Freefall (32 page)

One of the few downsides to owning a restaurant that specialized in breakfast was you had to get up before dawn to begin the daily baking. Although Titania assured Nate she was more than capable of driving herself to work, ever since Cleo Gibson's murder he'd insisted on following her to the Wisteria Tea Room.

She'd been at work for an hour when there was a knock at the back door. With her mind still rerunning sexy scenes from Nate's masterful lovemaking and assuming it was the deliveryman from Surfside Dairy, she wiped her hands on her apron.

"Who is it?" she called out.

The familiar voice that answered was surprising, but certainly not threatening. Concerned, she opened the door.

He grabbed her, covered her mouth with a damp cloth. As she struggled against his superior strength, Titania breathed in a sweet scent.

Then everything went dark.

"Imagine that," Lillian Honeycutt murmured, as she sat in the sunroom of Whispering Pines with her husband later that afternoon. "Here everyone thought Robert deserted Lucie, but it turns out that he never left Swannsea at all."

She took a sip of the mint julep Harlan had mixed for her. "To think of him having been buried in the garden all this time."

She ran her finger around the rim of the glass and shook her head. She'd had her roots touched up today, and since the weather was turning so warm, Mr. Dennis, her stylist, had tucked her still-blond hair into a classic French roll that kept it off her neck.

"I suppose it would be tacky to mention that it may finally explain why Lucie's hydrangeas always had blossoms twice the size that any of the other members of the garden club were ever able to achieve."

"You could never be tacky, dear." He smiled benevolently. "Though the suggestion that Robert Swann has been fertilizing Lucie's bedding plants may be a bit inappropriate under the circumstances."

"I suppose you're right." She took another sip. And sighed. "But you weren't the one losing to her year after year at the annual Flowerfest… Though, to be fair, I suppose she wasn't exactly cheating. Given that she had no way of knowing Robert was lying beneath those bushes."

Her brow furrowed as she considered that idea. "You don't think she
did
know, do you?"

"I have no idea." He took a sip of his bourbon and branch water. "I suppose anything's possible."

"There's bound to be gossip about a fatal love triangle," she mused. "Between Lucie, Robert, and John Tremayne."

"Tremayne doesn't appear to be the type to kill another man."

"Harlan, John Tremayne was a Navy SEAL in Vietnam. That's what he did for a living. Kill people."

"Well, it's always a possibility, of course," he allowed.

"He wouldn't be the first man to commit murder out of an act of passion. Nor would he be the first to have a black-widow female talk him into getting rid of a spouse."

Despite the gravity of the subject, Harlan laughed at that description. "Lucie Swann, a black widow?"

"You're the one who pointed out the other night, when Zach and Sabrina came to dinner, that no one was ever able to say no to Lucie."

"I wasn't referring to murder."

"I realize that, dear." She took another, longer drink. "I was merely thinking out loud."

"There was certainly no love lost between Robert and Jeremy Macon," Harlan said, offering another suspect. "Especially after Robert played him for a sucker."

"Yes. I always felt sorry for poor Jeremy. After all, he never was the sharpest piece of cutlery in the drawer. And although he didn't lose the bank, his reputation suffered a great deal. I'm not sure he's ever fully recovered from the scandal."

"A man's name is the most important thing he possesses," Harlan agreed. He smiled at his wife over the rim of his glass. "Except, of course, his charming spouse."

She smiled back. "That's very charming of you, Harlan."

"I meant it. You're very dear to me, Lillian. I couldn't have wished for a better wife."

"I know, dear."

A companionable silence settled over the plant-filled sunroom as they sipped their drinks and contemplated the events of the past few days.

"You killed him, didn't you, Harlan?" Lillian asked with absolute calm.

Her gaze was directed out the window at her formal English garden. At the puffy snowball hydrangeas, which, like everything else about Whispering Pines, had always come in second place to Swannsea.

"Yes."

She nodded. Took another sip. "And Lucie. She didn't die of a natural heart attack, did she?"

"No."

She sighed. "I suspected as much."

Turning back toward him, she took another, longer sip. "And now you're going to kill me as well."

He nodded. "Yes, dear."

He took the empty glass from her hand. Filled it to the brim.

"I'm glad. Because I fear all this ugliness is going to explode into a dreadful scandal and I'm not sure I'd survive it. Or even want to, for that matter. Especially given the fact that I haven't been looking forward to facing end-stage Parkinson's."

"I never meant to hurt you."

