Fatal Disclosure (22 page)

He took a deep breath. “Ladies, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to get out of your car.”

Miranda’s eyes grew wide. “In this rain? Surely, you’re not serious.”

He nodded. “I am. We’ll let you sit in one of the police cars while we search your vehicle. If everything checks out, we’ll apologize and let you return.”

Miranda’s face grew red. “Sit in a police car?” she sputtered. “I can’t do that.”

Lizzy groaned and sank back against her seat. Her hand clutched at her chest. “Miranda, my medicine,” she gasped. “I need it.”

Miranda grabbed Lizzy’s purse and fumbled inside of it. Mark reached in and took the purse from her hands. “Let me help.” After a few minutes of searching, he looked up at Miranda. “There doesn’t seem to be any medicine in here. We’ll call the health center and have the EMTs transport her there to be checked out.”

Lizzy took a deep breath and straightened. “That won’t be necessary. I’m feeling better now.”

The passenger door of the SUV opened, and Brock grasped Lizzy’s arm. “Let me escort you to my squad car for now.”

She cast one last glance in Miranda’s direction before she climbed out and went with Brock. Miranda shrugged and stepped from the vehicle. Scott took her by the arm and followed Brock.

Deputy Hamilton ran up to Mark. “What do you want me to do?”

Mark pointed to the SUV. “I want us to tear this vehicle apart. Look in every possible place where drugs may be hidden.”

The officer looked from Miranda and Lizzy getting into Brock’s squad car and back to Mark. “You really think those two old ladies are smugglers?”

Mark took a deep breath. “I hope so, or I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

Thirty minutes later, Brock stood in front of the stripped-down SUV and directed the waiting cars to board the ferry. Mark walked to Scott’s cruiser and stared at the bags of cocaine and two guns they’d found concealed inside the dashboard and under the seats of Miranda and Lizzy’s vehicle.

Scott slammed the trunk shut and grinned. “You were right. Brock is sending our smugglers to the station with our other two guys. Are you ready to raid Will’s studio?”

Mark nodded. “I am. Let’s get this over with…I still haven’t been able to reach Betsy.”

Scott glanced up at the sky. “I’m really getting worried about her. Let’s get this raid over with so we can find her.”

Mark jumped into Scott’s car, and they followed Brock through the rain-swollen village streets. Mark gripped the edge of his seat and swayed against the door as Scott turned a corner and headed to Will’s studio. If everything went as they hoped, Will wouldn’t have heard about the discovery at the ferry, and they could surprise whoever was present at the gallery.

The rain beat on the windshield and roof of the car. Mark checked his cell phone for messages again, but nothing new showed up. He swallowed the fear that gnawed at his stomach and stared out the window. Where was Betsy?

* * *

The water had risen to Betsy’s waist, and it kept creeping higher. The rain now swept across the open water in sheets, and Betsy could see nothing but rolling waves and flashing lightning.

From time to time a wave would subside, and a flash of movement in the water several hundred yards away would catch her attention. She squinted and focused to determine if there was really something there or if her tired brain had conjured up the image.

A smaller wave rolled over the sandbar, and this time she saw it. The slatted, wooden wing where the blind’s owner placed the decoys was anchored several hundred feet beyond the sandbar. Why hadn’t she thought of it earlier? If she could get to it, she might be able to survive until someone found her.

Her spirits rose and crashed just as quickly. Her arms were tied behind her back, and another rope circled her ankles.
Think, Betsy. Find a way out of here.

Her eyes grew wide as she remembered a night Scott had entertained their little sister, Emma, by showing her techniques he’d learned in the military. One of them was how to escape being tied up. But she was exhausted and had no idea if she could do what he’d shown them.

Once more she stared up at the sky. “Okay, God. I need You. Please help me to recall what Scott showed us.”

Peace rolled through her soul, and she nodded. Backing up to one side of the blind, she slid down the concrete wall. When she reached the water level, she gulped in a big breath of air and continued her descent underwater until her hands touched her heels. Holding her breath, she tried to force her hands beneath her feet, but the rope snagged on the side of her shoe.

With her lungs about to explode, she pushed back above the water level. Taking two quick breaths, she plunged down into the water and tried again. This time her hands slipped all the way out from under her feet. Now her arms were tied in front of her.

