Читать книгу Double Take - Jenness Walker - Страница 14

“Cops are on the way.” A new voice.

Kenzie didn’t want to move. Just wanted to sleep, to curl up against this wall of warmth, with the strong arm holding her, the steady voice in her ear, the light shining on her. Just wanted to float away…

“What can I do?”

She blinked as that other voice spoke again, but let her eyes drift shut. Please be quiet. Please, please…

“Help me get her out of here. Into the truck.”

She felt the rumble of the first, familiar voice. The voice that brought the light. Then the pressure was off her arms. Her hands dropped, splashing water into her face. She didn’t react. Couldn’t.

“MacKenzie? Still with me?”

Another arm scooped up her legs—she barely felt it, but then she was cuddled closer to that warm wall. The water swirled around her calves. She couldn’t feel her feet. Other hands touched her arms. Tried to pull her away—no. No!

“She doesn’t want you to let go, Cole.”

“It’s all right, MacKenzie. John’s a friend.”

No. She wanted to stay there. Just stay…

“Is the heat running?” The first voice, farther away. She couldn’t feel the vibrations of his voice, the pounding of his heart. Don’t leave…

“Yeah. Here, you got her?”

“Try not to jostle her.”

Snuggled close again. Something warm over her knees, her head.

“MacKenzie, talk to me, girl. Keep those pretty eyes open.”

“Still got the dispatcher on the phone.”

A sprinkling of water, then a blast of hot air. So hot. The lightning—must be burning her up.

“Good. How long…”

The words faded in and out. Kenzie tried to keep listening, but then just the tone was enough. The first voice was there. Still soothing, even though she burned like fire.

“MacKenzie?”

She tried to answer. Bright lights filled her vision, then she faded away.

The police and paramedics had arrived just as Cole removed one of MacKenzie’s waterlogged shoes. From inside the truck, he now watched as she disappeared behind the ambulance doors, following the flashing lights with his gaze as it sped out of view. It was over. He’d been right.

Now he just hoped he hadn’t been too late.

“So now what?” His spiky hair mussed and dripping, John loosely held the steering wheel and stared at the rain.

“Now…” He pictured MacKenzie’s shoeless right foot. Please, God, let her be okay.

Detective Parker tapped on his window. Cole hit the unlock button and waited as the officer climbed into the backseat, the suspicion in his face making Cole’s blood freeze.

“It seems you were right, Cole Leighton.”

“Yes, sir.” Cole closed his eyes, then opened them and stared straight ahead. He could use a blanket of his own right now.

“We did a sweep of the area—no one was here except you guys. We can’t do much in this rain. CSI has it covered for now, so why don’t you two come back to the station and give us your statements? There are a few things we need to clear up.”

“That’s fine.” Actually, it wasn’t, but he doubted he had a choice.

“Mind if we get into some dry clothes first?” John asked.

Cole caught his cousin’s sideways look. The heat blasted the outside of his jeans, but they were still wet and stiff. Water squished between his toes, which reminded him again of MacKenzie’s blue foot.

“Oh, it shouldn’t take too long. We’ve got some blankets. Coffee. Let’s get it over with, in case there’s some pertinent information.”

John nodded his reluctant agreement.

“Good,” Parker said. “I’ll follow you there.”

The door opened, and rain rushed in before it slammed shut. Parker got out and the detective faded behind sheets of rain. They waited in silence until Parker’s car flashed its high beams. John put the Dodge in gear and headed for the main road.

When they hit pavement, John said, “How come I get the feeling this interview is going to be more like an interrogation?”

“I’m sorry, John.”

“No, man. You did the right thing. I’m just saying…they better have some good coffee.”

Cole forced a laugh. “Don’t count on it. But maybe they put on a new pot since I was there last.” Less than two hours ago. Parker’s eyes had narrowed then. This time they’d be mere slits. He wouldn’t try to figure out if Cole was a kook or a paranoid bookworm or a bad guy. He’d be pretty certain of the latter. A bad guy with a hero complex.

