Deadly Fate (31 page)

* * *

Thor arrived at Black Bear Island alone—and not alone.

He had Boris and Natasha.

Jackson and Mike would be heading out as soon as possible, but he couldn't wait for them. Enfield had wanted to arrange police and Coast Guard assistance—Thor had pretended they'd lost the connection.

He couldn't wait for anyone.

He'd snagged the first boat he could find; luckily, it was with someone he knew well, a weathered older man of Russian and Native American descent—as rugged, worn and hardy as the landscape itself. Thor didn't have to say a lot to the man; he moved at the greatest possible speed as they made their way across.

Every minute of the ride was agony for Thor.

He'd quit trying Clara's cell. She already had a dozen messages from him. If she had her phone, she'd call him back.

He tried to tell himself that Clara was fit—working the theater had kept her so. He realized that neither of them knew yet what each other's daily routines were like, but he was pretty sure that she was young enough for roles that called for a certain physical prowess, and that she went to a gym on a regular basis. He thought about her when she was at his family compound, playing with the dogs, the laughter in her eyes when she looked up at him with delight. He didn't know that much about her.

He knew, however, that she meant everything to him now.

Boris and Natasha jumped onto the dock before the boat was even tied; Thor didn't wait, either. He thanked the man who had brought him across, overpaid him.

And ran, the dogs moving ahead of him.

He didn't have keys for any of the snowmobiles; he had to run the distance. But he kept pace with Boris and Natasha, glad the snow was no deeper than a few inches.

He felt his lungs burning but that didn't slow him.

He should have known! Should have known when he talked with Emmy that she had stayed with Kimball because she needed the job to carry out the plan—and that her hatred for him had grown and grown. She was a prime target for a man like Tate Morley. A young woman who was never appreciated by anyone else, who desperately needed love. She would have had all the possible business resources to begin and carry on a correspondence with Tate Morley in prison—scrambled emails, throwaway cash phones and letters...all those coded letters the Bureau had combed through. From so many maniacs corresponding with a killer—Jane Doe or Becca Marle among them and also Marc Kimball...but really, Emmy Vincenzo. As long as she toed the line, Kimball wouldn't have questioned business expenses; he had enough correspondence himself.

All carried out by his assistant.

He doubted that Emmy had actually committed the murders; she had merely made the arrangements. Maybe she'd fallen in love with him, watching his trial, reading about him, seeing him on television. She had set everything in motion for him to arrive; she had arranged for warm clothing and tools and a place to stay. She'd known timing; she'd known all about the reality show.

And she'd known Black Bear Island.

He should have seen it!

She had killed Kimball, right when help had come. Of course, even the Bureau's top psychologists would have thought that a normal reaction. Bullets had flown; the moments were filled with high anxiety. She had been terrified; she'd already been beaten and abused.

But he should have seen it.

Running, running, running...they reached the Mansion.

“Boris, Natasha! Secret!” he said.

The dogs crouched low and stayed behind him as they approached the house.

The front door was open; he carefully walked in. He knew almost instantly that no one was there; the house had a feel—cavernous and empty.

“Boris, Natasha—search!” he told them. He said the last with pain.

What if Clara was here? What if she was already...

He wouldn't say it; he wouldn't think it.

The dogs ran up the stairs and throughout the house; Thor quickly checked the downstairs rooms. In the kitchen, he saw the open door there.

Clara had found her way out.

She was alive, and she was out there.

* * *

Clara ran...

And ran.

She was afraid to look back and she didn't do so for the longest time.

Emmy was far shorter than she was—and Clara was a good runner.

But while she could outrun Emmy, she couldn't outrun a bullet, so she had to dodge her way across the terrain as she headed for the Alaska Hut.

She'd done so once before, run in sheer terror for her life. And now she was doing it again, her footsteps crunching in the snow, her breath a billow before her, body on fire against the cold that curled around her.

She heard a shot; she plowed ahead, leaping over a snowbank, then slammed down to the earth, her heart thundering. She held still for a split second and looked back. The shot had been wide. She found herself counting bullets...

Why? Who the hell knew what kind of a gun Emmy had?

Looking back, she could see that the girl was still far away. And she was looking for her now—she didn't see her ahead. Emmy might have mapped the island and seen to it that Tate Morley had everything he needed here, but she didn't seem to be much of a tracker. She wasn't looking for footprints—she was staring across the distance.

She was halfway, Clara thought. Halfway to the Alaska Hut, where she'd find Justin and Magda. They would help her...they would let her in.

Justin would have a method of defense.

She had to get there; she had to reach it. But, as soon as she rose...

She heard another shot; had Emmy seen her? She crept along, facedown in the snow.

She lifted her head and peered into the distance; Emmy had paused. She seemed to be studying the gun. Clara decided that she had to take the time and run again.

Had the gun jammed? Pray God!