"You never have." Her smile was touched with regret. "You could have, of course. If you'd chosen to. I wouldn't have objected. But you never saw me that way. Never wanted me in such a base, sexual fashion."

"You were my wife. You belonged on a pedestal."

"Even if it grew very lonely up there?"

She'd no sooner asked the question than she waved it away with a beringed hand. "Never mind."

She looked out at the garden again, at the butterflies flitting around the bloodred flowers of the passion vine, and then continued to drink the doctored julep.

"My mother warned me, on the night before you and I were married, that men have certain needs. Needs their wives may not always be able to satisfy."

She sighed again.

Lifted a hand to her temple.

And missed her head by several inches.

"It's not going to be painful, is it?"

He appeared affronted by the very suggestion. "Of course not. You're my wife, Lillian. I've always loved you."

"And I you." The empty glass fell from her hand. "Would you do one last thing for me, Harlan?"

"Anything."

A sad, private smile touched her lips. "If only that had been true, we might not be in this situation."

She reached out her hand. "Would you take me to bed?"

For the first time since they'd begun this conversation, he appeared uncomfortable. "Lillian. Dear."

She trilled a laugh. Her breathing was getting slower. It was getting more difficult to focus her thoughts. To form the words.

"I'm not asking you to make love to me, darling. I'm merely asking you to lie with me. And hold me."

"Of course." He picked her up from the wicker sofa into his arms. Carried her down the hall and up the stairs.

By the time he'd reached the bedroom they'd shared for more than forty years, she was gone.

He placed her on the mahogany sleigh bed. Smoothed the hair that had escaped its tidy twist away from her face. Folded her hands.

He bent down and kissed her cooling lips.

Then he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Confused and disoriented, Titania felt as if she'd swallowed all the plough mud in the marsh, maniacs were banging away with jackhammers behind her eyes, and her shoulders felt as if they were being pulled out of their sockets.

As her exploring fingers discovered the metal bars, she realized, with a shock, that she was chained.

Inside a cage?

"It's about time you woke up," an all-too-familiar voice complained.

That clinched it. This was only a dream. Make that a nightmare. If she concentrated really, really hard she would wake up beside Nate and they'd make some slow morning love before getting up and going to work.

"Misty?"
Please let this be a nightmare
.

"It's me. And guess what, bitch? You're in the same fucking insane boat I'm in."

She'd never been able to tolerate the woman on a good day. With her head pounding, and metal cutting into her wrists, Titania was in no mood to attempt to be polite. "Would you just shut the hell up? And tell me where we are."

"You don't know?"

"If I knew I wouldn't ask, now, would I?"

"You're in the slave quarters at Whispering Pines."

"I am not."

"Are too," Misty shot back.

They could have been two kindergarteners facing off in a sandbox. Not that Titania could see Misty's face. It was so dark she doubted she could've seen her own hand in front of her own face. If she'd even been able to lift it, which she couldn't because it was chained to the damn bars.

"Nothing personal, Misty, but I'd really like to wake up now, so if you wouldn't mind getting the hell out of my nightmare."

"It's not a friggin' nightmare!" Misty shrieked.

No
. If it were, that would've woken her up for sure.

"I can't remember how I got here."

"He probably drugged you. That's what he did to me. Well, some of the time. Most of the time he likes his slaves to be wide-awake. So we know exactly what he's doing to us.

"Believe me, you're going to wish you could develop amnesia pretty soon," she said. "If you live that long. The fact that he brought you here after killing his wife tells me that we're both pretty much toast."

"Harlan killed Lillian?"

"That's what he told me. Why would he lie?"

"You; don't sound very upset about the prospect of dying."

Not that Titania was going to be killed. Because she had faith that Nate would find her. And when he did, she was going to quit playing hard to get and drag that man to the nearest altar at the very first opportunity.

"After you've been here a while, you'll realize it's not dying that's scary," Misty warned. "It's living like this that's the real nightmare."

"But why is he doing this? I don't understand."

Harlan Honeycutt wasn't some insane torturer who kidnapped women, locked them in cages, and chained them to the bars. He was a loving husband. A successful doctor. Admired and respected throughout the Lowcountry.

Which was why, against Nate's warning, she'd stupidly opened the kitchen door to him.

"You know those women?" Misty's voice cut through Titania's swirling thoughts. "The ones with the slit throats?"

"Of course." The reason for the question sank in. "You can't be serious. Harlan couldn't possibly be the Swann Island Slasher."

