Wicked Game (28 page)

“I’m going to the crash site,” he muttered, pulling away. “I want to see where it happened.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Becca followed him out to his truck. “You okay to drive?”

He nodded, got into his cab, pulled back onto Highway 101, and drove south, past the turn to 26 and inland. It was a spot they hadn’t passed on the way to Ocean Park Hospital, but it was definitely on the way to Deception Bay, the small town near where Renee had been staying.

It was a surreal trip. Neither Becca nor Hudson said much. The day had been surprisingly nice with the sun gaining control of the clouds, not the other way around, though now the early evening shadows were stretching inland and the sun was descending toward the sea.

And then they were there. A section of guardrail was twisted back, the metal hanging over the edge of a cliff. A gaping hole. Gravel had been stained with differing colors of spray paint, evidence left from the team reconstructing the accident.

Hudson pulled the truck to a stop, and he and Becca sat and stared at the break in the rusted metal rail far above the ocean. Then they climbed from the vehicle and Hudson walked to the edge, but Becca hung back, feeling queasy and strange. She stayed by the truck, one hand on the front fender, while Hudson went to the rim and looked over, his hair ruffled by spurts of wind, the sleeves of his denim shirt pressed against his arms from its force.

Becca couldn’t move forward. Logically, all she had to do was put one foot in front of the other but there was a barrier she couldn’t see, holding her in place. An oppressive, invisible wall. And then she heard the dull roar that heralded a vision, the sudden blindness, the building headache. “No,” she pleaded, although it could have been in her mind.

Ringo whined at her from the car. One of her hands was still on the hood, and she concentrated on it with all her strength, turning toward the vehicle for support before she was completely taken over by the vision.

She expected to see Jessie but instead she was in a vehicle herself, spinning the steering wheel, screaming, desperately trying to gain control. Trees and brush flashed by as her car plunged off the road and down the embankment. Her car. It was her car! Her accident! Instinctively Becca cradled her abdomen, protecting her baby. She could hear the rush of the engine from the car behind her, the one that had forced hers over the edge. In a panic she glanced back. She saw him driving away, heading like a maniac away from the scene of the crime.

And then blackness. Nothing but blackness.

Hudson scanned the accident scene. He was sick with grief and it had driven weariness into the marrow of his bones, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t let this terrible nightmare become a reality.

“Who did this?” he whispered. He didn’t believe it was an accident. Someone had purposely run Renee off the road. And the colored paint on the asphalt road and gravel shoulder told him the sheriff’s department agreed.

Why?

He tore his gaze from the sheer rocks that led to the gray and white plumes of surf far below. He glanced at the ground, saw the tire tracks. He could see where she had stomped on the brakes but had been unable to gain purchase. The tracks just lost their tread as the wheels locked and the car kept moving straight toward the edge and through the guardrail, propelled over the cliff.

Pushed!

Intentionally forced over the edge to her death.

“Goddamned son of a bitch.” His body was freezing. The deputy had alluded to the accident but he’d been holding back information; Hudson had felt it at the hospital but had been too absorbed in his own pain to pick up the signals. Someone had intentionally run Renee off the road.

His chest swelled with misery. He felt incapable of crying and didn’t know why. He wished he could. That there was some way to release the weighty buildup of sorrow that was choking him.

Becca made a strangled sound and Hudson looked her way to see her clinging to the front of his truck just before she slid to the gravel. He raced to her side, covering the ground in four large leaps, grabbing her just as she sprawled in a heap.

“Becca!” He heard the tremor in his voice. The quake of real fear.

She was breathing. Her eyes moving. And he was glad that it was one of her “visions” and not some deadly disaster. There had been too many of those.

He cradled her head and rocked her and his eyes burned, unaware of the crash of the sea and the wind blowing through his hair. Cars traveled past, slowing, then speeding forward in this snaking area of roadway, but he clung to Becca, his thoughts jumbled with fear and fury. Something was happening to their group. Something was after them. Wasn’t that what Renee had said? Or near enough?

What
was
it?

Several minutes passed while Becca lay in his arms, her body twitching as if she were fighting off an attack. When she slowly opened her eyes, she gazed at him for a moment in bewilderment.

