Identity Unknown (6 page)

Sasha shook his head.

“Thirsty?” She walked to a small refrigerator in the corner. “Pastor Wilson keeps water here.” She pulled out bottles of water. “Sheriff? John?”

“I'm good,” replied Sheriff Crump.

Seeing the sharp way Sasha stared at him, John nodded. “Sure. I'll take one.” What John really wanted was to shake the man and force him to talk, but he knew torture in any form wouldn't give the desired results, so he followed Audrey's lead to build a rapport with their suspect. “What about you, Sasha? A cold bottle of water?”

Sasha looked away and shook his head.

Audrey walked back with two bottles of water and handed one to John. “You know, Sasha, at the moment all we have you on is assault with intent to do bodily harm by pointing a loaded weapon at an officer. We can't prove you blew up the generator. If you help us by telling us who and why someone wants this man dead—” she pointed to John “—we can help you.”

Sasha snorted. “You can't help me. I'm dead. Just like he's dead.”

His pronouncement shuddered through John.

“We can protect you,” she insisted.

The door to the office opened, and Paulson stuck his head inside. “The electricity's back on.”

Sheriff Crump straightened and took Sasha by the arm. “Come on, I've got a jail cell waiting for you.”

The sheriff led Sasha out the door.

Audrey met John's gaze. The anxiety in her eyes had him stopping in his tracks.

“He's not the man from the hospital.”

John's heart slammed to a halt. “What?”

“The man at the hospital didn't have an accent and was leaner.” Her grim tone constricted his lungs. His stomach dropped. There were more bad guys out there determined to kill him.

A shout from outside drew their attention. They ran to the door. The sheriff and Paulson had their guns drawn and their flashlights lighting up the dark as they stood back to back. Sasha lay on the grass.

Immediately John grabbed Audrey, dragging her farther into the shelter of the windowless vestibule. “Kill the lights.”

Audrey hurried to the wall panel and flipped the lights off, shrouding the church in darkness.

“Where'd the shot come from?” Crump demanded.

“I don't know,” Paulson responded in a high-pitched tone full of panic.

John crouched in the doorway. “Sheriff, you two need to find cover.”

The sheriff knelt on one knee and checked Sasha's neck. John already knew the sheriff wouldn't find a pulse. Sasha had been dealt a catastrophic head shot directly to the brain stem. He was dead before he hit the ground. Just as John would have been if he'd stepped outside the church.

SIX

“I
have to leave,” John said, barely able to discern Audrey's outline in the darkened vestibule. They stood inside the door, careful to stay in the shadows and out of the ambient light coming from the moon outside the church. His gut clenched. Leaving was the only answer. “I can't stay here. I'm putting you and your town in danger.”

“I know. I've got to move you to a more secure location.” The hard determination in her tone came at him through the shadows.

He frowned in the dark and shook his head. She didn't get his meaning. “Not
with
you. I have to go on my own. I can disappear.”

“No.” Her voice was adamant. “That's not happening.”

Her stubbornness could get her killed. “It will be safer for you.”

“Don't make this about me.” She stalked forward until she was standing in front of him. He could feel the heat of her annoyance buffeting him. He could imagine her blue eyes sparking and wished he could see her face.

“I'm a professional and I have a job to do,” she insisted. “Part of that job is protecting you. I'm not letting you take off alone. You don't have any money or ID. And unless you plan to become a criminal, you're not getting either one.”

He hated to admit it, but what she said was true. Frustration banded across his chest. “How do you know I'm not already a criminal? I'm dressed exactly like Sasha.”

She let out a little noise of irritation. “Black clothes don't make you a criminal.”

He had to make her see his point. “But I could be. You said I'd muttered a word when you found me on the beach.” He reached out, and though it was too dark to see her, his aim was true. His hand gripped her shoulders. “Do you remember what I said?”

“Of course.
Betrayed.
”

The word hung between them, sending a shudder down his spine.

“Then doesn't it stand to reason that whomever I betrayed is after me?” He released her to pace into the inky corner. “And if I betrayed someone who has the means and the mind-set to hire guns to kill me, I'd say that there's no doubt a criminal element is at play here and I'm smack-dab in the middle.”

“I agree there is a criminal element at work.” Her voice took on that soothing, you'll-do-as-I-want tone he'd heard her use on others.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth despite himself. She really was something, this beautiful and determined deputy.

“But until you're proven to be a criminal, I have to consider you a witness and a victim.” Her words were a punch to the gut.

He let out a scoff. “I'm a victim, all right. A victim of a defective mind.”

“Can you hold off on the pity party until we get out of here?”

He barked out a laugh. The woman never gave an inch. He liked that about her.

