See No Evil (14 page)

I must have looked frayed at the edges because Gray said, “I believe that God has programmed each of us to love certain activities. We are born with certain talents, and for Christians there are extra gifts God gives us for furthering his Church. We're only truly happy when we work in these God-given strengths. Anything else, and we struggle, filled with a yearning we can't explain.”

My mind raced as we walked in silence for a while. Was my problem that I was trying to work outside my strengths? Could I stop painting and have a clear conscience? Was I following Mom's will rather than God's—or rather my interpretation of Mom's will? What would she say if she were living today?

I was so buried in contemplation that I didn't see the large wave that was a precursor to the incoming tide. It broke against my side, sending me careening into Gray, then falling to land on my rump. The rush of withdrawing water pulled at me, dragging me farther into the surf. The next wave broke over my head. I struggled to my feet, sputtering and laughing, knowing I looked like a wet rat. I loved the ocean.

The rest of the day passed in games of volleyball—I'm really not very good—and swimming. I even got to read a couple of chapters in my book while Lucy and Meg napped beside me, Gray played yet more volleyball, and James acted as referee. It was seven o'clock when we finally gathered, red-nosed and pleasantly tired, to go out to dinner.

“I'm going to take you to Moe's,” James said. “It's a hole-in-the-wall restaurant with cracked seats and dinged tables and the best seafood in town.”

“Tell me where Moe's is,” Gray said, “and Anna and I will meet you there.”

Trying not to read too much into Gray's driving just the two of us when all five of us could have fit in James's Acura, I climbed into Gray's truck and rode with him to the center of town.

At Moe's the five of us sat in a booth for four, James sitting on a chair in the aisle and forcing the waitresses to detour every time they served the diners between James and the front window. No one including James seemed the least bit put-out at the arrangement. If the fire marshal had been dining at Moe's, it might have been a different story.

After dinner we walked through the quiet streets to the boardwalk. I savored that wonderful seashore flush of sunburn and satisfaction as we started up the ramp to the boardwalk. The real-life murderer was in custody, I was with friends and the ocean breeze ruffled my hair. My feeling of contentment deepened when Gray reached for my hand and laced his fingers through mine.

I grinned up at him. The warmth of his return smile made the flush of the day's sun pale in comparison. My blood sang, and I wondered if this was what it was like to fall in love.

But hadn't I been in love with Glenn? I had been prepared to spend my life with him, to promise to love, honor and obey, though I'd probably have kept my fingers crossed on that last bit, wanting to define the word my own way. Glenn was a nice man, a good man, but I suddenly realized that I'd always felt I had to be what he wanted me to be, not who I was.

I almost stopped walking at the shock of seeing what a walking-on-eggs experience being with Glenn had been. What would a life of trying to be what he wanted have been like? If Gray was right, and not living in your God-given strengths led to a yearning, though you might not know what for, I'd have been an emotionally quivering blob, like a dish of cherry Jell-O but not as tasty. I'd have spent my life long
ing for something I couldn't articulate, something I didn't understand.

At that instant any residual hurt and embarrassment about being left at the altar finally disappeared. I'd made the most fortuitous of escapes.
Thank You, Lord, that Glenn was smart enough to walk out on me.

Gray was so different, urging me to find the real me, even if it meant breaking The Promise. He might be a workaholic, but somewhere he'd taken time to think things through and arrive at his own conclusions. Me, I'd just accepted what I was told about all sorts of things. I was a real genius.

“I want to go on the Ferris wheel,” Lucy announced, walking toward the amusement arcade.

“Don't you think you're a bit old for that?” James asked, as offensive as only an older brother can be.

Lucy stopped and glared at him. “My perfect brother James, how did you get to be so stodgy?”

He grinned at her. “Someone in this family has to show some common sense. Since you aren't that someone, I'm elected.”

Meg scowled at James. “I'll go with you, Luce. I love the Ferris wheel.”

“We'll go too.” I pulled Gray toward the great circle of swinging seats. “If we're lucky, it'll stop when we're at the top, and we can see Atlantic City.”

The man opened the safety bar and I slid into the seat. Gray settled beside me. He slid his arm along the back of the seat. The wheel moved us slowly upward as more people got on and off. Then the real ride began. Up, around, down, around, and up again.

I leaned forward. “Do you see James?” I spied him and waved. He waved back.

“Sit still, Anna,” Gray ordered. “The thing's swaying. And sit back.”

I turned to him in surprise. He looked slightly green. The wheel continued to turn, taking us round and round. Gray became greener. His knuckles grasping the safety bar were white, and I bet the ones behind me were the same color where they grabbed the seat back.

Big, tough Grayson Edwards was undone by a Ferris wheel. I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

“Is it heights?” I asked, trying to sound empathetic.