“Jesus, Becca, you scared the hell out of me,” he said.

She blinked several times, then inhaled sharply. “Renee,” she murmured.

“You had another vision.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” She slowly sat up, feeling weary.

“What did you see?” he asked tautly. “Anything about Renee?”

She looked into his tortured blue eyes. He believed in her visions at some level, but it was small comfort in the face of such loss. “I saw an accident,” she said carefully. “Where a car was run off the road by another driver. But it wasn’t Renee.”

He gazed at her blankly. “What do you mean?”

“I think it was…me. My accident. From my past.”

“Was Jessie any part of it?”

“No…”

“It was more a memory, then?” He held her close and she could feel the pounding of his heart as he struggled to understand. “Someone deliberately killed Renee,” he said tautly. “I don’t know why yet. Or who. But I’m sure as hell going to find out!”

Zeke grabbed for the large bottle of water he’d placed on the kitchen table and took several more long gulps. He was going to drink down the whole damn thing to keep himself from reaching for a bottle of bourbon, which was what he really wanted to do. But now was not the time to get ass-stinking drunk.

Renee was dead.

Jessie had killed her.

He was sure of it.

Evangeline was standing in the archway between the kitchen and hall, shrunken, her arms cradling herself, looking ashen and pale, her entire body shaking. “This is a joke. A cruel joke. Hudson’s trying to get you to say something, to admit to something.”

“Shut up, Vangie!” Zeke grabbed the water bottle, twisted the top, then threw it forcefully against the wall. The plastic bottle hit the ground and water gurgled onto the floor in a spreading pool. “Stop saying that!”

“Renee’s not dead. It’s not true.”

“It is true! Hudson doesn’t play sick games like that. It’s his sister. His twin. What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“It’s just not true. Don’t be so mean. You’re so hurtful.” She folded in on herself even more, her big eyes pleading with him to come and hold her, to love her, to help her.

Zeke slammed out of his chair and grabbed the bottle of water, tossing it into the sink. Then he leaned against the edge of the stainless steel basin and stared at the rivulets of water circling the drain.

“Is Tamara coming over here?” Evangeline asked.

“She went to see The Third, I think. I don’t know. She was crying.”

“Now they’ll think it’s true,” she sniffled.

“It is true!”
Zeke slammed out of the kitchen and through the front door, gazing around wildly for his car. He’d parked it at the curb, hadn’t he? Where was it?

Evangeline suddenly had hold of his arm. “Where are you going? Where are you going?”

“The hell away from you! She’s dead, Vangie.
Dead
. Renee’s dead. Glenn’s dead. Jessie’s dead. They’re all gone!”

“No…”

“Goddammit!” He shook her off him and ran down the steps. There was no car anywhere, so he took off at a run and kept running until there was not a drop of energy left in his body and he threw himself onto the grassy berm that bordered the playground of a nearby school.

“Jessie,” he murmured brokenly, then broke down and sobbed.

“What was it that Renee said when you met with the other girls?” Hudson asked Becca, holding a cool washrag over her head as she lay on the bed.

They’d checked into a motel near the county sheriff’s offices, basic and weather beaten, willing to take pets, and surrounded by a small strip mall and a couple of fast-food eateries. Neither of them felt like driving home, and Hudson had decisions to make about the disposition of Renee’s body anyway.

So they’d just headed into the musty-smelling room and Hudson had insisted Becca lie down on the bed while he ministered to her. He’d shaken out a couple of aspirin and handed her a glass of water while Ringo paced around the top of the bedspread, occasionally glaring at Hudson as if Becca’s condition were his fault.

Becca had tossed back the aspirin, insisting she was fine, though her headache wasn’t giving up its grip. Hudson, meanwhile, kept going over everything and anything that could explain what had happened, a circular litany that did not require any input from her. She understood that this was his way of trying to grasp his sister’s death, and she lay quietly, petting her dog, as he paced the room, running on restless energy, unable to stop.

“What was it Renee said when you met with the other girls?” Hudson asked.

“She thought something was after her. Us. She was digging up stuff about Jessie and she stirred it up.”

