Читать книгу Look-Alike - Rita Herron - Страница 8

Nighthawk Island

Fear seized Caitlin as she fought the undercurrent, but she forced herself to take a breath and continue swimming. Another stroke. Another. Her clothes felt heavy, weighing her down. How far would it be to the next island? Could she make it?

Then she spotted the small fishing boat. Deserted, tied to the shore by a long rope.

Her pulse raced as she battled the waves and swam toward it. Her arms ached. Her lungs throbbed for air. Her legs felt like numb weights as she kicked and pedaled forward. Finally, she reached the boat and hurled herself inside. She was shivering, but she grabbed the paddle and worked it against the current with all her might.

It seemed like hours as she struggled to reach shore. The night grew darker, colder, her muscles screamed with strain. The strange nighthawk circled above as if hunting for its prey, waiting for her to succumb to exhaustion so he could attack.

Finally, she approached land. Another island. Here, she’d find help. Get a ride back to civilization and find out why she’d been locked away.

She dragged herself from the boat and slogged through the sand and shells in the darkness. Dizzy with exhaustion, she wove through the long stretches of wooded land until she neared a road. Cold air sliced through her wet clothes, salt water stinging her eyes. A dog howled behind her, and she forced her rubbery legs to take another step. Up ahead, she thought she heard a noise. The whistle of the wind? A rabid dog? Thunder?

Traffic. A car zooming over the slushy pavement.

Panting, she tore through the bramble, jumped over a patch of overgrown weeds and ran onto the highway, waving her arms. She yelled for the driver to stop, but the ancient pickup rattled by, ignoring her, spewing muddy slush. Fighting panic and dizziness, she began to walk along the edge of the road, hopes dwindling as she realized the late hour and weather would prevent travelers from tackling the narrow deserted roads.

Exhaustion intensified her despair, but she reminded herself not to give up hope. Another car would come by. It had to.

One more step. Another.

It seemed as if hours had passed, but finally a noise broke the silence. Tires squealed, brakes churned. An eighteen-wheeler spun around the curve, crossing the center line. She yelled and waved her arms frantically, praying his headlights caught her, that he didn’t run her down.

He hit the brakes and gears screeched as he slowed and pulled over to the embankment. The door swung open, and a man’s face appeared, shadowed by the smoke-filled cab interior. The strong odor of French fries and sweat wafted from the truck. “Miss, are you all right?”

“Yes, I—” her teeth chattered “—need a ride.”

“Your car break down?” He scratched his beard as his eyes scanned the dark deserted stretch of highway.

Had she not been so terrified of getting caught and restrained in that mental ward, she would have been afraid of him. His beefy arms swelled over a thin wife-beater T-shirt, and a plaid flannel shirt hung loose around his beer belly.

Desperate though, she climbed in, grateful for the warmth of the cabin. She only prayed she hadn’t escaped one nightmare to be thrust into another.

Raven’s Peak

North Georgia

THE PHONE RANG at 5:00 a.m. Before he even answered it, Miles sensed it was bad news.

“Your wife has been saved now, she’s repenting for her sins.”

His throat closed. “What? Who the hell is this?”

“She was reborn at Devil’s Ravine.”

A coarse, sinister laugh reverberated over the line, then the phone clicked into silence.

Frantic, Miles hit the call-back feature. Nothing. Dammit. Panic rolled through him in waves as he yanked on his jeans and grabbed a shirt, but his cop instincts kicked in.

He had to go. He headed toward the door. Agent Brown already thought he was guilty of hurting his wife. He’d better cover himself and give him a call.

His fingers shook as he punched in his deputy’s number. He’d let him handle things at his office today while he dealt with this. Then he phoned the FBI agent.

Seconds later, Agent Brown’s voice echoed over the line. “What is it?”

“I just received an anonymous call,” Miles said. “A man. He said I’d find my wife at Devil’s Ravine.”

Brown cleared his throat. “Where are you now?”

“At my place. But I’m on my way out the door.” He grabbed his gun and shoved it into his jeans. “It’ll take me about ten minutes to reach the ravine.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

Miles’s head spun as he fumbled for his sunglasses and raced to his car. Images of Caitlin surfaced. Caitlin with her silky long hair. Caitlin teasing him in bed.

Caitlin lying naked and cold and alone.

Dead.

His pulse pounded as he started his SUV and tore down the graveled drive. Thankfully the sleet had let up. As much as he’d told himself he didn’t care anymore, that he never had, emotions clogged his throat. He had loved her. And maybe she hadn’t left him. Maybe someone had kidnapped her and held her all these weeks and she had prayed he would save her.

But he’d failed.

