Last Exit in New Jersey (37 page)
Read Last Exit in New Jersey Online
Authors: C.E. Grundler
Stevenson swallowed and a strained expression crossed his face. “Two hours later the police are on my doorstep telling me Ben, his wife…and Helen are dead, with Jeremy not far behind. I get to the hospital…the poor kid’s…unrecognizable, just burned flesh and shattered bones. His heart had already stopped once; they didn’t think he’d last, and I was getting hit with whether to revive, organ donation and all. I’m still numb, and I’m thinking, Thanks for the gesture, Ben. They said Jeremy suffered so much damage that even if he did survive, he’d never be right again. There were metal fragments from the car too deep in his brain to risk removing.”
Stevenson turned away, leaving Hazel to study his weary profile, his defenses down and the underlying pain exposed.
“I couldn’t forget Jeremy’s phone call. There’s one cop, he’s already working the investigation on the arson, and he must’ve believed me when I told him the kid knew something, and IF Jeremy lived, someone would try again. Paperwork was altered, Jeremy was declared dead, John Doe went into surgery, and Hammon came out.”
Hazel sat across from Stevenson, knees pulled to her chin, arms wrapped around her legs, listening in silence. It wasn’t the time to comment even if she could imagine what to say. Stevenson looked grim.
“I don’t know what did more damage: the accident, or surviving to learn everyone including him was dead and buried. Those surgeries, skin grafts, the therapy, it was hell. It changed him. The more they reconstructed, the more Jeremy disappeared. It wasn’t just the new identity; he went into a cocoon of bandages and came out someone else. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, remember anything. Not the accident, not the phone call, not the backed-up information, and he wouldn’t even speak to me. His doctors said frontal lobe damage could wipe out recent memories. They said that part of his mind was gone.”
He looked up, smiling grimly. “They were wrong. When his therapist told me about his imaginary friend, I knew it was the girl at the funeral, the one in the truck. You. Only there were no records of anyone named Annabel, or anyone else you could have been. No classmates, neighbors, relatives, no one. If he’d had any name or address for you, it burned with him. I searched for years with only that moment from the funeral and the memory of that ugly old truck to work with.”
Stevenson shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable but resigned to the fact that she wasn’t freeing him just yet. “His doctors said he blamed me for everything. He decided I was covering something up, that their deaths were my fault. The more I tried to fix him the more he fell apart. I watched him disintegrate, and I couldn’t do a damned thing to stop him from self-destructing. He nearly killed himself a few times; I had to have him supervised constantly. When he was seventeen, he managed to disappear; for six months I couldn’t find him. I thought he was dead until Gary found him holed up in that boat, and he started tapping my bank account.”
Stevenson smiled to himself. “Him and that damned boat. I finally had some way I could help him. That, and leaving ‘hidden’ cash lying around. It’s his money—his parents’ life insurance and the money from selling their house—but the only way I could get it to him was letting him think he’s stealing it from me.”
Stevenson took a break and Hazel waited silently. She didn’t know what to say. He continued. “You didn’t know him long, but you made some impression on him. Enough to create Annabel, enough to hold him together and keep him going. Enough for someone terrified of water to take up living on a boat. I’d given up hope of ever finding you…and then, all these years later, that truck rolls into Cape May and you climb out. I had to find out if you were the real girl to Hammon’s fantasy Annabel. But you turned out to be hostile, unsocialized, uncivilized, utterly unmanageable, and even more hell-bent on disliking me than him.” Stevenson grinned.
“But why? You think I know where this data is? I don’t.”
“I didn’t expect you would. But if he remembered you and fixated on you the way he did, then it’s possible he remembers other information, and reconnecting with you could trigger those repressed memories. And more than that, you might be the key to reaching him, helping him before it was too late. So yes, you were absolutely right. I was following you, and hiring your dad to move my boat was just an excuse to meet you face-to-face and see who you
really
were. When the time was right, I planned to explain all this and reintroduce you two. Then everything went to hell.”
Stevenson looked around the room. “So here we are, right where we both would have been seven years ago, if my life hadn’t been destroyed.” Stevenson’s chin dropped and he gazed down at his bound hands. “Helen loved this place. It was vacant, abandoned, and she would drive me past all the time and tell me how unbearable it would be seeing it torn down. I told her it was too far gone to save. She had no idea I’d bought it, I had crews inside doing a full restoration, planting the gardens out back. From the street you couldn’t tell a thing. She thought the wedding was going to be at her parents’ house. This would have been my surprise, my gift to her.”
As unimaginable as it all was, it made perfect twisted sense. Stevenson’s questions and comments from those first days all fell into place, and it explained so much of Hammon’s baffling behavior. Micah would have found it all very amusing, and for Hazel that was strangely comforting. It validated everything Micah believed right to the end. She knelt beside Stevenson, untying his hands.
