You Don't Want To Know (50 page)

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Authors: Lisa Jackson

BOOK: You Don't Want To Know
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Get out of the house! Take the boat. Get the hell off of the island! Now! While they're still in the attic, involved with each other. Go now! Think of Jewel-Anne. This might be your only chance to escape with your damned life.
But first . . . she punched out 911 on the cell before hanging up quickly. If Wyatt had really wanted to kill her, why hadn't he thrown her overboard on the way back from the mainland only an hour earlier? He could have claimed that she fell or jumped overboard, and with her history, no one would doubt him. No, no, no. She was confused. He didn't want to do her harm. That wasn't his mission.
Then what is?
You really can't afford to stick around and find out.
S
he found a pair of jeans and quickly slipped them on. With one eye on the small screen of her phone, she slid her arms through the sleeves of her jacket again. She'd sneak out of the house, get down to the boat, and . . .
And what? Run away like a coward? Let them get away with whatever it is they're doing? Tell the police that they were having an affair and destroying a simple recorder that played the sounds of a baby crying? You think they'll believe you? Or will the police, too, think you're paranoid or desperate or just plain crazy.
Take a deep breath, Ava. Then fight back! Beat them at their own game.
But she needed help. She couldn't do it alone. Clicking off the screen again, she dialed Dern and silently prayed that he would pick up, that his cell was turned on, that he wasn't out of range. She hadn't seen him since he'd joined the police in the search for Reece, though she'd overheard the buzz at the station indicating Dern had been instrumental in the fugitive's capture. Now, though, she had no idea where he was.
Her call went directly to voice mail.
Crap!
She didn't have time for long messages, but whispered, “This is Ava. Please come back to the island. ASAP! There's something happening here. Call me back!”
Despite her hammering heart, her blood was sluggish, her mind not quite as sharp as it should be. She checked her camera again.
Finally the long embrace had ended and something seemed to have changed. They were still standing close to each other, talking rapidly, but the sexy playfulness had disappeared, morphing into other emotions. Definitely, the mood had changed to something tenser, anger visible in their faces. Wyatt's jaw was rock hard and it seemed as if Khloe's eyes had darkened, her mouth twisting in a deep, seething fury. Obviously they were arguing.
About Jewel-Anne?
Or something else?
You, Ava. She's trying to get him to go along with killing you! Or maybe it's the other way around; maybe he's trying to convince Khloe to take your life.
Either way, it was time to leave.
Still staring at the screen, she headed out the door. She was at the top of the stairs when she saw things shift on the screen. Something was happening. The argument obviously escalating.
Oh, God. Ava stopped in her tracks and watched.
Khloe's stare was cold as ice.
Wyatt reached for her again, but Khloe stepped back, said something that stopped Wyatt in his tracks. His mouth rounded as if he were saying “No!” Then, quick as a snake striking, Khloe reached into her pocket and produced a knife.
What?!
Ava gasped.
Wyatt held up a hand.
But with teeth bared, fury burning in her eyes, Khloe sprang.
The knife glinted. Wyatt feinted, trying to dodge the blow.
Too late.
Ava watched in horror as, with a look of primal victory, Khloe plunged the blade deep into Wyatt's chest.
CHAPTER 46
R
eece wasn't the killer. If the cops didn't know it, Dern sure as hell did.
Which meant there was a killer still on the loose.
A killer who'd cruelly taken the lives of those close to Ava.
He found a ride back to the marina. A patrolling deputy dropped him off near the waterfront, and he hurried to find a ride to the island.
The station had been a madhouse, the press and different police agencies adding to the chaos, but out here, under the ethereal security lights, fog rolling in over the dark water stretching beyond the docked boats, the night was serene, at least to the naked eye.
But he felt it. A palpitating fear. An inner knowledge that evil reigned. Fortunately now he was finally dry, his clothes stiff from the briny water where he'd tackled Reece hours before. At the station, he'd made the call to Reba, heard her try not to break down after whispering, “Thank God,” and finally, “Thank you, Austin.” That part had gotten to him, and he'd hung up wondering why a sense of satisfaction was elusive.
Despite Reece's capture and the hours without sleep, Dern felt restless, his muscles sore, his mind keyed up. If Reece wasn't the killer, then who was? He'd been asking himself that same damned question for hours, even as he'd stood in the dark viewing room watching the maniac who was his brother deny, offer up bullshit and deny again and again. Insane? No way. Homicidal? Oh, yeah. But Reece had been adamant and believable about not “offing those bitches.”
Which means the killer was still at large.
Someone
had murdered three women in cold blood.
So far.