“Equilibrium,” he managed between clenched teeth. We reached the top and he actually groaned. “Anything that goes around. And I hate the going-down part.”

Personally I loved the feel of leaving your stomach behind. “I bet you're dynamite on a roller coaster.”

“I'd die first.”

“Well, there goes your career as an astronaut. They have to ride those centrifugal-force machines. Round and round.”

He managed another grunt.

“Why'd you get on here then?”

“It hardly impresses a girl when your stomach can't even deal with the Ferris wheel. I was going to guts it out.”

How macho was that. “How do you do on the merry-go-round?”

“It's a circle.”

Enough said.

As we descended, Gray shut his eyes.

“Does that help?” I asked.

“I always think it should.”

Taking pity on his obvious distress, I waved at the operator. When our chair reached the bottom, the man stopped the wheel.

“Open those eyes.” I stood and grabbed his hand. “We're getting off.”

Gray stood with obvious relief and without a backwards
glance walked away. I trailed him, trying to decide what deficiency in my character made me find his problem so amusing. It was probably because he was so very competent in everything else he did that this foible seemed endearing.

When we reached James, I asked, “What about skiing? Can you ski?”

“Sure,” James answered. “Love it.”

“It's not heights,” Gray said. “It's circles.”

I noted that his color was returning. I took it as a sign that I could tease him some more. “No Tilt-A-Whirl?”

He held up his hands. “The very thought makes me nauseated.”

I looked back at the Ferris wheel in time to see Lucy and Meg reach the summit and begin their downward drift. I waved and the girls waved back. Their car began to rock back and forth.

“She's crazy,” James muttered.

I shrugged. “You should be used to her by now.”

“You'd think.”

“But Lucy's always up to something.”

James's eyes were still on the swinging car. “Oh. Yeah. Her, too.”

I looked at James with interest. Was that the way the wind blew?

Ten minutes later the five of us walked slowly along, slurping soda and eating clumps of sweet, crisp caramel popcorn. The secret was to eat it fast so that the humidity, always present by the sea, didn't make it all soggy and chewy.

I stepped around a little boy of about three who had plopped down on the boards. Arms crossed, he scowled at his parents.

“Come on, Tyler, honey,” his mother coaxed.

Tyler glowered.

“Up, son,” his dad said, more a suggestion than an order.

Tyler glared.

“We're going,” his mom said and took a few steps.

Tyler, who wasn't born yesterday, didn't move.

“I've got to see who wins.” I pulled Gray to a halt and tried to watch without being obvious.

“Tyler wins even if his father picks him up and carries him off bodily,” Gray said. “It's all about control. Tyler is the head of that house.”

I had to agree as I watched the father squat down to reason with the little boy.

Tyler continued to shoot daggers.

Suddenly the father grabbed the boy under the arms and stood. Tyler's eyes went wide with surprise, but only for a second. Then he howled. People turned from all directions to stare accusingly at the parents whose faces turned crimson.

Laughing sympathetically, I watched the little family walk quickly toward the closest ramp, Tyler kicking and screaming all the way. As they walked past the ice cream window of a little store, my eyes skittered to the folks in line. Maybe I knew one of them. Lots of my students and their families vacationed in Seaside.

Terror washed through me when I realized I did know one, and it wasn't a student. The man in black stood fourth in line, waiting patiently for a cone.

T
he shock was so great I couldn't move. Finally I found my voice though it sounded thin and wobbly. “Gray!”

“Yeah?” Then he saw my face. “Anna, what's wrong?”

“It's him.” I stared across the milling crowd to the ice cream stand. “See him? The man in black? He's fourth, no, now third in line for a cone.”

Gray followed my line of vision. “He's supposed to be in jail.”

I nodded. “That's what Natalie said yesterday.”

Gray reached for his cell, but of course, it wasn't there. I'd talked him into taking the weekend off, smart woman that I am. I didn't have my phone either since I didn't have my purse.

“James!” I grabbed his arm, then pointed to the phone on his belt. “Call the cops. The shooter's here.”

“At the ice cream stand,” Gray added.

“At the ice cream stand?” Lucy squeaked, though she sounded more excited than afraid. “I thought they arrested him.”

“You think bad guys don't eat ice cream?” James pulled his cell off his belt and hit 911. “I'd like to report that we've spotted a man wanted for murder. We're on the boardwalk near the—” He turned and looked for a street sign.

“Tenth Street,” said Meg.

“—the Tenth Street off ramp. He's standing in line at the ice cream stand.”

At that moment the man turned from the concession stand, cone in hand. Maybe he felt our eyes on him; maybe he just happened to glance our way. Whatever the case, our eyes collided. We both froze for a couple of heartbeats.

“I don't think she believed me.” James flipped his phone shut.

“You've got to admit, it sounds like a joke,” Lucy said.

