He needed to meet with the goddamn detective. He should call her . . . say he went to the hospital. Explain how urgent it was to see Emma.
But now he couldn’t go back to the summer camp just yet, even though his car was there. Denton had launched a canoe from the same area. He had to find a way to get back there without being seen, but he didn’t trust the water, so that meant thrashing through the brush, which would take forever, or following the road, which was what he planned to do. There would be traffic, but he could stay just off the pavement and duck down whenever a car went by. There was more than enough cover for him to make it without being seen.
But Jesus . . . fucking Denton!
He trudged up the last thirty feet toward the lodge and pulled out his phone.
You can meet her here, he realized. Tell her you meant to meet her at the site. Then go get your car.
Except what if Denton’s waiting for you at the camp . . .
That’s what the Taser was for.
Carter scrambled up the last wet incline, his feet slipping a bit in the mud, and reached the west side of the lodge. The second story was still a skeleton of framing reaching for the sky, but the main floor’s walls were enclosed by siding. Luckily, there were no doors yet, so he slipped through an open side doorway and made his way to the grand entry.
A woman was standing in the open foyer holding a flashlight.
He stopped short and the flashlight beam swung his way.
“Carter Wren?” she asked.
“Detective Rafferty?” he asked in return, adrenaline zipping through his veins. He generally loved the heightened feeling of danger, but he had to be careful here. Play the game for all it was worth. “What are you doing here?”
“Meeting you,” she said in a cool tone that instantly infuriated him. The bitch thought she was in control.
“We were supposed to meet at the office,” he reminded her just as coolly. “I was about to head there now. I wanted to check things out here because we’ve had some problems with vagrants.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really, Detective. And my sister’s in the hospital, so we need to make this short. I told you everything I know about Lance. If only Greg had lived. They were the ones who were friends.”
“What if I told you I don’t believe you?”
He laughed. “What is this, some kind of shakedown?” He spread his hands, thinking about the Taser in his pocket.
“I guess it is,” she said thoughtfully. “You killed Lance Patten, buried him, then moved him to the Singletons’ basement. You strangled Wendy Kirkendall with a willow branch and threw her into Schultz Lake. You coerced or forced Trinidad Finch into eating an energy bar made with cricket flour because you knew of her severe allergy to shellfish. You tased Christine Tern, dragged her to the Columbia River, and threw her in. And you tossed Belinda Meadowlark over the rail of a Washington State ferry. You’ve been playing a killing game for a long time and you’ve targeted Andrea Wren as your next victim.”
Carter was numb with shock. She didn’t know all his moves, but she sure as hell knew a lot of them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
Carter assessed his next move. Slowly, he moved his hand toward his pocket. He suspected she had a gun, but he could be on her in a flash. And from what he could tell, she looked tasty. Young, trim, smart. His cock stirred at the thought. He hadn’t gotten to have Andi, but this female detective was ripe for the picking.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” she said sharply.
“You’ve got me all wrong.” His fingers were inside the flap of his jacket pocket.
“Stop.”
No time to waste. He rushed her.
“Fucking stop right there!” another female voice rang out from the shadows. He turned and saw the muzzle of a gun staring him in the face. “Game over, asshole,” she snarled.
For a moment he almost ran, but then he calmed himself down and raised his hands. It’s never over. They don’t have anything on me. I’m too smart for them. Like brilliant, untouchable, reclusive Bobby Fischer, the youngest International Grandmaster of chess at age fifteen. The best chess player of all time. And Bobby disappeared for years and years. I’ll get off, and then I can, too. I’m just that smart.
Epilogue
Luke sat on a barstool at Tiny Tim’s nursing a beer. Andi was beside him, twirling the stem on the glass of Chardonnay she wasn’t really drinking. She’d recovered from the near drowning, but she was still feeling scared. She knew Carter had been taken into custody, but it didn’t erase the fear.
Luke’s pals from the Portland PD, Amberson, Yates, and DeSantos, had gathered at the bar to send off the Carrera brothers to the great hereafter. It certainly wasn’t a sad occasion, but it wasn’t really a joyous one either. After all, Peg Bellows had been a victim of the shootout at her cabin.