Winter's Destiny (19 page)

“Possible. My hunch is Dan’s close by. Doesn’t look like he flew anywhere and he’s not the kind of man to drive far. I figure Nita and Brandon are also at some prearranged location, close by.”

The surprise showed on Amy’s face. “All they’d have to do is go where nobody knows them, and presto, anonymity.”

Dallas pulled up in front of his apartment. “We’re still missing the key to this puzzle. That key is the piece that will open the doors and give us answers. I have a few theories, but nothing concrete.” They sat quietly for a few minutes, each deep in thought.

Amy’s brain was whirling. “Dallas,” she said, “Do you realize the implications? We know that Dr. George Johnstone delivered my twin and me. So how in godsname did I happen to marry his son. And to top that, none of us knew it, except Dan’s family.”

Dallas shook his head. “I couldn’t figure that either. It’s something your going to have to ask Dan.”

Angrily, Amy rapped the truck door. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I was setup and used by all of them.”

As they hiked up the stairs, Dallas warned her, “I’m a terrible house keeper. I was going to say, make yourself comfortable, but it’s such a mess, I don’t think that’s possible.” He unlocked the door for Amy.

She stepped inside and looked around, aghast. Newspapers were stacked on the table, clothes were strewn across the back of the chairs and over the couch, she groaned aloud at the sight of the takeout containers and dirty dishes that littered the countertops and filled the sink.

“I know. I need to hire a service,” Dallas said, closing the door behind him.

“I should design a little house for you,” Amy said. “A place you could enjoy coming home to. Then you’d be motivated to keep it tidy because you’d be happy living there.”

Dallas smiled. “Sounds nice. I bet you draw houses in your sleep,”

Amy’s face brightened a little. “I actually do. I was born to draw houses and landscapes. I started putting images on paper at the age of two and I can remember drawing floorplans in my head before I started school. I’m one of those people who are
compelled
to do what I do. I get the greatest sense of fulfillment from designing buildings that suit their setting and make their owners happy.”

“Well you’ve sure left your mark.”

Amy’s eyes lit up. “You haven’t seen anything. The residence I’m working on right now will redefine West Coast living, that is, if I ever get back to work and get it finished. The budget is over twenty million dollars.”

Dallas whistled. “Twenty million. What does the owner do—rob banks?”

Amy laughed. “A cop’s suspicious mind. He’s a scientist of some kind. But to look at him, you’d never guess he has a dime.”

“Hmm. Since when can a scientist afford a twenty million dollar house?”

Amy poked him. “There you go again. He owns some big bio-pharmaceutical company. It trades on the NASDAQ.”

“No wonder prescriptions cost so much,” Dallas grumbled, reaching in his pocket. He pulled out a key ring. “Here’s the apartment key,” he said, pulling it off the ring. “In case you go out. Which I hope you won’t. No point in me telling you again how dangerous that is.”

Amy assessed him. “If you’re going to Johnstone’s place, Dallas, I’d like to come.”

He shook his head. “Sorry, Amy, that’s not possible. I’ll call you later,” he said, and pulled her into his arms.

Amy located the stacking washer/drier set in Dallas’s apartment and threw in the damp clothing she had worn the day before. Touching them triggered vivid, terrifying memories of her encounter and near rape. She could still smell
his
sour breath. The memory of
his
hands made her skin crawl. His teeth biting into her breast was excruciating. Her body ached from head to toe, and the memory haunted her.

Pouring soap into the dispenser, she dropped the lid, and turned the dial to the heavy-duty cycle. She didn’t want a trace of
him
left behind.

Wearing one of Dallas’s shirts, Amy padded back down the hall into the living room. The apartment was a stark contrast to the tidy, cozy cabin Dallas loved so much. The small area appeared to serve him while he was working. It wasn’t home.

She went to the scarred desk in the corner of the living room where Dallas kept his laptop. She put her fingernail on the lid and tapped it. Her own laptop hadn’t survived the accident. While she considered using Dallas’s, she noticed a scrap of paper with the name
VERA JOHNSTONE
printed neatly across the top. Below, was an address in Portland. Amy held the paper in her hand, her mind whirling. Vera Johnstone. The woman could give Amy answers to her growing list of questions.

