Chapter Twenty-One

There, sitting in the corner, was Alan McCay. He was in uniform, elbows on his knees. He smiled slowly. “Did I scare you?”

“Trooper McCay.” She let out a breath. “A little. I’m not usually this high-strung.”

“I should’ve known better. Sorry.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been meaning to come by and talk to you, but something always comes up before I can.”

She’d spoken to him on the phone recently, but hadn’t seen him in person for months. In the first few weeks after Aimee’s disappearance she’d talked to him daily, going over her story again and again. He was instantly likable, with his brotherly manner and brusque speech. Even through her fog of grief, she’d been able to tell he was deeply invested in Aimee’s case. But a year had passed, and she’d seen him less and less. He was beyond busy, she knew.

He looked tired now, dark circles under his eyes, deep frown lines at the corners of his mouth.

She hitched the bag of clothes up under her arm and stuck her hip out to keep it from slipping farther. “Oh?”

He glanced around and stood up, imposing in the confines of the little room. She caught the scent of his cologne, which was a little too strong.

“I need to talk to you about Zane,” he said quietly.

Her stomach rolled. “Zane?”

“I know he’s staying down the hall from you. Koda mentioned it.”

She nodded.

“Between you and me, I don’t know that Koda is as objective as he should be where his brother is concerned.”

She nodded again. She’d thought the same thing, of course. But hearing it from a police officer was unsettling. Zane had stopped by the Laundromat to check on her not ten minutes before, and now she felt conflicted.

“Is he in any kind of trouble?” she asked.

“No. Not yet, anyway.”

Maggie’s stomach lurched. “Is this about Aimee?”

“Partly, but we can’t really talk here.”

She moved the heavy bag of clothes to her other arm. They’d made her shirt damp, and she tugged the chilly fabric away from her side. “Okay. Where then?”

“Here, let me.” He reached out and took the clothes as if they weighed nothing at all. “I’ll carry these up, and then we can grab a cup of coffee. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Thanks. I should let Ara know I’m back, though. She’ll worry.”

“I already looked for her. She must be out back or something.” He glanced at his watch. “We can call from the car, give her some time to get back?”

“Okay.”

“Which room?”

“Upstairs. Third door on the left.”

He turned and headed for the staircase. Maggie knew he was probably in a hurry, but looked around again compulsively. The Inn was empty, but the smell of cooking food wafted in from the kitchen. Wherever Ara was, she wasn’t too far away.

Climbing the stairs, she brimmed with an odd mixture of comfort and unease. Having Trooper McCay there was definitely a plus, but whatever he had to say about Zane wasn’t. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to like it. Then what? She thought she’d braced herself for anything, just like she’d promised Koda. But she was beginning to see that the longer she stayed in Wolfe Creek, the harder that was going to be. Maybe downright impossible.

She glanced at the pictures on the wall as she passed, her eyes drawn like always to the wedding photograph, stunning in its black-and-white simplicity. It was beautiful, and for a second Maggie wished she could step back in time. To forget all about the man waiting for her upstairs and whatever questions he needed to ask. She wanted her world to be black and white, too. Simple. No more pain. No more questions.

Pausing for a minute, she gathered her wits. Here goes.

Maggie continued up the stairs and down the hallway where Trooper McCay had already disappeared. She caught a trace of his lingering cologne. And something else. It smelled musty up here, damp. She wrinkled her nose. It smelled like the woods. The downy hairs on the back of her neck stiffened.

She dug the key out of her pocket, but when she looked up, the door was already ajar.

She poked her head in to see Trooper McCay dropping the bag of clothes unceremoniously on the floor.

“That’s weird,” Maggie said. “I swore I locked it.”

He stepped around her and pulled the door closed. “You did.”

She massaged her arm, which still burned from lugging the bag, and made a mental note to go to the gym more often. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You locked it. I have a key.” As if to emphasize his point, he slid the dead bolt across and smiled.

“Oh,” Maggie said, confused. “Why would you need a key?”

“I don’t need a key. I want a key. There’s a difference.”

Maggie stopped rubbing her arm. They were going to coffee. Why did he just lock the door?

“You seem jumpy, Maggie. It’s just me.”

She smiled, but took a step back.

“Why’d you come here?” he asked.

“I… Come here?”

“You were safe in Portland.” He moved closer, his hands locked behind his back as if interrogating someone. “Well, relatively safe. But back here…you had to know you’d be a sitting duck.”

“I needed to find out what happened to Aimee.”

“At the risk of getting killed yourself?”

He stared at her, eyes blank, jaw muscles twitching.

“I never thought I’d get killed,” she said.

“Well, that was just stupid.” He lowered his head just a fraction. “Are you scared, Maggie?”

She tried swallowing, but her tongue was thick and dry. “Why would I be scared?”

