Riptide

The phone rang. She nearly leapt three feet in the air. The phone rang again.

She had to run downstairs, as that was the only phone in the house. Her cell phone had run out of power and was recharging. She picked it up on the sixth ring. “Hello.”

Breathing. Slow, deep breathing.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hello, Rebecca. It’s your boyfriend.”

Her brain nearly shut down on her. She stared at the phone, not believing, not wanting to believe, but it was him, the stalker, the man who murdered that poor old woman, the man who shot the governor in the neck.

He’d found her. Somehow he’d found her. She said, “The governor’s alive. You’re not so great after all, are you? You didn’t kill him. You were so ill informed, you didn’t even know there would be a bunch of doctors around him.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to kill him.”

“Yeah, right.”

“All right, so the bastard is still breathing. At least he won’t be climbing into your bed anytime soon. Hear he’s having a tough time talking and eating. He needed to lose a few pounds anyway.”

“You killed Dick McCallum. You made him tell those lies about me and then you killed him. How much did you pay him? Or did you threaten to kill him if he didn’t do as you asked?”

“Where did you get all this information, Becca?”

“It’s true.”

Silence.

“Nobody could have found me. The FBI, the NYPD, nobody. How did you find me?”

He laughed, a rich, mellow laugh that made her want to vomit. How old was he? She couldn’t tell. Think, she told herself, listen and think. Keep him talking. Use your brain. Is he young or old? Accent? Listen for clues. Make him admit to murdering Dick.

“I’ll tell you when I see you, Becca.”

She said very deliberately, very slowly, “I don’t want to see you. I want you to go someplace and die. That or turn yourself in to the cops. They’ll fry you. That’s what you deserve. Why did you run down Dick McCallum?”

“And just what do you think you deserve?”

“Not this bullshit from you. Are you going to try to kill the governor again?”

“I haven’t made up my mind just yet. I know now that he isn’t sleeping with you, but only because he doesn’t know where you are. An old man like that. You should be ashamed of yourself, Rebecca. Remember Rockefeller croaking when he was with his mistress? That could be you and the governor. Best not do him again. But you’re a little slut, aren’t you? Yeah, you’ll probably call him so he can come sleep with you some more.”

Why hadn’t she had the phone tapped? Because neither she nor Adam dreamed he’d find her here in Riptide and call her.

“You murdered Dick McCallum, didn’t you? Why?”

“You’re all confident again, aren’t you? You’ve been away from me for only a couple of weeks, but you’re all pissy again. Too confident, Rebecca. I’m coming for you very soon now.”

“Listen, you bastard. You come anywhere near me and I’ll blow your head off.”

He laughed, throaty, deep laughter, indulgent laughter. Was he young? Maybe, but she couldn’t be sure. “You can try, certainly. It’ll add some spice to the chase. I’ll see to you soon. Real soon, count on it.”

He hung up before she could say anything more. She stood there, staring blankly at the old-fashioned black phone, staring and knowing, knowing deep inside her that it was all over. Or it soon would be. How could anyone protect her from a madman? She’d done the best she could and yet he’d found her, nearly as easily as Adam had.

How had he found her? Did he have as many contacts as Adam? Evidently so. No, she wasn’t going to give up and let him come to kill her. No, she would fight.

She laid the phone into the cradle and walked slowly from the living room. She was tired, infinitely tired. She couldn’t just stand there in the middle of Jacob Marley’s house, she just couldn’t. She felt itchy from the inside out, and cold, very cold. Nearly numb.

She loaded her Coonan.357 Magnum automatic, slipped it in the pocket of her jacket, and walked to the woods where she’d confronted Adam two days before. Had it really been only two days? She sat down in front of the tree where he’d been doing his tae kwon do exercise. She looked at the spot where she’d stood, pointing her gun at him, so afraid she’d thought she’d choke on it. But she hadn’t had time to shoot or to choke. He’d kicked the gun out of her hand before she could draw two breaths. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the tree. Would the stalker have just as easy a time with her as Adam? Probably so.

She closed her eyes and let her mind shut down. She saw her mother, laughing down at her-she couldn’t have been more than seven years old and she was trying to do a cheerleading chant. Then her mom had showed her how to do it and it had been so wonderful, so perfect. Her mother’s laughter, so sweet, filling her, making her warm and happy. She rubbed her wrist where Adam had kicked the gun out of her hand. It didn’t hurt, but there was memory of the cold numbness that had lasted for a good five minutes. Where was he? Why had he left?

Adam was back at Jacob Marley’s house and he was so scared for a moment he couldn’t think. She was gone. The door was open but she was gone. There were even two lights on but she was gone. The stalker had gotten her. No, no, that was ridiculous. He was the only one who had found her.

He searched every damned room in the house. He saw his carryall lying on top of his bed. It looked like she’d started unzipping it and then, for whatever reason, had just walked out of the room, leaving it there for him to see.

Why? Where had she gone? Her car was in the driveway, so she couldn’t have gone far… unless someone took her.

Don’t panic. She’d gotten a call, something of an emergency. She’d gone to Tyler’s house. It had to do with Sam. The kid was sick, yeah, that was it.

But she wasn’t there, no one was home. He drove by the Food Fort, the gas station, the hospital but he didn’t see her. Jesus, he could drive all over this damn town and not find her.

He drove slowly back to the house. He cut the engine and sat in his black Jeep, his forehead against the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

Where are you, Becca?

He didn’t know why he raised his head and twisted around to look toward the woods. He just did it. And in that instant he knew she was there. But why? It took him three minutes to find her.

She was asleep. He came up on her very quietly. She didn’t stir. She was leaning against the tree trunk, her right hand in her lap. She was holding the Coonan, its polished silver stock gleaming from the slashes of sun through the tree branches.

Had he seen that flash of silver? He didn’t know how he could have, yet he’d known she was there. Why couldn’t he have had this marvelous intuition before he’d scared himself spitless?

He came down on his haunches. He looked at her, wondering what had made her come out here. He saw dried tear streaks down her cheeks. Everything had gotten to be too much for her, and no wonder. She looked pale, too thin. He looked at her fingers curled around the trigger of the Coonan, at her nails, short and ragged. He touched his fingertips to her cheek. Her flesh was soft to the touch. He lightly stroked her cheek. Then, slowly, he shook her shoulder.

“Becca. Come on, wake up.”

She came awake instantly at the sound of a man’s voice, the Coonan up and ready to fire. She heard him curse, then felt the gun fly out of her hand. Her wrist was instantly numb. “Not again.”

“Shit, you nearly shot me.”

It was Adam. She looked up at him and smiled. “I thought it was him. Sorry.”

His heart began to slow. He eased down beside her. “What’s up?”

“What time is it?”

“Nearly four o’clock in the afternoon. I couldn’t find you and I nearly lost my mind trying to figure out where you were. You scared me, Becca. I thought he’d taken you.”