The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [688]
The hot weather didn’t bother the birds. Osprey dove for fish off the spruce-covered points. Gulls squawked and whirled over the lobster boats. The smell of dead fish left too long in the heat sent out odors that meant you had to take shallow breaths to survive. Cumulus clouds in fantastic shapes dotted the steel-blue sky. There was no breeze at all. Still, hot air blanketed the land.
Becca was so scared that all the beauty of the land and ocean, the sound of the birds, the incredible blue of the sky—none of it penetrated her brain. She felt frozen in the near hundred-degree heat.
She’d driven herself in a rented white Toyota from a private airfield near Camden. It had taken her nearly an hour to negotiate the tourist traffic on Highway 1 south to Riptide, just below Rockland. Her hands were clammy, her heart slowly thudding in her chest. She tried to think of all that could go wrong, but her mind just wouldn’t slip into gear.
When a mosquito bit her as she was pumping gas, she was pleased that she felt it. She wasn’t even aware of being pissed off that the rental agency hadn’t filled her car before renting it to her.
When she arrived in Riptide at three o’clock in the afternoon, she drove directly to Tyler’s house on Gum Shoe Lane. He was standing in the yard, waiting for her. He was quite alone.
Tyler held her very close, as if she were a lifeline, and so she stood there, his arms locked tightly around her. Finally, she eased back and looked up at him. “Any word at all?”
“Another note from Krimakov.”
“Let me see it.”
“This is all a huge mess, Becca.”
“Yes, I know, and I’m so sorry for it, Tyler. It’s all my fault. If I could go back into the past, make the decision not to come here, I swear I would. I’m so sorry. I swear that Sam will be all right. I swear it to you.”
He looked at her for a very long time, but he didn’t say anything, to either agree or disagree.
“Show me the new note. Then I’ll take both of them with me, okay?”
The note was handwritten, big strokes, black ballpoint: The boy will be all right for another eight hours. If Rebecca isn’t here, he’s dead.
She folded both notes, put them in the pocket of her sundress, and left for Jacob Marley’s house twenty minutes later. Undoubtedly Krimakov was watching Tyler’s house, at least he should be. She would call in another half hour just in case Krimakov hadn’t been watching. For sure he’d have a trace on Tyler’s phone.
She unlocked the front door of Jacob Marley’s house. It was so still and hot inside, so very silent, nothing moving at all, not a single sound, not even a floorboard. She opened all the windows and switched on the overhead fans. The hot air stirred, nothing more, until fresh air began creeping in. The curtains billowed ever so slightly.
So quiet. It was so very quiet in the house. She went into the kitchen and put on water to boil. She’d make iced tea, there were still bags in the cabinet. She opened the refrigerator, saw that it had been cleaned out, and wondered who had done it. Probably Rachel Ryan, she thought. It was a nice thing for her to do. She had to go to the Food Fort. Good, he could see her driving around, know that she was here, know that she was alone. She hoped she wouldn’t see Sheriff Gaffney because surely he’d want to talk to her.
When she got into the Toyota, she pulled out the small button on her wristband and said, “I’m heading out to Food Fort now. The cupboard’s bare. I’ll be back in under an hour. I want to make sure he knows I’m here. I’ll leave the notes on the front seat of the car at Food Fort.” Then she pushed the button back in.
She was greeted at Food Fort like she was a celebrity. Everyone knew who she was, impossible for them not to now, what with her photo and her story on every news station in the United States. People peered around corners to look at her,