Chapter 21
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth!” Jade’s tinny voice sounded from the phone laying on the carpet.
Blinking, Elizabeth found herself on the bed where she’d slumped when her knees had given way. She couldn’t think . . . just couldn’t think.
GoodGuy in critical condition . . . burned by an attacker. . .
You wished him harm. You did. You wished him harm.
“Elizabeth!!”
Climbing to her feet, Elizabeth sank to her knees and crawled across the carpet to where the phone lay like a fallen soldier. Flopping down on her side, she placed the cell to her ear. “I’m . . . I’m here,” she said, not recognizing her own voice.
“Oh, good. Oh, my God. I just saw that horrible image and couldn’t believe it. I’m sorry to shock you. I just . . . couldn’t believe it!” Jade sounded completely undone.
“It’s my fault,” Elizabeth said, for once ignoring the self-imposed lock on her tongue.
“It is not. Don’t . . . say that.”
“I was mad at him. I chased him down and wanted to ram his car.”
“Well, you didn’t pour gasoline on him.”
“There’s some connection. I don’t know what it is, but there’s some connection. I’m weird, Jade. You know I’m damn weird! I saw Little Nate in trouble before it happened. You were right. You’ve been right all along. It’s my fault that . . . GoodGuy was attacked. I just know it.”
“Don’t talk like that. You’re hysterical. I don’t blame you. I feel damn weird myself. But you didn’t do this,” Jade said tautly. “So, don’t say that you did. To anybody.”
“He’s not the only one, Jade. I wished Court dead, too. . . .”
“Stop it, Elizabeth. I’m coming over there.”
“And Mazie Ferguson. She was my mentor. She really pissed me off and she died in another car accident and now . . . and now . . . I’m getting all her clients. Benefitting! And then, oh, God, Officer Unfriendly.”
“Elizabeth, don’t take this the wrong way but shut up. I’m getting my keys now and heading out.”
“No.” Elizabeth insisted. “Please. Don’t come. I’m . . . okay.”
“You’re clearly not. I shouldn’t have called you. I’ll see you soon.” Jade hung up.
Elizabeth dropped the phone and just lay on the carpet, staring across the bedroom floor. The television was blathering on, but it was just so much white noise.
With an effort, she pulled herself to her feet and padded barefoot into the kitchen. She washed her hands and didn’t know why, then caught her ghostly reflection in the window, a haggard-looking woman with fear in her eyes. How could this have happened? How could GoodGuy, whoever the hell he was, have ended up in a horrific accident at Fitness Now!?
Not an accident. Someone tried to kill him. Probably did. The TV reporter said “critical condition,” but who knew if he’d survive?
She started up the coffeemaker without really thinking about it, filling the reservoir with water, measuring decaf coffee into the filter, and as a million questions peppered her mind, watched the brown liquid fill the glass carafe.
Who would torch his car? Torch him ?
What kind of sick mind . . . ?
You mean, like yours.
“No!” She pounded her fist on the counter and jarred herself out of her reverie. She would never have done or conjured up anything so insidiously evil as to pour gasoline . . . Oh, God. It was all too bizarre. Her entire life seemed to be spinning out of its normal rotation.
What the hell is going on?
How does it involve me?
As the coffeepot sputtered and hissed, she walked down the hall and pushed open the door to Chloe’s room—just to make certain her daughter was okay. Peering in, she found Chloe was fast asleep, the covers on her bed having slid to the floor. By rote, Elizabeth slipped the quilt and sheet over her daughter again, then kissed her on the forehead. Tears welled in Elizabeth’s eyes. Her sleeping child was so peaceful and serene . . . but what she’d said earlier about Court and the woman, presumably Whitney Bellhard, was disturbing. So were her fainting spells and quick temper.
“Oh, baby,” Elizabeth whispered, sending up a prayer that whatever bizarre events were happening to her, they wouldn’t touch her child, that Chloe would be safe. Then she slipped into the hallway again and shut the door softly behind her.
In the kitchen, she tried to shake off her case of anxiety, which of course was impossible, but she poured herself a cup of coffee. Though her fingers were still trembling slightly, she carried it into the living room. Before she could sit down, a soft knock sounded on the door.
Elizabeth opened it and Jade stood beneath the porch light. “I didn’t want to wake Chloe.”
“No problem. I just checked. She’s asleep. Come in.” Elizabeth held the door open. “How about a cup of coffee? Decaf?” She held up her cup. “Don’t ask me why, but I made a fresh pot.”