He jabbed his hands deep into the sandy pockets of his jacket, retrieved his phone, and tried to call Ava again, but his cell still wasn't working. When he'd learned she already left the station with her jerk of a husband, he'd tried calling the house on one of the sheriff's department lines but hadn't gotten through.
The fact that he couldn't connect with her bothered him a little. Well, actually, it bothered him a lot.
Not for a second did he believe Ava was the killer, though from what he'd overheard at the sheriff's office, the police were trying to mount a case against her.
Dern now believed Ava had been set up. Whoever had been in league with Jewel-Anne had turned on her and tried to make Ava appear to be not only paranoid, but also a killer.
He figured the killer had to be someone close to her, someone who could get on and off the island easily, someone who knew the ins and outs of Neptune's Gate.
He checked his cell phone again. Still not working, probably never would. Bad luck coupled with his own feeling that trouble was brewing.
Get over it; you'll be back on the island within the hour.
His boots rang on the damp boards of the marina, and the scent of briny water mingled with oil hung on the fog that had begun to roll in from the ocean. All of the boats were docked for the night, tied firmly in their berths, but he spied the
Holy Terror,
her captain sitting outside in the mist, the tip of his cigarette glowing red in the night.
Perfect.
“I need a ride,” Dern said to the owner. He'd met Butch Johansen a couple of times, thought the guy might be okay. “To Church Island.”
“It'll cost ya.” Johansen flipped the end of his cigarette into the night, its red tip arcing before dying an instant death in the inky water.
“Fine. Just make it quick.” A sense of urgency drove him, and he couldn't help but worry that Ava was on the island, possibly with a killer on the loose.
“As quick as I can. Fog's comin' in.” Despite his concerns, Johansen was already reaching for the ignition as Dern climbed aboard. As the engine fired and Johansen eased the
Holy Terror
out of the slip, Dern kept his gaze fastened to the murky night ahead. Though he couldn't see Church Island, it was out there. Somewhere. And Ava was probably there with that prick of a husband. That thought bothered him, too. He tried his phone again and though there was a glimmer of illumination on the screen, still nothing.
His worry increased.
“You got a cell phone?” Dern asked over the increasing roar of the engine.
“Radio.”
“Seriously?” Who didn't have a cell these days?
“Got in a pissing match with the carrier. Guess who lost?” Johansen's gaze didn't move from the prow of the boat and the soupy night ahead.
Great.
The wind was screaming past them as they cut through the fog, but they weren't going fast enough. “Can this tub go any faster?” he yelled, frustrated. It was dangerous, but Dern didn't care. A sense of urgency was driving him, fear for Ava.
“Yes, sir!” With that, Johansen hit the gas and the boat nearly flew across the water. As if they were outrunning the fog silently collecting over the black surface.
Still, for Dern, it wasn't fast enough.
 
No, oh, no . . . Ava stumbled backward as she stared in horror at the tiny screen in her hand. Khloe stood above Wyatt who was struggling, gasping for breath, a red stain blooming on his shirt.
“No . . . no . . .” She had to help him, save him, but the malevolent light in Khloe's eyes suggested she wasn't finished, and Ava remembered the garish slice across Jewel-Anne's throat. She needed a weapon. A gun, a knife, a baseball bat.
Any
damned thing. So she could fend off Khloe and help save Wyatt. If there was enough time.
Oh, please, God!
She knew the police couldn't get to the island fast enough; saving Wyatt was up to her. Moving into the hallway, she dialed 911 again as precious seconds ticked away, seconds that could mean his life or death.
A raspy-voiced operator answered. “Nine-one-one, please state your emergency—”
Before the operator could ask any questions, Ava cut in. “Send help to Neptune's Gate on Church Island! Right away! My husband is being attacked! He . . . Oh, God, he might already be dead!”
“Ma'am? Calm down. Who are you and what is your emergency? An assault?”
“My name is Ava Church, and I'm watching someone try to kill my husband! Out here on the island. Send someone immediately!” She couldn't keep the panic from her voice. “She's got a knife and she's trying to kill him!”
“You're witnessing the attack?”
“On my phone! The camera on my phone!” she clarified, hurrying down the stairs to the first floor. She was running out of time. With every second, Wyatt was bleeding out.
“Pardon me?”
“I have a camera set up! I can see what's happening.” She was running now, barefoot across the foyer to the den, time her enemy. As she passed it, the grandfather clock began to strike loudly, each chime reverberating and counting off the seconds, the beats of Wyatt's heart—though, she realized, even now her husband could be dead.
Into the den she flew, forcing her tiring legs to keep running, her mind to stay focused, but she was clumsy from the drugs sliding into her bloodstream and she hit her hip on the corner of the desk, then stubbed her toe on a chair. “Ouch! Damn it!”
“Ma'am? Mrs. Church?”
