Wicked Tempest: A Kate Waters Mystery (Kate Waters Mysteries Book 2) (19 page)

Kate woke in the early afternoon to an empty house and a partial memory of what had happened last night.

Her headache felt larger than her own head, which only worsened with the rare spray of sunshine lighting up the bedroom wall like stadium lights. As much as she wanted to roll over and sleep for another four hours, she dragged herself out of bed, literally, using the nightstand, then the wall, to get to the bathroom. Keeping mobile was the key to recovery, David had often said, but staring into the bathroom mirror, recovery looked like a long, rough road ahead. Her bruising had turned from puffy red to swollen storm-cloud blue.

In the kitchen, she held a soft ice pack to her eye as she made coffee. She imagined Nick or her dad would be calling shortly to check in on her.

The phone call between Nick and David lingered at the back of her thoughts. She could still hear David’s heated words and Nick’s calm reply. She couldn’t blame David for being angry at Nick for taking her home. He should have been the one, but he obviously wasn’t helping with the hurricane. She questioned how he seemed to think he could explain things. A lie is a lie.

After a cup of coffee, Kate’s thoughts returned halfway normal. In efforts to be truly whole again, she went to the desk in the living room to check her email and study the charts from the dive expedition. Activity along the ridge connecting to the Juan de Fuca had increased steadily according to the seismograph records. The landslide they had explored was a result of one of those quakes. Whether or not the big one would occur was hard to tell, but Stewart had sent her an email about the age of the rock samples he had collected. They were older than expected, which meant the rock face had already collapsed once before and exposed older rock underneath. That could be a good thing, hinting toward smaller, more frequent quakes to release pressure and not the buildup of a catastrophic quake in the near future.

A knock sounded at the front door. A shot of panic rose in Kate’s chest. Who could it be now? She considered pretending she was asleep. From her angle in the living room, the visitor wouldn’t be able to see her, but after the second knock, the sound of her father’s voice called out.

“Kate, honey? Are you home?”

Her father was the one person she was happy to see. Kate ignored the ache in her body as she pushed herself from the chair and went to the door. Her dad stood there smiling. He held onto a bright green reusable shopping bag.

“Did I wake you?”

Kate brushed her hair from her face. “No. I’ve been working. Come in, Dad.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” he said, stepping through the doorway. I brought you breakfast, even though it’s lunchtime. Bagels, cream cheese, and orange juice or if you’re feeling a little on the sweet side, a maple bar from Beaverton Bakery.”

Kate smiled and gave him a hug. “Perhaps you’re the one feeling a little on the sweet side.”

“Coffee and donuts are the staples of a good day.”

“Coffee…I have some on already. I’ll pour you a cup.” Kate shut the door and followed her dad into the kitchen.

“Louise had a client meeting on the other side of town, so I thought I’d come by and check in on you.” He paused to study her face. “You don’t look so good.”

“Thanks. I don’t feel so good either.”

Jack sat down at the kitchen counter. Kate poured him a cup of coffee and refilled her own.

“So who was that fella who brought you home last night?”

“His name is Nick,” she said with a frown. “He’s the oceanographer our team has been working with regarding the earthquakes off the coast.”

Her dad nodded his head, but she sensed he stewed on something, most likely why David wasn’t there and if he knew about the so called “fella.”

“He’s just a friend, Dad.”

“That’s what you say, but probably not what David would think.”

“Right now, I don’t care what David thinks.”

Jack stopped reaching for his donut in the bag to stare at her in a way he used to do when she was little and caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing.

She sighed. “If you must know, David already knows about Nick. In fact, they spoke on the phone last night.”

Jack raised his brows. “I can’t imagine it was a pleasant conversation.”

Kate’s stomach tightened. “David wasn’t here when I needed him most.”

“Just stay true to yourself,” he replied. “That’s the best you can do sometimes.”

Kate shook her head. “So much easier said than done. Things are complicated right now. David’s in California…with his ex-wife.”

Jack frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. He told me he was going to Arizona to help with the storms, but he’s staying with Robyn. I found out a few days ago.”

“That doesn’t sound like David,” Jack said, biting into his maple bar. “He must have a good reason.”

“Yeah, like he’s fallen back in love with her.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve seen the way David looks at you. I might not understand women, but I do know men, and I think I can tell when one of them has feelings for my daughter, which by the way, I think includes that Nick guy too.”

“Nick saved my life more than once. I think you’re confusing concern with feelings. Besides, I don’t see how David still loves me when he’s staying with Robyn.”

Kate reached for the bag of bagels and picked up the knife to cut one in half. The more she thought about his lies, the angrier she became. What she really wanted to do was curse him. He should experience the wrath of a curse, not her. He should feel the cold grip of Rán’s gnarled, black-clawed hand at his neck. The gleam off the knife’s blade reminded her of the color of Rán’s eyes, icy, sharp, and steel-like. A dark gray ocean that wanted to swallow her up and take her und…

“Kate! Stop!” Jack yelled at her.

Kate broke from the pull of a dark consciousness to a sting at her wrist. The blade of the knife had drawn a rivulet of blood. She quickly pulled it back and dropped it on the counter. The line of blood streaked down her arm.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for a paper towel. “I don’t know what I was doing.”

Jack’s shocked expression told her he wasn’t convinced carelessness was to blame, rather there was something wrong with her head.

“I’m okay, really. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“How are you sleeping?” he asked. “Are you taking your medication?”

“I’m tired, that’s all, and yes, I am taking my medication.” But today was the first day she had missed taking it since she’d thrown the bottle away per Thea’s advice. She didn’t feel like explaining the situation to her dad and might dig the bottle out anyway. Thea wasn’t exactly in the state of mind to be dishing out advice either, Kate thought. The last thing she needed right now was hallucinations.

