“I know you don’t want to hear it,” he said. “You remember that day two years ago? It was a hot day in April, and the tourists were swarming all over Boothbay Harbor. The lilacs were out, and your whole street smelled of them.”
She waited, saying nothing.
“It was low tide that morning,” he continued, pleasure dancing in his eyes. “And it smelled of seaweed and dead fish, along with the lilacs. Pulaski came out of the house wearing a white shirt. By the time I finished with him, his shirt was red.”
“Why?” The word was barely audible; her throat had closed up, allowing no breath through its strictures.
“For fun, Maggie,” he said. “For kicks. Because you looked at him like he was Jesus Christ walking on water, and you looked at me like I was pigshit. Because I wanted to.” Then he grabbed her, caught her numb, lifeless body in his hands, and pulled her against his sweating body, pressing his greedy mouth down onto hers, shoving his tongue into her mouth.
She could feel his erection against her leg, feel his clutching fingers clawing at her arms. She stood motionless, and he pulled away, pushing her into the bathroom and aiming the gun at her. “Sorry I don’t have more time,” he said. He shut the door on them.
She listened to the sounds of the locks, listened to the muffled tread of his footsteps as he moved away. And then she turned and walked over to her sister’s huddled figure, a cold knot of hatred churning her stomach.
“He made a mistake,” she said out loud.
Kate raised her head from the cradle of her arms. “What do you mean?”
“He wanted me to be too freaked out to think or do anything. But he misjudged me,” she said fiercely. “I’m getting out of here, and when I do, I’m going to kill him. Don’t just sit there, Kate. Help me.”
“Help you what?” she echoed, dazed but game.
“Help me break down this damned door.”
“You mean you let her go after Kate alone?” Caleb demanded, his usually deep voice rising into high-pitched rage.
“Maggie can take care of herself. We weren’t sure of you.” They were speeding across Chicago as fast as the traffic would allow them, which wasn’t fast enough. “Someone had to be in on it with Alicia, and you were one of two possibilities.”
“What made you decide to trust me?”
“I don’t trust you,” said Randall. “I don’t trust anyone. I decided you weren’t the one involved with Red Glove Films, or you wouldn’t have confronted Francis about the money. You also don’t have the motive and the connections to screw me up as badly as I’ve been screwed the last few days. And the other possibility does.”
“Who is it?”
“No one you know. A man named Bud Willis.” A brief, savage smile lit Randall’s dark face. “You can meet him after I finish rearranging him a bit.”
“Can’t you drive this damned thing faster?” Caleb fumed. “I thought Jaguars were sports cars.”
“This is a sedan,” Randall said. “And it’s the traffic that’s slowing us, not the car. I have complete faith in Maggie. They’ll be all right until we get there.”
“And if they’re not?” he said stubbornly, drumming his long, freckled fingers on the leather dashboard.
An odd, twisted look came into Randall’s eyes, as if the possibility had never occurred to him, and once it had, it been found completely unacceptable. “If they’re not,” he said finally, “then I doubt you’ll find pieces of Bud Willis big enough to identify.” And the Jaguar bucked forward with a roar.
twenty-one
“Maggie, it’s hopeless.”
“Nothing’s hopeless, damn it,” Maggie snarled. “Again!”
Once more they crashed in unison against the flimsy bathroom door; once more they heard the encouraging splinter of wood that still failed to make any headway. “Why the hell didn’t I ever take karate?” Maggie fumed, rubbing her aching shoulder. “I could kick the damned door down if I had.”
“What makes you think we have any chance at all?” Kate said.
“This house i
s cheap and gaudy and all show. The interior doors are hollow and flimsy. Come on, Kate. Once more, and put your back into it. Think of Chrissie.”
“I’d rather think of Randall Carter and what I’m going to do to him when I catch him,” Kate said bitterly.