Читать книгу Safe Haven - Hannah Alexander - Страница 9

Sirens blasted through the air and bounced from the side of the building where Fawn Morrison crouched, panting from the run, terrified. She was at least three city blocks from the hotel-theater complex she’d escaped, and panic continued to shake her body so hard she could barely get enough air into her lungs. Red-white-blue lights reflected across the parking lot. She could only gamble that no one driving into the lot would catch a glimpse of her dress from beyond the thick hedge that shielded her.

She knew that if she moved quickly, she had a better chance of escape, but still she squatted in the shadows. All she wanted to do was pull herself into a tight little ball and block everything out.

She reached into her purse for a hair clip, twisted her long blond hair into a knot at the back of her head and anchored it. She pulled her bangs out of the stiff helmet of dried hair gel she’d used to keep them off her forehead. They made her look younger. Too young for her taste—like about fourteen—but it might save her hide to look younger, just for tonight. Now if she could get out of this dress, and scrape off some of this makeup….

As the whine of the sirens died, she limped along the edge of the building to a tall privacy fence that she guessed shielded the cast entrance for this theater. A searchlight flickered across the treetops at the theater next door. In spite of her ankle, she ran to the fence, jumped up and grasped the top edge, pulling herself up, kicking hard to swing herself over. Splinters gouged her arms and legs, and she gasped with the pain as she dropped to the asphalt on the other side.

The shriek of sirens continued to split the air as Fawn limped to a concrete loading dock. She climbed the steps and tested the door. It slid open, and she slipped inside to be overwhelmed by the smell of roast beef and onions, and the clatter of cookware. A kitchen. As late as it was, they would be cleaning up after a banquet, maybe. Or this could be a dinner theater. Judging by the size of the five-story structure, this, too, was a hotel-theater complex, which was a good thing.

She passed by a broad doorway and crept as quietly as she could along the shadowy hall. If she could find her way to the connecting hotel—

“Hey, you!” came a sharp male voice from the bright kitchen.

Going cold all over, she turned to see a thin-haired man standing beside a stack of pots and pans at a huge sink. He wore a white shirt and slacks and an apron.

“You lost?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. Where’s the ladies’ room?”

“Back out the Staff Only entrance and to your right,” he said drily, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he gave her a once-over.

She nodded and continued along the service corridor until she knew she’d be out of sight of the kitchen, then she opened a door to her right. The lights were off, of course, but the hallway fluorescents revealed a small office. No good place to hide. She checked the next room down on her left, but it was locked. Several yards farther, the next door on her right, was a linen room, complete with huge stacks of towels, aprons and uniforms.

This could work! They did it in all the movies—people sneaking into the closet of a hospital and pulling on a doctor’s lab coat so they could blend in with the hospital staff. She could blend in. She’d worked at a hotel for a couple of weeks.

After a hopeless search for a light switch in the room—this must be one of those places where a master switch was located elsewhere—she pulled a tiny key-chain flashlight from her purse, stepped into the room, closed the door behind her. The thin stream of light flickered, threatening to go out as she grabbed a set of whites from the top of a stack in front of her. The pants would’ve fit an elephant. The next set in the stack looked as if they might fit. She pulled a hairnet from a package on the shelf beside the clothes. Of course there were no shoes.

She stripped off her dress and shoved it deep behind a stack of tablecloths. The clothes fit—the bottoms were a little too snug around her hips, but she could still move without ripping them. She pulled the black hairnet over her head and tucked her bangs beneath it. With the clip holding her hair up off her shoulders, she might get away with this. Except for her shoes. Still, she couldn’t go barefoot.

The tiny flashlight flickered out as she tugged on her shoes. She couldn’t coax any more from it. Should’ve changed the battery last week.

She felt around in the darkness for her purse, and was slinging the strap over her head when she heard the sound of purposeful footsteps and a man’s deep voice.

“…police department. I need to ask you some questions.”

The footsteps stopped, and Fawn caught her breath.

“I don’t think any crooks or bad guys came through here tonight, if that’s what you mean,” came the voice of the dishwasher who’d given her directions to the bathroom. “Just people from the dinner theater.”

“Is the show over?”

“Should have been over about fifteen minutes or so ago.”

“Did anyone come through this way recently? A woman in a blue dress, blond hair?”

Fawn bit the inside of her cheek. No, please don’t tell him.

“Hey, you kidding? Sure did,” came the reply. “Blue dress? Really pretty?”

“Sounds right.”

“She was in here just a few minutes ago. Looked a little spooked, if you ask me. What happened, Officer?”

