Fatal Disclosure (20 page)

It pained him to think of the lives that would be impacted if the smugglers were successful—dealers, users and their families, and police officers trying to stem the illegal flow into the country. For the second time that day, he bowed his head and prayed for Brock and Scott to be successful.

* * *

Betsy hadn’t been able to work all day. Every time she tried to concentrate on her latest painting, her thoughts turned to Mona, and guilt flooded through her. Her visit to Mona’s house last night had to be the cause of what happened. If Mona died, Betsy didn’t know how she could face it. She needed to get her mind on something else. She sighed, threw down the paint brush, and strode to the television across the room.

As she flipped through the channels, a news report of a storm approaching the island caught her attention. She turned the volume up and dropped down in her desk chair. An uneasy feeling rippled through her at the forecaster’s dire warning for islanders. The predicted storm promised to be the worst of the summer.

She ran to the window, pulled back the curtain and scanned the horizon. In the distance the dark sky supported the TV report. Her eyes widened at a sudden thought. In all the excitement of the last few days, she’d forgotten Will said their shipment to the Raleigh gallery would leave on the last ferry today. She wondered if he had heard the weather report. Maybe she should call him. The last time they sent a shipment when it was raining, water had leaked through a crack in the truck’s back door and damaged one of her paintings. She didn’t want that to happen again.

She pulled her cell phone from the pocket of the baggy capris she’d put on that morning and groaned. When she’d come home last night from Mona’s, she must have forgotten to put her phone on the charger, because now the battery was dead. Why hadn’t she noticed how low it was when Mark called earlier? She’d have to use the bed-and-breakfast’s phone.

She dashed down the stairs to Treasury’s office but skidded to a stop at the door. A man’s voice thundered inside the room. “What do you mean you’re all booked for tonight?”

Betsy recognized the tone of a man who Treasury had described as a very demanding guest. She inched closer and peeked into the room. “I can’t call back later. I’m going out for a few hours, and I’m having trouble getting cell phone service anywhere on this island. I’m on the landline at the place where I’m staying, and I’m not hanging up until I get an answer.” He paused a minute before he spoke again. “I’ll wait while you check. I’m sure you can find a table for me tonight if you try.”

Betsy glanced at her watch and frowned. She doubted if Treasury’s guest would give up his call long enough for her to use the phone. Throwing up her hands in despair, she turned and ran from the house. It would only take a few minutes to go to the gallery and check the shipment. She could be there and back before anybody knew she was gone.

She jumped in her car and reached for the ignition. Mark’s warning about not leaving her studio flashed in her mind, and she bit down on her lip. But he had meant for her not to go out in public. Will’s gallery was a different matter. Besides her studio, it was probably the safest place for her to be. Will would be there, and they could check the crates together before they were loaded on the truck.

She glanced at the approaching clouds one more time and made her decision. Mark might not like her going out, but she would deal with that later. Right now her paintings and their safe arrival at the Raleigh gallery were her primary concerns. She pressed down on the accelerator and pulled into the street.

She glanced in the rearview mirror a few moments later and spotted a black car pulling out from the street that ran beside Treasury’s house. A half block from Treasury’s house, she braked at a four-way stop and watched as the car approached from behind. A warning rippled through her body. The memory of cold fingers closing around her throat sent an icy chill through her. Maybe she should have done as Mark said and stayed at her studio. Was she being followed? There was only one way to find out.

At the next street instead of turning toward Will’s gallery, she headed straight through the village and out the road toward the beach ramp. Ignoring the fifteen mile per hour village speed limit, she sped through town. Just as she reached the outskirts, she caught sight of the black car several blocks behind her.

As she accelerated, she searched her mind for some way to lose the trailing car. Ahead she spotted Swanson’s Campground and drove through the entrance. Hoping she couldn’t be seen from the road, she pulled into a parking space on the far side of the small building that served as Mr. Swanson’s office and waited. From where she sat, she had a good view of the highway.

Within seconds, the black car sped by but didn’t turn into the campground. Betsy tried to catch a glimpse of someone inside, but all she could make out was that the driver wore sunglasses and a baseball cap. She waited a few minutes, then pulled onto the road and headed toward the village.