Jade stepped inside and lay a hand on the side of her bulging abdomen. “Abercrombie’s bicycling. No, thanks, but go ahead. Are you okay?” Her dark eyes were filled with concern. “I probably shouldn’t have called.”
“No, no! You should have. I’m glad you did. The news was on anyway and I was going to see it. God, how awful.” Elizabeth shuddered again as in her mind’s eye, she pictured the burned wreckage that had appeared on the television screen. “So, it was good that I had someone to talk to.” With her free hand, she started to pull the door closed behind Jade when she felt that chill again, the all-to-familiar sensation that raised the hairs on the back of her neck, the feeling that someone, somewhere in the dark night, was observing her. Her throat went dry as she closed the door and herded her friend into the living room. “You really don’t want some?”
“No. Seriously. I’m good.” Jade eyed her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. No.” Elizabeth lifted a shoulder and shook her head. “It’s all too weird. I just”—she glanced around the room as if expecting to find an answer that didn’t exist—“don’t know what the hell’s going on.”
“Sit down.” Jade took the cup from Elizabeth’s fingers, set it on one of the magazines fanned across the coffee table, and guided Elizabeth to the couch. Sitting down next to her friend, Jade said, “First, let me say this isn’t your fault. None of it is. That’s not how the world works.”
“How do you know?” Elizabeth asked on a short laugh.
“It just doesn’t. I don’t know how you knew about Little Nate, but you saved him. That’s all that mattered. You saved him. That’s who you are. You’re not causing people to be hurt . . . or anything else.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. Tried to pull herself together. The truth was, she’d told Jade too much about herself already. Of all of Elizabeth’s friends, Jade was the only one who knew about her strange ability to sometimes see things that were going to happen a second or two or a few minutes before they occurred.
All of her life, or at least for as long as she could remember, Elizabeth had told herself it was intuition. Some form of primal communication that arose when she was near a coming disaster. Nothing all that spectacular. No ESP or anything remotely psychic. God, no.
But...
Dark memories assailed her, one in particular.
“The bridge is falling!” She was a young girl, screaming those words. Fear engulfed her. She had a vision of cement decking buckling, girders twisting, the groan of metal as it was wrenched from its anchors.
It was all so vivid.
“Elizabeth?” Jade asked, snapping her back to the here and now. Jade’s face was contorted in worry.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“You’re pale as death.”
“It’s nothing. Just something I remembered from when I was a kid.” Sighing, she said, “Look”—she reached out a hand and clasped her friend’s, squeezing tightly—“I know what happened to GoodGuy is not my fault. I mean, I was nowhere near the gym. But . . . it’s all so . . . shocking . . . so terrible. . . .”
“I know.” Jade linked her fingers with Elizabeth’s.
“I’m okay.”
“You say that—”
“No. I am.” Elizabeth was firm. She meant it. The darkness in her mind had receded and she was in control again. At least more in control. “Jade, I love you for coming by, but I’m okay. Truly.” She noticed her friend rubbing the side of her abdomen again. “Go home and take care of yourself and Little Nate and Byron. I’m perfectly fine.”
“You’re sure? You do look a little better,” Jade said, still uncertain as she critically examined Elizabeth’s face.
“I’m sure.”
It took a bit more convincing, but Jade finally headed for the door. Once outside, she took a final glance over her shoulder, a line of worry furrowing her brows as if she were concerned that she’d been given the bum’s rush.
“Bye,” Elizabeth called after her. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Jade waved.
Elizabeth waved back, watching her friend climb into her car and drive away, taillights glowing in the night. The air was fresh. Damp from the recent rain. She gazed up and down the street, searching the shadows, but saw no one.
Once Jade’s car disappeared around the corner, Elizabeth closed and locked the door and rested her forehead against the inner panels, her thoughts turning to GoodGuy again. It is my fault, she thought, now that she was alone. If he dies, it is my fault.
Snapping off the lights, she tried to dissuade herself of the notion that she was to blame but couldn’t. Feeling light-headed and weird, she went to bed. She hadn’t wanted to lie to Jade, but she needed time to process everything that had happened.
In the morning she turned on the news again and learned the top story was the horrific death of a man at Fitness Now!; a member by the name of Channing Renfro. A man had been seen near the vehicle minutes before it exploded into flames, and the police were calling him a person of interest.
In the passenger seat of Rex Kingston’s car, Ravinia tugged on the hem of the short black dress and wriggled her toes in shoes that felt a size too small though the woman in the shoe shop had haughtily told her that they were Italian leather and fit like a caress.