“We just need to question her.” There was a sound of static, like one of those walkie-talkie things Fawn’s Uncle Ralph used to have. “We need to have a look around.”

“Okay by me, but I’m not the one you have to ask. My boss—”

“We’ll take care of that. If you don’t mind, you just ease out of the building for a few minutes. There’s been a double murder, and we’re investigating.”

“Murder! You’re not kidding me? Right here in Branson?”

Fawn froze. Oh, Bruce, no. She squeezed her eyes shut and moaned softly.

There was a thunk on the linen-room door, and then the knob turned slightly. “What’s in here?”

Fawn braced herself to make a dive for the floor.

“Towels and stuff.”

“Okay, we’ll want to check it, too. Why don’t you go ahead and get hold of your boss, and I’ll have a talk with him, get the master switch turned on down here. But meanwhile we need to get some backup in here.” The voices became somewhat fainter, but they didn’t go away completely. Fawn slid down beside a rack of towels and buried her face in her hands. She was trapped.

Oh, Bruce…he was really dead. Harv had killed him. And who else had he killed? The bellman?

And what was she going to do?

Karah Lee huddled against the passenger door of the ranger’s SUV, doing her best to control Monster’s movements within the circle of her arms as the ranger took the sharp curves at a sedate speed. “It wasn’t the bump on the head that made me sick. Really. Ouch!” She eased Monster’s front paws up and away from her shoulder, wincing as the sharp claws dug into her flesh in an effort to remain attached. “I was sick long before I saw those deer in the road.”

“Look, it’s never convenient to have to seek medical care in the middle of the night, but there are times—”

“I heard you, okay?” she snapped, then bit her lower lip. She knew the speech. She’d given it enough times, herself. And here she was behaving like one of her most obnoxious patients. Next time she would remember how irritable pain could make a person. “Trust me,” she said more gently. “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, really?” His sarcasm was still in evidence. “You have a sixth sense about these things, do you?”

She frowned at him. What was his problem? So she was refusing care—it shouldn’t be a big deal to him. “I’m not trying to be a jerk,” she said, then grimaced when her loving pet attempted to tenderize her right leg. “You know what, Monster? Some people think cat tastes just as good as chicken. I’m tempted to see if they’re right.”

Ranger Taylor Jackson skidded a glance her way.

“Joke,” she said. “It’s a joke. See? I’m making jokes, I’m thinking clearly, I’m—”

Monster yowled, and the impact of the sound reverberated through the interior of the SUV. Karah Lee covered the cat’s face with her left hand. He nipped at her thumb, and she jerked away.

“Do you think he’s hurt?” Taylor asked.

“If you’re asking if he’s behaving abnormally, no.” She’d checked him over, as much as he would allow, and had found no damage. “I’d still like to find a veterinarian. You say there’s none in Hideaway?”

“There’s a kid at a boys’ ranch across the lake who could probably look at him. Everybody around here takes their pets to him. Besides him, the closest vet is Kimberling City.”

“A kid?”

“About seventeen, good kid.”

Monster yowled again, and again Karah Lee attempted to comfort him.

“You say he’s always like that?”

She nodded, then realized he probably couldn’t see the gesture in the dim glow from the console. “He misses his previous owner. We aren’t exactly soul mates.”

There was a soft snort of laughter, and Karah Lee glared at the ranger’s silhouette.

The amusement left his expression. “Sorry. You’re staying at the Lakeside?”

“That’s right. I’m renting a house in town, and it won’t be ready for a week and a half.”

“You’re staying alone?”

She gave him a sharp glance. “Except for Monster. Why?”

“I simply wondered if you’d be alone tonight, without anyone to check on you.”

“You offering?” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she wished she could tie a knot in her tongue. She hadn’t meant that the way it sounded. Not at all.

Even in the faint light from the dash she thought she could see him blush. He had the coloring for it, with faint freckling across the bridge of his nose, and hair the color of aged bronze. He had straight, fierce eyebrows—no, not exactly fierce, they just made him look earnest, like a younger version of Billy Graham.

She sighed. She had spent too much time in the company of a sarcastic hospital staff, and she’d grown accustomed to the cynical, occasionally coarse joking. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine, and if anything happens, I promise not to hold you personally responsible, okay?”

“That isn’t what I—”

“I know about head-sheet protocol, I know what to look for and I know what to do in case of emergency.”

There was a short silence. “That’s fine.” The reply was tight and clipped, and she realized she’d probably offended him. In fact, thinking about it, what she’d said had sounded offensive. Again. Disgusted with herself, she sighed and leaned back.

