Twice Dead (45 page)

“You faithless bitch, you're like all the rest of them!” His fingers tightened around her neck.

Sheriff Gaffney yelled, “Let her go, Tyler! Let her go!”

Tyler was heaving now, his fingers strong, so strong, tighter and tighter now and she knew she would die.

Then there was a shot. Tyler jerked over her. His hands fell away. She blinked and saw him turn slowly to face Sheriff Gaffney, standing in a cop's stance, his Ruger P85 pistol held tightly between his hands. “Get away from her, Tyler. Now! MOVE!”

“No,” Tyler said and lunged for her again. Another shot rang out. Tyler fell on top of her, his face beside her head. Dead weight, oh God, he was now dead weight.

“Hold on, Ms. Matlock, and I'll get him off you.”

Sheriff Gaffney pulled Tyler away. He'd shot him once in the head and once in the back. He gave Becca a hand up. “You okay?”

She was shaking, her teeth chattering, her throat burning, Tyler's blood all over her, and the healing burn on her arm was throbbing fiercely. She smiled up at him. “I think you're the most wonderful man in the whole world,” she said. “Thank you for coming in the house. I prayed and prayed that you would see all the lights on and come in.”

“I heard little Sam crying,” Sheriff Gaffney said.

“Hello?”

A small, thin voice. It was Sam and he was standing at the top of the basement stairs.

“Oh, no,” Becca said. “Oh, no.”

“I told him to wait in the kitchen for me. Okay, I'll get Rachel over here. Can you pull yourself together, Ms. Matlock? We'll go upstairs and you can take care of Sam until Rachel comes. He loves Rachel a whole lot, you'll see. Keep hanging in there, ma'am.” He shook his head, then said, “I knew Tyler killed his wife, knew it in my lawman's gut, you know? But he also killed poor little Melissa twelve years ago. I wonder how many other women he's killed who rejected him.”

Becca didn't want to know.

 

ADAM was stretched out on the sofa in his living room, a soft pillow under his head, a light afghan pulled to his waist, so relieved that Becca was back safe and sound, staying in his house, her stuff scattered around, all at home now, that all he could do was grin. He didn't want her to leave, not ever. He heard her moving about in his wonderful, fully equipped, very modern kitchen, making him a healthy snack, she'd said.

The house was cool since he'd had the good sense to install central air-conditioning when he'd moved in. Soon, he thought, he'd get that ugly green tile out of that second-floor bathroom. Another four days and his energy would come roaring back and he'd head right down to the tile store. The master bedroom was sort of stark though, with just a big black lacquer bed and a matching black lacquer dresser, a couple of comfortable black and white chairs, and a good-sized closet, nearly walk-in, he'd said to her, lots of room for both of their clothes.

He'd had big plans for the bed the night before, about two hours after she'd gotten back from Riptide, and even though he couldn't move a whole lot and his flexibility was nearly nil, and he'd tended to moan from pain as well as pleasure, it hadn't mattered. She'd simply taken charge. He nearly shook the afghan off now thinking of how she'd looked astride him, her head thrown back when she'd screamed out his name. And then she'd fallen over on him and the pain had nearly made him yell again. But he'd lain there, silent, holding her against him as best he could, stroking her smooth back, and then she'd slowly straightened, frowned at the sight of his rib, all yellow and green now, and said, “I nearly killed you, didn't I? I'm sorry.”

“Kill me again,” he'd said, and she laughed and kissed him and kissed him again and again, and loved him until he'd yelled again, this time not from any pain in his ribs.

He felt good. He had plans for that bed again today, maybe in about an hour from now. He was stronger today, maybe he'd be able to do a bit more moving around. He hadn't been able to get his hands and mouth everywhere he'd wanted to last night. Ah, but today. His fingers itched, his mouth sort of tingled. And what about tomorrow and the next day? Maybe he'd keep her in the bedroom until they had to leave for the church to get married, then right back here again. It sounded really fine to him. He wondered what Becca thought about mirrors everywhere.

She brought him some iced tea and a plate of celery stuffed with cream cheese. She sat beside him and fed him between kisses.

He realized suddenly there was something different about her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Then he realized what it was—she was hiding something from him. And her eyes, something different there—he realized, finally, that it was shock. Well, he supposed that nearly burning to death on the roof of her father's house would leave its mark. Or realizing a man she'd really liked was in actuality a madman. Or maybe, he thought, his mouth tightening, that madman, Tyler McBride, had, in fact, hurt her or tried to, and she hadn't seen fit to tell him.

He ate another celery stick, eyeing her, then said, his voice all suspicious, his brows lowered, “You swear you didn't lie to me? You swear there was no real trouble up in Riptide?”

She lightly stroked her fingers over his cheek. She loved to touch him. She particularly liked him naked so she could touch all of him, kiss all of him. She leaned down now and kissed his mouth, then straightened again. She said, all easy and blasé, “Nothing that couldn't be handled. Sam's all right. I can't tell you how wonderful Rachel is with him. I knew they were close, but when she came running into the house, Sam left me in a flash and went right to her. I thought she would fall apart, she was so relieved Sam was all right. Sheriff Gaffney told me since there are no relatives, Rachel and her husband would very likely adopt Sam. I called up this morning, and she's already got him an appointment with that child psychologist Sherlock recommended up in Bangor. Oh yeah, I also told Rachel she was probably a very conscientious, great real estate agent, but I would never ever rent another house from her again.” His frown was still in place. “Rachel laughed.” The frown lightened.

Adam said, “Yeah, I'm relieved about Sam, too. But wait a minute, Becca. Back up here. You're telling me McBride didn't try to hurt you when you told him you didn't love him?”

