Sole Witness (25 page)

Davis made a face at her and lifted the phone to his
ear.

“Hamilton.”

“Hi, Detective, this is Officer Bock. Hey, I’m sorry
to bother you on such a stupid call, but it seemed kind of like the other case,
but not the same, and I—”

“Where are you?” Davis asked, hoping his calm tone
would rub off on Bock.

“I’m at a gas station on the southeast side of Isla
Concha.”

“What was the call?”

“Cashier claims assault. Says a nutcase threw her
cell phone at him and waved a gun around. I bagged stuff for prints. Lots of
stuff.”

“Her? A woman?”

“Blonde. Red car. Pump number four.”

Everyone’s favorite maniac, finally making an
appearance. “What are your cross streets? I’ll be right there.”

Davis slammed down the phone and leapt to his feet.

“What do we got?” asked Carver, rising.

“Our girl. Scaring gas station attendants across
town. She could still be nearby.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Davis nodded. “Let’s go.”

As the gas station loomed closer, an uneasy feeling
bubbled in Davis’s gut. He pulled a U-turn in the intersection and doubled back
toward the expressway.

Carver popped an orange lozenge into her mouth
without changing expression.

“Where we going now?” she asked, gazing out the side
window at the retreating service station.

“My house.”

She snapped her head toward his. “Normally I’d say
I’m not that kind of girl, but I get the impression you’ve got a special
someone there already.”

Davis floored the accelerator.

“She better be.”

*          *          *

Lori rocked back and forth on her
bottom, shivering, her ear against one bent knee and her eyes shut tight.

“Come out, come out, wherever you
are,” came the singsong voice from below.

“What do you want from me?” Lori
blurted, shouting her question to the gaping hole where the window once was.

“Your life, of course.” The
killer’s amused tone rankled.

“Why?”

“Because you screwed up mine,” chastised the killer.
“Why else?”

“But what did I
do
?” Lori cried. The wind
sucked the plaintive question from her mouth.

“What didn’t you do? Let’s see. First, you screwed
up everything by whoring it up with Tommy and cutting off my future money
supply.” The killer’s voice floated in from all directions. “Did you think he
wouldn’t tell me you were stopping by for a booty call?”

Lori stared blankly at the couch.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she muttered. Tommy’s
big ego and bigger mouth were going to get both of them killed.

“Pretty much every move you made following that day
has pissed me off. Now, no more chitchat. The closest houses may be a quarter
mile apart, but we haven’t been very quiet. Nosy neighbors will be calling the
cops soon, if they haven’t already. Either come down now, or face the
consequences.”

With newfound determination, Lori rose on shaky
legs. “Screw you,” she shouted.

“Consequences it is, then. I was hoping you’d say
that.”

Wet, sloshing sounds splattered below.

What on earth was the killer doing, watering the
plants? Lori leaned forward and peeked through the open window.

Without the glass protecting her from the ground
below, instant vertigo swirled through her blood and Lori swayed on her feet.
She turned away from the window, but not before she’d seen three things.

The familiar red car, parked sideways on Davis’s
grass.

The killer herself, a lanky blonde in a black
leather miniskirt.

The killer’s idea of ‘consequences’. Death by fire.

Lori gulped in horror as three gallons of gasoline
drenched the wooden stilts that kept this stupid beach house in the air.

If she didn’t get out of there fast, the walls were
going to come crashing down on her head. Literally.

Lori slowed her panicked breathing as best she could
and tried to come up with an escape route. She was up here. The killer was down
there.

If she stayed up here, she would burn alive. If she
went down the stairs, the killer would shoot her. Or worse.

Neither seemed a fun choice.

Frantic seagulls squawked on the beach below,
destroying Lori’s concentration.

They were obnoxious even with glass in the windows,
but without anything left between her and the beach…

The beach.

If she could get to the beach, she might have a
chance.

Not for an afternoon jog along the sand, of course.
She’d never outrun a bullet.

With luck—a lot of luck—she might be able to
out-swim one.

If she were the first to the water, the killer would
have two choices.

One, stay on the beach and get nabbed by the cops
who were no doubt on their way. Two, get in her car and leave Lori alone before
choice number one happened.

No way would the killer come in the water after her.
Guns weren’t waterproof. Besides, Lori was a fast swimmer. Nobody could catch
up to her in water.

Unfortunately, the only way out was down.

She’d already decided the stairs were out of the
question, which left the windows.

No way was she jumping from the living room window,
right into the killer’s arms. She’d have to jump from the other side of the
house, from the window closest to the beach.

She’d have to jump from the office.

Lori cast a baleful glare at the glass-littered
floor. She wouldn’t be able to run far with feet full of bloody cuts.

Okay, think.

It’s not like she could pole vault out the window.
Nor was there a conveniently located clothesline to rappel down, like in the
movies. Her flip-flops were in the bedroom and the only things within arm’s
reach were the paperback thriller and Davis’s portfolio.

Yeah, like either of those would help.

Wait.

Lori flipped open the portfolio and grabbed up the
stack of canvas sketches.

She placed one on the floor in front of her, atop a
patch of jagged glass, and tested her weight with one foot. Glass crunched
underneath, but didn’t slice through the thick paper.

“Sorry, Davis,” she muttered. “Think of it this way.
You’re helping.”