Audrey drew in a breath. “John, you also have to consider the fact that someone might have betrayed you.”

The darkness pressed in on him. Had someone betrayed him? Was that what this was all about? The reason someone wanted him dead? His fingers curled into a tight fist.

Audrey's cell phone lit up as she dialed the sheriff. She covered the screen with her hand to mute the light. The ringing of the sheriff's phone placed him still in the side yard. Audrey put the phone on speaker when the sheriff answered.

“I'm taking John out of here through the tunnels,” she informed him. “Then I'm driving him to the captain's.”

Where exactly was this captain located? And what tunnels? John kept his curiosity in check. He'd ask later.

There was a moment of silence before the sheriff responded. “That's probably the safest place. I'll send Paulson with you and then I'll relieve him tomorrow.”

“Fine. Tell Dan to go home and pack a bag. Ask him if he has anything that might fit John,” Audrey said. “John and I will swing by and pick him up in an hour after I've stopped by my place.”

“Copy.” The sheriff hesitated before adding, “Audrey, be careful.”

“Of course.” She hung up and grabbed John's arm and slid her hand down until she clasped his hand. “Come on. We're leaving.”

He allowed her to pull him from the vestibule to one of the double doors. “Uh, how exactly are we getting out of here?”

“Have you ever heard of the Embargo Act of 1807?” She led him into the sanctuary.

“Couldn't tell you one way or another.”

“Right. Okay, fair enough.” Moonlight streamed through the high stained glass windows, allowing enough multicolored shards of light for them to weave their way through the pews toward the front of the church. “Construction on this church began in 1805 and was finished in 1810. In the year 1807, President Jefferson imposed an embargo on foreign trade that lasted for two years. Needless to say the whole Down East was hit hard. The small settlement at Calico Bay was in jeopardy of disappearing. Being that people still needed to export and import goods, the craftsmen working on the church devised a plan. They proceeded to build a tunnel under the church that extends all the way to the cliffs.”

She knelt in front of the altar and patted the floor. He squatted next to her. “Lose something?”

“I'm looking for the handle. It's inlaid into the wood.”

“Handle?”

“Smuggling goods to and from ships anchored off the coast was how people survived. Then the War of 1812 happened, and the tunnels were used by the militia to defend the bay. Aha. Found it.”

“How do you even know the tunnels are still there?”

“I grew up in this town, remember? I've explored every inch of the tunnels, the cliffs and the forest on the west side of the town.” She planted her feet and grasped the handle to lift a two-by-two hatch carved into the floor. “Grab the edge.”

He did as she asked, easily lifting the lid all the way. He peered into darkness below. He thought he heard a rustling sound. Were there snakes in Maine? An image from a movie slammed into his mind. The hero of the action flick fell into a pit of snakes. A shudder of revulsion vibrated outward from John's core. Why could he remember a movie and not something important like his name or his life?

“There's a ladder” she said. “We'll have to go by feel until we close the hatch. I don't want to use my light until we're safely below ground.”

She sat on the ledge and felt around with the toe of her boot until she found the ladder rung. “Got it.” She held out her hand. “Sit next to me.”

John slipped his palm flat against hers. Warmth shot up his arm from the point of contact. Her fingers entwined with his as he settled on the edge.

“Can you balance the hatch while you go down the ladder?” she asked, her voice oddly breathless.

“I can manage that.”

She slipped off the ledge and disappeared into the pit below. After a few moments, she called out, “Okay, start down.”

John used the toe of his boot to find the rung of the ladder, then he climbed down, slowly allowing the hatch to close behind him, blocking the moonlight until only darkness remained. His hands tightened on the rung as his foot touched the ground. Audrey flipped on her flashlight, illuminating a long tunnel carved through the earth and bolstered by thick wooden beams.

Damp, earthy scents filled his nose, making him itch. An uneasy shiver worked its way through him. He decided he wasn't fond of enclosed places. “Are you sure this won't collapse on us?”

She laughed. “Yes, I'm sure. This way.”

They traveled through the dark, dank tunnel for several yards. A rodent scurried along the ground beside him.

They finally came to a wooden door with large black hinges and a lever latch that let out a loud squeak as Audrey lifted it. Then she pushed the door wide enough for them to slip through.

They were at the base of a cliff just north of the beach where John had washed ashore. He breathed in deep of the salt-tinged air, liking the refreshing way it cleared off the itch to his senses and made his chest expand. Definitely more comfortable in open spaces.

Audrey walked away from the water to a berm separating the beach from the street. John followed, the sand making his gait unbalanced. He paused to turn back to the sea, his gaze on the churning ocean. Moonlight danced on the white-crested waves that undulated with the rough current. The lights of Canada twinkled in the distance like little beacons.