Amy changed into her new clothes, grabbed her jacket, her battered purse, and iPhone, which one of the deputies had salvaged from the Jeep. She took care to lock the door behind her and walked stiffly down the wooden stairs. The car rental agency was only two blocks away.

Amy rented a Sportage SUV and then headed across town to see Walt Marshall, an old friend of her grandfather’s. Walt collected guns and she needed some protection. The
monster
was out there somewhere and she didn’t want to fall prey to him again without being able to defend herself. The hard part was, she hated guns. She’d never even allowed Jamie to have a toy gun. When Nita bought him one, Amy tossed it in the trash.

“What kind of gun do you want?” Walt asked skeptically.

“Something small that’ll fit in my purse.”
And hopefully I’ll never have to use.

He pulled out a 32-caliber semi-automatic Beretta and handed it to her. Amy took it reluctantly. It was small and cold in her hand. “It’s the right size, but is it easy to shoot?”

“Sure. No kick either. Good little weapon for a lady.”

“I need bullets too.” Amy could barely believe she had just said that. "And if you could show me how to load it, and what to do with it, I’d appreciate it.”
So I don’t shoot myself, or worse, the wrong person.

“Sure thing.” Walt ejected the magazine from the pistol, showed her how to load
the bullets, and re-inserted the empty clip, “Now,” he said, “Just remove the safety, aim, and pull the trigger. And just so you know, you can carry the gun on your belt, but if you put it in your purse, you’re supposed have a license to carry a concealed handgun. You can get one at the Sheriff’s Department.”

Great.

Walt finished by telling her, “And one more thing. Don’t tell a soul where you got this thing.”

I won’t even tell anyone I’ve got it.
“Don’t worry. I won’t. Thanks, Walt.”

Almost two hours later, Amy was in Portland looking at a gray Tudor home. As she parked, one of the three garage doors lifted and a Bentley backed down the drive. As it whizzed past her window, she caught a glimpse of the driver--an older man with wire-framed glasses on a beak nose. Pale hands and bony fingers gripped the wheel.
It was difficult to see him through the car’s tinted glass, but he looked naggingly familiar.

Amy went to the front door and rang the bell. A moment later, Vera Johnstone, appeared, flashing bracelets, rings, and long earrings.

“Alesha! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be—never mind. Come in.” She stepped aside. Surprised by the woman’s reaction, Amy walked into a vast vestibule.
Alesha. Gramps said her twin’s name was Alesha. Dallas had also mentioned that a woman named Alesha Eickher had rented the Taurus. So, I have a living twin named, Alesha!

Vera Johnstone motioned Amy into the huge kitchen. French doors looked out over a blue kidney-shaped pool sparkling in the sunlight. A circular Jacuzzi spa formed the shallow end. Vera motioned to a chair. “Sit, if you want. Tell me why you’re here, Alesha.”

Amy stood where she was, noting Vera Johnstone’s brisk manner, aloof demeanor, and unpleasant attitude. “Why are you surprised to see Alesha, Mrs. Johnstone?”

The woman’s mouth dropped. For a moment, she was speechless. Then her eyes narrowed and she looked Amy up and down. She said flatly, “You’re Amy.”

“Where’s Alesha, Mrs. Johnstone?”

“None of your business.” The woman grabbed Amy’s arm and tried to maneuver her toward the front door. “Get out of here. You’re not welcome in my house.”

Amy pulled away. “It is my business. She’s my twin. And from what I hear, you helped deliver both of us, thirty-two years ago, in Beaverdale.”

“You’ve got no proof of that.”

“What did you do with my sister? Did you sell her, Mrs. Johnstone?”

Vera guffawed. “You’ve got to be kidding. You don’t know anything. And it’s going to stay that way.”

“What about Dan. Does he know?”

“There’s nothing to know. Now leave.” Again Vera tried pushing Amy out of the room.

Amy twisted away. “Take your hands off me, Mrs. Johnstone. Don’t ever touch me again.” Amy moved an arm’s length away from the woman. “I came here for answers and I’m not leaving without them.”

“Haughty aren’t we? Too bad Dan had to settle for you.”

“And how is that?”

“Water under the bridge.”

