Riptide (15 page)

Adam grunted. “Let's go out a bit farther. Maybe we'll see some tire tracks.”

“No way,” Sherlock said. “The stalker is a pro, which means that he isn't really a stalker. That's just a cover. A misdirection.”

Savich nodded. “I agree. He isn't a stalker.”

Becca said, “What do you mean, exactly?”

Adam said, as he slowly lifted leaves some ten feet away, “It doesn't make sense, Becca. Usually stalkers are sick guys who, for whatever strange reason, latch on to someone. It's an obsession. They're not pros. This guy's a pro. This was well thought out.”

And Savich thought:
If Krimakov is alive, then it's a terror campaign, and Becca's just the means to the end. Thomas Matlock is right to be afraid.
And the ending Krimakov planned wasn't good for either father or daughter.

Becca was shaking her head. “But he sounds nuts whenever he's called me. He called a couple of hours ago. He said much of the same things. He sounded all sorts of excited, very pleased with himself, like he couldn't wait. I know he's toying with me, getting a real kick out of my fear, my anger, my helplessness.” She stopped a moment, looked at Adam, and added, “The thing is, I can't help but feel that inside, he's just dead.”

Sherlock said, “Maybe he's dead on the inside, but it's the outside we've got to worry about. One thing we know for sure is that he's clever; he knows what he needs to do and he does it. He found you, didn't he? Now, could we go back to the house and Becca can tell us everything? You
said he called you again. Tell us exactly what he said. Then we can put all our brainpower together and solve this mess.”

“Another thing,” Savich said as he brushed his black slacks off, “I don't want us out in the open like this. It isn't smart.”

And Sherlock, her brilliant red hair shining brightly in the fading afternoon light, led them back to Jacob Marley's house.

They found caulk, an electric sander that worked, and some wood stain in the basement, on some shelves near the hole in the brick wall.

They took the front door off its hinges and brought it inside. While Savich sanded it down and Adam caulked in the bullet holes, Becca and Sherlock kept watch, their guns in their hands, watchful. Very soon, Sherlock had Becca talking and talking. “. . . and when he called me just a while ago, he said the same sorts of things, like I would contact the governor as soon as he was well enough again and have him come to me.”

“You know,” Adam said, “he doesn't believe you've slept with the governor. It's just part of a script. He needed something so that he could claim you needed punishment.”

“You're right,” Sherlock said, giving Adam his first look of approval, for which he didn't know whether to be pleased or snarl. “Yes, you're perfectly right. Go ahead, Becca, what else did he say?”

“When I asked him about Dick McCallum, he wouldn't admit that he killed him, but I know that he did. He said I'd gotten all pissy, that I'd gotten too confident, that he was coming for me soon. I tell you, when I hung up, I was ready to throw in the towel. He calls himself my boyfriend. It's beyond creepy.”

“Yeah,” Adam said, raising his head to look at her, “she was ready to throw in the towel for about three minutes.” Then he said toward Savich, “Then she put her Coonan in her pocket and went out into the woods. Why'd you go out there, Becca? It wasn't real smart, you know.”

She looked inward for a moment, all of them saw it—and the sanding and caulking stopped. Not one of them was surprised when she shrugged. “I don't know, really. I just wanted to go there, alone, and sit under the sunlight against that tree. Jacob Marley's house was getting to me. There are ghosts here, the air is filled with remnants of the people who lived here, residue, maybe, not all of it good.”

“Before I finally found her, I nearly croaked,” Adam said, realizing he was grinning at Savich. Well, hell, why not? He was here and he did seem competent, at least so far. Maybe he'd still fall flat on his face.

“Listen, I've got to contact my men,” Adam said. “The stalker—or whatever he is—is here. He tried to kill us, or maybe he was just after me—that's more likely. We've got to close this town down. And we need to finish with this damned door before he just walks right up and shoots us.”

“He won't even get close,” Becca said and raised her Coonan.

“Agreed,” Savich said. He winked at Sherlock. “You want to tell Adam about how we've got everything covered?”

“Yep. A half dozen guys from Thomas are on their way here.” She looked down at her wristwatch. “In about an hour, I'd estimate. And here we were worried that there wouldn't be enough for them to do. We were really wrong on that one.”

