The Unforgivable Fix (12 page)

She hoped that would be enough.

Lydia tucked the magazines into her waistband and hurried up the stairs. She held her ear next to the door at the top of the landing. Hearing nothing, she clicked the safety off her weapon and threw open the door.

She dropped and rolled to the far wall. She sat for two minutes, holding her gun and surveying the house.

They weren't inside.

She headed through the garage and out the door leading to the backyard. She stayed close to the house and circled right.

Lydia cross-stepped around, sweeping her eyes across her wide lawn, looking for any signs of movement or laser sight. She was thankful the windless night offered no buffer for any sound. She crossed in front of her deck, step by slow step, watchful as she went.

The owl hooted high and behind her. Lydia heard a muffled puff of air followed by the splintering
crack
of a cedar roofing tile. She threw herself flat against the grass. The silenced bullet that hit her roof seconds ago would have come from the low row of bushes to her right, off near the cliff's edge. She looked up and saw the owl soaring above her, tacking straight for a copse of tall evergreens a hundred feet away. She wiggled herself around, trained her rifle on the bushes, and waited. Less than thirty seconds later, the shrubbery shifted and a figure emerged. Eerily green in Lydia's goggles, it ran toward her. Lydia inhaled softly, held her breath, and pulled the trigger. The figure dropped to the ground.

She stayed flat against the grass and waited. No sound. She watched the glowing green mass in front of her. No movement. She counted slowly to one hundred. Hearing and seeing nothing, she pulled herself back to her feet and continued her reconnaisance toward the left. Minutes later, when she'd rounded one corner of the house and was approaching the next, she heard another shot. Not muffled this time. A rapid three-shot sequence she knew instantly came from a high-powered automatic pistol. She flattened herself against the house and waited. She kept her eyes trained on the shadows, her gun steady at her hip. Within fifteen seconds, a second man passed in front of her, oblivious to her presence. Lydia kicked out hard and the man went down. He rolled and trained his gun on her. Lydia pulled her own trigger and sent four rounds into his chest.

She stepped over the corpse. She'd seen two red sights and now had two dead shooters. Still, she wanted to make one more pass to be certain she'd contained the threat. She circled the house, the luminous moon assisting her powerful night-vision lenses. She passed the sprawled body of the first man and continued around the house until she returned to where the second body lay. She allowed herself a long exhale but kept her finger on the trigger of her weapon.

Lydia trotted to the edge of her backyard. She looked down the 150-foot cliff and saw no sign of a dinghy, kayak, or canoe. She scanned the waters. No boats were anchored. She gave one last look back to her house. Warm amber light spilled out from large windows. Was it just a half hour ago she was sharing dessert with Mort and his daughter? She looked up and hoped her owl was watching as she headed down the stairs. She descended cautiously, looking for signs of ropes or climbing gear, but the tide was high. The beach, which at low tide streatched for nearly twenty feet, was now completely underwater. There would be no staging area to mount a climb. There was no sign of anyone or anything to indicate the invaders had come by water. She climbed back up, taking her time. Once she was back on her property, she jogged down her long driveway, still looking for how the two men got to her place.

She saw no car along Island View Drive.
These guys were dropped off.
Lydia went back to the bodies.
They must have some way to contact the mother ship when whatever they came to do here was done.

She frisked the first corpse and found no cell phone or sign of identification. She did find two additional handguns and a heavy-bladed gutting knife. Lydia pulled off his black knitted cap and stared down at a white man with no visible scars except for the darkened bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

She jogged to the front of the house and grabbed the shoulders of the second body. Lydia dragged him back and laid him next to his partner. A similar frisk revealed no identification or communication device, but plenty of additional weapons. She tossed them in a pile and pulled his cap off. Another white man, this time with no facial blemishes. Lydia had shot four quick bullets into his chest.

Lydia stood over the two dead men. Whoever sent them would be waiting for a report. When none came, they'd send more.

