Whispers (45 page)

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Authors: Lisa Jackson

BOOK: Whispers
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“Where are we going? Where is Sean? I'm supposed to be at my father's party, remember. Dutch is announcing that he's running for governor tonight and if I'm not there, if any of my sisters, his daughters, aren't in attendance, he's going to get suspicious.”
“It'll all be over before he knows a thing.”
“Not true. Miranda's with the DA's office in Portland. They're going to hunt you down like the dog you are, Weston Taggert, and if you hurt me or my son or anyone else, they'll find you.”
“Like they found out about Harley?” he demanded and then laughed. Her heart stopped. “You don't know what happened do you? All this time you thought you were protecting your sister, Tessa. Because she slammed him over the head with a rock.”
Claire froze. What was he saying?
“That might've done the trick, but I couldn't be sure, now could I? Couldn't take a chance. I hated to do it, but Harley was weak and I gave up trying to carry his ass.”
“So you killed him? Wait a minute, how?” Claire said, silently praying that the police dispatch hadn't hung up and was recording this, Weston's confession.
“I was there that night. I saw what happened and I dived into the water. It was instinct. At first I thought I'd save the son of a bitch and then it occurred to me to let him die.”
“What did you do?” she asked, more frightened than she'd ever been in her life.
Weston slid a glance her way and she shivered for it was pure, undiluted evil. “I just helped nature along. Held on to his ankle until he quit struggling.”
“But you . . . how did you breathe, I mean . . .”
“Incredible lung capacity. He'd already taken in water on the way down. I just had to wait.”
“Oh, God.”
His smile was a slash of white. “And do you know what my fantasy was back then?”
She couldn't answer, didn't want to know. All she could think about was saving Sean and Tessa.
“To have all of you Holland girls. I thought it was the ultimate revenge for . . .” He clammed up suddenly as he spied a turnoff, an old logging road that angled upward through the remaining trees.
“Where's Sean?” she demanded. “And Tessa.”
He slid a glance her way. “Safe.”
“Up here, on this old road. What is it?”
“Don't you know? This is where it all started, Claire. Up here was the first logging camp, bought by your old man. It's fitting as it backs up to Stone Illahee where old Dutch is making his announcement about running for governor. Jesus. Come on, they're waiting for us.”
“Who?”
“Your son and sister for starters. I had them rounded up. That's right, I didn't do it. I have an alibi for the time they went missing.”
Her heart sank as she saw that an old rusted gate was hanging open and fresh tire tracks wound up the hill . . . surely the police would be able to identify the tracks . . . or would they? Even if they did, by that time it would be too late because she was certain that Weston meant to kill them all.
Unless she could stop him.
 
 
“Did you get all that?” Petrillo asked as he clicked off the recording. Miranda clutched the telephone receiver in a death grip.
“Yes,” she managed to say, fear scraping her soul. She'd heard the call that had come into police dispatch, had listened with horror to the conversation between Claire and Weston Taggert. The bastard who had raped her. Had killed Harley and let Tessa take the blame. Had killed Jack and Hunter. Her heart twisted with fear. “You have to get them safe,” she whispered, hoping Samantha didn't overhear her.
“We're working on it. Figure from the clues your sister gave us that they're at Camp Twenty-Four, up along the bluff to the south of Stone Illahee. The place has been abandoned for fifty years. I've already dispatched some men.”
“I hope you're not too late.”
“So do I,” Petrillo said and he sounded worried. “Someone better tell your father.”
She glanced at her watch. It was nearly nine. About the time her father would be making his announcement in the ballroom of Stone Illahee. Miranda's stomach contracted. “I'll see to it. Just get to them, Petrillo. Nail that son of a bitch and make sure that my sisters and nephew are safe.”
“Doin' our best,” he said before hanging up. She turned and found Samantha standing in the doorway.
“That was about Mom, wasn't it?”
“The police think they've found her.”
“Is she okay?”
“We think so. I'll know in a little while. The best detective in the world is working on it. Now, go on upstairs, wash your face and get a move on. We need to go to the party and explain what's happening to Grandpa.” Samantha was up the stairs like a shot and quickly Miranda punched out the number of Kane Moran's cell. He was in love with Claire. Sean was his son. He deserved to know what was happening.
 