“It.”

“She couldn’t explain her feelings. Tamara thought she’d taken the Tarot too seriously, but it was more than that. But she was determined to get the story, like it was going to save us all, I guess. I don’t know. She didn’t say that. It just seemed like that.”

He squinted his eyes, as if in pain. “Something that killed her.”

“Why would anyone kill Renee?”

“Her story about Jessie. God, I don’t know.” He shook his head in frustration.

Becca sighed, feeling that same frustration. “You said Renee called you. What did she say?”

“I couldn’t hear her. It was a bad connection.”

“You didn’t hear anything?”

“She was excited about the story. About Jessie. Something about getting justice and some history…about people living on cliffs. Colonies forming on cliffs,” he corrected himself.

Becca shook her head, perplexed.

“Your visions,” he said. “You said you’ve had a series of them since Jessie’s remains were found.”

She looked into his tense face. He was grasping at straws. Lines of weariness radiated from the corners of his eyes. She suspected she looked much the same.

“Like I said, I had the first one at the mall. Jessie was standing on a cliff above the ocean. She put her fingers to her lips and then she said something to me. I couldn’t make it out. And then I saw her outside the Dandelion Diner.”

“When we met McNally and his partner?”

She nodded. “That’s why I went into the restroom. I was afraid I was going to pass out. And then I saw the nursery rhyme note to Glenn, and then this latest one, my car being pushed off the road.”

“Do you think you were reminded of it because of Renee’s accident?”

“Possibly.” But it had felt far more real than that. A vision, not a memory.

Hudson came back to the bed and lay down beside her, moving a reluctant Ringo aside. “I can’t take it all in.”

“Me, neither.”

He draped an arm around her, pulling her close. Time passed while they were lost in their own thoughts. Becca eventually heard Hudson’s breathing grow more even, but her own mind ran through a maze of alleys, seeking answers that were always around the next corner, always just out of reach.

Gretchen was waiting for Mac when he crossed the room to his desk, and she didn’t waste time with hellos or even to ask where he’d been all afternoon. “Reports are on your desk. The fire was arson, gas line was purposely damaged. The DNA results are back from the Preppy Pricks. And we’ve got our artist’s mock-up on what she looked like.”

“Jesus.” Mac snatched up the files and glanced through them. “Good things really do happen in threes.”

“That’s bad things.”

“Hmm. See if Hudson Walker’s DNA matches with the baby’s.”

“Already told ’em. We should get a call soon.”

“And the rest of the Preppy Pricks,” Mac added as an afterthought.

“They’re checking them all,” Gretchen said impatiently. “What do you think of this?” She plucked the rendering of the victim’s face from the pile and held it in front of Mac’s eyes. He gazed at it hard. “This your little girlfriend?”

“I only saw pictures of Jessie.”

“Me, too. And?”

“I think this is pretty close,” he said slowly, though his heart was beating like a drum as he looked into those sexy, knowing eyes, the perfect mouth that he imagined twitching upward in a teasing, knowing grin.
“What are little boys made of?”
He could almost hear the rhyme slip through those sensuous lips.

“Don’t go all careful on me now,” Gretchen warned with a snort. “You’ve been saying it all along and now you’ve finally made me a believer. This picture’s a dead ringer for Jezebel Brentwood. Those bones are hers and her baby’s. And DNA’s gonna prove it.”

The phone on his desk rang and Mac swept it up. “McNally.”

Gretchen’s brows lifted and Mac nodded that it was indeed the lab tech with the information. “Thanks,” Mac said thoughtfully, hanging up a moment later.

“Well?” Gretchen demanded.

“It’s Jessie. The baby’s DNA matched her father’s.”

“Walker?”

“Zeke St. John.”

Gretchen screwed up her face in disbelief. “Walker’s BFF?”

“Mac!” Pelligree called from across the room. “Tillamook County Sheriff’s Department reported a fatal accident on Highway 101. Victim’s name is Renee Walker Trudeau.”

“What?”
Mac jumped to his feet.

“Jesus Christ,” Gretchen murmured.

Pelligree was sober. “Her brother identified the remains.”