Okay. If that’s what it was all about, that’s what it was all about. The shoes were black “kitten heels” with a flat black bow on the toe. Last night at the mall, she’d eyed an array of five-inch-heeled shoes and boots with a stirring of lust as she thought about the models she’d seen on television in such wear, but her overall pragmatism won out and she forewent them in a hurry, suspecting she would snap an ankle if she actually tried to walk around in something like that.
They were currently cruising through west LA in the late morning, heading toward Rex’s office. He’d given her the choice to stay in Costa Mesa and work her way over to Wembley Grade School in her search for Elizabeth, but the new clothes were for the upcoming rendezvous Kimberley Cochran had planned with her lover. Ravinia had been torn. Yes, there was urgency to find Elizabeth. Even without Aunt Catherine’s warnings, she could sense something going on, something coming. Was it Declan Jr., zeroed in on another one of them? Had he made his way south ahead of her? Or was she just being overly sensitive to her aunt’s fears and worries?
In any event, she’d chosen to go with Rex and work on his other case. If she helped him, then he would help her. He’d promised to drive back to Costa Mesa after the rendezvous. She could go to the school tomorrow. Symbiosis, she thought, gritting her teeth and giving her skirt another tug. She just hadn’t counted on helping him first.
“Pulling on it isn’t going to make it any longer,” he drawled.
She ignored that. “Where’s Casa del Mar?”
“Santa Monica. Right on the beach south of the pier.”
“The pier with the Ferris wheel?”
“Yup.” He pulled into the parking lot behind his office. “This’ll be quick.”
“I know. The contract.” She followed him in through the back door, aware that even the kitten heels were a balancing act. Fine. She could master it.
As Rex peeled off for his office, she heard from down the hall, “Joel? Is that you?”
Pain in the ass Bonnie. Ravinia smiled to herself, walking carefully. She’d never worn such a short skirt ever. The cool California air slipping up her thighs had made her feel half-naked, but she could see the possibilities of dressing up and looking good.
As long as she didn’t trip and fall.
“Yeah, I’m just here for a minute,” he called back to Bonnie.
Ravinia passed by his office door. She’d washed her hair and let it dry straight. One of Rex’s mysterious female visitors had left some makeup scattered in a drawer so Ravinia had attempted to put some on. She’d smeared the eyeliner and had to wash it back off and had hit her eyeball with the mascara wand, but all in all, she thought she’d done okay.
Rex eyed her critically when she’d appeared in the kitchen, then stood in front of him, her hands on her hips. “You look like somebody else,” he admitted.
“That’s the point, right?”
“That’s the point,” he agreed.
She carefully strolled into the front of the office. Bonnie’s back was to her as the girl was looking through the front windows. Sensing someone, she turned around, clearly expecting Rex. The way her mouth popped open and her jaw sagged was an image Ravinia would treasure for a long time.
“Wha . . . what are you doing?” she asked in a strangled voice.
“I’m on a job with Rex,” Ravinia told her.
Rex came out of his office at that moment, holding some papers, frowning down at them. “Bonnie, would you print off a contract for me?”
“For who . . . her?” She looked stricken.
“Yes. Ravinia Rutledge, right?” He glanced at her.
“That’s what’s on my GED.”
He checked his watch. “We’ll pick up lunch then head over to the Cochrans. Kimberley’s rendezvous at Casa del Mar could be a nooner. Don’t want to miss it.”
A nooner. Ravinia filed that away as Bonnie slowly sat down in her chair and pulled up something on her computer. She pressed a few buttons and Ravinia could hear a machine chunking away in another room.
“It’s printing,” Bonnie said dully.
“Thanks.” Rex moved down the hall toward the sound.
“I should be the one going,” Bonnie said in a voice so low Ravinia almost didn’t hear it.
Ravinia thought up a number of retorts, but in the end, she just lifted her shoulders, spread her hands, and smiled. Pretty sure she was the victor in that skirmish, she went in search of Rex.
If Elizabeth hadn’t already had the appointment with Mazie’s daughter, she would have taken Chloe to school, driven home again, gone back to bed, and pulled the covers over her head. GoodGuy was dead. She didn’t even bother to pretend it had nothing to do with her; she knew it did. She could think of no other explanation. Whoever had poured the gasoline on Channing Renfro had done so because they knew she’d thought he was a far cry from what his license plate had proclaimed.
But who was doing it? And to what purpose? The only people who knew about GoodGuy were her friends and whomever they’d told.
But they don’t know about Mazie . . . and Officer Unfriendly. . .
Or do they?
She shook her head as she walked up the steps to the front door of Suncrest Realty. None of her friends were killers. She wouldn’t believe that. What did that leave? Some stalker? Something indefinable . . . supernatural. . . like her ability to sometimes see disaster right before it happened?