After tucking the paperback under her left arm, Lori
inched across the room, placing one beautiful drawing in front of the other.

When she reached the hallway, she turned around just
long enough to fling the novel out of the front window before she took the last
few steps into the office.

“What the hell? Did you just throw a
book
at
me, you crazy bitch? A freaking Oprah’s choice? I’ll set it on fire!”

Probably not what Oprah intended.

But, while the killer was busy playing pyromaniac,
Lori would simply jump from the office window, dash over to the ocean, and swim
to safety. How hard could it be?

She wiped off the window ledge with a sheaf of paper
and stepped up with both feet. Her hands gripped the frame.

The world shimmered on its axis and the ground
retracted further and further away. She had to be at least ten stories high.
Twenty.

Great. She was going to be sick.

Lori swayed backward, nearly losing her grip on the
window frame. She grappled for a stronger hold and cried out when broken glass
sliced into her palms.

“If you don’t jump, you’ll die,” Lori repeated to
herself. “If you don’t jump, you’ll die.”

Another peek out the window confirmed the truth—she
would die.

“Come look at my book burning party, bitch!”
screamed the voice from below.

Lori couldn’t jump. She just couldn’t.

But she would have to.

She leaned forward.

Her stomach roiled with vertigo.
Blood swam in her ears.

Lori let go of the window frame
and fell forward from the ledge.

Amber slammed her car door shut and ripped open her
new pack of Virginia Slims.

Anytime was a good time for nicotine, yes, but
because she hadn’t had the foresight to bring a Zippo to toss at the stilts,
she’d have to throw a cigarette.

She sucked in a deep hit of smoke and flicked the
slender cigarette toward the stilts.

Missed. Damn.

Nineteen cigarettes left, but the way this wind
kicked up, not a one of them would hit the mark. She needed something bigger.

The book.

Amber snatched the novel up from the grass.

She flicked her Bic and the flame instantly went
out. Tucking the book under her armpit, Amber tried again, this time cupping
her hand around the lighter to block the breeze. Bingo.

Eagerly, she brought the flame to the book and
waited. Within seconds, the cover caught fire. Amber hurled the burning pages
at the closest stilt pole.

Flames shot up the gasoline-soaked shaft, catching
the entire wooden frame on fire.

Amber ducked behind the opposite side of her car and
plugged her ears.

Wait for it…

With a deafening boom, the entire house exploded at
once, sending flaming planks and burning debris in every direction.

Amber grinned.

Fireworks were killer.

*          *          *

Davis sped down the highway,
glancing at the dashboard clock every ten or twelve seconds.

He flipped open his cell phone
and dialed home.

One ring. Two. Three. Four. No
answer. Not even his machine.

Next he tried Lori’s cell phone
number, for maybe the hundredth time. Straight to voice mail again. Her sunny
greeting, wishing him a great day.

As if.

He tossed the phone into the cup
holder between the seats.

“Settle down,” Carver said in her
best let’s-be-calm tone. “We gotta get there in one piece if we’re gonna do any
good.”

“I know.” He eased off the
accelerator and then sped back up.

Carver continued to grip the door
handle above the passenger window as if neither he nor his driving were to be
trusted.

His cell phone shrilled into the
silence. Davis snatched it from the cup holder and pressed it to his ear.

“Lori?” he demanded.

“Uh, no. This is Officer Bock,
sir.”

“Bock.” Davis set his jaw. He
didn’t have time for newbie questions. “What’s up?”

“Are you still on your way over
there?”

Where? Oh, gas station. Right.
“No. Sorry. I changed my mind.”

“Good. I’m not there anymore
either. Hey, you’re not alone, are you?”

Davis grit his teeth. “No, I’m
with Carver. What’s this all about? You act like I need backup or something.”

Bock gave a high-pitched little
laugh. “Where are you going?”

 “Home,” Davis growled.

“Then, yes. You need backup. But
don’t worry, it’s on the way.”

Ice slithered down Davis’s back,
sending frozen tendrils of fear into his stomach.

“Why? Is something wrong at my
place?”

Bock coughed. “Um, you could say
so. I mean, it is on fire.”

“What?” Davis shouted. His
alleged safe house was on fire? With Lori ensconced inside?

“Yes, sir. It seems to have, um,
exploded. Not even a minute ago. Neighbors dialed 911 right away.”

Davis gulped down air. “How long
until the cavalry arrives?”

“Not long, sir. Five, maybe ten
minutes? Fifteen, tops? Spring Break, you know. Eighty-five degrees and sunny.
Lots of traffic.”

“I don’t need a weather report,
Bock, I need information. Was anybody hurt? Are the neighbors out front of my
house keeping watch?”

“Uh, negatory. They’re staying
inside their houses for safety. They haven’t stepped outside since the
gunshots. Ten or twelve rounds. I couldn’t really get a consensus on that.”

Holy crap. He’d abandoned her and
now she was dead. It was all his fault.

“Multiple shots fired?” he
managed to choke out.

“Yes, sir. Right before the
explosion. Are you almost there now?”

“I’ll be there in five,” Davis
answered and snapped the cell phone shut.

Five minutes.

Would he be too late?

*          *          *

For a brief second, while she plunged through the
air, Lori actually thought her plan was working.