She stood up, held her hands at face level and began to chew at the rope’s knot. In minutes it loosened, and her wrists slipped free. She plunged back into the water and held her breath as she tugged to pull off the binding at her ankles. A newfound energy surged through her once she had kicked the rope aside.

Ignoring the water now flooding the concrete blind, she stared into the distance and waited for a flash of lightning. When it came, she spotted the wing’s location. She grabbed the rim of the blind and pushed herself out of the box and into the water swirling over the sandbar. Now all she had to do was reach the curtain. Another streak of lightning lit the sky, and she saw the curtain bobbing in the water as if it beckoned her.

The water on the sandbar now came to her waist, but she waded as far as she could go before the small piece of land dropped off into the sea. She said one last prayer and plunged into the choppy sea. A wave washed over her and sent her spiraling downward and away from the sandbar.
God, help me.

The water calmed for a few seconds, and she pushed upward. As she broke the surface, her head bumped against something. She stuck her hand up and grasped a wooden slate. She had reached the wing.

Grasping the sides of the wing, she pushed downward until she could lean her torso onto its surface. Slowly, she inched her way out of the water until she lay prone on the slatted platform.

A wave washed over her, and she tightened her grip to keep from being swept away. Chills raced through her body, and she fought against the exhaustion consuming her. All she wanted was to go to sleep, but she would slip into the water and drown if she drifted off.

Another wave hit full force, and she lost her grip. She slid toward the edge of the wing, her fingers searching frantically for a hold. Just before she slipped into the water, she grasped a slat with both hands and pulled herself back to the center of the wing.

Lightning flashed, and she buried her face against the back of her hands. If she could hold on until the storm subsided, maybe someone would find her. Her fragile resting place bobbed in the water.
Don’t let go. Hang on until help arrives.

She hoped help didn’t come too late.

SIXTEEN

T
hirty minutes later, with their prisoners locked in cells at headquarters, Brock and Scott pulled their squad cars to a stop in front of Will Cardwell’s gallery. Mark had been on raids like this in the past, but you never knew what you might encounter once inside. Mark glanced around for Deputy Fisher who’d been watching the gallery and saw his squad car coast to a stop beside them.

They climbed out and closed the car doors quietly. No need to advertise their presence. Brock turned to Fisher. “Have you seen anything?”

He shook his head. “No movement at all.”

“Good. That means they’re still here. Hamilton is guarding the prisoners at the station, so it’s just the four of us. You watch the door into the gallery. We’ll go around to the studio entrance. When we have the situation stabilized inside, I’ll call you in.”

“Be careful,” Fisher whispered.

“You, too,” Mark said.

The three men drew their weapons and crept along the side of the building. They stopped at the corner of the gallery and flattened themselves against the wall. Brock peered around the corner. “A panel truck’s at the back door. It looks like they’re loading up to leave.”

Mark leaned forward to catch a glimpse of what was going on but ducked back when a man carrying a box stepped outside and pushed it into the back of the truck. He nodded to Brock, and they stepped forward at one time and stuck their guns in the man’s back.

“Get your hands up and move back inside slowly,” Mark whispered.

The man froze for an instant before he glanced over his shoulder. He raised his hands and glared at them. “You’re asking for trouble.”

Brock pressed his gun into the small of the man’s back. “You’ve already got it. Now move inside.”

Mark’s gaze darted about the room as they entered the studio where he’d watched Will teach would-be potters. Will looked up from bending over a box, and his face went white. “What’s going on here?” he said.

Two men packing another box behind Will turned. Their eyes grew wide, and one reached for a gun lying on a table next to him. Mark stepped out from behind the man they’d encountered outside and held his gun in front of him. “I wouldn’t do that. All of you, down on your knees and hands on your heads. You’re all under arrest.”

“You heard the man,” Brock said. “You’re under arrest for smuggling and the sale of illegal drugs.” He turned his mouth to his lapel mic. “Situation stabilized.”

He’d barely finished speaking before Deputy Fisher dashed in the back door with his gun drawn. Within seconds Will and his three cohorts had been cuffed and read their rights.