She stuffed another celery stick in his mouth and kissed him all over his face as he chewed. She whispered in his ear before he could talk again, “Nothing to worry about, really, Adam. It's all over and done with. Hey, you do like the celery sticks?”

“Yeah, they're good. All three dozen that you've stuffed down me. Now, tell me about how Sheriff Gaffney had to shoot Tyler once he knew the skeleton was that girl Melissa Katzen. I'm not really all that clear on any of it. I want every little detail, Becca. No, no more celery sticks. Yeah, a kiss is all right, but hold off now. You're not going to distract me anymore.”

But she kept kissing him until he was nearly heaving himself off the sofa. She said against his ear, “I used low-fat cream cheese, better for your arteries.”

“Becca.” He grabbed a fist of her hair and pulled her close to his face. “Tell me the truth. What happened up there?”

“Adam, it wasn't all that big a deal. Really, nothing worth mentioning except that Sheriff Gaffney really came through. He was the hero. I've probably forgotten lots of it because it wasn't that memorable. Really, the sheriff had everything under control. I didn't even count. I wasn't even important. Would you please stop your worrying and forget it? I'm home now.” He felt her hand on his belly and he nearly lost it, but he didn't. He let her go but his frown deepened. Before he could say anything, Becca smiled and said as she got up from the sofa, “Oh, my, look at the time. Not enough time for me to have my way with you. But I do have a couple of minutes. Do you want me to give you a nice rubdown before I go to the hospital to see Dad?”

He thought about her hand on his belly, moving south, and he nearly went
en pointe.
He said on a big sigh, “No, but how about an apple, Becca? I love apples.”

She knew exactly what he was thinking. “I love you, Adam. Maybe when I get back from the hospital, we can play a game of Monopoly, or something, okay? But that means you've got to rest while I'm gone. Now, you sit tight and I'll get you that apple.”

The phone rang. Adam stared after Becca, then picked it up. “Hello.”

“Is this Mr. Carruthers?”

“It is.”

“This is Sheriff Gaffney, from Riptide.”

“Hello, Sheriff. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to speak to Ms. Matlock, make sure she was all right.”

“Well,” Adam said slowly, staring toward the door, “there's still some shock, you know, from what happened.”

The sheriff sighed. “Understandable, of course, poor girl. I don't mind telling you that it was pretty hairy there for a while, Mr. Carruthers. I'm sure it's made your hair stand on end, hearing about her lying on the basement floor with McBride straddling her, choking the life out of her. She was hitting him with a brick, but it wasn't working, she was getting too weak. The guy was strong, really strong. As you know, I had to shoot him, but even that didn't stop him. He was over-the-top, completely whacked out, as my boys say, and all he wanted to do was kill her. I had to shoot him again and the guy fell right on top of her, covered her with blood. But it's over now. All the questions answered. Ms. Matlock didn't get hysterical, thank the good Lord. She's a strong girl. As a man of the law doing my duty, I really appreciated that. And now she's home, and I hear the two of you are going to get married. You're a lucky man.”

“Yes, Sheriff. Thank you.”

“Any time. Well, do give my best to Ms. Matlock.”

“You can be sure that I will, Sheriff.” Adam heard her breathing. She was on the line in the kitchen. She'd listened in, heard everything, hadn't said a word. His heart was pounding slow, heavy strokes. He was so furious he couldn't think of anything to say. Then he opened his mouth and shouted into the receiver at the top of his lungs, “BECCA!”

She cleared her throat. “Ah, Adam, I've got to go to the hospital now.”

He breathed deeply, got hold of himself, and said, “Not yet. Bring me my apple. I'll even give you a bite before I wash your mouth out with soap for those whoppers you told me.”

“Sorry, Adam, the apples aren't ripe enough. You know Sheriff Gaffney, he exaggerates, really, he—”

“After I wash your mouth out, I'm going to maybe shave your head. Then if I'm still pissed off, I'm going to make you change that green tile in the bathroom, then—”

“I'm outta here, Adam. I love you. Er, I'll buy ripe apples while I'm out.”

She hung up the phone.

“BECCA!”

HEMLOCK BAY

I wish to thank the following people at FBI headquarters and at Quantico for their generosity and enthusiasm:

Lew Elliott, who teaches cops how to fight

 

I wish to thank my husband, Dr. Anton Pogany, yet again, for his excellent instincts and his eagle eye that never misses a thing—he remains the Editor from Hell.

To Ildiko deAngelis, director of George Washington University Museum Studies Program. She is very smart, very experienced in both law and art history, and has extensive knowledge of museum procedures both in the United States and abroad. She's answered every question I could come up with and provided me valuable insights into a very esoteric world.

She's also the best sister-in-law a body could have. Thank you, Ildi, for your time and for sharing your magnificent brain with me.

—CC

ONE

 

It was a chilly day in late October. A stiff wind whipped the last colorful leaves off the trees. The sun was shining down hard and bright on the dilapidated red barn that hadn't been painted in forty years. Streaks of washed-out red were all that was left of the last paint job. There was no charm left, at all.

FBI Special Agent Dillon Savich eased around the side of the barn, his SIG in his right hand. It had taken discipline and practice, but he'd learned to move so quietly that he could sneak up on a mouse. Three agents, one of them his wife, were some twenty feet behind him, covering him, ready to fan out in any direction necessary, all of them wearing Kevlar vests. A dozen more agents were slowly working their way up the other side of the barn, their orders to wait for a signal from Savich. Sheriff Dade of Jedbrough County and three deputies were stationed in the thick stand of maple trees just thirty feet behind them. One of the deputies, a sharpshooter, had his sights trained on the barn.