The pounding crash of surf suggested her next move. She dragged each body to the edge of the cliff. The owl screeched overhead. Lydia kicked one corpse over the side and waited for the splash announcing the sea had accepted it. Then she kicked the second man down. Lydia knew the tide and current patterns would carry their bodies far from her home. They were likely to be found miles apart, if they were discovered at all.

Lydia would wait to see who came looking for them.

“Oh, thank God!” Allie jumped off her bed and rushed at Lydia with her arms lifted, as though ready to fall into an embrace. “You were gone for so long.”

Lydia sidestepped her attempt. “Sorry if I scared you, but out here you can't be sure. There's the occasional wolf, and even a bear from time to time.”

“But I heard gunshots!”

Lydia nodded. “Just a few warnings to scare it away. I think it was a wolf.”

Allie looked past her, as though straining to see through the house walls into the black night. “Are they going to come back?”

“Probably,” Lydia answered. “But I'll be ready for them.”

“Who
are
you?” Allie sipped her third cup of coffee. She had accepted Lydia's offer of two over-the-counter sleeping pills after the near-invasion the previous evening, and she was still a bit sluggish despite the fact that it was nearly noon. “What kind of person goes after wild animals in the middle of the night?”

Mort shoved a bowl of fruit in front of his daughter and urged her to eat. “You're safe, Allie. That's all that matters.” Lydia had let Allie tell him the story of Lydia fending off what had now, in her telling, become a pack of rabid wolves. She felt no need to tell him the truth. Mort was by the book. He wouldn't stand idly by knowing she'd tossed two dead bodies into Puget Sound. Even if the invaders had come for his daughter.

Allie kept her attention on Lydia. “And what's with that gun? I mean, that was serious, Lydia. I get that you're out here in the wilds, but have you ever heard of a shotgun? Are you, like, paranoid or something? Maybe one of those survivalist people? Is it even legal for a person to have that kind of weapon?”

Lydia sat silently. Allie had seen. Lydia's hope that she could survive in this world was based in her belief that she'd be able to protect herself. Her history taught her graphically and repeatedly that no one else would. She'd built a home designed to be impregnable, stocked it with state-of-the-art communication and surveillance equipment, armed it with the capability to stop a small army, and held herself apart from the world.

And now Allie's curiosity could prove her safety was an illusion.

She pushed away from the table and headed to her bedroom.

Lydia stepped out of the shower, dried off a hand, and reached for her ringing cell phone.

“I have a Will Sorens on the line, Dr. Corriger.” It was her answering service. The operator's voice was crisp and efficient. “He says he's not suicidal, but that if he didn't speak to you he might become homicidal. Shall I put him through?”

Lydia fleetingly wondered what this operator heard on a routine basis that allowed her to treat a threat of murder in such a rational manner. She tried her best to wrap a towel around herself while holding on to her phone. “Go ahead.”

Five seconds later she heard the rush of traffic in her ear. “Dr. Corriger? Are you there?”

“I'm here, Will.” Lydia left her bathroom and sat on the edge of her bed, letting the comforter absorb the water dripping off her body. “Are you driving?”

“I'm on the side of the road.” He sounded frantic. “I'm not in any shape to drive.”

“Before we get into anything, I want you to calm down, okay?” She walked him through a brief deep-breathing exercise. When his voice was steadier, she asked him to tell her what had happened.

“I was driving to work. God, I can't believe that I'm getting dressed, brushing my teeth, and going about all these normal things when the whole world is crashing down! How am I supposed to think about websites and program updates while Emma's not safe?”

“We do what we need to, Will.” Lydia slowed the pace of her voice. She needed to keep him composed. “And right now I need you to stay focused. Tell me specifically what has you so worked up.”

“The radio.” She heard him take another shuddering breath. “I listen to the news on the way to work. Every day. I guess it's just a habit. Maybe I should listen to music. That might be better.”

His thought process was racing. “Let's not worry about your routine right now, Will. What about the radio is upsetting you?”

“There was an update on the Kenton Walder story. That's what the announcer called it. ‘The Kenton Walder story.' ” Lydia heard a loud thump and imagined Will had just slammed his fist against the dashboard. “Emma's my girl. She's the one in danger. It's
not
the Kenton Walder story!”