Rage mottled Will’s face, and he glared at Mark as if he could kill him. When Scott pulled him to his feet, he lurched toward Mark, but Deputy Fisher and Scott restrained him. “So you’re the one who took over for Draper. Too bad we didn’t get you, too.”

Mark stepped up to Will and stared into his eyes. “Yeah, too bad for you. I guess I was just lucky.”

Will glanced over his shoulder at his men. “Did you hear that? He thinks he’s lucky. Wouldn’t it be nice if everybody was?”

Mark frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Will cocked an eyebrow and directed a smirk at Mark. “Never mind. Let’s go.”

A feeling of doom surged through Mark, and he took a step back at the evil radiating from Will’s eyes. A veiled threat had just been issued, but he had no idea who it was against. His heart hammered in his chest just as it had done the day he saw his parents’ bodies in their car. He had to know what Will was talking about.

Will had insinuated someone hadn’t escaped danger. But who? His heart skipped a beat, and his body turned cold as if the blood in his veins had suddenly frozen. His mind screamed her name over and over.
Betsy.

He grabbed Will by the shirt and pulled him forward until their noses almost touched. “Where is she? What have you done with Betsy?” he yelled.

Will chuckled. “I think I’ll lodge a complaint for police brutality.”

Scott grabbed Mark’s hands and pulled him loose. “Has he done something with Betsy?”

Mark shook his head. “I don’t know.”

And then he caught a glimpse of it lying on the floor underneath a table—flowers and butterflies in swirling bright colors. He scooped up the cell phone and held it up for Brock and Scott to see.

“This is Betsy’s cell phone.” He rushed at Will again, but Brock stopped him. “Where is she?” Mark cried out.

Will shrugged and looked away.

Scott looked as if he was in shock. He turned to Mark. “W-where do you think she could be?”

“There’s no telling.” His gaze swept across Will’s hired men and came to rest on the youngest of the trio. He couldn’t be more than nineteen or twenty years old, and he looked scared.

Mark grabbed the young man by the shirt and dragged him through the door that led into Will’s gallery. He slammed the door behind him and took a deep breath. “Son, what’s your name?”

“Andy.”

“Well, Andy, you’re headed to prison, and you have no idea what it’s like to be locked up in a cage. I can already count enough charges against you to keep you there for years, but murder charges are a different matter. If Betsy Michaels dies, you’ll be charged with her murder just like everybody else in the other room. You’ll never see the outside world again in your lifetime.”

Andy swallowed and tried to speak. “I—I ain’t had nothing to do with murder. It was the others.”

Mark felt as if a knife had just cut out his heart, but he couldn’t let this prisoner see his fear. “It doesn’t matter whether you did it or not—you’ll still be held accountable if you have knowledge about it and don’t tell me. If you help me, I’ll talk to my superiors and see if we can’t cut you a deal for a shorter sentence.” He gritted his teeth and glared at Andy. “But if you don’t, I’ll see to it that you spend the rest of your life in prison. Is that what you want?”

“N-no.”

“Then tell me.”

Andy began to cry. Words spilled from his mouth, and the greatest fear Mark had ever known swelled up inside him. It was all he could do to keep from rushing into the other room and taking out his anger on Will Cardwell. That wouldn’t do Betsy any good…and finding her was the most important thing at the moment.

When Andy had finished his story, Mark propelled him back into the studio and pushed him toward Brock. “Can you and your deputy take care of these guys? Scott and I have to go find Betsy.”

Brock nodded. “Where is she?”

“In a curtain blind out on Pamlico Sound.”

Scott’s eyes mirrored the fear Mark felt. “My sister is in a curtain blind in this storm?”

“Yes. Let’s get your boat and go find her.”

They ran from the studio, jumped in Scott’s squad car, and roared toward the marina where Scott kept his boat. Ten minutes later, with their life jackets securely fastened, they skimmed across the water of the harbor and out into Pamlico Sound.

As they sped toward the location of the curtain blinds, the storm intensified. Rain whipped him in the face, but Mark’s thoughts centered on Betsy. According to Andy, Betsy had been left at the blind almost two hours ago. The storm surge had probably filled the concrete enclosure by this time. Was it possible that Betsy could survive in a storm like this?