Guilt suffused him, making his chest tight. The towering pines and hardwoods rushed by in a blur. His tires squealed, grappling with the slick asphalt as he wound around the mountain. The steep incline forced him to downshift and brake, the miles of dense forest and deserted country roads endless. If a hiker got lost or was in trouble, they might never be found.

Unless someone alerted the police. Meaning the killer wanted them to find his victim.

Because he felt remorse, or because he liked the game?

A ray of sunshine fought through the gray clouds as he accelerated and maneuvered the narrow dirt road. Bush and trees marred the rest of the way. He’d have to park, and hike to the ravine.

He yanked on his jacket, checked his weapon, climbed from his SUV and scanned the wooded area. Was the caller still around? Was he watching?

Senses on overdrive, he listened for footsteps and began to weave through the dense brush and trees. Barring the wildlife creatures, the squirrels and birds foraging for food, the forest remained asleep. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he descended the rocky terrain leading into the ravine, rocks skittering down and pinging into the creek below. When he reached the lower bank, he turned in a wide arc and scanned the horizon, the edge of the woods, the cliff above. Vultures soared overhead, a hunter’s gunshot reverberating in the distance. Wind blew damp leaves into a cluster.

Where was she?

His gut tight, he forced himself to turn around again, scan the woods, then the water.

Heaven help him. It was her. Caitlin.

She was lying naked in the icy creek, wedged between some rocks, her arms outstretched, her dark hair tangling around her pale face. White lilies floated around her head like a halo. He stepped closer, his gaze drifting over her bruised body.

A stab wound marred her bare chest, the letter A carved across her breasts in blood. He choked out a breath. Two murders in Savannah the year before and three in Atlanta had the same MO. The police had dubbed the killer The Carver. Dear God, now he was here in Raven’s Peak.

And he had killed Caitlin.

Savannah, Georgia

THE SUN SLITHERED through the dark morning sky as the driver pulled in to a station to get gas. Caitlin saw the sign for Savannah, and vague memories surfaced—she had a sister, she knew she did. They had been close—she felt her presence as if she were here somewhere. Surely her sister had been looking for her. Or did she know Caitlin had been locked in that mental hospital?

The driver climbed from the eighteen-wheeler with a tired grunt and lumbered toward the men’s room, and she slid from the seat and ran toward downtown Savannah. Traffic clogged the narrow streets. Signs for River Street goodies, bars and restaurants, and the market floated by while sightseers roamed the squares. A ghost tour through a cemetery caught her eyes, and she glanced at the tombstones, a shiver racing up her spine.

She spotted a local diner and she decided to slip inside and warm up. Maybe get some coffee. Unfortunately, she had no money or ID. Maybe she could offer to wash dishes in exchange. At least she could get a glass of water, sit down and think.

Steam from the griddle sizzled above the den of people as she entered the cafe. She knew she looked ragged so she rushed to the restroom and cleaned up. The scent of coffee, sausages and shrimp grits filled the cramped space. Heat enveloped her as she claimed a corner booth and grabbed a menu.

A waitress wearing a name tag that read Verna and a white apron splotched with grease stabbed a pencil behind her ear and glided toward her with coffee, but halted suddenly, her eyes glued to the TV set in the corner. “Oh, my word!” Verna flicked up the volume. “There’s been a woman murdered in North Georgia.”

Caitlin angled her head to see the set.

“This late-breaking story in now, folks. We’re here with Federal Agent Reilly Brown and Sheriff Miles Monahue of Raven’s Peak. A young woman’s body was discovered this morning in the mountains in an area locals call Devil’s Ravine.”

He shoved the microphone toward a tall, dark-haired man with black eyes. Behind him several cops combed the woods, others were huddled near the edge of a stream, and a team of paramedics hovered around a gurney. “Sheriff Monahue, did you find the woman’s body?”

The man’s face looked haunted. “Yes.”

“And is it true that the victim is your wife, Caitlin Collier Monahue?”

A shadow fell across the man’s face as he bowed his head and nodded. “Yes, we’ve been searching for her for weeks.”

Caitlin gasped. What was he talking about? She was alive. And she didn’t know that man at all.

“Was she a victim of The Carver?” the reporter asked.

Sheriff Monahue scrubbed his hand over his beard stubble. “It appears that way, but we’ll know more after we investigate.”

Caitlin’s heart stuttered as the photo of the sheriff’s wife appeared on the screen. No…dear heavens, it couldn’t be.

Her palms sweated as more memories churned through her foggy brain. The photo—yes, it was her. Caitlin. But she wasn’t dead.

So who was the woman in the water?