They rounded a curve, and there was a break in the heavy overgrowth of trees. Moonlight reflected from the glassy surface of a lovely lake below, and Karah Lee caught her breath. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it is down here.”

From the corner of her vision, she saw him glance at her. “You’ve been here before?”

“My family came here a lot when I was growing up. It was one of my favorite places in the world.”

There was a brief silence. Even the cat had settled into Karah Lee’s lap without destroying any more flesh or further taxing her eardrums.

“I think you’re going to find a few changes,” he said softly.

“The roads have changed, for sure. When I was a kid, this was a gravel road. I like the improvement.”

“It might have backfired on us.”

“What do you mean?”

He steered the vehicle along the downhill curve of the road toward town. “We’ve been overrun by tourists this year. Some company came in last fall and bought several of the houses along the shore of the lake, then opened a shop on the square this spring that rents out mountain bikes, canoes and kayaks. They take excursion trips into Branson for evening shows, by boat. They’ve been advertising big-time online, and all over Branson. The crowds are swarming here. I can’t believe you even found a place to stay.”

“I made reservations early.”

“You’re lucky.”

“No, I’m smart enough to think ahead.”

“These people have also purchased some prime property at the eastern end of town, and they’re building a ten-story condominium. Can you believe that? Right here in Hideaway.”

She glanced at him as he pulled into the circle drive in front of the bed-and-breakfast. “You sound like you think that’s a crime.”

“I transferred here from the Grand Canyon. I’ve seen the kind of damage overcrowding can cause. It could devastate the whole area. Our mayor called a council together to try to enact some zoning laws, but by then it was too late.”

“I’m sorry.” But was she? After all, she owed her new job to the sudden increase in tourism. “Maybe it won’t be such a bad thing, though.”

Taylor parked and got out of the Jeep, then walked around the front to open her door. “The crime rate has already begun to rise,” he told her. “I think it could be a disaster. I’ll help you with your things.”

She shoved Monster back into his pet taxi and braced herself. The yowling commenced. She noticed the ranger grimace. “I’ll be fine,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the sudden din. “I can take care of my own luggage.” The sooner she could haul this animal to her own private cottage and block out the sound, the happier everyone would be.

“I’ll make sure you’re settled,” he said as he carried both her heavy suitcases along a lighted footpath to a broad front porch. Someone had left the porch light on, and he set the cases down and reached for the screen door.

She grabbed the handle before he could. “Look, I’m serious, I’ll be fine.” She regretted the rough tone in her voice, but the guy was a ranger, not a bellman, and he’d already gone out of his way to help her. She refused to take advantage of him. She didn’t need a chaperon to see her inside. She knew small towns—had grown up in one, herself—and word could get out in a hurry that she’d had to be escorted to her room by a law officer.

“Really,” she said more gently. “I’ll be fine, and you probably have work to do. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself. Thank you for the ride, and I’m sorry about the…the mess I made.”

Without waiting for a reply, she shouldered past him and pushed open the door, carrying her angry cat with her. She’d suffered all the humiliation she planned to endure tonight.

Darkness and silence settled into the linen room like one of the thick quilts Fawn’s great-grandma used to tuck around her when she spent the night. The sounds outside had faded just a few seconds ago—but not before Fawn heard the crackly voice of the policeman’s radio informing him they were surrounding the place.

She pulled off her shoes once again. She couldn’t run well in them, especially with the twisted ankle. She crept through the darkness, feeling her way along the edge of the shelves until she reached the doorway with the narrow line of light edging the bottom. No sound came from beneath that door.

Holding her breath, she reached for the doorknob and started to turn it. The hard metal felt cold in her hand. There was a soft click, and she froze again.

“Check all these rooms,” came a man’s voice, echoed by the sound of brisk footsteps. “Don’t take any chances, she could be armed.”

There came the sound of a latch turning, and Fawn caught her breath. It wasn’t this door. They must be searching the room across the hall. They would come here next.

She plunged her hand into her purse and felt for the book of matches she’d taken from an ashtray in the suite. As the sound of new footsteps reached her, she ripped a match out and struck it hard against the base. It flared, and she held it high to search for any vents or removable grates along the wall or ceiling—she’d seen people escape that way a lot in movies.

The footsteps drew closer. The flame burned her fingers and she dropped the match, stifling a cry of pain. Tucking her purse beneath her arm, she struck another match, then braced herself and touched the flame to the entire book of matches, holding the tip of the cardboard cover.

It flared brightly, startling her. She gasped, bit her tongue.

There was no grate, no vent she could squeeze into. But she might be able to scoot beneath two stacks of towels in the corner, if she curled herself into a tight ball. She shook the flaming matchbook before it could burn her fingers again, just as a door closed across the hall.