When Kate gazed back to her father, he was still studying her. “Your eyes look gray today, almost blue.”

“It’s just the lighting.”

“Did your mother ever tell you about the signs she used to have?”

“Signs? What do you mean?”

“She foresaw impending danger.”

“No.” Kate took a bite of her bagel, not liking the gravity in her father’s eyes, or the way the conversation tugged at her nerves, as though he were about to share something she didn’t want to know.

“She said her hair would turn white, patches of it at a time. She colored it often to hide the white locks.” He held her gaze. “I wondered if anything like that ever happened to you.”

Kate sipped her coffee. “Mom never told me about that.”

“The change would happen before something bad occurred. Remember when you broke your arm in the fourth grade? Her sides turned white two days before. The last time it happened to her, we were sitting in the waiting room at the Cancer Institute. I looked over at her, and suddenly, a white strip of hair colored her bangs. We didn’t need to go to the appointment to know the outcome of the tests. We already knew.”

A shiver broke over Kate at the thought of her mother going through something like that. “I never knew. Nothing of that nature has ever happened to me.”

Her dad ate the last of his maple bar. “I used to notice Jev’s eyes turning bright blue just before something bad happened to her. When she fell off that ladder in 6th grade, broke her collarbone, her eyes shone like aqua marbles. The week before she died, I remember asking her if she switched to contacts, because her eyes were unrealistically blue, electric. She told me the same as you: ‘Just tired, Dad.’ But she knew. I could tell.”

Kate put down her bagel, no longer hungry. “What are you getting at?”

“Your eyes are turning blue, almost silver. They’ve always been brown.”

“So you think something bad is going to happen to me? Is that what you’re saying?” Kate hadn’t realized her tone of voice until an awkward silence ballooned between them.

“After what just happened to you,” Jack said, “I only want you to be careful. You’re the only daughter I have left.”

“And I’m not going anywhere.” She laid her hand on his. “I promise. You’re stuck with me.”

Jack grunted softly, as though to himself.

Silver-blue eyes. Kate knew those eyes. Would never forget them—the color of Rán’s eyes.

***

Wells leaned back in his chair, having just read an email from Officer Hanes that Julie and her friends had pressed charges against a boy named Shane Steiner. It pleased him immensely to know they had followed through and that the boy responsible for hurting his daughter and one of her best friends would be punished under the state of law.

His phone rang and he answered. Chief of Police, Robert Goldstein (aka–MOM, for man on a mission), spoke on the other end. Goldstein had a straightforward approach to police work, didn’t take shit from anyone, and wasn’t afraid to reveal his fondness for cats; he had three of them and bragged regularly about training them to shit in the toilet.

Wells leaned back in his chair, listening to his questions regarding the Brooke Jennings’ case. The clock ticked like the echo of his pulse, a throb that made itself known with a pounding in his head.

“Her death was accidental, wasn’t it?” Goldstein asked. “I sense you’re stalling in submitting your report. Anything you want to add?”

Wells shifted in his seat. “One of the witnesses who found Brooke Jennings was assaulted last night,” he explained. He told him about the other loose ends, his visit with Suzanne and the strange pattern of marks shared by Brooke and Jim. He kept quiet about Kate’s mark, not wanting to tie her into the case any more than she already was.

“Do what you need to do, but make it quick. I have one reporter keeping close tabs on the girl’s case, and the last thing I need is for the parents to catch wind that something else might have happened to their daughter when I’ve already got the coroner’s report suggesting otherwise.”

“Sure, I understand.”

Wells hung up the phone and stared at the contents of three files—Brooke’s, Jim’s, and Kate’s—piecing together the events one more time in chronological order to get a bigger picture of what might have led up to Kate’s assault. He started with Jim Kelley’s death, then proceeded to Brooke’s. Whoever harassed Brooke probably attacked Kate, especially since she had the same marks. So what did Kate and Brooke have in common?

Wells decided he needed to question Kate further, believing he had missed something with her or she wasn’t telling him all that she knew. He contemplated whether Thea knew anything other than what she had told to him. Perhaps his attraction to her provided her an opportunity to cover up what she might not want him to know.

A cold, sick feeling washed through him at the thought of Thea playing him. The more he kicked their relationship around, he knew he wasn’t her type. Maybe it was an act after all. Thea was the priestess of a coven, at least nine years younger, and worked as a bartender. Not someone he would ever have thought he would be interested in either, but something about Thea heated his blood and sharpened his mind. Her confident independence, good looks, and intellect were all things he admired. Maybe she saw something similar in him too.

Wells swiveled in his chair and glimpsed a piece of paper in the copy machine. He picked it up, hoping he’d forgotten about a report he hadn’t thoroughly documented, the missing piece of the Kelley-Jennings-Waters puzzle. The document was on Andre Singer’s background—his address, work history, and driving records. Wells checked the feed tray, and found two more documents, a copy of his driving record, same as the one in the printout tray, and another listing a rental agreement at Willamette Moorage Park where Andre moored his boat. That copy was missing. He didn’t remember making copies of Andre Singer’s background reports. Someone had been in his office. Someone looking for information on Andre Singer.

Wells peered through his blinds, eyeing the officers walking down picture-framed hallways. It had to have been someone in the department, another police officer, case worker, or desk personnel. But why? A barrage of questions multiplied in his mind. Why hadn’t the person just asked him for the information? Why sneak behind his back and rummage through his folders? Unless it was Goldstein, but even he wouldn’t sneak around, Wells thought. It would be more like Goldstein to demand it. Unless…it was Thea. What if something about their conversation at the hospital this morning tipped her off? Still, as sneaky as she was, it didn’t seem likely that she could have slipped through personnel at the station unnoticed. Someone would have stopped her.