“How do you know that?”
“Our neighbors are having a sing-along. They’ll all be up at the front of the property while something goes down in back. Ashley, don’t you see? They’re being used in the same way. The same ‘godfather’ has financed Caleb, and all he has to do is not pay attention to what goes on behind his property now and then. And if we can get proof of what’s going on, then we can tie that to the murders.”
“Okay, fine. But let’s back step a minute. Da—John, how did you meet Stuart?”
He shrugged sheepishly. “I really did write an article about two-headed aliens.”
“We met at the paper,” Stuart explained.
Ashley rubbed her neck again and sat up. “Okay, listen, I believe you. But we need real help here. We know there are two utterly ruthless men out there who will kill without batting an eye. We have to call in the police.”
“Ashley, how many times do I have to tell you?” John asked. “At least one cop is involved. And we don’t know who the dirty cop is.”
“One bad cop doesn’t mean the whole force is evil. There’s got to be someone we can trust.”
“Who?”
“Dilessio,” she said quietly. “Jake Dilessio. You know he’s legitimate.”
“Oh, yeah, he’s legitimate. He was down my throat like a cougar. Especially after his partner died. He’s the reason I went to jail.”
“Why didn’t you tell him his partner had been at the house with Bordon?”
“I was afraid,” John Mast said simply. “I was just twenty-one. And Bordon assured me that I’d be killed.”
“So why are you trying to solve things now?” Ashley asked.
“I died once already, in that plane crash,” he said. “When I washed up on the beach, I knew I had to find out who had destroyed so many lives.”
“Then let’s call Dilessio.”
“It’s pointless. I tried. I left him an anonymous message with enough hints that he should have gotten the point, but nothing happened.”
“The answering machine,” Ashley murmured, remembering that Jake’s mysterious intruder had apparently checked out his messages.
“What?”
“He never got your messages. Look, I know Jake isn’t a dirty cop. And we’ve got to get help from somewhere.”
“Yeah, great—we call him, he calls headquarters, and the murderer will know exactly where we are. He’ll come all right—and he’ll bring backup, and we’ll all wind up shot,” John said bitterly. “Besides, he lives at the marina.”
“So do I,” Ashley reminded him, puzzled.
John shook his head. “Don’t you see yet? It’s obvious. Something’s going on at Nick’s place, Ashley. I wasn’t lying last night. Someone was sneaking around.”
She hesitated. Jake had been sure that someone had been on board his boat. Nothing had been taken, but the intruder had been accessing his computer files, listening to his messages, learning from them, erasing them. She herself had been pushed overboard. And someone had been in her room….
Sharon.
Sharon, who had promised to talk to her that afternoon. But she hadn’t been back by the time Ashley left for the hospital, and then…Then everything had gone crazy.
“We’ve got to call Jake,” she repeated. “I’m certain that we can explain the situation.”
“Before he tells half the city?”
She didn’t have a chance to answer. John suddenly stiffened. “Shh,” he cautioned.
They could all hear it then. A slight rustle along the outside wall.
“Might be the cops already,” she whispered to him.
“We have to protect Stuart,” he whispered back. “Mary, you stay with him. Ashley…I’m going out there. I have a gun. Stolen, I’m afraid. But I know how to use it.”
Ashley started to follow him out of the room, then hesitated. “Mary, push that dresser in front of the door after I leave. In fact, throw anything you can in front of the door, and block that window with the highboy, do you understand?”
“Of course,” Mary said, her eyes widening as she realized the danger she was in, looking after a man with the strength of a starved kitten.
Ashley nodded, hoping Mary was stronger than she looked. As she stepped out the door, she heard the scrape of furniture across the floor. Mary could handle herself.
She hurried after John Mast then, realizing she didn’t even know the layout of the house. It was small, probably old, more like a one-story hunting shack than a true home. There was the bedroom they had been in, another beside it, a living room/dining combination, and a kitchen. There was a door out the front, and another that opened off the kitchen.
She was dismayed to see that night had fallen. If someone was outside, they were at the disadvantage. “The lights,” she murmured. “We need to turn off the lights.”