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And Charlie was a ghost. She could scarcely credit it. In the wounded state he’d been in? With those terrible burns on the side of his face? How had he slipped through the sheriff’s department’s net? Someone had to have given him help and shelter.
Meanwhile, Lang and Sheriff O’Halloran and everyone else in the department were angry and determined to find the psychotic monster who’d taken out one of their own. Savannah hadn’t been back to work since Charlie/Declan Jr./Henry had kidnapped her and killed Clausen, but she’d seen Lang and she knew his dark mood reflected everyone’s feelings. The memorial service for Fred Clausen was scheduled for the following week.
Lang had also told Savannah that the DNA test had come back from the blood sample on the knife Catherine had given her. Savvy hadn’t taken the news to Catherine yet, mainly because there wasn’t much to say, anyway. Only one type of blood was discovered, and it belonged to a female, so it was probably Mary Rutledge Beeman’s. For now, an exhumation of the body was on hold, but when Charlie/ Henry/Declan Jr. was caught, they might need to search for corroborating evidence, naming him the killer.
Hale turned to look
at Savannah. “How’re we doing?” he asked.
“We’re okay,” she said.
Then they both gazed down into baby Declan’s sleeping face. She pressed a kiss to his clean little brow and said a prayer for Kristina.
The Toyota bumped along the highway, causing Charlie, who lay burned and broken in the passenger seat of Victoria Phelan’s car, to moan involuntarily. They were traversing along the top of the state, toward I-5, which would take them north into Washington State.
“Where should we go?” Victoria said, fretting. “Canada? They’ll be looking for you.”
He closed his eyes, shutting her out. It was lucky she was so easy to control. He’d lost some of his powers. A lot of them, actually. He thought back to how easily he’d manipulated her into hiding Kristina’s gun and calling Savannah, how much she’d been panting for him, how she would have done anything to have him, and now she was questioning him . . . ? Well, it just plain hurt, almost worse than his injuries.
“We gotta go east, across Washington. Maybe to Idaho,” he told her.
“Y’think?”
“Yes,” he said through his teeth.
Victoria had hidden him the past few days, bringing salve and bandages and food to the motel room she’d rented after Hale St. Cloud had let her go. The timing was perfect. No one paid any attention to her after she handed over the gun she’d “found,” the one he’d given her to hide. Luckily, she’d gotten the money from her broken contract, and they were set for a while. But he was going to have to get rid of her soon. She was a liability. Didn’t they all become one eventually?
Killing her would help. Just thinking of how he’d felt while looking into that dying detective’s eyes . . . It helped ease the pain of his burns and the deep fury he felt over losing Savannah Dunbar. What a clusterfuck. That homeless dude showing up.
He sent his mind back to the dying detective . . . the dark hole that opened up to the other side for just a nanosecond. His blood heated at the memory, and his spirits lifted a teeny bit. Good Time Charlie wasn’t completely dead.
And then the voice in his head, scratching against his skull like fingernails on a blackboard: I’m coming for you.
“You’re a dead woman!” he snarled aloud, his patience with the bitch completely shattered.
“What?” Victoria turned wide eyes his way.
“Watch the road,” he snapped. “I didn’t mean you.”
And then the voice came back with a surprising message: Not a woman, big brother. See you in the next life.
Charlie thought that over long and hard. No wonder she could play the game so well! She was a he.
“What’s so funny?” Victoria asked.
Charlie hadn’t even realized he was chuckling until she spoke, ruining one of the only moments he’d had without pain since the fire had burned him. Now he shuddered violently. He’d never liked fires. He’d sensed from a very early age that it was the method that he would die by.
“Shut up,” he said to Victoria. Then to the voice, which he could feel was still waiting, In the next life, then . . .
Ravinia walked along the road, south, toward California. Sometimes she accepted rides; sometimes she just walked because she wanted to. The weather was holding for the moment, though rain was in the forecast.
She was south of Tillamook, and it was growing dark. She wasn’t far from a place to stay, but she would rather keep going. As if hearing her, a car pulled up beside her, but it was two men, who looked at her lasciviously. She looked into their hearts, but she didn’t need to. She’d already determined she wouldn’t catch a ride with them.
“Ah, c’mon, honey,” the one in the passenger seat said as the car pulled to a complete stop and he stepped a foot out.
Ravinia fingered her knife, but she felt a wraith move up beside her, maybe even through her. On her sudden intake of breath, the man backed up, jumped in the car, slammed the door, and the vehicle tore away.
She looked from the car to her left. A wolf stood beside her, its yellow eyes watching the departing vehicle.
