Retribution (27 page)

Why would Paul need to interview Lillian about the fires? And why she would want him to stay? No longer hungry, he went to lay the cookie on the table. Crumbs fell from his fist.

Paul stared at Lillian, and to her credit, she returned his gaze. Neither showed any emotion. Two blank faces hiding a ton of secrets.

Finally, Paul pulled a small envelope out of his pocket and placed it in front of him. The contents of the envelope apparently held the reason for Paul's visit.

“That homeless man you're friends with…”

“Joseph Callahan?” Lillian's face furrowed. “He likes to be called Joe.”

“What's this all about, Paul?” Bill had not expected questions about one of the shelter's frequent fliers. Surely, Paul wasn't here to question Lillian about the time she almost hit the man, not after all these weeks. Suddenly, what he had imagined to be nothing took on a larger shape. His jaw tightened as his mind ran in quick circles looking for answers.

Paul stared at Lillian. “There was another fire last night.”

“You think Joe started the fire?” Lillian asked. “That's ridiculous. Joe wouldn't do that. He's a kind man, down on his luck maybe, but he's working on it.” Her face reddened. “I really didn't expect you, Paul, of all people, to be judgmental. Just because he's homeless doesn't make him a villain. You need to look somewhere else…”

“The investigators found a body in the house.”

Lillian's eyes widened as she clutched her throat.

“Do you have any idea where he goes when he's not at the shelter?” Paul asked.

Lillian looked at Bill before answering. “I…I don't know for sure. I asked him once, and he just said sometimes he needed to get away and be alone.” She slumped in her chair. “You think the body is Joe's?”

Paul opened the envelope and slid the contents across the table: a blackened and tarnished ring.

Tears ran down her face. “That's Joe's ring. It was his wedding band. He had to wear it on his index finger because he lost so much weight.” She looked at Paul, sorrow etched across her face. “He was a decent and kind man.” Then anger flashed in her eyes. “Who could have done this?”

“I don't know.” Paul returned the ring and envelope to his shirt pocket. “But I intend to find out.”

Emotions battled for priority. Bill had expected to feel tension, but there was something more flowing through the room: fear.

And it didn't emanate from just Lillian, but from both of them.

Was there another reason for Paul to interview Lillian? What could he be looking for?

~*~

“I know you aren't in the mood for all of this,” Roger said, “but maybe it will help distract you for awhile.”

Lillian tucked a cold hand under his arm. Even with jackets, the night air held a frosty nip that promised frost by morning. “I just don't understand why he had to die.”

He placed a finger on her lips. “For tonight, for now, just soak in the present.”

He led her through the paths of Brookgreen Gardens, the nighttime darkness broken by hundreds of strings of holiday lights and the legendary thousand candles. The scent of pine, hot chocolate and spiced cider added to the festive feel.

They mingled among other visitors: families with children, couples slowly navigating the nighttime paths, and the volunteers in their red vests, maintaining posts throughout the garden, ready to answer questions or direct the guests to a sought-after attraction. Just another couple, nothing special. The kind one passed by and forgot.

Just what Roger counted on.

Winding paths among towering oaks and pines led to one hidden venue after another, unexpected pleasures such as ponds with floating candles, trees draped with lights, some rainbows of color, others white like holiday snow. Several provided laser shows. Christmas carols drifted from speakers hidden within the depths of the pines. Together the lights and music transformed the darkness to a place of magical wonder.

Roger glanced down at Lillian. “I'm glad I talked you into coming.”

“I'm glad you did too.” She looked at the fairyland around her. “Who does all this decorating?”

“Volunteers.”

“And do they light the candles, too? A thousand candles…imagine.”

“Actually it's more like five thousand five hundred, all lit nightly by stalwart retirees.”

“It's so beautiful. We should come back again during the day. Fifty acres of landscaped heaven.”