Pat was at the front desk and Elizabeth made a quick jog left toward Mazie’s office where she was meeting Amy.
“I saw the news,” Pat said loudly to Elizabeth’s back as she tried to ease past. “That guy you were talking about with your friend. GoodGuy. That was his license plate on TV!”
Elizabeth stiffened. She’d forgotten that Pat had overheard her talking with Jade. “I didn’t know him, but it’s a tragedy.”
“Really?” Pat said with a disbelieving look over rimless glasses. “I thought you didn’t like him.”
“We never met.”
“Just on the road.” A nasty glint surfaced in Pat’s stare.
Elizabeth’s pulse skyrocketed, but she wasn’t going to be baited. She walked down the short hallway to Mazie’s office and wanted to slam the door, but she didn’t get the chance. Connie Berker breezed in behind her and did the honors by pulling the door shut behind her.
Connie’s frosted blond hair had been freshly cut, the back of her neck shaved beneath stiff, product-laden strands that shone beneath the overhead lights.
“What’s going on?” Elizabeth asked as she opened one of the drawers in Mazie’s desk where she knew a stack of notepads was kept.
“I should be asking you that. You don’t know this is my office now?”
“No . . . I didn’t.” Elizabeth closed the drawer.
“You’re meeting with Amy Ferguson.” It came out like an accusation and she could see that it was meant to be taken that way, too. “Right?”
“Yes. I thought I’d meet her in here as I forgot to tell her that my office is down the hall,” Elizabeth explained. “I didn’t know you’d moved.” She glanced at the walls and desk. Nothing had changed.
If Connie were staking her claim, there was no proof. She hadn’t hung a picture, or an award, or put anything on the desk, including her name plate.
“This is one of the best offices in the building,” Connie went on, her head bobbing, blond hair unmoving. “You can see right out to reception.” She motioned toward the glass door and Elizabeth followed her gaze, spying Pat at her circular desk, peering as always, over her shoulder.
Get a life, Elizabeth thought as the front door opened and Amy walked in. A tall, somewhat gawky young woman, she said a few words to Pat who nodded, a fake smile tacked onto her face.
Pat half-turned again. Reaching out, her fingers pointed to where Elizabeth stood in her mom’s old office.
“I’ve known Amy for years,” Connie said stiffly, her spine seeming to lengthen. “And yet suddenly she’s your client. Just how did that happen?”
Elizabeth wasn’t about to play office politics or get into an argument, so she didn’t respond and moved toward the door, reaching for the handle. “I’ll meet with Amy in the back.”
Connie put out a hand and held the door closed. “Watch yourself. You’re making enemies right and left around here. I’m telling you this as a friend.”
Connie’s advice didn’t sound very friendly to Elizabeth, but she merely nodded and put her hand on the doorknob. “Noted,” she told the angry Realtor then twisted the knob to open the door and walked down the hall where she met Amy. With every step, Elizabeth felt Connie’s gaze like a hot knife between her shoulder blades.
For someone carrying on an extramarital affair, Kimberley Cochran wasn’t trying to be careful, secretive, or even discreet. She backed her silver-blue Mercedes out of the garage, then guided her car through the slowly opening gate, and hit the gas. Without a look in her rearview mirror, she kept the Mercedes at maximum speed until she reached Ocean Avenue and the crawling traffic that forced her to slow.
Rex and Ravinia followed behind in the Nissan.
At the hotel, Kimberley valeted the car and stepped toward the front doors. In a silver dress with matching five-inch heels, she sashayed her butt like an open invitation, drawing stares from men and women alike.
“I’m dropping you off,” Rex said.
“I know the plan,” Ravinia retorted. She was already pushing open the door as Rex eased to a stop and let her out.
“Just try not to be obvious.”
That was a joke. In her short skirt, she felt like a beacon, although she didn’t get quite as many stares as Kimberley.
Ravinia walked up a short flight of sweeping stairs to the upper lobby where she caught a glimpse of Kimberley heading toward the restaurant that faced the ocean. Hurrying after her, Ravinia’s right ankle wobbled a bit. She had to slow down to bring that under control and by the time she reached the maître d’s stand, she was walking like she’d been in heels her whole life . . . pretty much. “Is there a table by the window?”
Kimberley, soul of discretion that she was, had already enthusiastically hugged her date, a young, buff man with longish brown hair, smoldering dark eyes, and an avaricious look about him.
Ravinia searched his heart as she cruised past to the next table, drawing a startled look to his face, but found only a modicum of interest in anything of the world outside himself.