Amy could see she was getting nowhere. The woman was too sure of herself. She had no intention of talking. Amy looked around for photos, anything that might give her some insight. She stepped into the dining room and glanced around. Sitting in a polished display case was a beautiful Ming vase. Amy recognized it’s worth immediately, opened the glass door, and plucked it off the ebony shelf.

Vera followed her into the dining room. “Hey, what are you doing? Put that down!”

Amy turned slowly back to Vera. “Is Dan here?”

“Of course not. Give me that!”

“Where is he? And where’s my son, Jamie?” Amy watched the woman closely. She could see from the blank look on the woman’s face, Vera didn’t know.

“How the hell would I know? I’ve never laid eyes on your son. Haven’t seen mine either, for years.”

Amy could barely imagine a mother saying that. “Obviously you’ve seen Alesha.”

“Except for a few days ago, it’s been years. I have no interest in her.”

Amy was sure that was the cold truth. She needed to try a different tack. “Why was Dan’s name changed?”

“Why do you think? We didn’t want anyone making any connections. Particularly you.”

Amy took a breath and exhaled slowly. Then she lowered her voice, “What happened to Alesha after she was born?”

“Ha! You must be kidding. You think you can just walk in here and demand information from me—NO! Don’t!”

Amy raised the Ming vase above her head.

“Don’t let go, for godsake! It’s worth a friggin' fortune. All right! We took her to the facility in Paraguay.”

“Paraguay! A facility. What kind of facility?”

Vera’s eyes were glued to the vase. “A bio-developmental research center. George, the greedy bastard, got suckered into the whole damned affair. We wanted out. Figured the less we knew the better. We didn’t ask questions.”

Amy was appalled. “Are you saying my twin spent her life in some institution in South America?”

“Apparently.”

Amy studied Vera Johnstone. She and her husband had abducted her sister. And they were likely well paid for it.

“Don’t judge me.” Vera spat out. She reached up for the vase, but Amy leapt back. She knew she wasn’t going to get much more out of this woman, Ming vase or no Ming vase so she had to choose her final questions wisely. If she could find Alesha, she might find Jamie. “Where’s Alesha now?”

The woman grew impatient. “Who knows? The only reason I found out she was here, in the U.S., was because they called me last week. They said Alesha was hurt. George, the stupid bastard, was drunk. So they demanded that I attend to her. Like I wanted any more to do with any of that whole damned mess.”

“Where did you do that?”

Vera said flatly, “My ex-husband’s clinic.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “Are you saying your husband, George Johnstone is still a practicing OB/GYN?”

“Old quacks die hard, but I doubt he actually works anymore, the worthless drunk.”

“Where’s the clinic?” Amy asked.

Vera Johnstone grew angry. “That seems to be the fifty million dollar question these days. It’s down the coast, by The Caves.”

Amy knew the area. She’d been on the design team for The Cliff House, which was near The Caves. Hopefully, Dallas would find it. “Who asked you to help Alesha?” Amy asked.

“You know, the goons who work for Helmut.”

“Helmut?” Amy’s thoughts flew to the project she was working on. The owner’s name was
Helmut
—what was his last name? Amy couldn’t recall. She asked, “Helmut who?”

Vera Johnstone had let the first name slip out. She’d realized it immediately and held back, calculating the risk.

Amy kept the vase held high and stared her down. “Last chance.”

“Eickher.”

The Ming vase slipped from Amy’s grip.

On the road back to Sanville Amy tried to put the pieces together.

Helmut Eickher!

No wonder the name was familiar. Her current project, the twenty million dollar house she was designing, was for none other
Helmut Eickher
, a man she had met only once, briefly. She remembered the project manager saying the owner had specifically requested Amy. But w
hy?

Meanwhile, she now realized it had been Helmut Eickher that she had seen back the Bentley from Vera Johnstone’s garage. Now, Amy understood why he had looked familiar.
But why was his car
parked inside
Vera Johnstone’s garage? Was he staying with her? Were they friends, or were they a couple?

Amy tried to figure out why Helmut Eickher’s
goons,
as Vera Johnstone had aptly named them, were so intent upon harming Amy and her family.

So, who exactly is this, Helmut Eickher?

According to Dallas, a woman by the name of Alesha
Eickher
had rented the Taurus. And w
hy does my twin have Helmut Eickher’s surname!