Lydia wished she could see him…to have more input than merely the troubling sound of his voice. “Walder's well known in Olympia. His name draws interest. What did the reporter say?”

“That
his accuser
had been taken to the hospital following a suicide attempt. That
his accuser
was undergoing psychiatric evaluation at a secure facility.” Lydia heard the loud thump again, this time accompanied by a short blare of his car horn. “They're making my girl sound like a lunatic.”

“Did they mention Emma's name?”

“No. They said since
the accuser
was a minor they were withholding it. They kept saying accuser, accuser, accuser.”

Lydia was disgusted. The feeding of the insatiable human appetite for gossip too often masqueraded as news reporting. “Remember, Emma's safe. No one will harm her while she's in the hospital. Are you seeing her regularly?”

“I'm there every day. At least twice. First thing in the morning. I bring her breakfast. Then always right after work. She tells me about her day. We cry a lot. I promise her things will get better. God, I hope I'm not lying.”

Lydia did, too. “When will she be released?”

“They're saying tomorrow. Darlene…Dee…hell, I don't know what she wants to be called these days. Anyway, she wants Emma to go back to that house of horrors out on Cooper Point. We had a blowout about it last night at the hospital.”

“Did Emma hear you?”

“No. I'd gone up around nine thirty. I'd been to see her after work yesterday, but I was missing her so much. I decided to surprise her. Of course, I get to the floor and the charge nurse warns me that Emma's mom and her husband are there.” Will's agitation grew again. “Can someone explain to me why my daughter's
rapist
is allowed to come and go as he pleases?”

“Calm down, Will.” Lydia repeated the phrase until she heard a stable breathing cadence on the other end of the line. “Emma's charges are under investigation. Kenton Walder hasn't been arrested. And he's only allowed to be around her with supervision. Emma's safe.” Lydia knew Will would only be convinced when Kenton Walder was behind bars.

“Anyway, the nurse starts talking to me about the plans for Emma's release. Darlene happens to come out of Emma's room, with that bastard Walder right behind her. She makes a beeline for me and announces Emma's going to be discharged to her. I say like hell she is. She's coming home with me. Darlene says I'll hear from their lawyers, and I start mouthing off about what she and her lawyers can do.”

“That couldn't have done much to help the situation. They might have called security on you.”

Will huffed in disgust. “It was Walder who stepped in to put a stop to things.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He yanks Darlene by the arm and tells her to be quiet. Tells her to respect my position as Emma's father.” His voice started to shake. “My fucking
position
? Excuse me, Dr. Corriger. You don't deserve talk like that.”

“Forget it.”

“But my
position
? Like I'm some prop in their little drama?”

Lydia let him rant a few moments before bringing him back on topic. “How did it end?”

“Walder tells Darlene to let Emma go home with me. Says it would be best for Emma to have her time with me until this
matter
—that's what he called it—until this
matter
could be resolved.”

“Did she agree?”

“Not at first. But you can see he has a way of shutting her down I never had. She tells me to look at what a prince of a man she's married to. That despite these awful lies Emma is spreading he still has the class and dignity to put her feelings first. She tells me to take a good look at what a real man looks like. God help me, I wanted to shove my fist down both of their throats right then and there!”

“What did you do?”

“I left. I called Emma and told her she was coming home with me.” His voice cracked. “She asked me if she could stay with me forever.”

“She loves you.”

“And this morning I hear this radio report. Making my baby sound like a crazy person. I can't stand it, Dr. Corriger. I want Kenton Walder dead for what he's doing to Emma.”

Lydia had no words of comfort for him. Emma had two parents at war. One was an underpaid state employee and the other was the wife of one of the richest and most popular men in town. What would justice look like in this case?

“Go home, Will. Take the day off. I'll write you an excuse if you need it.” She hoped her soothing tone gave him some solace, in place of the words that failed her. “Make your place ready for your daughter. Get yourself ready, too. Then come see me.”

“Think that will help?”

“Just come, Will. You might be surprised at what I'm capable of.”