The Search

Fiona slathered cream over her damp skin and hummed a tune that got stuck in her head in the shower. She couldn’t quite pin down the song, the lyrics, but the cheery melody suited her mood.

She felt she’d turned a corner and closed a door. She liked the philosophy that by closing one she could—and maybe already had—opened another.

Maybe it was naive, but she had every confidence the FBI would track down Francis Xavier Eckle, and quickly, with the new information. Information she’d helped generate.

She’d kicked her way out of the trunk again, she decided.

Still humming, she stepped into the bedroom. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise when she saw the bed empty. Usually she’d find Simon sprawled in it, pillow over his head as he clung to those last minutes of sleep—until she went down and made coffee.

She liked the routine, she thought as she dressed. The easy give and take of it. Liked knowing the dogs were outside for their morning romp, and that Simon would stumble downstairs, with uncanny timing, when the coffee was ready so, in this lovely weather, they’d have it and whatever food came readily to hand on the back deck.

She supposed the siren’s call of coffee had been too loud for him to resist that morning, or she’d taken too long to suit him in the shower.

She pulled on her army green Chucks, then spent a few minutes on her hair, her makeup in anticipation of her morning classes. There was a window in the afternoon, she calculated, just wide enough for a trip to the nursery.

If she couldn’t go alone—not yet—Simon would just have to go through the window with her. She wanted to plant her window boxes.

She jogged downstairs, the tune in her head juggling with geraniums and petunias and the planned session of obstacle training.

“I smell coffee!” Her voice danced into the kitchen a few steps ahead of her. “And I’ve got a yen for Toaster Strudels. Why don’t we—”

She knew the moment she saw his face, and the shadow blocked her sun. “Oh God. Goddamn. Say it fast.”

“He took the reporter. Kati Starr.”

“But—”

“I said it fast.” He pushed the coffee he’d poured into her hands. “Now take this. We’ll sit down and I’ll give you the rest.”

She made herself sit. “Is she dead?”

“I don’t know. They don’t know. Tawney called while you were in the shower. He’d hoped to get out here, tell you in person, but he can’t get away.”

“Okay, that’s okay. They’re sure?” She shook her head before he could speak. “Stupid question. He wouldn’t have called if they weren’t sure. I’m trying to shut up, let you tell me, but words keep shoving into my throat. She’s not the right type. She’s five years out of the age group, at least. She’s not in college, not the right body type. She’s—”

For the second time, she shook her head. “No, I’m wrong. She’s not Perry’s type. He’s already shown he wants to make his own mark, hasn’t he? He’s tired of doing it Perry’s way. Boy’s all grown up now and wants his own. And she—the reporter—she’s made him a star, she made him important. She gave him a name. She knows him, wouldn’t he think? That makes it more intimate and exciting. More his.”

She took a breath. “Sorry.”

“You’re the behavioral specialist, not me. But that’s how I see it.” He studied her face, judged her ready to hear the rest. “He grabbed her last night, from the parking lot where she works.”

She bit back the urge to interrupt as he took her through it.

“They nearly had him,” she murmured. “They were never that close with Perry, not so soon after an abduction. She’s still alive. She has to be. Do they think he knows?”

“They’re going on the theory that he was just being careful, or he was planning to leave the motel before morning anyway. They sent another e-mail claiming they’d seen him burying the last victim while they were camped illegally in the park. He hasn’t responded. Yet.”

“She’s still alive. The dogs are at the door, wondering what’s taking us so long. Let’s go out. I could use the air anyway.”

She rose, left her untouched coffee where it was.

Sensing her mood, the dogs whined, pushed against her legs, shoved noses in her hands.

“I have such a violent dislike of her,” Fiona told him. “It’s still there, just as intense even though I’m sick knowing what she’s going through right now. It’s a weird tug-of-war.”

“It’s natural. What she’s going through doesn’t change what she is.”

“Oh, it will.” Briefly, she pressed her fingers to her eyes, then let them fall. “If she lives, it will. She’ll never be quite the same. He’ll hurt her more than the others because he’s got a taste for that now. Like a dog who bites and gets away with it. If he answers the e-mail, they’ll be able to track him again, even if he keeps moving. They’ll do that stuff they do. Analysis, triangulating, calculating. So she has a better chance than the others. She’ll need it.”