He glanced at the dresser. Maggie followed his gaze and saw the top drawer was gaping open like an unanswered question.

“All of your undergarments are gone. I came to visit earlier, but you were doing laundry. So I waited.”

It was as if a black curtain were closing in on both sides. The final scene from the horror movie that had lasted an entire year.

So this is how it all ends.

Maggie took a step toward the door, and then another, mildly surprised her legs were still holding her up.

Terror had shown up along with Alan McCay.

“Did you kill Aimee?” she whispered, hardly able to believe she’d said it. The words came from deep inside, from a place that had been slumbering until just now. And all of a sudden, she recognized the smell. The scent from that night in the bathroom. It had lingered there like a dirty secret. Damp, earthy. She thought of Candi lying in her hospital bed, bruised and broken. He smelled earthy, she’d said. The bastard tried to take my bra. The cheap cologne had almost thrown her off. Maggie swallowed and had the urge to throw up.

“I am an officer of the law, Miss Sullivan. I’ve spent hundreds of hours in these woods looking for people. Are you suggesting that I took a human life?” He stepped forward, his movements deliberate and measured.

“You don’t help people,” she said. “You hunt them.”

He laughed.

Maggie felt for her pocket. The mace was still there, hidden away in the folds of her jacket.

“Don’t do that,” he snapped.

She flinched and dropped her hand to her side.

“Good girl.”

“What did you do to her?”

He remained silent, emotionless.

Maggie sagged against the wall, eyeing the gun on his hip. And next to that, a knife in a black sheath.

This isn’t happening. She was dreaming in her bed, drenched in sweat. It was a nightmare, the same kind she’d been having for the last twelve months. Only this time, she was having a hard time waking up.

But there he stood. Very real, very cold, and very calculating.

Pulling in a breath, she managed to take another step toward the door.

He shook his head. “She was a fucking mess, that girl. Wild. Don’t you think?”

Aimee. Angry tears burned Maggie’s throat. Sweet Aimee. He was a seasoned detective with years of murder investigations under his belt. Knowing better than anyone how a killer would cover their tracks. Knowing how to cover his own. The realization punched her in the gut, stealing her last bit of composure.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Please don’t hurt me.”

He looked offended. “I didn’t come here to hurt you.”

She took another step toward the door.

“I came here to talk to you. Get a feel for how you’re holding up. You’ve been through such an ordeal.”

He moved closer, close enough to touch her.

“Someone had to have seen you here,” she said. “They’ll know.”

“They don’t know shit. I’m surprised you don’t understand that by now.” He paused, reaching out to take a strand of her hair between his fingers. She shrank back and he smiled. “I really was just going to talk to you. But I don’t expect you to believe that. Things have a way of changing. Even when you don’t intend for things to happen, they do anyway.”

She blinked, unable to look at him. His breath was hot against her face, and he took another step, pressing himself against her.

“This is one fucked-up town, Maggie. And not for the reasons you might think.”

“You’re the one who’s fucked-up.”

He grinned and put his lips to her ear. “The truth is, I never killed her.”

His eyes were so close, she could see the flecks of green and brown in them. “What?”

Tracing the curve of her jaw with his finger, he frowned. “I didn’t. But someone else did.”

Maggie stood paralyzed, nauseated by his touch. He was playing with her, taking a perverse pleasure in it. “And I’m supposed to ask who?”

“I think you already know.”

He dropped his hand and moved it underneath her shirt, seeking her naked skin. Her stomach twisted. She could feel him hard and aroused against her hip.

“Make a sound,” he murmured. “And you’re dead.”

“No. Please.”

When he reached for the button on her jeans, she panicked. It was instinct, some long-forgotten female urge to protect herself that made her shove him away with a strength she didn’t know she had. His eyes widened in surprise.

And all the while, she saw only Aimee’s face, heard only Aimee’s voice. I’ll be right back…

He stumbled back, tripping over the bag of clothes. He reached out to steady himself and caught the lamp in the corner. It fell with him, bouncing off the floor with a hollow thud.

“You fucking bitch.”

She lunged for the door.

“No you don’t,” he snarled, grabbing her ankle.

Crying out, she fell against the wall.

He scrambled up and wrapped his fist in her hair. “That was stupid,” he said against her cheek. “Really stupid.”

She fumbled for the mace. Before she could find it, he twisted her arm behind her back. She tried to scream before he slapped a hand over her mouth. She felt her eyes bug from their sockets. He pushed her onto the floor and straddled her, crushing her with his weight.

His face contorted. He looked like a different person. Beyond the rage, there was insanity. Beyond that, emptiness. And Maggie caught a glimpse of how she might die here. And how he might cover it up, just like the others.

He wrapped his hands around her throat, his thumbs gouging her trachea. Desperate for air, she slapped him, tried to kick, but he didn’t budge. He squeezed tighter, his face only inches from hers.