A fleeting image of standing in front of a mirror hit her, and she frowned, then realized that the mirror had not been a mirror at all, but another woman. It had been her sister—her look-alike…they were identical twins.

Dear God, her sister…Caitlin…Nora—Nora was dead….

Nora, the only family she had left. The only person who cared about her.

She doubled over as grief and fear swelled inside her. She was all alone now. And while she’d been locked away, someone had killed her twin.

Raven’s Peak, Georgia

Five hours later

THE LAST FEW HOURS had been pure hell.

Miles stood outside his rental house, his stomach knotted, his hands thrust inside his denim jacket to ward off the cold as the crime-scene investigators and Brown searched his house. He’d already succumbed to a DNA swab, had his bootprints taken and turned over the clothes he’d been wearing. Thank God he hadn’t given in to the need to touch Caitlin before Brown had arrived, so his hands would be clean.

One of the detectives confiscated his kitchen knives upon arrival and had already bagged them. Miles had noticed the serrated edges on the steak knives and prayed they didn’t match the lacerations in her chest. If they did, then someone had been inside his house and had set him up.

But if this were the work of The Carver, it was a ritualistic serial-killer case, not someone with a vendetta against him. The killer probably wouldn’t take the time to frame him. He’d want to bask in the glory and attention of his crime.

He slid his Ray-Bans on, then removed a notepad from his pocket and began a list of his possible enemies to question.

Brown cleared his throat as he approached. “We’re finished.”

Wind whistled through the trees, a gust sending dead leaves raining to the ground. “Will you let me know what the M.E. discovers? I’d like a report.”

Brown gave a clipped nod. “Don’t leave town. In fact, you should step down as sheriff until this investigation is over.”

Miles cut his gaze toward Brown, grateful for the shades protecting his eyes. “I want to find this lunatic as much as you do.” He indicated the notepad. “I’m already making a list of all my enemies.”

“You think this is about you?”

Miles shrugged. “I don’t know, but we can’t discount any angle.”

“Fax it to me when you complete it. You also know there were other similar cases across the states?”

“Yes, The Carver.”

“Then again, you’re a cop, you know his MO,” Agent Brown snapped. “You could easily have patterned this crime to look like The Carver’s work.”

Miles cursed. “Or maybe we have a serial killer here in Raven’s Peak, and you’re wasting everyone’s time hassling me.”

“Get your deputy to take over your office, Monahue. Do it now.”

Brown ran a gloved hand over his tie, then shrugged and walked to his car. His tires chewed gravel as he sped away. Miles strode to his Pathfinder and drove to the sheriff’s office to check his computer and talk to his deputy. His deputy agreed to take over, then left to make rounds. Coffee in hand, he logged onto the central database, plugging in the information about the crime scene to cross check across the states for references to the other Carver cases.

While he waited on the computer to process the information, he sipped his coffee, trying to warm his hands, but a deadly cold had seeped all the way to his bones. Seconds later, the data spewed on the screen. So far, the police had no real suspects. They had questioned all the boyfriends, family, husbands of the five victims. The only connection or similarity they’d discovered among the women was that they had all cheated on their husbands. Hmm. The reason The Carver carved the letter A on their chests—Adulterer?

In case they did have a copycat here, he entered the names of the men he’d arrested who had possible grievances against him, prioritizing them according to severity of their crimes and sentences. The first two men were lifers, one serving time for murdering his family, the other for brutally raping and killing a teenager. The third one, Armond Rodriguez, who’d been convicted of assault and battery on his wife, had been paroled two days ago. But Caitlin had been missing three weeks. Still, he’d check him out in case he had a friend on the outside who might have helped him. And he didn’t yet know if Caitlin had been abducted the day she’d left him or later.

The next prisoner, Ted Ruthers, had been released due to an illness and was supposedly in a hospice program. Hmm. Not him. Unless he’d hired someone to get revenge on Monahue.

The last one, Willie Pinkerton, had escaped jailtime on a technicality, but he was a ruthless bastard who’d been guilty as sin. He’d stabbed an old lady in his apartment complex just because he didn’t like old people. The last address he could find on him was in Georgia.

He heard the doorknob jiggle and the door swung open. Miles grimaced, wondering if Brown had followed him here to harass him or if someone in town had heard of the murder and had come to do…what? Sympathize with him? Tell him he was no longer wanted in Raven’s Peak?

The floor squeaked as a woman walked into the office. Shadows hovered around her, and she was shivering, wide-eyed, so pale her skin looked like buttermilk. Faded dirty jeans and a damp long sleeved T-shirt hung on her frame, and her long dark hair lay in tangles around her cheeks.