“They have a little more. They interviewed everybody at the motel, and there was one guy who saw him. He was keeping an eye out for the woman he was meeting and looked out when he heard the car. Mostly he noticed because Eckle parked across the lot, and it was raining hard so it seemed weird.”

“He saw Eckle? He saw his face?”

“He didn’t really get a look at him. Eckle had an umbrella, had it angled so his face was behind it—and the guy only glanced out for a few seconds. But he’s sure the car was a dark color—black, dark blue, dark gray—too hard to tell in the rain.”

“He changed cars, or the color anyway. More they know that he’s unaware of.”

“The guy’s going to work with an FBI artist. He’s even agreed to try hypnosis. Apparently, he’s into it. They’re working the desk clerk, too. They’re pretty sure he’s ditched the beard.”

“Okay, that’s as good as it gets.” She tried not to think about the miles of back roads and interstates a beardless man in a dark-colored car could travel or the acres and acres of parkland he could wander.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to go pull the covers over my head, brood and curse God. What I’m going to do is take my morning classes, then drag you to the nursery this afternoon so I can pick out flowers for the window boxes.”

“Crap. If we’re doing that, I’m going to stop and pick up some lumber and drop some designs off at the Inlet Hotel.”

“Fine. I have to be back by four.”

“Then we’ll be back by four.”

She worked up a smile for him. “Let’s go by and rent a movie while we’re at it. Something fun.”

“Can it be  p**n ?”

“No. You have to buy  p**n  movies off the Internet so they come in plain mailers and nobody on the island knows for sure you’re watching  p**n . Those are the rules.”

“I’ll settle for nudity and adult language.”

“Deal.” She laid a hand on his cheek. “I have to prep.”

He covered her hand with his before she could step back. “We’re stuck now because you wheedled me into falling in love with you. So we get through whatever there is to get through.” He kissed her. “With or without  p**n .”

“If I could needlepoint, I swear I’d make that into a sampler.” She kissed him back. “Come on, boys, it’s time for work.”

ECKLE BOUGHT A COPY of the paper to read at his leisure on the ferry. He’d given Kati another dose that morning before she’d fully come out from the first.

He needed her nice and quiet and peaceful. That was one of the mistakes Perry made that he hadn’t—and wouldn’t. Perry had wanted them at least semi-aware while they were trapped—and that’s how Fiona had beaten him.

Eckle liked the idea of Kati unconscious and helpless in the trunk, appreciated the fresh terror she’d experience when she woke in a different place entirely. As if by magic.

But for now, he’d just enjoy the ride on the ferry busy with tourists and summer people. He might have preferred to sit in his car the entire way, but he understood that might rouse some suspicion if anyone paid attention. Besides, wandering, mingling, even speaking to people here and there was good practice, and better cover.

He made a point of talking to a pair of hikers who’d boarded the ferry on foot. In preparation for his time on Orcas he’d studied the trails and parks and campgrounds, and had already visited several on previous trips. So he was able to speak knowledgeably—and gained their gratitude by buying them coffee.

He waved it off. “I know what it’s like to be your age and hitting the trail. I’ve got a boy about your age. He’s coming out with his mother next week.”

“You baching it till then?”

Eckle smiled. The hiker’s name had nearly escaped him. He saw them both as tools to be used. “That’s right. Just me, some peace and quiet and a six-pack.”

“I hear that. If you decide to hit the trail today, we’re going to start at Cascade Lake.”

“I might. But I think I’m more inclined to . . .” He knew the expression. What was it? What was it? He felt the back of his neck start to burn as the boys looked at him oddly. “Drown some worms,” he said, imagining pushing both their heads underwater. “Listen, if you’re heading for the lake, I can give you a lift as far as Rosario. Save you the boot leather.”

“Seriously? That’d be cool.” The boys looked at each other, nodded.

“Thanks, Frank.”

“No problem at all. We’re nearly there. Why don’t we go ahead, get your gear in the car?”

He was Frank Blinckenstaff from Olympia. A high school teacher with a wife, Sharon, and a son, Marcus. Of course they hadn’t asked him about Sharon and Marcus—they were too self-involved, too egocentric to care about him. He was a means to an end—but so were they.

“Trunk’s loaded,” he said with a bright, bright smile that sent a skitter of ice down one of the boys’ spine. “But there’s room enough in the back.”

The boys hesitated, then shrugged.

In the end he drove off the ferry and passed the vigilant gaze of the deputy checking cars, looking, he imagined, like a father heading out on a little vacation with his two sons.