Well, he’d be basically correct, wouldn’t he?

“Cole, you did the right thing,” John said again. “You have an alibi. There’s no way they’re going to believe you did this.”

In spite of the chill, a bead of sweat dripped down his face. Not good. They’d probably take his fear as an indication of guilt, a sign that he knew something.

“What are the odds?” he said. “Only a few days in town and I just happened to choose that bus, that book, at that time? And I didn’t have anything to do with it?” One in a million. One in a hundred million. No, more like…zero, zilch. No chance at all.

“Tell me.” John’s face was hard, his eyes on the road. “Did you have anything to do with it?”

Cole flinched. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. The odds aren’t good—so what? Maybe God stuck you on that bus at that time with that book and gave you the wisdom to figure things out. Because He knows how stubborn you can be.” John glanced away from the windshield, caught Cole’s gaze, then concentrated on the road again. “You saved the girl’s life. We can deal with whatever happens next.”

Cole swallowed. Closed his eyes. He’d felt, for that brief moment when he’d held MacKenzie Jacobs—when he lifted her from the water and set her carefully in the backseat of the truck—that he could redeem himself. That this life could make up for one that was lost years ago. That he could start over again with a fresh page in God’s book.

But that would have been too easy, and he deserved anything but easy.

Cole folded his arms on the tabletop and lowered his head. At three in the morning, he didn’t really care if the action might seem suspicious. His heavy eyelids refused to stay open. So, while he waited for Parker to return, he’d take advantage of the reprieve.

His aching eyes closed, but his mind would not shut down. The routine rolled through his mind—he’d been through it before. They’d analyze the recording of his interview. Maybe test the stress levels in his voice for indications of guilt. There would be stress, all right—he’d been stressed out for almost twenty-four hours. More like twenty-four years, but that was beside the point.

Shut up, Cole.

A chair scraped, jerking him to awareness once again. Lifting his head, he found Parker sitting across from him.

“Sorry to keep you up so late, Mr. Leighton,” he said in a neutral tone. “Just a couple more things and then we’ll let you go get some much deserved rest.”

“Go ahead.”

“We’d like you to take a polygraph test. That’ll really help us wrap a few things up, and then we won’t need to take much more of your time.”

At least, not after they’d locked him up and thrown away the key.

“Fine.” As if he had a choice.

“Good.” Parker smiled. “Secondly, I wondered if you’d loan us your copy of that book.”

Cole gave a brief nod. “I’d be glad to.” Parker shouldn’t need a polygraph to hear the truth ringing in that statement.

Kenzie didn’t want to open her eyes. The warm bed and soft hospital pillow called to her. Last night she thought she’d never be comfortable again. Now she was, and she didn’t want to move. Ever.

Then the aches hit. Her head. Her hands and wrists and legs. Everywhere, she hurt.

“MacKenzie?”

“Mmm,” she said, not opening her eyes. She didn’t want to find out if they hurt, too.

“Oh, honey…”

“Mom.” Her lips were cracked. “You missed your flight. You didn’t need to come.” The days of needing her mother were past…and Mom hadn’t been there then, anyway.

“Oh, it was no bother. Somebody needs to take care of your houseplants until you come home.” She spoke in overly bright tones this time, and it was almost worse than when her voice had dripped with pity. “Did you see the flowers someone sent you? Beautiful roses for a beautiful girl.”

Ah, yes. There was the pity again.

Her suffering could have been over. Just a little longer in the water, and Kenzie would no longer have to wish she was the one who died and Mikey was the one who lived.

Kenzie finally opened her eyes to stare at the roses, not allowing herself to glimpse her mother’s expression. She’d learned to read her well, but at this moment she didn’t want to know what lay between the lines in her mother’s furrowed brow.

“Is there a card?”

Her mother’s graceful fingers stretched toward the vase and rotated it. “Nothing.”

“Did you…see who brought them?” The man who’d saved her? She held her breath, hoping she hadn’t missed him, yet hoping he had come.