From somewhere in the farthest corner of her mind, she registered footsteps coming down the hall. They were heavy, fast. And then pounding on the door.

“Maggie! Maggie!”

Above her, Alan McCay’s eyes bulged. A greenish vein stood out in the center of his forehead. He bared his teeth like a dog.

She clawed at him.

“You little bitch,” he spit out. “You dirty little whore.”

“Maggie!”

Someone was ramming the door now. With each blow, the man on top of her squeezed harder. The world began to take on a grayish tinge. The strength in her arms was draining away like liquid. She clutched at his shirt and felt his badge, cold and rigid against her palm.

And then the door exploded inward and bits of frame flew everywhere. A dark shape lunged forward. Zane wrapped his arm around Alan’s neck and yanked. The grip on Maggie’s throat began to give. Then it was gone, along with the weight on her chest. She coughed and gagged, dragging air into her pinched lungs.

She rolled to her side, fighting for a normal breath. Zane threw Alan to the floor and pinned him there, his lean body straining with the effort. Enraged, Alan twisted around and swung, connecting with Zane’s jaw. The sound made Maggie cringe.

Getting to her knees, she fumbled for her pocket. Zane drew his fist back, but Alan jerked to the side. Zane’s knuckles cracked on the wood floor with a powerful thwack that shook the room.

Maggie crawled forward, gripping the mace like a talisman. She jammed her thumb down, aiming for Alan’s face. But at the last second, he grabbed Zane’s collar and pulled him down, shielding himself with the other man’s body. Zane immediately began to cough and sputter. Coughing himself, Alan used the momentum to give him a brutal shove. Maggie raised the mace again, feeling her own eyes burn as if they’d caught fire. Tears streamed down her face as she pressed the trigger again.

And then, as if in a dream, he drew his gun. She heard footsteps pounding down the hall, Koda calling her name. He seemed so far away.

“This is it,” Alan said, moving forward, the breath rattling in his chest. “This is how it ends, little girl. You, then me.”

He pressed the gun to her forehead, its steel barrel biting into her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut as thoughts of Aimee flittered across her mind like poisonous butterflies. I’ll be right back…

She heard Zane cough, heard him rush forward. “Don’t!”

And then a gunshot, a blast so loud and violent that she collapsed, cradling her head in her hands.

Alan jerked back as if he’d been pushed. Without lowering his gun, he glanced down at the dark circle spreading at his shoulder. It was wet and glistening, soaking his uniform shirt through. She turned to see Koda standing in the doorway. He blocked the light from the hall, his gun in his hands.

“Get the fuck away from her!”

The other man stared back. He seemed to be contemplating the words. For Maggie, time had slowed freakishly. Like they were all moving under water.

“Would you believe I never meant for it to happen?” Alan said, keeping the gun on Maggie, but looking at Koda with vacant eyes. “Would you believe me if I said that?”

“I don’t know.” Koda was breathing hard, his voice thick with fury. “I’m sure you didn’t mean for it to end like this.”

Alan smiled bitterly.

“Drop it now or I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”

“I always liked you, Koda. You’re a smart guy. But not smart enough, apparently.”

Koda remained quiet. Sweat beaded at Maggie’s temples and dripped down her back. Across the room, Zane stood poised, looking from one man to the other.

“I’m the bad guy here,” Alan continued softly. “I get that. But there are other things going on. Right under your fucking nose. And you don’t even see it. Right under your nose. Too wrapped up in trying to be the Lone Ranger and babysitting your goddamn brother to see any of it.”

“Drop it, Alan.”

The other man smiled, a fine sheen of sweat covering his face. Drops of warm, sticky blood puddled on the floor, and the copper scent made her gag.

“You’re right. I didn’t want it to end this way. Of course I didn’t. You think I’m a fucking idiot? But that’s what happens when you have a compulsion, brother. At some point you end up acting on it.”

“Alan—”

“Fuck off, Koda.”

Maggie could hear the distant wail of sirens. They were coming. More of them. God, hurry. Please.

Alan heard it, too. His lips stretched into a grimace. “You have to look beyond, my friend. You have to look beyond.”

He was raving mad. The hand holding the gun wavered now, and his face twitched abnormally.

“I’m the least of your worries,” Alan said. And then, before Maggie knew what happened, he’d turned the gun on himself. He opened his mouth and placed the barrel gently inside.

Maggie shut her eyes.

A shot reverberated through the room. It was too much. She began sinking into blessed darkness.

“Are you hurt, baby? Stay with me.” Koda’s arms wrapped around her like a blanket. His sweet breath touched her brow, warmed her briefly, but she was so cold. “Don’t leave me, Maggie. I love you. I need you to stay with me. I’ll take care of—”

She fought the darkness, but it was just too much.