“Not in here. Block this—”

The scream of an alarm shot across the room, smacking Fawn with an almost physical force. The ceiling started to rain.

Instinctively, she scuttled toward the stacks of towels where she’d intended to hide, and plunged through a tumble of terry cloth. She heard muffled shouts from the hallway and more footsteps, but the door remained closed.

Her teeth had begun to chatter before she realized she must have been the one to set off the alarm with her matchbook flare. If she hadn’t already been in big trouble, she would be now, for sure. What happened to a sixteen-year-old convicted of murder and attempted arson?

She had to get out of here!

The shriek of the alarm continued to blast her as she worked up the guts to climb from her hiding place and creep back across the room. She opened the door, bracing for a gang of uniformed men to surround her and shove her to the ground.

No one stood outside the door. She peered out, both directions. Nobody. That wouldn’t last long. Tucking her purse under her arm, she turned right and plunged along the brightly lit hallway, hopefully in the direction of the hotel section of the building—and an exit door.

The alarm paused, and a tinny voice came from a speaker overhead. “Attention. Attention. The automatic fire alarm has been activated. Please proceed to the nearest staircase to exit the building. Do not use the elevators.”

If she could find a service elevator, maybe she could get upstairs. That way she could blend in with the crowd of hotel guests who would be making their way to the stairwells.

“Guard those doors!” came a voice from up ahead, just past a corner in the hallway.

Another alarm blast nearly deafened her from a speaker just overhead, followed by the same announcement.

“…can’t block the people from getting out of the building,” came the reply, and the echo of footsteps, and the sound of excited breathing…coming closer…

“Of course we can’t stop them,” came the sharp retort. “Just look for the woman!”

She came to a door and shoved it open, stumbled inside just as the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway. She hovered in the darkness, afraid to breathe for several seconds, until the men continued along the hallway in the direction she had been going. She waited until the sound dwindled, then scuttled back into the shadows. In the dim light that came through the open door, Fawn could tell this was a prop room, with a black cape and top hat on a table in the front right corner. She saw a chest—or a cart—beside the table. A magician’s cape? A magic show of some kind?

“Did you check that room?” came another man’s voice as footsteps once again echoed in the hallway. “Hurry. Search where you can.”

“But the alarm—”

“Just check the room!”

Fawn skittered toward the cart and dived behind it. She had worked backstage at a theater with a magic act in Las Vegas. These carts were big enough for someone to hide inside…if she could just remember how to unlatch—

“Can’t find the light switch.”

She found the latch and slid the panel sideways, scrambled inside just as the overhead light came on. Under cover of the echo of footsteps, she slid the panel shut behind her, plunging herself into the protective blackness, afraid to breathe.

“Anything?”

“Of course not. I told you she wouldn’t still be here, even if she was here in the first place, which I don’t think—”

“Just cover the exits and make sure she doesn’t slip through.” The voices faded.

Fawn crouched in the dark for a few more seconds, then slowly, with the alarms still sounding all along the hallway, she slipped out of the magician’s cart and skittered to the open door. The corridor was empty. She caught sight of an elevator door a few yards down and sighed with relief. After another quick glance along the hall in both directions, she ran to the elevator doors and pressed the button, hoping this wasn’t one of those places that disabled their elevators during a fire alarm.

Once again came the sound of footsteps. She tensed, ready to run, but the door slid open. She plunged inside as the footsteps grew louder, and tapped the third-floor button desperately. The doors took their time, then slowly closed as the footsteps quickened.

Fawn closed her eyes and slunk into the corner, sure the searchers would catch sight of her before she could escape. They didn’t. The doors clanked shut, and she finally allowed herself to breathe again.

When the elevator deposited her at the third floor, she rushed into the hallway and joined a small crowd of sleepy-eyed, confused-looking people. She limped along beside a man dressed only in a pair of boxer shorts and a hotel terry robe. The woman with him wore a nightgown. As Fawn joined the others on the guest stairwell, she glanced down at her clothes, then reached up to feel her head. The net was still there, and her hair was wet, which would darken its blond color. They would think she was an employee, or someone in her pajamas.

More people came up behind her as she limped downstairs. They reached the ground floor and stepped through the emergency exit out into the night, where three men in uniform stood watching them closely.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes.

They didn’t stop her. Nobody called out as she joined the rest of the growing crowd in the glow of the outside lights.

As the first fire engine raced into the parking lot behind the building, Fawn crept closer to the edge of the crowd, then slipped out into the night. She hadn’t needed her shoes, after all.