“So no one's coming?” Gray pulled me close.

“They're sending someone to investigate, just in case.” James slipped his phone into its clip. “We're to remain here.”

I heard this conversation, but it seemed a long way off. My attention was riveted on the man with the cone.

He recovered faster than I. His cone hit the boardwalk as he reached for the small of his back.

I turned to run, strictly a reflex action. I wasn't going to stand there like a paper target at a shooting range, daring him to hit my heart.

But he wouldn't shoot on a boardwalk full of kids and moms and dads, would he? But then again, maybe he would. How did I know what he'd do? All the more reason to run. Get him away from these innocent people before one of them got hurt.

“Go, Anna,” Lucy ordered. “You, too, Gray. I know just how to take care of him.”

“Lucy!” James reached for her, but she eluded him.

Granted I never knew what Lucy'd do next, but never in a million years would I have expected what she did do.

“Man with a gun! Man with a gun!” she yelled in a loud, authoritative voice that made me jump. She pointed at the man in the black clothes. She began striding down the boardwalk toward him. “Get down! Get down! Man with a gun!”

Everyone stopped in their tracks, including the shooter, his hands stuck at the small of his back.

“Gun!”
The word spread through the crowd.
“Gun!”
People began screaming and dropping to the boards. Many turned in the direction Lucy was pointing, trying to locate the danger.

“There!” Lucy shouted. “Over there!”

With hardly a second breath, James and Meg took up the call. “Gun!” they shouted, running after Lucy.

Gray and I sprinted in the opposite direction as fast as we could, sticking close to the storefronts as we went. I looked over my shoulder and saw the shooter whirl and point behind him.

“Gun,” he shouted. “Look out! Gun!” He began running as if he was chasing someone.

“He's getting away, Gray.” With a sinking heart, I watched the man limp toward the Ninth Street off ramp.

“Forget him.” Gray tugged at me. “We need to get you to the cops and safety while he's occupied.”

We tore down the first off ramp we came to, the one at Eleventh Street. The peace and quiet of the street after the roaring of the ocean and the shouting of the people was stunning. Unfortunately there was no one in sight, no one to call for help, no one to provide protection. Apparently everyone was up on the boardwalk, being terrorized as they tried to enjoy one of the last nights of the summer season.

“Here!” Gray pulled me into the parking lot at the foot of the off ramp. We dodged between parked cars, putting distance between ourselves and the chaos near the Tenth Street ramp. We almost ran over a guy standing beside an SUV.

“Hey!” he yelled as he pulled back in surprise. “Watch it!”

I slowed, but Gray kept pulling me onward. “He's trying
to break in,” I shouted. “He's got one of those metal strips you stick down the door.”

Without lessening his stride or speed, Gray yelled, “Let him. It's only a car. I'm more concerned about you.”

You've got to love a man who has his priorities straight. I forgot the car thief and raced toward Gray's truck, parked just off Thirteenth on Ocean, which ran parallel to the boardwalk.

We stayed as close to the back of the buildings fronting the boardwalk as we could. The shadows were deepest there. I wished I had worn a black top or maybe navy blue instead of the white one I had on. I wanted to blend with the night and be invisible.

We snaked our way through two parking lots and around a dilapidated motel that advertised Beach Front on its partially burned-out neon sign, a clear case of false advertising if I ever saw one. Both the boardwalk and the businesses on the boardwalk were between the motel and the ocean. You couldn't even hear the breakers here, let alone see them or the beach.

We slipped into a bicycle rental lot. A long, low white building with a wide garage door housed two-wheelers, three-wheelers and bicycles built for two. In the morning the place would be alive with tourists renting the bikes to ride on the boardwalk, but tonight the place was dark and silent. We slipped along behind the building.

When Gray's truck came into view, I had rarely seen a more welcome sight. The panic siren blaring in my head lowered its volume by a few hundred decibels to nearly tolerable. I just might live through the night after all.

We peered cautiously around the side of the building. A row of Schwinns lined the edge of the lot, a heavy chain strung between the wheels with a padlock securing it to a huge metal hook set in concrete. Beyond the bikes across the
sidewalk, parked cars lined the curb. Across the street a boardinghouse showed lights on the second and third floors. Voices and laughter came from the darkened porch of another.

“Looks good,” Gray whispered.

I nodded. “I'm right behind you.”

We crept to the line of Schwinns. I strained to hear any sound or see any unexpected movement. One of the lights on the second floor of the house across the street went out. Someone lit a cigarette on the darkened porch, the match flaring, the red tip glowing.

We straightened and had taken a step to skirt the bikes when I became aware of running footsteps somewhere to our right. Gray must have heard them too because he froze. I leaned around him to see who was coming our way.