“The timing's perfect,” Savich said as he wiped all the sawdust off his hands. “Don't anyone fret that they'll all be piling into town and staying at Errol Flynn's Hammock. Nope, they won't stick out at all, but they'll have this place well covered. Now, we need to get busy as soon as we're done with this door. We need to bug the phone. He'll probably call again, soon. Also, we need protection around the house. The guys will be calling in and we'll set up a guard rotation. Also, Adam, you can show them where the blood is and they can get it analyzed. We'll at least verify that it's human.”

“I know I hit him.”

Savich nodded to Becca. “Yes, I'm sure you did. We'll see if anything interesting shows up in the blood work. Now, it would probably be a smart thing if you stayed inside, Becca.”

Sherlock said, “If he was trying to kill Adam, to make things easier for him, then that makes all of us open season. It would be wise if this Tyler McBride kept himself and his kid away from here. It isn't safe.”

And Adam thought,
Where's my brain? I should have thought and said all of that.

Becca said, looking Sherlock straight in the eye, “No, I don't want Tyler or Sam in any danger, either. Now, who's this Thomas?”

“He's Adam's boss,” Savich said, well aware that Adam was on full alert, “or he used to be. Now Adam is on his own. Actually, as I understand it, Adam is doing Thomas a favor. Hey, don't worry about it, Becca, you don't know him. Adam, you did a good job of filling in all the holes. A bit of stain and the door will look perfect again.”

Becca jumped up. “I left it in the kitchen.”

“I'll go with you,” Sherlock said. “I think I'd like to look at that gash in the basement wall again.”

“Of course he was after you,” Savich said easily, once Becca was out of hearing. “He wanted you out of the way, wounded or dead, it didn't matter to him. It still doesn't.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“He wants her. He wants to take her so he figured he'd have to knock you out of the way.”

“That's what I figure.”

B
ecca held the can of stain in front of her. Adam, instead of taking the can, found himself just standing there staring down at the too thin, formerly pale young woman who was now flushed red to her eyebrows.

“I'm really mad now,” she said, and he believed her, and smiled. “He shot up Jacob Marley's damned door. That's beyond the line.” He couldn't cut off his smile, because her eyes were glowing. Her soft blue eyes were hard and pulsing with rage. Her dyed hair was nearly standing on end. “I heard the two of you talking. He tried to kill you, Adam, to get to me. That's beyond the line, too.” She was panting now. She was major-league pissed, and she wanted to protect him. He took her face between his big hands. His mouth was nearly touching hers. He immediately straightened and took the damned can of stain. He didn't want this, but he couldn't help it. An enraged Becca Matlock who still wanted to protect him did something to him, something strange and wonderful that seared him to the soles of his scuffed boots.

He looked at her mouth again, but instead of kissing her, he started to laugh. And he kept on laughing, he wanted to kiss her that bad.

She blinked at him and then took a step back. “Don't get stain on your clothes. I'm not going to wash them for you.”

“When it's necessary, I'll wash my own clothes,” Adam said, then added on a grin, “if you'll show me how to work the washing machine.”

“Mechanical things defeat you, do they? No, don't say it, only mechanical things that involve work could defeat a guy.”

Adam eyed Savich's outstretched hand, grunted, and handed him the stain. His arm burned and ached and Savich knew it, the damned interloper. He said to him, “You know something? I'd really like to rearrange your pretty face when this is all over.”

Savich stared at him, then laughed. “If you think my face is pretty, then you've got a big problem, because that's what I think about yours.”

“Bullshit.”

Savich shook his head. “You want to play at the gym? Fine by me.”

Becca stood by the front window as Savich stained the front door, her Coonan held loosely in her right hand, looking all around, just like a pro. After a bit, Adam couldn't stand it and took the brush from Savich.

Savich grinned at him. Sherlock said, “I love to see a real macho guy in action.”

Adam brushed on the stain, slowly, carefully, gritting his teeth because his arm hurt. But he wasn't about to whine. He whistled low, between his teeth, hoping Savich heard it.

Tyler showed up with Sam an hour later. “Hey, what's that smell? Who are these people?”

Becca went blank for a moment, then said, “I didn't like the stain on the front door. It was looking tatty and old. I just finished re-staining it.” She waited to see if Tyler would say anything about hearing bullets, but he didn't.

Sam stared up at her, sniffing, but as usual he didn't say anything.

“Smells weird, huh, Sam? Hey, here are some friends of Adam's. This is Sherlock and her husband, Savich.”

Sherlock went down on her knees in front of the little boy. She made no move at all toward him, just said after he'd studied her for a bit, “Hi, do you like my name?”