The revolver tucked in the back of his slacks caused shivers of excitement to creep along his spine. A smirk played on his face. Lillian thought the park was beautiful. She had no idea that beautiful to him meant power. She would soon find out.

It would be after midnight before he arrived back in Darlington. Alone. Or maybe he wouldn't go back at all. Why should he? He had his passport with him, and his cell phone. Make quick airline reservations. He would be beyond anyone's radar before Lillian was missed.

If only things could have worked out differently.

He pushed aside his feelings. Unless she turned up dead very soon, he would be in jail. His heart quickened as he kissed the top of her head. Passion, that maddening throb, would have to be denied. “Want to walk on the beach before we head home?” He breathed in her scent and trembled with anticipation. The act, a display of his skill and supremacy, always excited him.

“I hate to leave here. It's so peaceful, even with the crowds. And it's been such a horrible day.”

Three children raced down the illuminated path, bumping into Lillian.

As she staggered, he pulled her closer. She nestled into his side and he murmured in her ear, “The beach is peaceful, and we won't have to work to be alone.”

And they must be alone.

She looked into his face and smiled as he guided her toward the parking lot.

Excitement poured into his body, the ecstasy that always accompanied a successful mission. This time, he would not fail.

He drove the car across the highway, obeying all the rules, careful not to attract the attention of every off-duty police officer managing the traffic. Trying to hide his heightened excitement, he scanned the side of the road for the pull-off he had found earlier. Breaths came tight as he feared missing the obscure entry.

Beside him, Lillian relaxed against the back of the seat, blissfully unaware this would be her last moments.

His heart thundered in his chest. Heat radiated from his body. Breath hissed through flared nostrils as he spied the turn-off he had created. Obscured by the vines he had pulled over the opening, no one had penetrated his lair since he had left it.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Lillian pulled herself upright.

He eased the car off the road between hanging limbs thick with Spanish moss and drove through the five-foot bramble. Roger smiled. “Give me a chance to show you.”

Limbs scratched the frame of the car, emitting an eerie, ear-piercing cry. Drying grasses illuminated by the headlights looked like wizened limbs reaching toward them.

“It feels as if we're in the middle of a jungle.” Her voice trembled as she leaned forward in her seat, staring at the tangle of trees and vines through the front window.

Entering the small clearing, just big enough for him to turn his car, he shut off the engine, removed his seatbelt, reached across and unlatched hers. His face brushed against her cheek, still warm with life. Her breath, like feathers, stroked his skin. Soon she would be burning heat against his hands as she struggled to push air from her compressed throat.

Pocketing the car keys and feeling for his gun, he helped Lillian out of the car. As a last thought, he reached into the storage compartment and pulled out a flashlight. “The beach is only a short walk ahead of us.”

They pushed through withered ferns tangled among vines thick as ropes. Summer grasses grabbed at their legs in the total darkness created in part by the canopy of hovering overhead. She trembled as she clutched his arm.

“I want to go back, Roger.”

He pulled on her arm, moving her forward; she balked.

“Can't we at least have some light?”

Sounds of traffic filtered through the thick growth, but looking back, the headlights from the adjacent highway were concealed. Knowing they could not be seen, he switched on the flashlight and kept it pointed toward the ground.

Lillian shivered.

“Are you cold?”

“I don't like it here. It feels like the setting of a murder or something.”

His laugh came from deep within, bubbling up from the dark chambers of his heart. “Do you want me to turn the light back off to better add to the mood?”

“No!” She squeezed his arm tighter.

His breath came in raspy streams as he pulled at towering vines and created a path through the overgrowth. A thick layer of pine needles softened their footsteps. Thick trunks of trees, many over a hundred years old, dictated their path. In the daylight, the spreading branches of the live oaks had seemed almost romantic in a southern way. Now the limbs seemed to reach toward them. “No one had been back there since summer, so nature has taken over. We should come to the creek soon, and that will take us to the beach.”

Only they weren't going to the beach.