 
Kane hung up the phone and glanced at his watch. He was only five minutes away from the turnoff to the old logging camp. He'd been to Weston's office and the security guard had insisted Weston was still there, evidenced by his car parked in his marked spot. But Kane had insisted the guard call Weston and when he hadn't been able to find him, they'd walked to the office. Weston wasn't anywhere in the buildings and, upon checking with a guard at a nearby lot, they'd discovered that a dark blue pickup was missing. The same truck that Samantha had seen. The same truck that Claire had climbed into. Kane didn't dare think about Claire and what could happen to her at Weston's hands. It was too chilling. But if that bastard so much as touched her, Kane would kill him.
Period.
And what good would you be to her then? What good would you be to your son?
Gritting his teeth and squinting into the night, he didn't want to think about the consequences. Right now he had to find them. He heard sirens cutting through the night, but couldn't see their lights in the fog. Nearly missing the turnout, he nosed his Jeep onto the old dirt-and-gravel road. Weeds and potholes greeted him. A rusted gate stood open. He shifted down and gave his rig some gas. He didn't know how long this road was, couldn't see over the edge of the cliff as the narrow lane switched back and forth up the mountain.
He had no weapon. No gun. Not even a knife.
But he'd learned hand-to-hand combat while he was in the military; knew what it took to kill a man.
And if Weston Taggert had done any harm to anyone, Kane would take him out. The engine ground up the hill, surely announcing his arrival, his tires spun and caught in the steep incline. He had to put his rig into four-wheel drive to keep from sliding down the hill and into the foggy nothingness.
“Come on, come on,” he said, expecting with every turn to see the pickup looming in the dark. To face Taggert. To, please God, save Claire. They had unfinished business, the two of them, and now they were four. Sean and Samantha were definitely part of the deal. Which was just fine.
Where the hell were they? God, he'd climbed for ten minutes steadily and still there was no sight of . . . suddenly he was in a clearing. Two vehicles, their lights dimmed were parked between dilapidated buildings with sagging porches and broken windows. Between the dark pickup and a filthy gray van, in the beams of the headlights where fog rose like smoke, a group of people huddled. Kane's heart pounded as he recognized Claire and Tessa, very much alive and unmoving as Weston stood to one side, a rifle trained on both of them. On the other side of the clearing was a second man whom Kane recognized as Denver Styles. Sean was missing.
Heart in his throat, Kane slowly climbed out of the cab. Weston's deadly gaze moved to him, but the rifle remained trained on the women. “Look who showed up. The goddamned cavalry. Put your hands in the air, Moran.”
Kane did as he was told. He only had to get close to Weston, near enough to jump him. The rifle, once it wasn't pointed at Claire wouldn't be a problem. Kane learned years ago how to disarm a man. The fog, heavy with the primal scent of the sea, would help camouflage his moves.
“What's he doing here?” Styles demanded, sliding an irritated glance at Kane.
“Trying to save the day.”
“It's all over,” Kane interjected. “The police know what's going on.”
“Sure they do,” Weston mocked, but seemed a little nervous.
That wouldn't do. The last thing Kane wanted was for the rifle to fire because Taggert was twitchy.
“Our plan will still work.” Weston wasn't going to be deterred. He hitched his chin in Kane's direction and from the trees nearby an owl gave off a lonely hoot. “We'll just make sure Moran is in the accident. As soon as we find the boy.”
“I told you the kid isn't important,” Styles said. “He's not related to you. He's Moran's son, not Harley's.”
“You're sure of that.”
“Saw the DNA report myself.”
How?
Kane wondered. What was the deal with this guy? Was he an assassin? A killer for hire? Styles complicated things. Kane knew he could take out Taggert, the guy was getting soft in the gut, but Styles was another matter. The two men he had to disarm were standing too far apart. Fortunately Styles didn't have a weapon cocked and aimed. But that didn't mean there wasn't a gun hidden beneath his jacket.
“But the kid can make you. He saw your face.”
“I'm going to disappear,” Styles said. “And I'll take the heat. That way if the cops think that the accident was planned, they'll blame me. It's my van that's going to go off the road and into the sea anyway. No one will ever know that you were behind the deal. Just give me my money and I'll do the rest. You can take off, go make yourself an alibi.”
So the guy was a gun for hire. Well he'd have to get close to Taggert to take the money and when he did, Kane would make his move. There was no way he was going to let Claire get in a car with either of these two pricks. His muscles tensed. He was on the balls of his feet, ready to spring.
“What about him?” Weston asked and motioned in Kane's direction with the muzzle of the rifle.
Kane froze.
Styles didn't so much as glance his way. His jaw was rock hard, his lips a thin line. “As you said, Moran gets it, too.”
“You bastards, do you think you'll really get away with this?” Claire glanced at Kane.
“Shh. Don't say anything,” Tessa warned and there was something about her attitude that seemed off. “Just go along.”
“Are you nuts? I'm not going along! Not ever.” Claire was angry and scared and Kane wanted to find a way to comfort her.
“Neither am I, Taggert. As I said, the police know just what you're up to.”
“So where are they? Jesus, Styles, let's get this over with.” He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a thick envelope. Kane inched forward. “This is most of it. You'll get the rest once the job is finished and if I find out you're lying about the kid—”
“He's not. Leave Sean out of this,” Claire said. “Whatever it is.” She sounded desperate. Panicked. “Sean's not Harley's son!”
She was moving forward, pleading with Weston, ignoring the gun barrel pointed straight at her chest. Kane heard a rush in his ears, saw Weston aim. “No! Claire duck!” he screamed, rushing forward. In his peripheral vision he saw Styles move.
“Now!” Styles yelled as the barrel of the gun shifted, sighting on Kane.
He leapt at Weston.
A rifle cracked.
Kane hit Taggert hard. Taggert screamed as they went down, the rifle falling to the earth. Kane pummeled the man with his fists, reached upward, intent on driving the bastard's nose into his brain. From everywhere there were shouts and from the corner of his eye Kane saw a dozen men in SWAT gear stream from the trees. Sirens sounded and he caught a glimpse of Claire, ashen faced, rushing toward them.
“Stay back!” Styles ordered, aiming a pistol at Kane. “Give it up, Moran.” He pulled a wallet from his pocket and flashed a badge. “Get EMT here now!”
Someone peeled him off Taggert who was writhing on the ground, blood gurgling from his lips.
“You're hurt!” Claire cried, staring at his shirt and the bloody stain on it.
“It's Taggert's.” Styles still had his weapon trained on Taggert.
“Who the hell are you?” Kane demanded.
“FBI. Undercover. Taggert was into a lot of illegal shit.”
“Where's Sean?” Claire asked, and for the first time Styles smiled. “With his grandfather. I don't think Dutch is going to make a run for governor after all.”

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