Nobody saw him, he thought again. And that was perfect.

HE DROPPED HIS PASSENGERS off and forgot them. They were ghosts, like the students who’d passed in and out of his classroom. Transient, insubstantial, meaningless.

His more important passenger would be stirring soon, he thought, so he’d have to keep on schedule if he wanted to have her, and himself, all settled in before she regained full consciousness.

It was time for the next act.

Excitement frothed in his belly. No one would see him. They would see only Frank Blinckenstaff from Olympia. He drove through the busy village, along the twisting roads and into the park. He had to wipe damp palms on his jeans as he thought of Fiona. So close now, nearly close enough to touch.

He could’ve told the watchful deputy at the ferry she had a few days left. Days to eat and sleep and teach. Days left to wonder. Days left before he repaid his mentor, and made both her and Perry other ghosts who’d passed in and out of his life.

And once that was done, he’d fully become. His own man, at last.

Live or die, his own man.

He navigated the winding roads, easing carefully on the switchbacks, and smiled as the trees thickened. Like curtains, he thought, green curtains he’d keep snugly closed as he worked.

He turned into the narrow drive—wound his way back as his excitement grew till his hands wanted to shake.

He spotted the car in front of the picturesque cabin shrouded by those green, green curtains. His landlady waited, as promised.

He noted the windows were open—airing it out for him. There were planters of flowers on the porch. He’d have to remember to water them, in case she slipped by to check.

As he parked beside her car, she stepped out. He had to repeat her name over and over in his head to make her real.

“Mrs. Greene!”

“Meg,” she reminded him and walked down to offer her hand. “Welcome. Smooth trip in?”

“Couldn’t’ve been smoother. I can’t tell you how happy I am to be here.” He kept his smile pasted on his face as the dog trotted up to greet him. “Hey, boy, how’s it going!”

“Xena and I spruced the place up for you a little.”

“Oh now, you shouldn’t have bothered. It’s just going to be me for a few days. Wait till Sharon and Marcus get here. It’s going to be love at first sight.”

“I hope so. Now we’ve laid in some basics for you. Don’t say we shouldn’t’ve bothered. It’s part of the package. Why don’t I help you in with your things, show you through again. Xena! Come on away from there.”

“She must smell my fishing tackle,” Eckle said as the dog sniffed around the trunk of the car. His voice went flat. He imagined kicking the dog bloody, strangling its master. “I’ll get my gear later. No need to show me through again, Mrs.—Meg. I think the first thing I’m going to do is take a long walk, stretch out my legs.”

“If you’re sure. I left the keys on the kitchen counter, and there’s a list with all the numbers you should need right on the refrigerator. Booklet in the living room has all the information on the cabin, restaurant menus, shops, park information. Now you’re sure you don’t want the cleaning service?”

“We’ll be fine.” He would kill her if she didn’t leave him alone. Yes, he would kill her and her sniffing dog if she didn’t leave within one minute. Really, he’d have no choice.

“Well, if you change your mind, or you need anything, you just call. Otherwise, enjoy the cabin, and the quiet. Good luck with your writing.”

“What?”

“Your writing? The travel piece you’re going to do.”

“Yes, yes. My mind was wandering.” He let out a heh-heh-heh, the closest he could get to a laugh. “Not enough coffee this morning.”

“There’s a fresh pound of beans in the freezer.”

Thirty seconds, he thought. Live or die.

“Appreciate it.”

“I’ll let you get to your walk. Come on, Xena.”

He waited and, because his fingers had begun to tremble, slipped his hands in his pockets while the dog followed her to the car. He watched the dog look back at the trunk, nose quivering.

Kick you bloody, then carve you up and bury you with the bitch who owns you.

He spread his lips in a smile, pulled his trembling fingers out of his pocket to answer Meg’s wave.

And he breathed and breathed, the air charging out of him like an engine as she drove down the lane and disappeared into the trees.

Nosy bitches better stay away.

It took him time to get settled. All the windows had to be closed, locked, the curtains drawn. In the cozy bedroom his chatty landlady had shown him on his previous visit and deemed perfect for his imaginary son, he covered the bed with plastic.

He unpacked, tidily arranging his things in the closet, the dresser, on the bathroom counter while he enjoyed the quiet and the generous space. He’d gotten too used to tiny motel rooms, shabby beds, ugly sounds and smells.

This was a treat.

Satisfied with his preparations and his privacy, he walked back outside. For a few moments he simply stood basking in the quiet, in the peace.

