Part 9 (2/2)

Cut-and-pasted letters, just like the ones on Drake's numerous threatening notes, spelled out the word GOTCHA! The second wrapper revealed the same, as did the one she'd retrieved from the wastepaper basket in her en suite bathroom. At least now they knew the threat was real. Whoever was sending the notes was serious.

”Okay.” Lucas folded each wrapper and placed them inside another plastic bag. He focused his attention on Blue then. ”Whoever is doing this is close. He, or she, is aware of your moves. Probably the two men you ran into last night were hired to spook you, though, as you say the sheriff suggested, they could have been simply local lowlife.”

”But the soap, Mr. Camp. It seems illogical...a taunt versus real harm. I've checked everything else in the house. Every can, every package, every little thing. Only the soap was tampered with. Why not just make a real move on Drake?”

”The intended target was Drake, I'm certain,” Lucas concluded. ”It would tie into his condition.”

A frown pinched its way across her forehead. She didn't like not knowing about his condition. ”Why is that?”

Lucas averted his gaze briefly. ”That's a question you'll have to ask Drake. I can't give you that information without breaching protocol.” He searched her eyes for a time, trying to read more than she wanted him to. ”Unless your reason is personal, there are really no grounds for you to know. That detail has no bearing on your ability to perform your duty. You know all you need to.”

Blue was the one who looked away then. ”You're right, of course. I'm just curious.”

Lucas wasn't buying that for a second. He didn't have to say so, she read it in his posture and his expression.

A heavy sigh disrupted the silence that followed. ”There's something wrong here, Callahan, and I can't put my finger on it. I don't like it. Not only is it not the general's style, it's too disorganized for anyone who'd plotted revenge for five long years. Tampering with soap that might or might not end up in Drake's shower. Sending the notes for weeks on end. It's as if rather than warning us, our player is baiting us, trying to reel us in to some sort of trap.” His gaze narrowed as he mulled over his conclusions. ”I can't shake the feeling that we're missing something right under our noses.”

Blue had to agree. It did look that way...felt that way too. ”Chester checks out,” she reminded him, knowing where his thoughts had likely gone.

”So did Mr. Companion, Lowell, but that doesn't mean that one of them isn't hiding something. It only means that we haven't discovered it yet.”

She shook her head in denial. ”Not Lowell, Chester maybe. He thinks Drake is some sort of weirdo, even called him a vampire. Though he seems harmless, if I had to bet on one of them, it would be him. Lowell's been here for a year. He could have hurt Drake long ago.” Or the old woman who'd issued her that warning, she didn't add. That little incident was still a little too creepy for her to bring up. She'd planned to broach the subject with Lowell, but things kept getting in her way...like kissing Drake or showering with broken gla.s.s.

”From now on you and Drake are only to eat what you have personally prepared. Don't swallow anything you haven't checked at least twice. Keep your head low, Callahan,” Lucas warned as he gathered the soap and notes. ”Don't trust anyone.” He eyed her speculatively. ”Not even Drake. He may have crossed a line, mentally speaking, that we're unaware of. That may be what we're missing.”

As far as Blue could tell, the only person around here who'd crossed a line for a certainty was her, but she had no intention of saying so to the boss. Instead, she nodded. ”Will do, sir.”

She walked Lucas out. The dark sedan that had brought him waited in the drive. She arched an eyebrow in surprise. ”Wow. How'd you rate such a cool ride?” Compared to Chester's truck, the sedan was a limo.

Lucas winked at her. ”I have my sources, Callahan. When you've been in this business as long as I have, you know how to pull the proverbial rabbit out of a hat.” He turned to leave, but glanced back before doing so. ”Remember, I'm just a 9-1-1 away,” he reminded, referring to his panic pager and their special code for help.

”Yes, sir.”

Blue watched him go. For a man who walked with a prosthesis and a cane, his progress was efficient and fairly smooth, like that of all cunning predators. Anyone who thought Lucas innocuous because he had a handicap and had seen the better half of a century, should be warned. Lucas Camp was one-hundred-percent lethal when necessary. And all charm and grace the rest of the time.

He gave her one last nod before settling into the back seat of the car. He even had his own driver, but the tinted windows prevented her from seeing who was behind the wheel. Lucas was too cool. Here she was struggling with the whole Gilligan's Island atmosphere and Lucas had a car and driver. She imagined he'd earned the right though...or simply taken it.

The car hesitated before moving down the long drive. Two seconds later Lowell pedaled his bicycle around the vehicle and into the yard. The sedan pulled away, disappearing into the camouflaging depths of the overgrown drive.

”Who was that?” Lowell swung his leg over the bike, removed his wide-brimmed hat and stared after the car, a frown muddling his expression. He lifted a bag from the basket, which Blue a.s.sumed held new and personally inspected soap. She'd sure be inspecting the bar she used from now on.

”That was my boss.”

Lowell swiveled toward her, his eyes rounded in astonishment. ”What?”

Incredulous was not an apt description of his reaction. Shocked was the better word. Confusion added to the mix of worrisome thoughts already troubling her.