He rubbed his wrists. “I won’t try to say I know how you feel right now over what happened to Micah. But I do know how it feels to lose everything you love.”
In the predawn darkness,
Revenge
cut through the offshore Atlantic swells, heading due east on autopilot, nonstop until the fuel ran out. Then Hammon figured he’d take every sleeping pill he had aboard, slice every hose, and take a nice, permanent nap as the boat went down.
He was truly alone and losing what little mind he had left. Annabel had vanished hours earlier, leaving him lost and disoriented. He was barely able to drive the Viper and too afraid that in his attempt to crash he might hit someone else in the process. He already had Micah’s death on his conscience and that was enough. Going down aboard
Revenge
seemed the best option. It took hours of stubborn determination to find his way back to the boat, still waiting dark and silent at the Leonardo docks. By the debilitating headaches, he suspected Annabel was still lurking somewhere in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t talking to her and she wasn’t speaking to him, which was either really good or really bad. Not like it would make much difference. Not this time.
It was too quiet. Too quiet on the boat, too quiet inside his throbbing skull. He leaned back, staring up at the fading constellations as
Revenge
rolled beneath him.
“I did the right thing,” Hammon told the stars.
“Are you sure?”
Hammon turned to the vision beside him, smiling weakly. “Annabel. I thought you weren’t talking to me.”
She stared ahead, not meeting his eyes. “Who else do I have?”
“True. I guess it’s just the two of us again.” At least for what little time they had left. But he didn’t have to tell her that. She knew. She always knew. “You still pissed at me?”
“Do I really need to answer that? You said you’d stay with her forever. Then you left.”
“Do you know how painful that was?”
“For you or her? You pushed her away when she needed you most. She didn’t know why.”
“I had to. Stevenson wants revenge. I do too, I lost everything, but it’s too dangerous for Hazel. You heard Stevenson, he says I knew Hazel when I was Jeremy; I even gave her that ring she’s wearing. But I don’t remember any of it, not one thing. Stevenson thinks if I’m with her it’ll come back to me, but I don’t want to remember what he wants me to remember. Look what happened the last time because of what I knew. This ends with me. Once I’m dead there’ll be no me to remember anything, and she’ll be safe. And I should be dead. It’s my fault what happened to Micah.”
She stared into the darkness and took a deep breath. “You risked your life trying to save them both. You didn’t pull the trigger, but if you kill yourself, you make Micah’s death pointless.”
“She doesn’t need me. She’s better off without me.”
“Is that what you really think?” she asked, regarding him in a strange way.
He turned away. “No matter what anyone says, I’m not Jeremy anymore.”
“She never thought you were to begin with. Do you love her?”
“Yeah. But I’m also insane.”
“That doesn’t change the fact.” She laughed softly. “True love is insane at best, especially under the worst conditions.”
“It’s too risky. I stay with her, one day we’d lift the wrong rock, I’ll remember the wrong thing, and it’ll all start over. I can’t take that chance.”
“Then don’t lift any rocks. Leave the past where it is.”
“It’s inevitable. I’m already remembering things I shouldn’t.” Hammon stared ahead. The faintest pink strands of dawn began to separate the dark sky from the black water. “I was starting to think there was some hope on the horizon. But you know what the horizon is, right? It’s an imaginary line you can never reach.”
She slumped back, aggravated. “How about this? You remember anything you shouldn’t, I’ll just whack you over the head.”
“If only it were that simple.”
She smacked him hard across the back of the head.
“Ow!” he whined. “That hurt.”
Then it sank in. That hurt. He broke into a grin, beaming. “That hurt! It really hurt!”
“No,” Hazel said, smiling slightly through her tears. “That felt good.”
Hazel, Hammon, Annabel, and Stevenson will all return in
No Wake Zone
.
For a sneak peak at Chapter One, keep reading!
14:34 Saturday, September 18
41°03’31.63”N 74°06’03.23”W
Lake St, Upper Saddle River, NJ
“Pull over,” Jake Stevenson said, looking grim.
Hazel Moran slowed Stevenson’s black Mercedes and eased onto the shoulder, feeling the car lean as the tires sank into the grass. She took the sedan out of gear, switched on the hazard lights, and turned to Stevenson.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, as though she didn’t know.
He regarded her with that weary, strained look of his. “I want to be sure you understand where we’re going and why.”
Hazel smoothed her silk dress and leaned over, peering into the rearview mirror to check her hair, which was subdued into tidy finger-waves. She studied Stevenson’s perfectly tailored tuxedo and neatly trimmed blond hair for a moment, then reached across and straightened his tie.
“Casino Royale.” She smiled sweetly. “We’re off to a highstakes poker tournament, yes?”
The muscles beneath his clean-shaven jaw tightened. “Funny. You going to be able to focus, Miss Moran?”