Then he opened the trunk.

“We’re home, Kati! Let me show you to your room.”

She trembled toward consciousness, ill, aching, confused. She felt as though she was floating in some freezing river with slabs of jagged ice scraping and stabbing along her skin. Red and black dots spun in front of her eyes, tilting sickeningly. Through the rush of blood in her head, she heard someone humming. A sudden burning pain in her arm brought on a shocked gasp, but the air wouldn’t come.

As she began to struggle, as her eyes wheeled, the humming stopped.

“So, awake at last. You slept right through your bath. Believe me, you needed it. You’d made a mess of yourself and stank to high heaven. No wonder that idiot dog was sniffing around.”

She tried to focus on the face over hers, but everything about it was too hard, too bright. The eyes, the smile. She cringed away.

“I didn’t have time to introduce myself before. I’m Francis Eckle. But you can call me RSK Two.”

Fear drenched her like sweat, and as she shook her head in denial that bright, hard smile only widened.

“I’m a big fan! And I’m going to give you an exclusive interview. It’s the story of your life, Kati. Just think of it. You’ll know everything, experience everything.” He patted her cheek. “I smell Pulitzer! Of course, it’s going to cost you, but we’ll talk about that. I’ll leave you to settle in.”

He leaned down close to her ear and whispered, “I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to enjoy it. Think about that.”

He leaned back, beamed that smile again. “Well, all this excitement has worked up my appetite. I’m going to go down and have some lunch. Want anything? No?” He laughed at his own joke while tears leaked down her cheeks. “See you soon.”

IT FELT GOOD to do something normal, something fun. Better yet, Fiona thought, to wander around the nursery and stop and catch up with neighbors. It struck her just how isolated she’d become over the past week, tethered to the house.

She missed outings, she realized, and errands and the bits of easy gossip gathered up at routine stops.

She’d even enjoyed the interlude with lumber and hardware.

Simon spent his time vetoing choices or shrugging his assent. Until she dawdled over dahlia.

“Pick one. They all have stems, leaves, petals.”

“This from a man who just spent half a lifetime over drawer pulls.”

“The drawer pulls won’t die in the first hard frost.”

“Which makes the choice of dahlia more important, as its time’s brief.”

“This one.” He snatched one at random. “I can’t live without this one.”

She laughed even as she grabbed two more. “Perfect. Now I want some of that blue stuff.” She gestured toward a flat of lobelia. “Then we’ll be—Hey, hi, Meg, Chuck.”

Her friends turned, with Meg’s hands full of dianthus.

“Hi! Oh, aren’t those pretty.” Meg beamed at Simon. “You must’ve built those window boxes.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed as he and Chuck exchanged brief yet long-suffering glances over the women’s heads.

“Are you putting in another bed?” Fiona asked.

“No. I had to run over and open the cabin for a new tenant, and Chuck stayed back, started cleaning out the shed.”

“If I try it when she’s around, nothing gets thrown away.”

“You never know, do you? He was going to toss this old washtub.”

“Piece of junk,” Chuck said under his breath.

“It won’t be, once I fill it with these and put it in the yard. I’m thinking of sort of digging in one end, so it looks like it just got tossed there. It’ll be a bit of lawn art instead of a piece of junk.”

“Meg’s always figuring out how to repurpose things.” Fiona set the flowers in the cart.

“I hate waste.”

“I guess it saves us in the long run,” Chuck put in. “She mostly furnished the cabin out of thrift store and yard sale junk she fixed up.”

“So you’ve got a tenant,” Fiona said as she picked through the lobelia.

“A two-weeker. Husband’s down by himself this week. His wife and son are coming down next.” Meg picked up some lobelia, held it next to the dianthus and deemed it good. “The boy’s got some swim meet or some such thing he didn’t want to miss. The dad’s a teacher and writes travel articles. We’re hoping he does one on the cabin and Orcas. It couldn’t hurt. Kind of an odd one,” Meg added as they wandered through. “He came in a couple months back, asked to see it. Wanted a quiet place, private, so he could write.”

“That’s natural enough, I guess.”

“I guess he likes his solitude because he sure gave me the bum’s rush this morning. Wouldn’t have the housekeeping service, so I’m already feeling for his wife. But he paid cash, up front and in full, and that buys a lot of washtub flowers.”

“What kind of screening do you do on tenants?”