She nodded. ”He picked up the soap and the latest letter Drake received.”

”Lucas Camp is on the island?” Lowell moved toward her, his startled expression gaining momentum rather than calming. ”Already...I mean...now?” he stuttered. ”I didn't know you called him.”

She hadn't wanted to divulge Lucas's presence, but since Lowell had practically run headlong into him there wasn't really any way around it. He knew everyone on the island. Explaining away that car would have been impossible. Since Lowell knew Lucas's name, she had to a.s.sume Rothman had pa.s.sed on that information.

”Is something wrong?” she queried. There had to be a reasonable explanation for Lowell's odd behavior. What did he care if Lucas was here? He didn't even know the man.

Composure fell too quickly into place and he smiled, the surface convention strained to say the least. ”It's nothing and everything, I suppose.”

Lowell gave a dramatic wave of his arms as if his burden was too immense to handle. ”The whole thing is spiraling into the bizarre. Chester insists that no one but him had access to last week's order. He didn't stop anywhere or talk to anyone after picking up the items at the store. The boxes were never out of his sight.” Lowell climbed the steps and stood next to her, peering out over the yard with a defeated sigh. ”That leaves only you and me.” He turned to her, his expression grave now. ”I didn't do this terrible thing, Blue. I would never.”

She dredged up a smile in spite of her uneasiness about his behavior. He was just as confused as she was. Upset too. ”Somehow someone had to have gotten access before the goods arrived at the house.” She chewed her lower lip and contemplated her next question. The last thing she wanted to do was unsettle him further. ”Is Chester a drinker?”

Lowell shrugged. ”He's been known to on occasion. But he has always been extremely reliable.” He shook his head. ”I'm sorry, but I'm inclined to believe what he says. Chester wouldn't hurt a fly. If he'd been drinking and perhaps allowed such a lapse in judgment by letting our supplies out of his sight, I believe he would simply say so.”

He certainly knew Chester better than she did. Maybe he was right. But, as Lucas said, something wasn't right here. The answer could be right under their noses. She thought of the old woman again. It was now or never. She had to ask Lowell about her. She looked toward the forest on the north side of the house, the area where she and Drake had run into trouble last night. ”I ran into someone else in the woods last night,” Blue began, hoping like h.e.l.l this wasn't going to sound as crazy to him as it did to her.

”Oh?” His questioning gaze connected with hers when she faced him once more. ”Besides the riffraff?”

She nodded. ”An old woman. She warned me that something bad was coming and that I should be very careful. She even called me by name.”

Lowell looked skeptical. ”What did this woman look like?”

Blue thought about that for a moment. It had been awfully dark. ”Her skin was mahogany almost, maybe she was African-American, I can't say for sure. She wore a lot of jewelry and-” she gestured to her head ”-something tied around her hair, like a bandanna maybe. The most distinguis.h.i.+ng feature was a scar-” she traced a line across her cheek ”-from the corner of her eye to the edge of her mouth. It looked pale against her skin, you couldn't miss it even in the dark.”

Lowell went ashen. ”The old voodoo woman?” The words were barely audible.

Blue shrugged and made a sound of uncertainty. ”I don't know who she was. Just an old woman who, oddly enough, knew my name. I guess she kind of looked like someone who dabbled in voodoo.”

Lowell was shaking his head now. ”That's not possible. The woman you're describing is dead. She died about thirty years ago and is buried behind the old chapel. I've heard the tall tales about her. She's definitely dead.”

Drake's words about the old voodoo witch rang out in her head. She laughed, the sound tight, maybe even a little nervous. But she didn't believe in that stuff. ”Look, I know what I saw and this old woman was definitely alive.”

Lowell reached for the door to the house. ”Maybe the darkness or the moonlight played a trick on you. With the fog we had last night, sometimes your imagination runs away with you.” He frowned when he noticed the door wasn't locked.

”I just came out to see Lucas off,” she explained as she followed him inside. He didn't respond, just locked up as usual. No matter what Lowell thought was possible or impossible, she knew what she'd seen, fog or no fog. The old woman had been real...and very much alive.

NOAH STOOD on the widow's walk, camouflaged in the darkness. He'd risen more than an hour ago, but he'd chosen to stay in his rooms rather than join the others downstairs. He wasn't ready to face her again so soon. He wasn't sure he ever would be. So he'd worked.

He'd hardly slept at all this day. His own actions where Maggie Callahan was concerned troubled him greatly. He'd kept his distance for all these years...been strong and now that strength seemed to diminish with each breath he took, with every moment she stayed.

His thoughts were consumed by her. He wanted to be with her more than he wanted anything else. It was absurd. He barely knew her...certainly couldn't feel anything beyond physical attraction for her. Yet it felt like so much more. His traitorous emotions scarcely considered the reasons she had come, his complete attention perpetually fixated on her alone. The threat of death be d.a.m.ned.

How foolhardy was that?

Then, it wouldn't be the first time he'd been a fool. He'd spent what const.i.tuted the best part of his lifetime putting his career before all else, focusing solely on the job. What made him think he would show better judgment now, in exile? All that had saved him these past five years was total segregation.

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