Shock bolted through him as he focused on her face. He had to be seeing things. A ghost, maybe?

She looked exactly like his dead wife.

CAITLIN WAS STILL NUMB with shock and disbelief as she faced the sheriff. The ride she’d hitched to North Georgia had given her plenty of time to think. An overwhelming sense of grief and despair had filled her, along with a hundred questions. She was alone now, and had been in a mental hospital and didn’t know why. She’d lost all sense of time, and now her sister was gone, murdered.

She had to find out who had stolen her memories, and who had killed her sister.

Although her brain was still fuzzy about her past, and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen Nora, she instinctively knew they had been close. And if this sheriff thought Nora was her, maybe he had married Nora instead of her. Maybe Nora had played a twin switch and for some reason used her name. Even more confusing, she had fleeting memories of the doctors calling her Nora, of thinking she was Nora…

But she was Caitlin…wasn’t she?

The sheriff’s rugged face visibly blanched. “What the hell…who are you?”

She gripped her hands beside her as he removed his dark glasses. His black eyes raked over her, assessing, searching. “I’m Caitlin.”

He fisted his hands. “That’s impossible. I just saw my wife.” His harsh voice blazed with accusations. “She was dead.”

“I know…I saw the news,” Caitlin whispered. “That woman….my look-alike…” Her voice broke with emotions. “That was my sister, Nora.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re twins?” His nails scraped the wooden desk as he stood, sending a chill down her spine. “If you are Caitlin, where have you been?”

She wet her lips, her legs threatening to buckle. “In the hospital….”

Tension rattled in the air between them. His breath rasped out. Or maybe it was hers. She wasn’t sure.

His pained expression mirrored her own anguish, bringing reality crashing back. She was so confused. Why in God’s name was this happening?

A dizzy spell swept over her, along with exhaustion and the remnants of her harrowing escape. The room spun as she fumbled for something to hold on to.

If she were Caitlin and had been married to this man, why didn’t she remember him?

REELING WITH SHOCK, Miles captured the woman in his arms to keep her from slithering to the floor. She shivered against him, and he cradled her closer, uncertain whether to kiss her or shake the hell out of her until she admitted the truth about her identity and where she’d been. Was she really Caitlin? And if so, if she had a twin, why hadn’t she told him? What hospital had she been in? He’d searched across the Southern states and no one had listed her as a patient.

She whimpered, and he skimmed her face. Whoever she was, something had happened to her. She was suffering from fatigue and malnourishment.

Her hipbones pressed into his thighs as if she’d lost weight, her long dark hair was matted, and her damp clothes clung to her as if she’d been walking through the sleet for days. And those long black lashes that fluttered over her creamy skin glistened with tears.

Although confused as hell, he whispered nonsensical words to comfort her. All lies. He had no idea how things would be okay. A woman he’d thought to be his wife lay dead in the morgue, while he held a carbon copy of her in his arms.

Almost subconsciously, he stroked her back, memorizing her body, searching for some clue that this woman was his wife. That his prayers had been answered and that she’d come back to him alive. That the woman he’d found lying murdered in the creek with lilies floating around her naked body had been someone else. Her look-alike.

Too many unanswered questions clamored in his head, waiting for answers. He’d fallen for Caitlin’s act the first go-around. This time, he wouldn’t accept anything at face value. Not even her name.

Her slender body convulsed against his. “You’re freezing and in shock,” he said. “Let me take you to the hospital.”

“No!” She jerked away and huddled against the wall. “Please. Don’t make me go back there.”

He froze, studying her irrational response. Those pale green eyes that had once glowed with passion for him now looked glazed, terrified. “But you need medical care, you—”

“I won’t go back.” Her teeth chattered and her expression flared into the wild-eyed look of a mad woman. The panic in her tone suggested she would run if he didn’t stop her.

Then he’d never get the answers he needed.

She swayed and bumped into the wall, then her head lolled back and her legs buckled. He caught her just before she hit the floor.

His heart pounding, he swung her into his arms, then cradled her to him and hurried to his truck. He cranked up the heat to warm her as he drove up the mountain to his cabin.

Inside, he lay her on his bed and stripped her soggy clothes, the tremors in her body alerting him to the fact that she might be suffering from exposure. On the ride to his cabin, she had stirred, but was disoriented. She’d mumbled something about being locked up, held against her will, drugged out of her mind. But had she taken the drugs first, then slipped into an alternate reality, or were her ramblings evidence of a real-life nightmare?

The sight of her skin so pale, the small bruises on her wrists, ankles and around her waist, shook him to the core. There were needle marks on her arms, too, that resembled track marks.