"Wanna bet?" Misty asked as the heavy door swung open with a fingernails-on-the-blackboard screech that was straight out of a horror movie.

A blinding bright light suddenly came on over head.

"I'm very disappointed in you, slave." Harlan Honeycutt's familiar voice tsked-tsked. "Telling all our little secrets."

Titania found Misty's transformation in mere days beyond comprehension.

Her hair, no longer its bright, sunny hue, had been dyed a flat black shade that was echoed in the shadows beneath her sunken eyes. She looked gaunt and pale, more like a wraith than the obnoxious sex kitten she'd been only days ago.

Realizing that Misty the Man-eater hadn't been exaggerating about the danger she'd landed herself in, Titania swallowed the metallic taste of terror that rose in her throat.

The call came in at six a.m., after Njanu had shown up at the Wisteria Tea Room for work and found the kitchen door unlocked, the dough for the cinnamon rolls risen so long it had collapsed into the deep bowl, a mug of cold coffee on the counter, and Titania nowhere to be found.

Although there were no signs of a struggle, or violence of any kind, her purse, which Nate knew she would never have left behind, was in its usual place in the bottom drawer of her office. Her locked car was in the parking lot.

Fighting back a panic worse than he'd felt when his platoon was attacked in Fallujah's "ambush alley," Nate forced himself to stay calm as he organized the search, bringing in not only his own deputies but the same SLED officers who'd shown up when Robert Swarm's body had been discovered.

Unsurprisingly, Zach was one of the first on the scene, accompanied by his father, Quinn, and other members of Phoenix Team. Rounding out the group were Special Agent Caitlin Cavanaugh, MIB, and two additional agents she'd requested from the Charleston FBI office. Meanwhile, troopers from SCDPS had set up a barricade and checkpoint on the single road leading to the ferry terminal.

Since the ferry crew had reported that no cars had crossed the harbor that morning, she had to still be on the island.

"We'll find her," Zach assured Nate as they divided all the volunteers who'd shown up into search teams.

"No question," Nate agreed.

And when they did, she'd be alive and well. He refused to allow himself to think otherwise.

Eight hours later, working a grid pattern, they still hadn't found her. Not helping was the tropical depression moving in from the Bahamas, bringing rain that soaked the searchers to the bone.

"Quinn and I'll take the jon boat to this quadrant out in the marsh," Zach said as they met back at the command center set up in the sheriff's office. "Check out some of the fishing camps."

"Good idea," Cait Cavanaugh, who'd come back for yet more coffee, said. "We'll move farther south along the coastal shoreline."

"Tide's coming in," Quinn cautioned.

She gave him a look, replaced the stainless-steel top on the thermos, and walked out the door.

Even as concerned as Nate was about Titania, it had not escaped his notice that while the special agent had, despite the dire circumstances of their meeting, appeared glad to see Zach again, she hadn't said a single word to Quinn.

The former SEAL sniper shook his head. Although he did his best to hide it, his frustration was obvious as he yanked his hat down low on his forehead and went back out into the rain.

Although she'd desperately wanted to join the searchers, Sabrina reluctantly admitted that both Nate and Harlan had a point when they insisted that since she was not yet back at full strength, she had no business traipsing all over the island in the rain. Especially when she could be equally useful working with Njanu to keep the search teams alert and well nourished with gallons of coffee and plenty of sandwiches.

She was on the way back from the market after buying another twenty-five loaves of bread—knowing that Titania would cringe at the idea of store-bought—when her cell phone rang.

Hoping that it was news about Titania, she flipped it open without first checking the caller ID.

"Sabrina, dear," Harlan said, not bothering with any greeting, "I have a problem."

Don't we all.

"It's Lillian. She's very upset by all this, and it's allowed her imagination to run away with her, which can be an unfortunate side effect of all the medication she's on. While I've assured her that you're fine and safe, I'm afraid she won't be convinced that I'm telling her the truth unless she sees for herself that you're all right."

Sabrina glanced down at her watch. As much as she cared for the woman she'd always called Aunt Lillian, she needed to get back to the command center.

"It'll only take a few moments," he assured her, as if reading her mind.

Not wanting to suffer regrets about being too busy for Lillian as she had with Lucie, Sabrina decided a few minutes wouldn't exactly mean the difference between life and death.

"I'll come right over," she said.

"Thank you, darling," he said, his obvious relief telling her she'd done the right thing. "You've no idea how much this means to me."