Clara stood and she began to run and run...

The Alaska Hut was just ahead of her.

She was suddenly aware of barking and baying...

Dogs!

“Clara!”

She turned around. Now Emmy was looking backward—looking at the two large huskies bounding at her. Clara could hear someone shouting; she heard a gun go off...

Suddenly, she was running in reverse.

Thor was there; his FBI Glock aimed at Emmy as the dogs raced up to her, barking a warning.

But Emmy raised her gun anyway.

She wasn't going to shoot; she was going to slam it down on Natasha's head.

Clara was amazed by her own renewed burst of speed.

Emmy never had a chance to raise the gun against Clara. Clara landed on her in a fury. Natasha went for the woman's wrist. Emmy let out a scream and released the gun.

And then Thor was there, pulling Clara up against him, reciting something he'd been taught by the FBI to Emmy, who just lay on her back in the snow.

“Shoot me!” Emmy pleaded. “Shoot me—let me be with him!”

They heard another voice. “Shoot her! Shoot the stupid, wretched little bitch!”

It was Amelia Carson, standing there in the snow. The breeze seemed to move her clothing and her hair. She looked so beautiful and so sad.

“Living is the most horrible punishment for her,” Thor said softly.

Boris and Natasha let out their husky howls.

Clara sank down to her knees in the snow. She simply couldn't stand anymore.

Epilogue

C
lara finished her goodbye song to Larry Hepburn. She was gratified that there was a beat after the song ended when no one moved.

She was offstage and could smile when she heard a sniffle from the audience.

Nothing like it.

Well, and then the thunderous applause that followed.

There were another three to four minutes until the play ended; she stood in the wings waiting for the curtain call.

As she did, she thought she heard another sniff—right by her side.

“That was beautiful. Really beautiful,” Amelia Carson told her. Clara could feel the softness of the ghost's touch on her shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“I mean,” Amelia said, “everyone felt it. The love. The sadness.” Amelia was silent a minute. “No one really loved me. I guess my own fault. I wasn't looking for love—I wanted to be famous. World famous!”

“I'm sure you were loved.”

“Not like that. Not like you're loved,” Amelia said, and before she could sound too morose, she quickly added, “not that your kindly nature didn't almost get you killed—twice!”

“Ah, but you helped save me, you know.”

“I did, didn't I?”

Clara nodded. “Amelia, I know you're loved. You have family, gone before you. I know they loved you. And Natalie Fontaine—you two were close, great friends!”

“I have a feeling that I have to leave, and I'm so afraid,” Amelia said. “Talking to you...it's getting harder and harder. And I feel that I'm fading, that I should be turning... Is all that stuff about walking into the light true?” Amelia asked hopefully.

“I think so,” Clara said.

She heard the sound of applause again; time for their curtain call. She hurried out at the appropriate moment, meeting up with Larry Hepburn, taking his hand.

She received all kinds of beautiful flowers, and she, Larry, Ralph, Simon and Connie all congratulated one another as they headed to their dressing rooms. The director called out her satisfaction regarding the show.

Thor was waiting for her in her dressing room. He wasn't alone.

She'd known he'd be with Jackson and Angela; Angela had met them before the
Fate
had sailed.

Jackson was basically his own boss, and apparently his office of special units ran like clockwork—it was like an ensemble cast, Jackson had once told her. The Krewe of Hunters all worked together.

She knew, too, that Thor had accepted an assignment with the Krewe.

What she didn't know was that there would be another guest in her dressing room—an extremely distinguished elderly gentleman with silver hair, a perfectly tall physique and wonderful light eyes. He seemed to have a strange combination of authority and kindness about him.

“Adam Harrison, Clara Avery,” Thor told her. “And Josh, his son.”

She glanced around at Josh. He was a thin youth who appeared to be seventeen or eighteen. He had a quick smile, slightly tousled brown hair and a great manner. “How do you do,” he told her. “You were brilliantly cool, by the way.”

Clara went to take his hand; only then did she realize that he was a ghost. She swallowed hard—what? You saw one ghost and the floodgates opened?

She thanked Josh then and asked them to make themselves at home and apologized—the dressing room was very small.

“No, no, we apologize. We need to get out of your hair,” Adam Harrison said.

“Adam is our great and fearless leader,” Angela Hawkins told her.

“Ah, yes, well, I knew about people like you because...because, well, Josh was always especially talented. I started putting the right people on the right project years and years ago and then, well, friends at the Bureau and I got together and formed the Krewe.”

“I see. Wonderful, and a true pleasure,” Clara murmured.

“Actually, I have a proposition for you, Miss Avery.”

“Clara, please,” she murmured.

“Just let me show you something,” he said.

