Kidnapped

The place smelled like bleach, and I glanced up and saw an open bottle of it on the counter. The sharp scent cleared my head as effectively as smelling salts.

“Caleb, get your sister and get the hell out of here!” I shouted. “Take the SUV and go, now!”

“I’m not going to leave you here to get killed by this asshole,” he said, pressing Cleo’s face into the floor as he said it. She tried to kick him, but we had her legs pi

“Much more of this, and she’ll kill both of us. Then who’ll make sure your sister gets far enough away from her to be safe?”

He got the message, and I shifted over Cleo, covering her like a rug with my greater height and weight.

He staggered to his feet, grabbed Genie, and stumbled out the door. My last view of Genie was a worried look cast over her shoulder.

Cleo quickly proved that she was only giving herself a little breather. We began to fight again, never getting to our feet, knocking over kitchen chairs. My biggest challenge was keeping her hands out of drawers and cabinets. Kitchens are full of things that grate, stab, and puncture, and pots and pans can be lethal weapons, too. Twice I used a saucepan to smash the hell out of her fingers as she reached for the block of knives on the counter. She took some hits to the injured forearm blocking blows I aimed at her head, and a solid hit to the elbow of the other arm-the elbow she had used on my nose-caused her to howl in pain and rage.

I was almost on my feet, she was on her back, and I was thinking I might have half a chance if I just made a run for it myself, when all the rock and roll came to a halt. She pulled a gun from beneath one of the drawers and aimed it at me.

I tried very hard not to think about Sheila Dolson’s hollow left eye as I backed up toward the sink, shielding myself with a nonstick three-quart saucepan.

She frowned at the gun for a brief moment, and I was wondering if by luck I had broken her trigger finger, but then she smiled that cold smile of hers.

I felt behind me, but the only thing that came into my hand was the bleach bottle.

Gunshots can be survivable, I told myself. Ethan survived. Distract her aim.

“Looks like you lose,” she said. “Now we’ll do things my way.”

So I threw the pan to one side and tossed bleach into her face. The gun made a dull click, but I was only dimly aware of that, because she quickly dropped it and began screaming in pain, groping blindly toward me.

I ran without any grace or real speed toward the door, shut it behind me, and kept going. I came out of the cabin just as three sheriff’s department cruisers came roaring up, screeching to a halt a few feet from me. The Jeep pulled up just behind them.

I live with a cop, so I knew to stand still and hold my hands away from my sides. I didn’t match Cleo’s description, and most of the deputies ran right past me, weapons ready. Others gently guided me to a seat in a cruiser. I sat there shaking and trying to catch my breath.

“What took you so long?” I asked Ben when he stepped out of the Jeep. Bingle, Bool, and Altair were greeting me with barks of gladness. It cheered me up.

Ben was frowning, though, and came quickly to my side.

“Call an ambulance,” he said to the deputy.

“I don’t need one, but Cleo might.”

“You can’t see yourself,” he said.

“My luck holds,” I muttered. I felt damned tired. “What took you so long?” I asked again.

“A

“Caleb and Genie?”

“On the way to the hospital to get checked out. Which is what should be happening to you. The boys are fine, too-they went with Genie and Caleb. They wanted to wait for you, but I’m glad they aren’t seeing you like this. They were worried enough about Caleb and Genie.”

I watched the sheriff’s deputies taking Cleo away in handcuffs. They had helped her rinse out her eyes and were going to take her to the hospital.

“I hope they know who they’ve got there,” I said. “And that they keep her away from the kids.”

“Don’t worry,” Ben said. “They’ve been warned about her.”

“You told them about the booby trap?”

“Oh yes. Bomb squad is on the way.”

“Ms. Kelly?” the deputy nearest to me said. “I’ve got a call from your husband, Detective Harriman, patched through.” He handed me his phone.

“Irene?” Oh, how I love that voice.

“Please come here to me,” I said before he could yell at me. “I need you.”

He said he was on the way. That was a good way to end the call.

A MINUTE later someone asked me if I could explain about the dead man in the bed upstairs.

CHAPTER 58

Thursday, May 4

10:00 P.M.

A LEASED PRIVATE ESTATE SOMEWHERE ON THE WEST COAST OF COSTA RICA

HE didn’t hang up this time.

The story made CNN, which his satellite dish picked up. The news was rather shocking.

Cleo-who might lose the sight in one eye-was under arrest, as was A

Roy was dead.

Giles was dead.

Dexter was missing, being sought in Europe.

His own photo was displayed. The story, being told in a one-sided, brutal fashion, would probably soon make even this haven unsafe.

And on the screen, two people had made pleas directly to him.

Graydon Fletcher, telling him that he loved him, and hoped he would honor the family name by returning to those who cared for him. He would do all he could to help his son, and knew that Nelson would want to do what was right.

And Elisa. She looked directly into the camera and said, “Nelson, please come home to me. I need you.”

She wouldn’t answer the questions of the reporter who wanted to ask her how in heaven’s name she could want to ever see the man who was responsible for so much evil.

Evil.

Did anyone ask the children if their lives had been miserable?

What would have happened to Troy if his drug-abusing parents had raised him? Would his life have been half as happy as it was in Roy’s household? Not a chance. The boy might have been blown up in a meth-lab explosion by now.

And Aaron. A pot-smoking musician for a father and a whining loser for a mother-a woman who handled stress with a booze bottle. That boy had been worse off with Roy? No way.

Carrie, raised by a short-tempered man who hated her mother? That could only cause problems down the road.

Genie. Je

BEING happy in your family was important. He had loved being a Fletcher, and now he couldn’t even use the name.

He considered the people he had met here. Men who had bilked their business partners and fled the country. Men avoiding alimony and child support. Retired drug lords. Oh, there were many fine people, too, and the country was beautiful, but…he wouldn’t be mixing with the fine people. Why complain about the others, and their pasts, though? There was no real crime here.

No real family.

No Elisa. He could hide in Antarctica, and she would still have a hold on him.

He was not meant to live like this.

He hadn’t killed anyone. He didn’t think anyone could prove he conspired to do so. Cleo might say so, but what was her word against his? He could always say that he didn’t see Je

If the worst happened and he went to prison, Elisa might still visit him. Might wait for him!

She needed him. Those words decided it.

He made the call.