Terrified (46 page)

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Authors: Kevin O'Brien

Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller

BOOK: Terrified
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Turning away from the window, Megan wandered back to Dan’s computer desk and sat down in his chair. She put the cordless back in the cradle-charger. She really wished it would ring, and Dan would be on the other end telling her where he was—and that he was all right.
On the computer, she went to her previous searches and brought up the
Chicago Tribune
story about the young newlyweds who had drowned. She studied the photo of Travis and Selena McClaren at the Chicago Yacht Club. Once again, she wondered what he looked like now. Did he still have all his hair? Had he gained about thirty pounds? A lot of physical changes happened to people between the ages of eighteen and thirty-three. If she saw him again—without that youthful edge and all that hair—would she recognize him? For all she knew, she could have seen Travis and not recognized him at all.
Maybe that was how he’d been able to rent an apartment half a block away from her, and she’d never really spotted him. For all she knew, he may have been a repeat customer at Destination Rent-a-Car. He might have even been one of her
Matefinder.com
dates, and she wouldn’t have recognized him.
“Maybe I could take you out sailing. I’m an expert sailor. Or if you’re not in a nautical mood …”
“My God, of course,” she murmured to herself,
“Duncan Cassidy.”
She remembered how he’d kept telling her she wasn’t like other women. She hadn’t seen anything of the tortured, sulky seventeen-year-old Travis in that smug, arrogant man with the glasses and the five-o’clock shadow. He’d been overly solicitous and creepy.
Now she wondered why he’d waited fifteen years to ask her out. Was
Matefinder.com
his first opportunity? Maybe it had been. And she’d rejected him—a second time.
With her right hand darting over the keyboard, Megan went to Google and typed in
Duncan Cassidy, Seattle.
She didn’t come up with any close results. She’d thought she might find him listed with a Yale Avenue address that put him in the Vista-Eastlake Apartments. But she didn’t see anything like that.
Dan had said he thought Josh’s abductor might have a farm out by Maple Valley. At least, that had been where he’d chased the silver SUV. She tried
Duncan Cassidy, Maple Valley, WA,
on Google. Again, she didn’t come up with anything. “Damn it,” she muttered, shifting restlessly in Dan’s chair.
Now she realized why it was so important for
Duncan-Travis-Lyle
or whatever he called himself to sabotage her relationship with Dan. He was the Matefinder date she’d picked over him. Last night and this morning, he’d called Dan on her cell phone several times—and he’d even left an obscene text. Then tonight, he’d tried to kill him.
Megan glanced at the time in the bottom right corner of his computer: 10:02
PM.
It had been an hour and a half since she’d spoken with Dan. Where was he? She picked up the cordless and dialed his cell. Once again, it went to voice mail. “All right, I’m officially panicking,” she said into the phone. “Are you still stranded someplace in Maple Valley? Please, call me as soon as you can. Okay, Dan? Take care.”
She hung up. On the desk in front of her was the mail she’d snuck a peek at this afternoon—including the Visa bill and something from OnStar. They subscribed to something like OnStar at work—to track the fleet in case a driver was in an accident or a car got stolen. It said
Account Statement
on the envelope.
Megan tore it open. All the information about his car and his account number were in the billing statement. She turned to the computer and brought up OnStar. She requested car location information, typed in Dan’s account number, and pressed enter. But it came back with a blinking message:
Please Enter Password
.
Biting her lip, Megan hesitated. Then she tried
Moe-larrycurly
.
A map came up—along with information:
Vehicle Located: Rural Route 3, Milepost 4, Maple
Valley, WA 98038
From what she could tell, he hadn’t budged since he’d spoken with her an hour and a half ago. Megan printed up the map and the directions.
Getting to her feet, she started to gather things—J. Knoll’s cell phone, the directions, and a light sweater from Dan’s closet. She checked to make sure the revolver and the second cell phone—her lifeline to Josh—were still in her purse. She wrote him a note:
Dear Dan,
 
Going to look for you & your car in Maple Valley. Call me at 702-555-6352 if you get this. I’ll try phoning you again on the road.