Her hands trembled and she gripped the steering wheel. She had no proof the car had been following her. It could have been a coincidence they were going in the same direction. As soon as she checked on her paintings, she would go back to the studio and not budge until Mark returned.

When she pulled into the parking lot of Will’s gallery, the Closed sign hung inside the front door. He always closed on the afternoons he loaded his pottery and her paintings on the truck bound for the mainland. She pulled around the building and came to a stop at the back of his studio. A panel truck sat near the porch, its back door open. Inside Betsy could see several crates that had already been loaded. She ran to the porch and pounded on the door.

“Will, let me in!”

The door opened, and Will stood there, a shocked expression on his face. “Betsy, what are you doing here?”

“Did you know there’s a storm coming?”

He nodded. “Yes. We’re trying to hurry with the loading so we can make the last ferry before the storm hits.”

“I thought I’d check to make sure my paintings are packed better this time.” She stepped forward.

He smiled and moved aside. “Maybe you’d better check them out.”

He closed the door behind her as she walked into the studio. Several men she’d never seen before were packing wrapped pieces of Will’s pottery in crates. One of them glanced up, and his eyebrows arched. His gaze shifted to Will, who gave a slight nod.

The silence that hung over the room sent goose bumps up her arm. Something wasn’t right here. She glanced around and spotted several long, flat boxes sitting on the work table. A young man who hadn’t noticed her arrival reached into one of them and pulled out a plastic bag filled with a white powder. He looked up as he handed the bag to the taller man, and his mouth dropped open.

Betsy frowned and turned to Will. “What are they doing?”

He smiled. “Packing the shipment to the gallery.”

She shook her head. “But what’s in that bag he’s putting in the crate?”

“What do you think it is?”

The truth hit Betsy like a slap in the face, and she shrank away from Will. “Cocaine?”

He nodded. “I always thought you were a smart girl, Betsy. You should have been smart enough to have given us the flash drive. Where is it?”

Betsy staggered backward and gaped at Will, the man she had worked with and trusted for two years. How could he be involved in the plot to kill her? But it all made sense. Mark had said they thought the smugglers were using an island business as a front for their shipments. And how better to avoid suspicion than to use the work of a family member of the island lawmen?

“How could you? I thought you were my friend.”

“I’ll ask once more. Where is the flash drive?” he asked through clenched teeth.

She lifted her chin and glared at him. “In the hands of the DEA, and they’ll stop you.”

Rage filled his face, and he advanced on her. “They have to catch me first.”

Panic-stricken at the anger flashing in his eyes, Betsy turned and ran for the door. Just as she reached for the knob, the door swung open. A man wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap blocked her exit. Before she could move, he grabbed her arms, swung her around to face Will, and marched her back into the room.

“What do you want me to do with her, Boss?” he growled.

Will stroked his chin and stared at her. After a moment, he shook his head and sighed. “Betsy, you could have spared me making this decision if you’d just cooperated at the beginning. You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good.” He smiled as a rumble of thunder drifted into the room. “The forecast says we’re in for a bad storm and high tides. Since Betsy enjoys being with the birds out on the Sound, I think we should give her the pleasure of seeing a storm up close. Tie her up and put her in one of the curtain blinds on the Sound, but tear the curtain off before you leave. We want to make sure the water takes care of her.”

“No!” Betsy screamed. “You can’t leave me out there to drown.” Tears streamed down her face. “I thought you were my friend.”

He shrugged and nodded to the man holding her. “Now get her out of here. We’ll get rid of her car and finish up here so the truck can make the four o’clock ferry. Then we’ll all leave this island on my boat.”

The man put his arm around her waist and picked her up. Betsy strained against his arms and kicked with all her might. “Hey,” he yelled. “I need some help here. Somebody grab her legs.”