“Just trying to lighten the mood.” Actually, between his black attire and somber expression, he looked as though he was heading to yet another funeral, but she refrained from voicing that observation. She could see he was having second thoughts about bringing her. She’d better pacify him or he’d have her turn back to the house.
“It’s a wedding for one of George Dulawski’s daughters,” Hazel said, reciting the pertinent facts she’d memorized. “Stepdaughters, technically. Second wife Barbara’s kids. George Dulawski heads Metro Construction Management, which recently purchased property along the Passaic River for which you are bidding for a sustainable redevelopment. You’ve done a number of projects with Metro over the years.” Including the year the Matthews family met their untimely end, though she omitted mention of that detail.
“You’ve pretty much sold George’s partner, Roger Newman, on the project,” she continued, “but George has his reservations.” And according to Stevenson that was the reason he’d chosen to attend this joyous occasion. Stevenson made a point of avoiding social situations, and most invitations wound up in the recycling bin without so much as an RSVP. “And you requested I accompany you because you’re a shallow jerk that no other self-respecting woman would be seen with.”
That brought a momentary flicker of amusement to his pale gold eyes and Hazel smiled. “I’m here as arm candy,” she said, “and to run interference and pretend we’re a couple while you talk business. But mainly I’m here so that, the moment you give the signal, I can claim a terrible headache and we can graciously exit. And…” She passed Stevenson the elaborately printed sheet of ivory paper. “You are fully aware that the wedding was at one o’clock.” She checked her watch again; it was well past two thirty.
“Such a shame we were unavoidably delayed,” he said flatly.
Delayed by him meditating over a glass of scotch before they left, which was also the reason he wasn’t the one behind the wheel. “No. You’re deliberately stalling. The sooner we get there the sooner you can talk your business. So what’s my story? Family fortune, finishing school?”
Stevenson chuckled. “Like you could sell that. There’s no story; you’re you. Your father runs a small trucking company; I hired him to move my boat. We met, you hated me on sight, said I was a creepy old rich guy, which I am, but you’ve gradually come to appreciate my more sensitive side.”
“Ah. So you’re dating the chauffeur’s daughter. How very democratic. But I thought you wanted to make the right impression.”
“And this will. These people know me. Just be yourself and you’ll be fine.” He paused, considering. “A better-behaved version of yourself. Don’t maim or kill anyone. No playing with sharp objects. Try not to talk like a truck-driver. Avoid any mention of murder, mayhem, all other unsavory details such as Hammon, and that’s about it.”
Hazel offered the sweetest smile she could manage. “The moment we have an audience, I’ll be on my best behavior.”
He eyed her skeptically. “That isn’t much to speak of.”
“I promise,” she assured him. “I’ll be a perfect lady. Cross my heart.”
She reached to put the car back in gear. He caught her hand and she stiffened. “What?” She looked uncomfortably at his fingers, still wrapped around hers.
“For one, try not to flinch when I touch you. It’ll be more convincing that way.”
“Understood.” Stevenson’s hand remained on hers. “We really should get going,” she said.
“You’re being far too cooperative. And when you get cooperative, I get suspicious.”
“Really, Jake!” She stared back with the most sincerely wounded expression she could manage. “You asked for my help. After all you’ve done for me, it seemed only reasonable.”
“Reasonable, or convenient? I saw how quickly you agreed to come once you learned who would be there. You’re distressingly easy to read at times. Trust me, princess, there’s nothing you can learn from these people that I don’t already know, and I don’t need some little girl playing detective for me. Understand?”
Heat rose in her face. She knew that some of what she’d learned from Hammon had opened his eyes to new leads. She thought that was the real reason he’d chosen to attend this wedding, even if he claimed otherwise, and why he’d asked her to accompany him. She took a deep breath and turned away. “Understood.”
“Hazel,” he said, his voice softening, “I appreciate your intentions, but I’m serious: there isn’t an angle you can think of that I haven’t already explored to exhaustion. I’ve wrecked a chunk of my life going down that road and back; I won’t stand by and watch you take that same path.”
She stared ahead. “So what exactly am I supposed to do?”
“Smile, be pretty, make nice. Do not, under any circumstances, snare, stab, or shoot anyone. Don’t make any waves. And remember just for today, no matter how insane it might seem, you truly love me with all your heart. In other words, just pretend I’m Hammon.”
She smiled sweetly. “Whatever you wish, dear.”
Despite what he claimed, Hazel knew Stevenson had been digging into the past, lifting rocks. And things that reside under rocks are rarely happy when exposed to the light of day. She put the car in gear and pulled her hand free of his, discreetly running it across her purse and the reassuring shape of Hammon’s colorful little Glock concealed within. For one afternoon she would be charming, gracious, and polite while she mingled among developers, trophy-wives, socialites, and possibly a murderer or two.