The operator was still on the line. Ava said, “Just, please, listen! I'm telling you Khloe Prescott is stabbing my husband! For God's sake, send someone. Now!”
“You're watching this on your phone?” Skepticism.
“I told you, YES!!!!” Frustrated, she rattled off the address. “Get Detective Snyder or Detective Lyons. Please hurry!”
“If you'll please stay on the line, Ms. Church—”
“I can't!” she said, and clicked off and tried Dern again. Nothing. Quickly, she texted him:
Khloe stabbed Wyatt. In the attic. Send help!
After sending the text, she switched her phone to silent mode; she couldn't have it go off and alert anyone hiding in the shadows of her location.
Hurry, Ava, hurry!
Her mind screamed at her, but her body wasn't complying. All of her movements were sluggish, the sleeping pills taking effect. Still, she pushed onward. She was certain Wyatt kept a pistol locked in his desk; it had been a bone of contention between them when Noah was living in the house.
Of course the drawers were locked! “Come on, come on,” she urged herself, and found the key he kept hidden, one she'd found years before. With fumbling fingers, afraid that Khloe would walk in on her at any second, Ava unlocked the drawer where Wyatt had always kept his gun and yanked the damned thing open.
Empty!
“Damn!”
Her heart sank. But she couldn't give up. She had to find the damned Ruger he was so proud of. Frantically, she searched the other drawers, flinging them open, tossing out the contents, searching wildly for the gun and coming up with nothing.
Khloe has it!
She's cut the phone lines and taken the gun.
Now what?
Don't waste any more time! Get a knife from the kitchen. Quickly! There are half a dozen in the magnetic rack above the stove.
Heart in her throat, Ava crept quietly toward the kitchen. Her stomach jumping, she expected to be attacked at every corner. Who else was in this horrid plot against her? Trent? Jacob? Ian? Were they even around? She'd felt that the house was empty, but obviously Khloe was around. What about Simon? Or Virginia? Did they have any clue that Khloe was a murderess?
Get a grip. Don't worry about the others. Just deal with Khloe and try to get to Wyatt. There still may be time! Hurry, Ava, move!
She reached the archway into the kitchen, but her movements were slowing, and she had to work hard to stay focused. At the threshold of the hallway, she stumbled slightly, her feet not working properly.
Come on, come on! You can do this.
Forcing herself, she eased through the darkness, only the palest of light from a far-off security lamp coming through a window and giving any illumination to the Stygian room.
A shadow passed by the window and she nearly screamed before she saw that it was the black cat, hiding on the counter near the sink.
Her fingertips found the big gas stove, and she reached over the burners to the magnetic strips mounted on the wall tiles. Carefully, she ran her fingers over the knives. Feeling the sturdy handle of the butcher knife, she pulled it down and faced the yawning dark archway leading to the back stairs, then decided to take a smaller knife as well and slid it into her pocket. “Okay, bitch,” she said softly, her tongue thick, and she stepped into sheer darkness. Up one step. Then the next. She couldn't risk the switch or a flashlight. She'd have to climb the stairs quietly, knife raised and—
Creeeeaaaakkk . . .
Far away, a door opened.
Oh, God!
Ava's heart nearly stopped.
She held her breath, not daring the slightest sound.
Footsteps came cautiously from the stairway above. Someone creeping, hoping not to step on a squeaky step.
Khloe.
Jesus, help me.
Slowly letting out her breath, she stepped backward, down the two steps she'd mounted, silently backing up as her heart thudded and beads of cold, nervous sweat collected on her forehead and palms. The knife in her hand felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds.
You can do this, Ava, you can. Think of Wyatt . . . He cheated on you, yes, maybe even was a part of the gaslighting, but he didn't deserve this . . . no way.
Throat dry, she hid in the darkness, just around the corner of the archway. Her heart was pounding, echoing in her head. Her eyelids were as heavy as they'd ever been in her life, and, back flattened to the wall, she was scared to death.
The footsteps were louder now.
Closer.
Help me.
Ears straining, eyes trying to see in the darkness, Ava waited, counting her heartbeats, ready to lunge.
Hold on for the right moment. Just take her by surprise, throw yourself at her, wrest her damned knife from her. Just disarm her. That's all you have to do. Oh, dear God . . .
Sweating in the cold room, she held her weapon with both hands.
Somewhere, far, far off in the distance, she heard the rumble of a boat's engine.
Her knees went weak. Thank God!
Dern. It had to be Austin Dern.
Hurry, oh, God, please hurry!
The footsteps creeping down the stairs stopped suddenly. As if Khloe, too, had heard the approaching boat. Then, movement again, the softer tread of shoes on the floor, coming closer only to stop somewhere in the middle of the kitchen.

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