he was not in the mood. Would never be in the mood again.

“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got to get ready for work.”

“Oh, come on. It won’t take long.”

“Yes, it will.” Seeing her hurt, he added, “You know how we are when we get going.”