Sam didn't step back, but he did lean his head back a bit. He gave Sherlock a bit of a smile and eyed her hair. He reached out two fingers and patted the top of her head.

Savich came down beside her. “We've got a little kid, Sam, a lot younger than you are. His name is Sean and he's only six months old. He can't pat the top of his mama's head yet. He doesn't even talk yet. But he is growing teeth.”

“Teeth are good,” Sherlock said, “but all that drool is a pain.”

That drew Adam up really fast. These two had a kid? Well, why was he so surprised? Most men his age were married and had children. He'd been married once, and he'd wanted a kid, lots of them as a matter of fact, but Vivie hadn't been ready yet. A long time ago now, five years, nearly long enough to forget her damned name, if it hadn't sounded like a song out of
Cabaret.

Becca said easily, “Sam doesn't talk much, Sherlock. I think it's because he's always thinking so hard.”

“I like a kid who thinks a lot,” Savich said. “Do you want to come to the kitchen with me and we'll find you a goody to eat?”

Sam didn't hesitate, just lifted his arms. Savich scooped him up and carried him away on his shoulders. “I don't think I'll even have to burp you, Sam. I'm really good at that. Sean likes to burp a lot.”

Sam grabbed Savich's hair, and Becca saw the smile on his face. Then he turned his head and looked at Adam, at his bandaged arm. He shook his head, frowning, looking confused, then afraid.

Adam said, “It's okay, Sam. I didn't hurt my arm bad, just a little bit. Becca fixed me right up.”

“Yep, and I did a good job, Sam, don't worry.” Then
Sam and Savich were gone, and Tyler said, “What the hell happened here? No, Becca, don't try to lie to me.”

She thought of Tyler and Sam and the two of them accidentally being in the line of that madman's fire, and said, “The stalker found me. He fired at me and Adam. I shot him, but he got away. We're okay, but I'm worried about you and Sam coming here. It's not a good idea, Tyler.”

He shook his head at her and said, “He shot the door?”

“He fired through it a couple of times, really messed it up. I don't want the sheriff to see it. He'd ask too many questions.”

“Don't worry, Mr. McBride,” Sherlock said. “Things will be under control, but you know Becca's right. It's best if you keep Sam away from here until we bring this guy down. It could be dangerous until we catch him.”

Tyler looked both angry and determined. “Yeah, I'll go but I want Becca to come with me and Sam, either to my house or away, maybe to California. I want her kept safe.”

“No, Tyler,” Becca said, lightly touching her fingertips to his arm. “We've got to clean it up. There are lots of people here now to help me.”

Tyler turned to Adam. “Who the hell are you, really? And you?” he added to Sherlock.

“Savich and I are FBI, Mr. McBride. Adam here is on special assignment to protect Becca.” That sounded like he was with the Bureau as well, Adam thought, which was probably for the best. An independent security consultant didn't sound like he'd know what to do with a madman. FBI did.

“You never told me,” Tyler said to Becca, his voice low. “You didn't trust me. You let me think he was your cousin. Why the hell did you do that?”

Becca couldn't think of a thing to say that wouldn't make everything worse. She hadn't meant to hurt him, to keep him in the dark, to make him feel unimportant to her, but—

“Get over it, Tyler,” Adam said. “This isn't fun and games. It's serious business. You're not trained to do this
sort of thing. We are. Besides, you've got Sam. He's got to be your first priority.”

“You bastard,” Tyler said, his hands fisted at his sides. “You're not gay, are you?”

“No, not any more than you are.”

“You want to seduce her, to take advantage of her. She's scared and you just want her to depend only on you. You're afraid to have me here.”

“Look, McBride—”

But Adam didn't have time to calm the man down. Tyler leapt at him, knocking him over on his back in the entryway. Adam landed on his hurt arm, grunted, then bounded back up. He wasn't seeing red this time, he was seeing a very sharp and clear target—right in the middle of Tyler's kidney. Hellfire, no, he couldn't. It wouldn't be fair. He could seriously hurt the guy. Well, damn.

Tyler, breathing hard, out of control, was about to jump at him again when Sherlock calmly tapped him lightly on the shoulder, and when he turned, distracted, she clipped his jaw. His head flew back and he stumbled. He regained his balance and stood there, feeling his jaw. He looked at her, stupefied, as Sherlock said, “I'm sorry, Mr. McBride, but that's enough. Listen to me. Becca's life is what's important, not your wounded feelings. Adam didn't even know Becca until a couple of days ago. He's here to protect her. Now, get a grip on yourself or I'll flip you over my shoulder and lay you out.”