Caitlin had not been a drug addict. She’d barely even drunk alcohol. At least not until the last week of their short marriage when she’d clung to that bottle of scotch like a lifeline.

What was going on? Had she decided to experiment and wound up in trouble? Had she become addicted and fallen in with some shady characters? Had she been kidnapped and drugged against her will? Was she Caitlin, and the dead woman her sister?

He wrapped a blanket around her, easing it over her arms, and forced her to sip some water. She barely opened her eyes, took a small sip, then collapsed again. His protective instincts kicked in, the guilt he’d harbored the last few weeks returning full force. Had their argument that last night started the wheels in motion that had caused her to end up like this?

He paused, gripping the bed. Did he really believe she was Caitlin? He’d seen the dead woman with his very own eyes. She looked like his wife. But so did this woman.

Whoever she was, she was in trouble. Whether she was his missing wife or his wife’s sister or an impostor, he owed it to her to find out what had happened. That trail might lead him to the truth about his wife.

Hating himself for reacting physically to her, he dragged his gaze from her face. But he had been so starved to see her the last few weeks, he pulled a chair close to the bed and studied her, memorizing her features. Her quivering lip needed to be calmed, stroked, kissed. The tremors rippling through her needed soothing. The bruises on her delicate skin needed tending.

Dammit. The lust he’d felt for her still thrived deep inside him. His sex throbbed for the heaven her body offered, the primal urges that overcame him the first time he’d lain eyes on her, trapping him in its clutches. But other emotions followed—hurt, denial, betrayal.

She had left him high and dry. Had run off without a word, scared him senseless, and left him under suspicion.

He had to have answers.

Jerking himself out of his stupor, he heated more blankets by the fire and wrapped them around her. She moaned and rolled to her side, curling into a fetal position and burying her head beneath the covers. He flexed and unflexed his hands, aching to reach out and hold her again, to confirm that she was alive.

The self-preservation part of him warned him not to. To phone Agent Brown and fill him in on the latest. To call the M.E. and pressure him for an ID. To take this woman’s DNA tonight and send it to the lab.

He walked over to the aquarium by the window and stared into the tank, wishing his head was half as clear as that damn water. The tank belonged to Caitlin. He’d never cared for pets, but she had loved the two little tropical fish. Had said they kept her company.

Hell, how had fish been company?

Still, when she’d gone missing he hadn’t been able to get rid of them. No, like an idiot, he’d fed them and even found himself talking to them, somehow thinking that if he kept them alive, she’d return to him.

A whimper broke the deafening silence. She rolled to her other side, her face a mask of pain and terror as she stared at him. Tears pooled in those pale green orbs and trickled down her cheeks, dripping onto the covers. She looked small and so damn helpless, it tore at his gut.

He gritted his teeth, stood and faced the fire, reminding himself not to be suckered in by her again. But her anguish was real, and the primal instincts that had drawn him to her in the first place were so strong they overrode the mental warnings screaming in his head. Grimacing, he strode back to her, crawled onto the bed beside her and pulled her in his arms. She tensed, but he whispered for her to rest. Finally she closed her eyes and burrowed against his chest. He rocked her back and forth, savoring the soft weight of her in his embrace and the sultry scent of her femininity as he held her tight.

Tomorrow he’d call the M.E. Tomorrow he’d find the answers. Tonight…tonight he’d hold her and pretend she was his wife.

Devil’s Ravine

Midnight

HE COMBED THE DESERTED STREETS of the small town, his heart heavy in his chest. One sinner had met with glory today. But his work wasn’t done. There were so many more. Standing on the street corners trussed up in their high heels and short skirts, skin and cleavage flashing boldly for all the world to see. And then there were the others.

Disguised as faithful lovers and wives but cheating like whores.

They filled the bars from Savannah to Atlanta, all the way to the mountains of North Georgia. Even in this small town where Southern hospitality was supposed to breed friendship with your neighbors, sin had taken over. The town had secrets. The friendships had gotten out of control…not friendships at all, but sordid, twisted relationships.

Nausea rifled through him at the realization that he wanted them anyway. But he must fight his own lustful cravings.

He raised the woman’s wedding ring and stared at the simple gold band, the circle that represented the unbroken ties that bound woman to man in marriage.

Her marriage had been broken. She had betrayed her vows, flitted from one bed to another.

And she had had to pay.

Just as the others would for their indiscretions.

He entered the church, his head bowed, his face hidden by his hood. He had been raised in the church. He believed in the Bible. Had testified so many times to others and preached sermons on goodness and mercy. On fidelity.

Time to confess his own sins. Receive forgiveness.

Then he’d take another.