“They were here when I arrived.”

“Mmm.” Kenzie turned her face toward the ceiling and blinked as the tiles swam out of focus.

“Are you okay? Anything I can do for you?”

“I’m fine. Thanks. Just need sleep.” The blankets weighed her down until they smothered the incessant beeping and the aching pain.

Someone rapped on the door, then cracked it open.

Kenzie held her breath, fighting the urge to run. No one would hurt her here. The kidnappers had made their escape. That’s all they’d wanted, right?

But she closed her fingers around the television remote—some weapon—and slowly turned her head. A police officer stood just inside the doorway, his expression grim and tired.

“Miss Jacobs?”

“Yes.” Letting go of the remote, Kenzie drew her blankets close, then adjusted her bed until she was sitting up.

“I’m Detective Parker. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

She was too tired to dredge up yesterday’s nightmare, but, pasting on a smile, Kenzie nodded.

The policeman came around the bed and opened the blinds slightly, then scooted a chair close. Out of his briefcase came a black folder with a legal pad, a bulky pen, a digital recorder.

Her eyes drifted closed, exhausted by the mere sight of his equipment.

“Miss Jacobs.” The detective’s kind voice pulled her from the edge of sleep. “I don’t want to put off this interview since the more we know, the more likely we are to make arrests. But if you’re not up to it…”

“No, please. Wouldn’t want to hold up justice.” She meant it, but her eyelids did not want to cooperate.

Finally they fluttered open, and she found the man settling into his chair, legs crossed and folder propped just so. He’d done this before. Caught lots of criminals. If she could just stay awake, she could help him catch more. Then this whole thing would be over and life could get back to normal. Whatever that was.

Maybe now she’d have something new to mix in with her old nightmares. She still felt the gun against her temple, the rope chafing her wrists, the water lapping around her shoulders. Maybe because she relived it every time her eyes closed.

Detective Parker cleared his throat. “Miss Jacobs, I want you to run through everything that happened yesterday, but first, can you describe the men who took you?”

“No.” From now until the moment the camo guy and his smooth-accented boss landed behind bars, she’d probably suspect every male who came within twenty feet of her.

As if her dating life wasn’t bad enough already.

“I was blindfolded most of the time, but…” She allowed her eyes to close again, brought up the image of the bus and talked about what she’d seen, felt, heard. She told him about the leather jacket and sinewy arm locked around her shoulders. The ski mask and how that, almost more than the gun, gave the man a twisted and terrifying appearance. She hadn’t noticed his eye color; the glint of metal had been a stronger draw for her gaze.

“There were two men.” A shudder shifted the blanket. Kenzie clenched it in her fists, chilled once again. “The man with the camouflage jacket must have driven the van away, while the man with the leather jacket took me to…to the boathouse. But everything’s kind of hazy. I blacked out when they put me in the trunk of a car, and when I woke up, I was in the water. That…that’s all. I’m sorry.”

“You’re doing fine. Do you think—”

“Wait…” She paused with her eyes tightly closed. Remembering. Shadows filled her mind. A blur of black and gray and white-hot pain. “At the boathouse, I think I came to for a moment when the man with the accent took off my blindfold. Just before he—” She choked back an unexpected sob.

“Take your time, Miss Jacobs.”

A gulping breath. Warm air filled her lungs, and she found the strength to focus again on the vague memory. “So dark, but he must have had a flashlight. I saw…”

She was flopped over his knee, one of his arms steadying her while his other pulled the blindfold free. Legs untied, wrists bound more tightly, but in front of her now.

Her breath came faster. She was falling. Knees hit the deck hard. Turned her head as her hands—forced out over the water—touched metal. Caught a glimpse of dark hair, lighter neck, white scar.

Then she plunged into the icy water.

A quick gasp. No. She was okay now. But the tremors took over again. And, as she tried to recount the day through chattering teeth—every exhausting and excruciating detail—she wondered if she’d ever really feel safe again.