Meg blinked at Simon’s question. “Oh, well, there’s really not much you can do there. Most people take a week or two, or even a weekend off-season. You take a security deposit and hope for the best. We haven’t had any serious problems there. Are you thinking of buying a place for rentals?”

“No. Do you get many who pay cash?”

“Not a lot, but it happens. Some people just feel uncomfortable giving us their credit card number.”

“What did he look like?”

Meg glanced at Fiona, who’d gone uncharacteristically silent. “Ah, he’s . . . Oh my Jesus, you’re thinking he might be . . . God, Simon, you’re freaking me out. He’s, well, he’s in his mid-forties somewhere. I’ve got his driver’s license on file because we ask to see ID, but I can’t remember the birthday. He’s clean-shaven, bald as a hard-boiled egg. He’s well spoken, friendly enough. He talked about his wife, and how his boy was going to love the place. He even asked if his boy could bring a friend with him for a few days if he wanted.”

“We’re all just a little jumpy.” Fiona rubbed a hand up and down Meg’s arm.

“Do you want to go by the place, check him out?” Chuck asked.

“We can’t check out everybody who’s rented a place, or who’s camping or spending a few days at one of the hotels or B-and-Bs,” Fiona pointed out. “They’re watching the ferry.”

It had to be enough.

She waited until they were in the truck, heading back. “I forget, or don’t always realize, how worried you are. Don’t shrug it off,” she said when he did just that. “This thing has been there almost from the start with us. Like a shadow in the room, all the time. And I’m so busy thinking about it, or telling myself not to think about it, I can forget it’s weighing on you, too.”

He said nothing for nearly a mile. “I didn’t want you. Got that?”

“Simon, I hold that sentiment close to my heart.”

“I didn’t want you because I knew damn well you’d get in my way, and you’d find a way to make me like it. Need it. And you. So, now I do. I keep what’s mine, and I take care of it.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Like a puppy?”

“Like however you want to see it.”

“I’ll have to think about that.”

“Cops, feds, that’s all fine. They do what they do. But nobody’s getting through me to you. Nobody.”

This time Fiona fell silent, stayed silent until they made the turn to his house. “You know I can and will take care of myself. No, wait—you know that. And because you know that, hearing you say that to me, knowing you mean it, it makes me feel more cared for than I have in a very, very long time.”

She drew a breath. “So I’m going to plant window boxes, then I’m going to teach my evening class. And I’m going to hope with everything I’ve got they find Kati Starr, alive, and that soon—really soon—we’ll be rid of the shadows so it’s just you and me.”

“And a pack of dogs.”

She smiled. “Yeah.”

ECKLE STEPPED OUT of the bathroom, freshly showered, in clean boxers and a T-shirt. On the bed, Kati whimpered behind the tape as her eyes, the left nearly swollen shut, ticked in his direction.

“That’s better. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about rape as I’ve never found sex to be particularly important. But I liked it. It was an entirely new experience for me, and every new experience is important to the whole—thanks for that. With rape, all the pressure’s off as there’s just no need to worry about pleasing the whore spreading them for you.”

He pulled the little desk chair over and sat beside the bed. “I like giving pain. I always knew it, but since it’s not acceptable under the rules”—he gave the word quick air quotes—“I buried the urge. I was not a happy man, Kati. I was just going through the motions, living a life in the gray. Until Perry. I owe him for that. I owe him Fiona for that. But this, all the rest? You? That’s mine, entirely. Now.”

He tapped the mini tape recorder he’d taken from her bag and set on the nightstand. “I’m going to turn this on, and we’re going to have a conversation. You’re going to tell me everything you know, everything your source or sources have leaked to you. If you scream, even once, I’ll put the tape back on and I’ll start breaking your fingers. There’s no one to hear you, but you’re not going to scream. Are you, Kati?” As he asked her he reached up and bent the pinkie of one of her bound hands backward until her face went bone white. “Are you, Kati?”

She shook her head, arching up as if to escape the pain.

“Good. This is going to hurt.” He ripped the tape away, viciously, nodded with satisfaction as she bit back the scream. “Very good. Say thank you.”

Her breath shuddered out, in, her chest trembled with it, but she managed a barely audible whisper. And licked her dry lips. “Please. Water. Please.”

“This?” He held up the bottle. “I bet you’re parched.” He pulled her head up by the hair, poured water into her mouth so she choked, gagged, wheezed. “Better? What do you say?”

She said thank you.