Bad choice, Kim.
She was seated at the table next to them and when the waiter brought her a menu, she pretended to peruse it, nearly losing focus from Kimberley and her friend when she saw the prices.
She glanced over the top as she heard Kimberley telling him eagerly, “Putting together a reunion show. All of us that were modeling before are in one place, well, except for Donna, since she’s gone on to other things. The men, of course, have their own rooms, but the new competitors are staying at another hotel.”
Her date wore a dark gray T-shirt molded to his sculpted chest. He was leaning his bare forearms on the table and her fingers slid across to touch them. Her smile turned absolutely naughty as she trailed one hand possessively up his taut muscles toward his shoulders. “That’s where you’ll be,” she assured him huskily.
“That’s a solid?” His voice was surprisingly squeaky.
“Yes, Donovan. Yes.”
His smile spread to a thin, wicked line. “Ya wanna fuck?”
“Yes, Donovan. Yes . . .”
Elizabeth walked Amy Ferguson, who was as nice as her mother was mean and suspicious, to the front door under Pat’s watchful eye. Amy had her cell phone out and was looking at her calendar. “I’d like to meet before Saturday, but I don’t know that I can. The rest of Mom’s stuff is being picked up that morning. The house should be completely empty by the afternoon.”
“Saturday’s fine,” Elizabeth said, annoyed at the way Pat hung on every word.
To make matters worse, Connie suddenly burst out of Mazie’s old office and stalked their way.
Amy was saying, “I almost moved into it, but my job’s taking me to Seattle. You never know, do you?” She pushed through the front doors to the outside where weak afternoon sun was fighting its way through a bank of gray clouds.
“No, you never do.” Elizabeth tried to pull the doors shut behind her, but Connie yanked them open and rushed out.
“Oh, Amy, how’re you doing, girl? Haven’t seen you since the memorial service. It’s Connie. Connie Berker,” she said to Amy’s blank look, thrusting out her hand and pumping Amy’s for all she was worth. “Your mom was such a fantastic person. I learned everything from her. She just knew this business and everybody in it. A real dynamo.”
“Thank you,” Amy said, shooting a glance to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth stepped outside. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Amy, you need anything, you can call any one of us.” With ill grace, Connie added, “I know Elizabeth was your mom’s right-hand woman. She took great care of all her clients.” Something in her tone made it clear she didn’t believe a word of it. From the palm of her hand, she suddenly produced a business card with the adroitness of a magician. “All of us at Suncrest feel like you’re family, just like Mazie was.” Her lips trembled and for a moment Elizabeth thought Connie might actually produce a tear. “I miss her so much.”
Amy looked down at the card, opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.
Burning with repressed anger, Elizabeth said tautly, “Let me walk you to your car.”
As they headed away from Connie who seemed to want to follow them but couldn’t figure out how without being a further buttinsky, Amy said, “Mom was a lot of things, but she wasn’t well loved at work.”
Elizabeth shook her head, glad for the honesty but aware that, no matter what she said, they were talking about Amy’s mother. “She was a hard worker.”
“What’s the story with this other agent?” Amy held up the card.
Elizabeth decided to answer Amy’s honesty with some of her own. “She’s trying to poach you as a client.”
“Mom trusted you. So do I.”
Elizabeth’s heart stuttered. She shouldn’t have trusted me, she thought, but she smiled a good-bye at Amy then looked around to see what had happened to Connie. The agent was lingering by her white Lexus, probably calculating if there was some way to intercept Amy before she climbed into her Range Rover.
No chance, Elizabeth thought with a renewed spurt of anger. She felt guilty where Mazie was concerned, but she hadn’t asked for her daughter to seek her out as the agent to sell Mazie’s house.
As Amy pulled away and Connie followed her out of the parking lot, Elizabeth gazed after them. Though a glint of sun peered through the high clouds, she felt a sudden chill slip down her back, an icy finger skimming her spine. Again, as if hidden eyes were watching.
She spun around quickly, scanning the lot and the surrounding street.
“Who’s there?” she said aloud, but the only answer was the sound of accelerating cars on the highway at the end of the block and the whisper of the wind through the trees in the lot.
There was no one.
Did you see, Elizabeth? Have you been watching? He got what he deserved and now he abides in whatever special hell is reserved for scum like Channing Renfro. I know there are others working against you. I’ve heard them, seen them, sensed them. But don’t worry, we’ll take them out together, one by one. I’m right behind you, love. Your savior, your soldier . . .
You don’t see me yet, but you will when I’m ready.
All for you, my love. All for you.