Except for the crack of dry twigs underfoot, this section of the Maritime Coastal Forest remained silent. Even the sound of cars no longer penetrated the wild growth. With the temperature just above freezing, crickets and chickadees and frogs were gone for the season. Even alligators, which could be seen most days in the summer crossing the paths from one marshy area to another, lay tucked safely in deep water most of the time. The beach remained too far to hear its roar. They had the coastal woods to themselves.

Estimating they had walked about halfway to the beach, he looked for the marker he had placed where the marshy water reached the path. She had to be in the water.

Illuminated by the flashlight, their legs appeared as gray beams supporting bodies of swaying black masses. Shadows just out of reach of the light thickened into grotesque shapes.

Lillian lifted her face toward him. “Do you think he suffered?” she asked.

Her voice was a nuisance, a distraction from the work ahead. The best victims were silent ones.

She tugged at his sleeve. “Roger, do you think Joe suffered before he died?”

Frustration hissed from his nose. “My guess is the smoke got him before the flames.” He couldn't allow her to distract him. The ground was becoming increasingly marshy, and the scent of rotting vegetation intensified. The light cut swatches of clarity, and he panned the beam back and forth. The candy wrapper he had jabbed onto a tree limb earlier in the day had to be somewhere close.

Lillian sniffed and pulled a tissue from her coat pocket. “Life is so unfair. I have to keep reminding myself that God's in control. No matter what happens, it's because God allows it to happen. He has a purpose and a reason for good.”

His jaw tightened. God did not have a hand in what he was about to do. It was impossible to imagine such faith, to actually believe in a God Who controlled all. Maybe if he had more time, he could have learned to believe.

She felt warm beside him as her form melted into his.

He allowed himself to believe they belonged together.

Tension tightened his gut. The gun poked into his back. The thoughts stopped, a bubble broken just in time. Fantasy had never been part of his life, and he could ill afford to allow his emotions to rule his heart. Killing her would be hard enough without weak sentimentality thrown in. His teeth ached beneath his rigid jaw. Where was that marker? The sound of their footsteps no longer crackled in the dry underbrush. When had the path turned to sand? His heart thumped as he recognized his mistake.

Lillian stopped. “I hear the surf!”

In his weakness, he had missed the marker. They had come too far. Fisted hands hung at his sides as Lillian tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. Flames of self-loathing hissed from his nose. Blackness descended on him, blackness with claws that tore at his mind and he groaned with fury.

With Lillian pulling him forward, the path turned, and the ocean came into view. Streams of silver moonbeams reached down to the water and showered the waves with glitter.

“I've never been to the beach at night.” Her words sounded husky. “I think it's more beautiful now than during the day.” She clutched his arm with both of her hands and turned her face toward him. He hated the sparkle in her eyes as she searched his face.

He had a job to do and the beach was empty.

The few summer rentals stood on dunes far to the north, their windows nothing more than black, sightless eyes.

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her to him.

~*~

Roger slammed the useless weapon on the desk beside his bed. The crack ricocheted around the silent room. Hands fisted, he pounded the wall, leaving gaping holes as evidence of his rage. Anger coursed through every nerve in his body; self-loathing gushed from his pores.

He sat on the side of the bed and lowered his head to his hands. He prided himself on being able to think on his feet, format and implement a new plan quicker than most people could blink. The skill had saved his life more than once. But when he needed it the most, it failed him.

Why hadn't he followed through and killed her? The plan was modifiable. No one had been around. He could have killed her on the beach and carried her body back to the swamp. Or they could have had a romantic walk before he finished the job on the way back to the car. Fingernails dug into his face, the frustration of failure so intense the pain failed to register.

Falling backward on the bed, he let out a hollow groan. Not since his childhood had he felt so worthless. Lillian possessed his mind. Could she really do that? He blinked hard, trying to rid himself of the ludicrous thought. Fear wound around his body just as her sensual presence wrapped around his will, paralyzing his actions.