Tyler looked like he didn't doubt her for an instant. He turned slowly to face Becca. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to hit him, well, I did, but it's just that I'm so scared for you, and this guy shows up pretending to be your cousin and I knew he wasn't. I didn't know what to do. I'm worried about you, Becca, real worried—”

Becca walked to Tyler and slowly stepped against him, clasping her arms loosely around his back. “I know, Tyler, I know. I really appreciate you being here for me, but these folk are all pros. They know what they're doing and there are even more people coming now. We've got to catch this
maniac. Now that he's here I can't pick up and run. We've got to get him. He found me, how, I don't know, but don't you see? If I run, he'll just find me again. I've got people here to help me now. Please, Tyler, tell me you understand why I kept quiet about Adam.”

He was pressing his cheek against her hair, squeezing her so tightly Adam thought he'd crush her damned ribs. Adam wanted to pull him off and give him one good shot in the jaw.

Becca slowly pulled away. He was afraid for her, she knew that, and she didn't want to hurt him. Her voice was very gentle when she said, “You do understand, don't you, Tyler?”

“Yeah, I do, but I just want to help.” Then he lightly traced his fingertips over her cheek. “I've known you for a long time, Becca. I want to help. This is a real creepy business.”

“You're telling me.” She managed something of a laugh, which was closer to a cry, really.

Tyler said when Savich came back to the entryway, “Thank you for taking care of Sam.” He lifted Sam into his arms and squeezed him nearly as hard as he'd squeezed Becca. “Sam, I'm sorry I lost my temper with Adam. I didn't mean to frighten you. You okay?”

Sam nodded. “I heard you yelling.”

“I know,” Tyler said, kissing Sam's temple. “You're not used to that, are you? Everyone loses his temper sometimes. I'm sorry I did it and sorry you were close by. Now, you and I need to go over to Goose's Hardware and get some washers for the bathroom faucet. Would you like to do that?”

Sam nodded. He looked relieved. Tyler hugged him again.

“What's the name of the street Goose's Hardware is on?” Savich asked as he looked at his wife rubbing her knuckles, an eyebrow arched.

“West Hemlock,” Tyler said. “It's the main street.”

When Tyler McBride finally left, Adam turned to see
Sherlock and Savich speaking quietly. Adam said, “Are you guys going to stay here?”

“That's probably best,” Savich said. “First thing, we're going to put a tap on this phone. Sherlock said we should bring our goodies. She's right a lot of the time.” Savich picked up what looked like a very small aluminum suitcase. “This is a dual redundant tape. We're going to set it right beside the phone recorder. Now, I'm going to patch it into the phone line via the recorder starting switch. Okay, now let's plug that puppy in between the phone and the outlet in the wall.”

“Goodness,” Becca said. “That's quite a gadget.”

“Yeah,” Adam said. “You can get it at RadioShack for about twenty bucks.”

“The recorder will start when the phone rings,” Savich said.

“Now for the slammer,” Sherlock said. She pulled out a small case that looked about the size of a laptop. “See this, Becca? It's an LED—light-emitting diode. When our boy calls his number, the name and address of the person who's registered as the phone owner will appear here on this green screen. It's like the automatic phone display for 911.”

“All done, Sherlock?” Savich said, then nodded when she pressed a couple of buttons. “Good. Now I'm going to go meet with the guys, set up a surveillance schedule, tell them about the tap and the trace.”

“Fine,” said Adam. “I'm coming with you. I want to meet them. I don't want anyone shot by accident. Also, we need to start tracking down our boy. He's somewhere close.”

“Three of the guys are already on that. They're checking all the gas stations within fifty miles, all the bed-and-breakfasts, motels, inns. They've already gotten a list of every single guy between the ages of twenty and fifty who arrived in Bangor and Portland within the past three days.”

Sherlock yawned. “Becca and I will guard the fort. You guys be careful. Hey, a nap sounds good, what with all the
excitement. Is there another usable bedroom in this grandiose monstrosity?”

The men got back to Jacob Marley's house two hours later. It was dark, nearly nine o'clock in the evening. The house was lit up from top to bottom, all the outdoor lights on as well. The newly stained front door both looked and smelled great.

Sherlock was drinking coffee in the living room, studying a file she'd brought with her from Washington. The shades were drawn tight, which was smart. Becca wasn't anywhere around. They'd already checked with Perkins. There had been no phone calls.