She hesitated, and then scribbled:
Love, Meg
.
She left the note on his desk and hurried out the door, double-locking it behind her. She noticed the two black garbage bags in his little garden on the side of the houseboat. A light wind off the lake made the plastic ripple slightly. It was a subtle sound—barely audible over the water lapping against the piles.
Yet as she headed up the dock toward the car, Megan could almost still hear those bags rustling.
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-NINE
L
yle Duncan Cassidy shut the door to the back of the U-Haul, and then secured the latch.
Having backed up the SUV close to the barn, he’d dragged the unconscious kid from the passenger seat to the U-Haul. Lisa’s son had been just so much dead weight.
There had been a time when Lyle had felt sentimental about Josh Keeslar. After all, he’d been looking after Josh since he’d been a baby. He’d saved him from that pervert several years back. With Lisa, he’d shared all those little milestones of Josh growing up. He’d even felt proud when Josh had won that award from the mayor.
And yet, after having had him in custody for three days, Lyle had grown bored with him. In fact, more than bored—he was annoyed.
The same thing had happened—more or less—with all the Lisa substitutes. They’d become interesting diversions for a while, and within days or weeks of actually having them, he’d lost all interest—because they weren’t Lisa.
Somewhere inside him was the fear that once he had Lisa, she wouldn’t be the Lisa of his dreams. She’d be a great big disappointment. Maybe that had been why he’d never even tried to touch her until now. He hadn’t wished to spoil the illusion. He’d been afraid the real Lisa might not be any more special than the others. And then what would he have? Nothing.
But when he’d heard about Glenn getting out of prison, he’d realized it might be his last chance to actually be with her before she went on the run again or Glenn tracked her down through some private detectives. He’d seen on her home computer that she’d joined
Matefinder.com
. And he’d contacted her for a date. So—fifteen years after trying to win her over with flowers, gum, and candy at Evanston-Northwest Hospital, he’d had his second chance at Lisa.
And she’d shot him down.
He’d been furious. But it had also been just the incentive he needed to take possession of her—finally. He’d discovered he liked hearing Lisa beg. It was intoxicating to have all that power over her. He was in charge. And with Josh’s life in the balance, she would do just about anything for him.
He would hold on to the boy for the next few days. The best place for him was the back of the U-Haul.
At the sound of the van’s big door shutting, the kid had let out a little moan. Lyle turned away from the truck, and didn’t hear him anymore.
Lahart’s cell phone went off in his jacket pocket. Lyle checked the caller ID. It was Lisa calling from the houseboat once more, obviously still worried about her boyfriend. He wanted her to be worried, and he wanted her just where she was for now.
Lahart’s cell had been getting quite a workout in the last hour with all the incoming calls. His cop friend, Detective Bracken, had phoned twice, leaving a message each time. Lyle needed Lahart alive a little longer—just an hour or two, so he could get the cop off his back. He didn’t need any policemen poking around here, looking for some schmuck or his abandoned car. He’d think of something Lahart could tell his friend to put the guy’s mind to rest about him. As both Candy and Glenn had proven, when a knife was at someone’s throat, they could be very convincing on the phone.
AAA and OnStar had phoned, too. Lyle had answered those calls, pretending to be Lahart. He’d told them he didn’t need any help after all.
The barn door squeaked and dragged against the dirt as he closed it. He turned toward the SUV and opened the back. A lot of things had gotten shifted around when he’d screeched to a stop earlier. But the old, heavy wool blanket still covered Lisa’s boyfriend. Lyle peeked under the blanket at him. He was still dead to the world—but not quite dead. His forehead had stopped bleeding. For now, this was the best place for him. Even if he woke up, he wasn’t going anywhere. His hands and feet were bound with several layers of duct tape, and one more piece of tape was over his mouth.
Lyle needed to go inside and take care of Monica. By the time he was finished with her, Lisa’s boyfriend would be awake. He’d take him to the side of the barn, behind the bushes, where the ground was a bit softer. He’d put him on the phone and have him give a cover story to his cop friend. Then he’d hand the guy a shovel and make him dig a grave—with room for Monica, too. She was so skinny. She wouldn’t take much space. Then he’d shoot Lisa’s boyfriend in the head.