One of the other men dashed across the room and grabbed her legs, but she continued to writhe and twist. In the struggle she felt something slip from her pocket. Her phone with its cover of brightly colored swirling flowers and butterflies tumbled to the floor. Her heart thudded as the phone landed underneath a table. The thought that she should have called Mark before leaving Treasury’s flashed in her mind, and she twisted in her captor’s grip again.

The third man rushed up beside her and wrapped a piece of rope around her legs. She winced as he pulled the rope tight, and she groaned as another rope circled her wrists and tied them behind her back. Then they dropped her to the floor where she landed facedown. The impact stunned her for a moment, and the taste of blood filled her mouth.

Will knelt beside her, a piece of cloth in his hand. “I hope you enjoy your day on the water, Betsy.”

He wrapped the cloth around her mouth and tied it at the back of her head. When he stepped away and turned his back, two of the men picked her up, carried her outside, and tossed her into the backseat of the black car she had seen following her earlier.

As the car began to move, Betsy forced herself to breathe deeply. She’d heard her family discuss many times how important it was to collect details that might lead to the capture of a criminal. After a moment, despair welled up in her. Why was she kidding herself? Nobody knew where she was. She should never have left without letting Mark know. Even after she realized the black car was following her, she should have driven to the police station instead of to Will’s studio. Her independent nature had really gotten her in trouble this time, and she felt more alone than she’d ever been in her life.

Just like at the general store when she’d been taken hostage, her mother’s face materialized in her mind. Her mother might not be with her any longer, but the faith she’d instilled in Betsy still ruled her life.

She closed her eyes and prayed for strength to face what lay ahead.

* * *

Mark swallowed the last bite of the hamburger Lisa had brought him. He hadn’t seen Brock or Scott in the last thirty minutes, and he wondered what was going on in the interrogation room. He stood up and ambled over to the window. The sky had grown darker, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

The door opened, and he turned to see Scott striding into the room. A big grin lit his face. “We got a call from Sheriff Baxter’s office on the mainland. Mona regained consciousness about an hour ago and was able to give a statement to one of our officers. She told him how Mac threatened to kill her when he found her leaving. He hit her and she fell.”

Mark nodded. “Good. So have you told Mac this?”

“Yeah, that and the fact that we have his footprint in the blood on Mona’s bedroom floor finally broke him. He’s facing attempted-murder charges. We told him we’d see what we could do to help if he came clean about the drugs.”

“Did he?”

“He gave it all up, told us how he met the divers out at the beach last night and took the containers of drugs to their destination here on the island.”

Mark’s heart kicked against his chest. “Did he tell you where he took them?”

Scott smiled. “He sure did, even told us the name of the guy who’s the head man on the island. Will Cardwell.”

Mark could hardly believe his ears. “Will Cardwell, Betsy’s friend?”

Scott chuckled. “One and the same. And the drugs are leaving the island this afternoon. Some are going in a shipment of Will’s pottery, but some are going by car. He has no idea who’s transporting by car, though.”

Mark glanced at his watch. “It’s three-thirty now. We need to get down to the ferry and stop that truck of Will’s before it gets on board. As for the cars, we’ll have to search them. Can you get a drug dog over here from the mainland?”

A loud clap of thunder split the air and rattled the windows in the room. Scott ran to the window and peered out. “It looks like the storm is about to hit full force. To get a dog here in time, we’d have to bring him over on a helicopter. It doesn’t look like that’s going to happen in this weather.”

Mark raked his hand through his hair and groaned. “Then we’ll have to try and figure out which car it is. Are you and Brock finished with Mac?”

“Yeah. He’s in a cell. Brock was talking with one of the other deputies when I came in here. He’s sending him to keep an eye on Will’s studio, and Larry Hamilton, the other one on duty, is going to the ferry to help us.”

“Let me know when you’re ready,” Mark called out as Scott hurried from the room. “I want to check on Betsy and tell her what we’ve found out.”

He punched in Betsy’s number and waited for her to answer. After a few rings, it went to voice mail. He pulled the phone from his ear and frowned. Why wasn’t she answering? He waited a few minutes and dialed again. Her voice mail kicked on right away. He ended the call and punched in the number for the bed-and-breakfast. Treasury answered on the first ring.