A lone man ran down the sidewalk toward us. Though he was still a block and a half away, I could see in a pool of brightness thrown by a streetlight that he moved with a decided catch in his gait. He wore all black.

I went cold. “How did he manage to follow us in all that confusion?”

Gray grabbed my hand and pulled me down behind the Schwinns. “Maybe he's not following us. Maybe he's just trying to get away.”

That made sense, and I immediately felt better. He didn't know we were here. Gray pulled me close and tucked my head into his shoulder.

“Head down,” he whispered. “Don't let him see your face or the shine of your eyes. We'll just let him run past.”

We huddled behind the bikes for the longest few minutes of my life. With my head bowed so my face wouldn't be visible and my eyes wouldn't mirror light like an animal's eyes reflected headlights, all I could go by were the footsteps which got louder and louder.

Doppler effect, I thought irrelevantly. I might not do jeopardy well, but maybe I could do
Jeopardy.

Please let him just run past, Lord.

In the distance I heard the wail of a siren. Police responding to the excitement on the boardwalk? Then I heard a shout that curdled my blood.

“There he is!”

It was Lucy, calling from a distance, as if she had just sighted the man in black after following him off the boardwalk. Hopefully, Meg and James were with her.

The man in black heard the yell too, and he slowed right in front of us. I could hear his heavy breathing, the rustle of his clothes as he moved. I was a rabbit, my heart beating wildly, as I hid from the wily fox.

A shot rang out. I heard a scream.

I jumped and gasped, then clasped a hand over my mouth. Had he heard me? I tried to shrink to Tipsy's size.

He stood quietly for a moment as if waiting.

Don't let him find us, Lord. Don't let him find us!

He didn't. He limped off with amazing speed in the same direction he'd been going. When he was past us, I looked up cautiously. I had to see him go to believe we were momentarily safe, and I had to find out what Lucy's scream had meant.

I saw him pause for a moment beside Gray's truck, and my stomach plummeted. He knew Gray's truck. He'd seen it at both my house and at the model. But then the headlights flashed on a black Jeep about half a block beyond Gray's truck, and I realized he had hesitated as he pulled his keys from his pocket and hit the unlock button.

Neither Gray nor I moved as we watched the man reach his vehicle, throw open the door, and climb in. The engine turned over, and he pulled out, all without looking back.
When he turned the corner and disappeared from view, I felt like cheering.

We'd escaped.

We stood. Gray grabbed my hand. “Let's go.”

I balked. “Lucy! I've got to find out if she's okay.”

We left the Schwinns and stepped onto the sidewalk. When I looked back toward Tenth, I saw three silhouettes. Three. Lucy, Meg and James, all running in our direction.

Relief poured through me, mixing with the adrenaline already flowing. I waved wildly, and they waved back. When I turned to Gray, I was grinning like the latest lottery winner. He grinned back and clicked his key. The lights blinked as the pickup chirruped softly.

He stepped off the curb and walked around the cab to open the passenger door for me. “In you go. Then we find the police station.”

“It's between Eighth and Ninth on Central.”

I had a foot on the running board with my hip stuck out, all ready to sit, when a car, tires screaming, careened around the corner on two wheels. I turned to look and saw a black Jeep barreling toward us. Before I could even cry out, Gray pushed me into the truck and down. He jumped in and fell on me as two shots sounded.

I yelped automatically as he and I slid off the seat onto the floor, carried by the momentum of his dive. I landed facedown, my arms beneath me, my face inches from the accelerator pedal. He landed sprawled on me, or as sprawled as you can be in the footwell of a pickup truck.

I heard the Jeep speed past. Doppler effect again.

A drive-by, only I knew this wasn't one of those random things. The man in black had circled the block and come back. He had heard my gasp just as I'd feared, probably recognized Gray's truck too, and known we were somewhere
near. He had given us time to emerge from hiding. Clever man, realizing we would never come out until we thought he had gone.

What if he went around the block again?

The panic sirens were blaring at full volume again.

“Gray.” I tried to move but couldn't, squished as I was between him and the floorboards. “He might come back. We've got to get out of here.”

Gray grunted, a sound I took as agreement, but he didn't move.

“Gray!” I tried hunching my back, pushing against him.

This time the noise he made was a groan, the sound of someone in pain. I felt something wet run down my arm.

“Gray!” I tried to turn over so I could see him, though I was terrified that I already knew what was wrong.

“Stay still and stop yelling in my ear,” he muttered, his voice grouchy but thready.

Grouchy was good, I thought, but thready was a man barely holding on. “He hit you, didn't he?”

Instead of answering, he dropped his head to rest on my shoulder. I wrenched one arm free and reached to cup the back of his head. I twisted like a Cirque de Soliel performer, trying to see him.

Oh, Lord, don't let it be bad. Please don't let it be bad!