He kind of liked the idea that his and Lisa’s exes would share a grave while he and Lisa shared their lives together. There was a nice symmetry to that.
Lyle opened the driver’s door and climbed behind the wheel. Even though he’d driven with his window open, there was still a hint of that strangely pleasant chloroform smell in the vehicle. He pulled over close to the house, and parked so the camera mounted on a branch of the elm tree had the vehicle in view. At the same time, the tree and some bushes obscured the SUV, so no one could see it if they were coming up the driveway.
Lyle headed into the house. He stopped in the kitchen to wash his face and hands. Then he poured himself a glass of merlot and took it with him down to the basement. He paused in front of his TV monitors and the window into Lisa’s bedroom. Monica looked so pathetic in there, puffing her cigarette while pacing back and forth. As pitiful as she was, it didn’t change his utter contempt for her right now.
He looked at the TV monitors. On the floor of the van, Josh stirred and finally sat up. The light wasn’t on in there, so the boy couldn’t see a thing. He probably thought he was back in that tiny bathroom once again. Within a few minutes, he’d figure out he wasn’t there. On the other TV, Lyle saw no one at the far end of his driveway—not even a passing car. The other monitor had some TV program on mute. And the last monitor showed the SUV, parked near the house.
Lyle reached into his jacket pocket for his smartphone, and he realized he’d left it in the SUV. He’d wanted to double-check on Lisa. He’d checked twenty-five minutes ago, while driving back with Josh, and the little white dot on the grid had put her on the houseboat at Hamlin Street by Portage Bay.
He sipped his merlot, and set the glass beside the ashtray on the little table. He’d told Monica she wasn’t allowed to smoke in the house. And there were six cigarette butts in the ashtray—along with his cigar stub. God knows how many cigarettes she’d gone through in the last ninety minutes in Lisa’s bedroom.
He wanted that room ready for Lisa tomorrow afternoon, too. How was he going to get the ashtray stink out of the bedspread?
With a sigh, he plodded over to the bedroom door and unlocked the dead bolt. The waft of cigarette smoke hit him as he opened the door.
“Lyle?” she cried. She quickly tossed the cigarette on the floor and stepped on it. “Honey, I’m so sorry! The little bastard tricked me!”
Opening his arms to her, he managed a benevolent smile. “It’s okay… .”
She hugged him and started crying on his shoulder. “I kept thinking you’d never come back. I thought I’d be locked in here forever. I was going crazy… .”
He patted her bony back. “Stop your fussing. I told you I was on my way. I had to pick up the kid first. He’s in the U-Haul. I was going to move him out of here tonight anyway. No harm done.”
Pulling back, Monica wiped her nose with her sweater sleeve. She squirmed in his arms. “God, I can’t stand it in here another second,” she whined.
But Lyle held on to her. He hated the cigarette smell on her breath, but he kept smiling at her.
Helpless, she looked at him—and then at the open door. “Please, honey, I want to get out of here. Can’t we get out of here?”
“Are you talking about this room or the house?” he asked gently.
“Both!” she said with tears in her eyes. “This whole place gives me the creeps. It’s so scary and isolated here, and you’re gone most of the time—leaving me here with these—these
prisoners
. I’m lucky that kid didn’t try to slit my throat tonight. I’m going out of my mind. I totally hate it here.”
He kissed her forehead. “Well, it just so happens I’m kind of sick of this place, too. There’s no reason why we should spend one more night here. The boy in the U-Haul isn’t going anywhere. I’ll come back tomorrow, check on him, and wrap up my work here. In the meantime, we’ve got ten thousand dollars to spend. What do you say we crack open that old safe, take what’s in there—including your stash—and check ourselves into one of those downtown luxury hotels? We can go out to some clubs or have our own little party in the room—just you and me. How does that sound?”
“Are you serious? It sounds fucking fantastic!” Monica squealed, kissing him all over the face. “Really? Can we?”