He pulled an iPad from his jacket and touched it a few times, then offered the screen. The facade of a magnificent Victorian theater leapt onto the display; wide, sweeping marble steps led to an outer patio, stained-glass windows led into the foyer. Adam ran a finger over the screen; she could see the audience, the mezzanine, the orchestra pit and the balconies. He touched the iPad again—she saw the size and majesty of the stage.

“It's a beautiful theater, fantastic really! Where is it?”

“Alexandria, Virginia. Easy access from DC and Northern Virginia. People even come up from Richmond for performances,” Adam told her.

“It's beautiful,” she said, waiting. Had Thor finagled her a position at the theater? “Is it public, or private, or...”

“I've just purchased it,” Adam said.

“Oh!”

“But it needs management—an artistic director. Frankly, I just wanted to buy it. It was up for sale, and it could have gone the way of many a beautiful old historic property.”

“Well, I know something about running the books, but—”

“I believe we can hire a bookkeeper. But! We need someone who knows plays, who knows actors and actresses, a casting process...and, of course, someone who performs, themselves, someone who can make children love theater.”

Clara looked at Thor, amazed, worried. “You are joining the Krewe, right?”

“I am,” Thor said.

“Did you...did you ask Mr. Harrison to buy a theater because...”

“Oh, no, no—I bought the theater a few months ago,” Adam said. “And now these strange cases, and a call from Jackson...and here Josh and I are, aboard the
Fate
!” He had such a great smile and he shrugged with one of those grins. “I mean, hey, seems like
fate
to me, right?”

“Oh, thank you! But, I... I'm afraid! That's major—”

“I haven't seen you afraid enough not to fight, ever,” Thor said lightly.

“Are you kidding me? Say yes!”

She hadn't realized she hadn't closed her door. Ralph, Simon, Larry and Connie were just outside, listening to every word.

Ralph walked in and introduced himself boldly, saying he'd be delighted to help with such an enterprise and that they were an ensemble, ready to really give every bit of energy and talent they had to make a go of such a place.

Then Larry and Simon were in the room, and everyone was talking and somewhere in it all, she said, “Yes, yes! As soon as we finish out our contracts here, of course.”

Everyone was kissing her—even Josh, with a cool brush on her cheek.

There was champagne; people talked and talked. She finally changed, and they met on the Promenade Deck and talked some more.

And finally, very late, she wound up out on the deck with Thor. They could see the crystal glaciers rising by the ship's light, because even in Alaskan waters, it was nearly dark by then.

They kissed.

“We'll both be away from home,” she murmured. “Hm, maybe home is where the huskies are?”

It seemed impossible. They'd both start life anew. Even Jackson, in his way.

“You are home to me,” Thor told her, his lips close, his whisper sweet, and it all ended with a fantastic kiss in the gentle chill of the night air and the strange display of light and shadow that was an Alaskan late summer night.

Clara was seeking just the right thing to say as their lips parted, but she never had the chance.

They were interrupted.

“Sweet! Oh, yeah, how almost flippingly nauseatingly sweet!”

Of course, it was Amelia, looking faint and pale.

Clara laughed and said, “Oh, Amelia. Join us!”

Amelia came to them. She'd been wearing one of her cocky expressions, but that wavered and her eyes were wide when she said, “I'm scared.”

Clara noted then that Thor was looking outward—toward the glacier. He shook his head. “Strange,” he said. “There's a ray of light. It doesn't seem to be from the ship. It's not moonlight, and I don't see what else...”

He broke off. Clara knew why. The light was different from anything she'd ever seen. It seemed to pour in a glittering and golden line toward them.

She heard Thor inhale and say softly, “Mandy.”

She saw the woman, too. She was part of the light. She was beautiful with dark hair and large eyes and a face that was serene and perfect. And she smiled and reached out a hand.

She wasn't looking at Clara—or even Thor.

“A friend,” Clara said softly. “Amelia, you don't need to be afraid. You have a friend—you won't be alone.”

“Oh!” Amelia said.

“Just go forward. Take her hand.”

Amelia turned to look at Clara. “You would have been such a great friend. But I'd have been too stupid to know it...to care.”

“You never know,” Clara said. “I feel I'm saying goodbye to a friend.”

“A good friend,” Thor said.

Amelia hesitated a minute longer and then shrugged. “Maybe they have a form of television up there. Oh! You do think I'm going up?” she asked nervously.

“Mandy is definitely going up,” Thor said. “And she's waiting for you.”

Amelia nodded. And she moved forward and took the hand offered to her—the hand of Mandy Brandt.

Thor slipped his arm around Clara. It was an Alaskan sky, yes...

But the light show that they saw then seemed to rival anything, anywhere in the world.

And then it ended, just as magically as it had begun.

Thor's arms tightened around her. She leaned against him for a moment, and she smiled. And she had to wonder if meeting him here might have really been...

Fate.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
HAUNTED DESTINY
by Heather Graham.