Audrey retraced her steps to his side. “John?”

Could he have washed ashore from the country across the bay? “Have you heard from the Canadian government?”

“Not yet. You have to be patient.”

“I wonder if patience is one of my virtues.”

She tucked her arm through his and steered him toward the road. “Patience takes discipline. There may be people who are born with an extra dose, but it's been my experience that patience takes effort. We've become too much of an instant-gratification world.”

Staying to the shadows, they walked at a steady pace down the quiet residential street to the main street. Audrey led him to a steep staircase behind the mercantile. “My apartment's up here.”

He followed her up the staircase, curious to see how this woman lived. “You don't live with your mom?”

“No. She lives in a cottage near the medical center.” She unlocked the door and stepped inside.

He entered the studio, taking in the very feminine decor. Bright color spots popped against earth-toned furnishings. She'd carved out very distinct sections in the open studio space.

Just inside the entrance was the kitchen and eating area. Whitewashed cabinets and stainless steel appliances took up one wall, while a small antique-looking table with folding sides and two wooden lattice-back chairs sat across from the stove and sink.

For the living space, a well-loved sofa with plush throw pillows butted up against the exterior wall, and a glass coffee table sporting a stack of books sat on a round area rug covering hardwood floors.

On the opposite wall above a six-drawer dresser, a television had been mounted on a swinging arm so that she could watch from the sofa or from the full-size bed decked out in shades of purple and pink bedding.

A small vanity table laden with jewelry and makeup paired with a curved-back chair sat next to a door that he assumed led to the bath. The whole effect was impressive. She'd made the most of the tight space.

“This is nice,” he commented out loud. “Homey.” He couldn't help but wonder what his accommodations were like. Did he live in a studio apartment or a house? Did he share his living space with someone? A wife? A roommate? Or did he live alone? He rubbed at the biting sting at his temple.

“Thank you,” Audrey replied. “I like it.”

She pulled a duffel bag from beneath the bed then proceeded to throw some clothes from the dresser into it. She grabbed a few items from the bathroom. After zipping up the bag, she lifted the strap and dropped it over her shoulder. “All set.”

“Let me take that,” he said, reaching for the strap.

She stepped back. “I'm capable of carrying my bag.”

He held up his hands. “Whoa. I didn't think you weren't. Just trying to be a gentleman.”

Embarrassment charged across her face. “Sorry. I don't mean to be testy. I'm always having to prove myself, and sometimes I forget that I can allow someone else to do things for me.”

“You don't have to prove anything to me,” he assured her. “I've been impressed with you from the moment I awoke in the hospital.”

Her gaze narrowed slightly as if she weren't quite sure she should believe him. He remembered her disdain of charming men. He wanted to smash in the face of the man who'd hurt her.

“We should get moving,” she said briskly. “My car's parked on the street.”

He nodded and followed her out of the apartment. Her car was a beautiful early-model Mustang GTO in a metallic blue. The charcoal-gray interior looked brand-new. The passenger seat was comfortable. She started the engine, and the beast of a car growled. “Sweet ride.”

She pulled away from the curb and headed away from the main drag. “I love this baby. I saved up for years before finally finding the right one. It has a V8 engine and had very low mileage when I bought it.”

“Not very stealthy,” he commented at the rumbling beneath the floorboards.

“Yeah, well, I hadn't expected I'd need stealth. But it will pretty much outrun any other car on the road.”

“You sound sure. What about in the snow?”

“Snow tires.” She turned down a residential street.

“Doesn't seem like a practical car.”

“I manage in the winter. I keep the trunk weighted.” She grinned at him. “I take this baby to the racetrack in Bangor during the summer.”

For some reason he wasn't surprised. She struck him as a woman who liked adventure. “That sounds fun.”

“It is.” She brought the car to a halt in front of a box of a house trimmed in twinkling blue and white lights. An inflatable snowman stood sentry on the front lawn, and behind the front window curtains was the outline of a Christmas tree.

Deputy Dan Paulson hustled out of the house with a bag slung over his shoulder and carrying a thick jacket, which he thrust into John's hand when John jumped out to push the backrest forward so Paulson could climb into the small backseat. It was a good thing it would only be the three of them, because no way could another person fit back there.

“Sheriff said we're going out to Quoddy Head,” Paulson remarked as she gunned the engine and they took off.

“Yep. I know a safe place.” She turned onto the highway heading away from the ocean.

“Is this where the captain lives?” John asked.

She chuckled. “Not anymore. But fair warning, it's rustic.”

John studied her profile, liking the curves and angles of her face. “How rustic? As in no restrooms? No heat?”

“Not that uncivilized. No internet, no cell service.”