He nodded. “Go upstairs and start packing all your stuff. I’ll straighten up in here. And when I’m done, you and I can say good-bye to the place in style. I bought some Ben and Jerry’s strawberry ice cream the other day and hid it in the back of the freezer upstairs. Plus I have that bottle of champagne in the fridge. We can toast to a new start… .”
Monica kissed him gratefully. “You’re so sweet.”
He laughed. “We’ll throw the champagne glasses in the fireplace and then get the hell out of here.”
“God, this is so great. I’ll be packed in a jiff.” She scurried out of the little bedroom.
He turned toward the mirror, and listened to her giggling excitedly as she raced up the basement stairs.
The smile faded from his face.
 
 
Megan watched the car’s headlights pierce the darkness of the road ahead. Even with her brights on, all she could see was the pavement directly in front of her—then everything turned a murky dark gray. The moon must have been behind the tall, shadowy trees on her left. To her right, there was an occasional break in the trees, where she’d see a dirt road—and in the distance, a farm.
She’d almost missed the small sign to Rural Route 3. She hadn’t seen another car for the last ten minutes. Hunched close to the wheel, she kept her eyes peeled for the milepost signs along the road. Dan’s car was supposed to be somewhere along milepost four, and she hadn’t seen anything yet. “God, please, let him be okay,” she whispered.
She’d left the house about forty minutes ago, and he still hadn’t called her back.
Suddenly, the headlights illuminated something lying on the side of the road. Megan swerved to avoid a dead, mangled deer. Her heart racing, she steered back into her lane. She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw that lifeless heap on the roadside—bathed in the red glow of her taillights. Wincing, Megan sped up, and then there was just blackness behind her.
It was so dark and desolate, she had a feeling Dan couldn’t be anywhere around here. And if he was still in the area, he probably wasn’t alive.
She spotted a small green sign on the roadside with just the number 4 on it. She eased off the accelerator, and the speedometer dropped from fifty to thirty-five miles per hour. To her right, she noticed a farmhouse and an old barn on the other side of a barren field. The place looked deserted.
Then she saw the car tilted to one side off the shoulder of the road. There were no hazard lights blinking, nothing. If she hadn’t been looking for it, she might have passed the disabled car without even noticing it. She didn’t see a sign of Dan anywhere.
Gravel crunched under the tires as she steered onto the shoulder and stopped behind Dan’s Accord. She left the car idling in park with the headlights on. Reaching inside her purse, she took out the revolver and opened the car door. The interior light seemed so bright after all the miles of darkness. Stepping outside, she left the door open and approached Dan’s abandoned, slightly skewed vehicle. His front door was locked. She peeked in the window, and saw a bottle of Bactine and a spiral notebook on the passenger seat. With the gun in her hand, she made her way around to the passenger side. The jack was still in place and the spare tire had been attached. Nearby, on the gravel was a tire iron, a hubcap, and a bloody, dirty towel.
Megan gasped. But then she reminded herself that his hand had gotten cut earlier.
Still, she knew something must have happened to him here. He would have called her if he’d gotten a ride from someone. The wind whipped through her hair as she gazed over at the shadowy woods on the other side of the road. Megan wondered if his body was hidden among those trees.
Tears brimmed in her eyes. She felt so lost and hopeless. What had she hoped to gain by driving out here?
She took out J. Knoll’s cell phone and tried Dan’s number. It went to voice mail. She didn’t leave a message this time. There didn’t seem to be any point to it.
Turning around, Megan stared at the old, abandoned farmhouse and the shell of a barn across the field. She wondered if Dan’s hunch was correct. Was it possible Travis had Josh holed up in one of the farmhouses around here? Maybe one of the local residents knew someone who drove a silver SUV. Or maybe one of them had taken Dan in.
Megan hurried back to her car and ducked behind the wheel. She shut the door and turned the key in the ignition. The engine made a horrible grating noise. She’d forgotten it was already idling.
With a shaky hand, she shifted gears and pulled back onto the road. She’d have to start knocking on doors—at 10:50 at night.

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