Traitor (Last to Leave Book 1) Page 5

  Then a shout breaks the silence.

  I shoot to my feet and look on in horror as the figures begin to struggle. With the growing darkness, it’s harder to see them, but there’s no denying they aren’t having a calm conversation anymore. The man, who I think is dressed in jeans and towers over the other, shoots to his feet. The woman, dressed in a flowing sheath of some sort, takes a quick step back, trips, and goes down hard. I gasp aloud, but no one is close enough to hear me.

  They’re just arguing. It’ll be over soon, and you’ll laugh it off. There’s nothing to worry about.

  The comfort of my hotel room beckons and I start to glance back to the safety of the lodge, when a quick movement catches my eye. My feet freeze in place and my stomach rebels, clutching around emptiness and threatening to give my lunch a second appearance. The taller person shoves at the woman. The shadow of her flirty dress billows up as she falls back, hard, into the side of the boat.

  “What the hell?” I whisper. Gone was the quiet, peaceful evening. The night that had been so comforting now pressed around me with renewed menace. “Talk it out. Apologize,” I urge them. Except, the intimate conversation they seemed to have been having devolves into a screaming match. I can only hear the echoes of it and can’t make out any of the words.

  The woman tries to get up, but he shoves her back down. I wince, stomach churning, and all instincts screaming for me to flee. If not to get help, then to run and hide. Hiding is what I do best. But I can’t. My knees are locked, and I know if I leave I may not be able to help.

  But there’s no helping them.

  The woman claws at the man holding her down, and I can tell from her high-pitched screams she’s pleading, even if I can’t make out the words. Her voice rings in my ears until it’s all I can hear. They blend with the memories of that night until I can’t tell if what I’m hearing is the woman in front of me or the ghosts of my own nightmares.

  “Stop. Stop! Stop it,” I tell her, or them, I don’t even know anymore. “You’re going to piss him off.” If she doesn’t, it’s going to be bad.

  It goes from bad, to worse, when the woman manages to get to her feet and charges at the man with her hands outstretched, nails no doubt gouging into any available flesh. The man backs away from her, toward my direction, then pivots until the woman falls overboard.

  I don’t realize I’m shouting until I stop, thinking their argument is over once the woman hits the water. Maybe the freezing temperature will cool her off and they can have a rational discussion.

  I nearly leave again, until the man kneels in the boat, to help her I assume at first. Then, he stretches out his arms, and all I can see is a violent thrashing in the water as the woman fights her way back to the surface.

  “No!” I whisper before I realize what I’m doing.

  All too soon, the water goes still.

  For several long minutes, my terrified brain can’t grasp what it means, and then I understand all too well.

  I trip over my own feet as I turn and try to sprint for the lodge and fall into the black depths of Bear Lake, knocking my head on the dock as I go down.

  I try to fight it, terror overtaking me at the thought of being helpless, but the darkness I tried so hard to overcome envelops me.

  Chapter Six

  Ford

  “Have you seen Ms. Rhodes come in?” Nell asks the moment I walk in.

  I glance up, wondering if she can see the tension in my face. “I just got back. How would I have seen her?”

  Nell twists her hands looking too flustered to pay any attention to me. “I’m worried. Saw her go out back a while ago and she hasn’t made it in yet. Do you think she wandered off and got herself lost in the woods?”

  The coffee in my thermos has gone stone-cold, but I choke it back anyway. I’ve had worse. “I think she’s a grown woman and knows how to find her way back or call for help. I don’t want to get involved. For Christ’s sake, I’m not her keeper.” The look on Nell’s face tells me she’s not going to let this one go. “Fine, I’ll go down to the lake trails and see if I can find her, make sure she’s okay. Will that make you feel better?”

  Nell smiles and gives me a hug. “You’re a good man, Ford.”

  I grunt as I get to my feet and throw on my jacket. “If you think that’s true, you’ll have another cup of coffee waiting for me when I get back.”

  “You got it,” she says in a pleased voice to my retreating back.

  With the flashlight I retrieve from under the front desk in one hand and my phone in the other, I head to the back deck, nodding to a couple sitting in front of the fire on my way. Cicadas hum around me as I head down the marked path from the back deck toward the lake. Damn silly woman would have had to work to get herself lost. The lodge is lit up like a Christmas tree at night for this very reason, but there’s always some fool tourist who thinks they’re a master hiker and gets lost.

  The beam from the flashlight bobs in front of me as I dial the number Peyton provided when she checked in with my other hand. The line rings and rings until I get her voicemail. Peyton doesn’t seem like the type to go anywhere without her phone attached to her side, so the first rumblings of unease stir inside me.

  I pocket my phone and begin to search in earnest. The trail to the water is empty and the top of Bear Lake is as smooth as glass.

  Where the fuck could she be?

  She probably went around to the front as I was going to the back or some other stupid crap. I tell myself that as I step out onto the dock, hoping I’ll find her sitting at the end with her feet in the water again, like I had this morning.

  I find her, but she’s facedown in the water with a murky halo of red that shimmers when I shine the light over her. No! I think, or maybe I shout it. My knees scream out in pain as I slam against the dock. The flashlight plummets from my nerveless hands and skitters away, the beam arching and twirling, flashing on Peyton in a sick carnival of lights.

  Her skin is ice-cold by the time I wrap my hands around her arms and her lips are blue. Desperation has me pulling her out of the water with a roar, her limbs knocking against the wood like a rag doll’s. I perform CPR, thankful for the combat medicine I learned in the Corps, and hoping like hell it’ll actually do me some good this time around.

  Minutes pass like centuries with me working on her until she coughs, spitting up lake water and hacking for air. I brush back the hair from her face and rub her back until she settles. Her teeth chatter with the cold and I strip off my jacket and cover her with it.

  “Peyton? Peyton, it’s Ford. Can you hear me?” Her eyes flicker open and then focus on me. “That’s it. Come back to me.”

  She blinks blearily. “W-what?”

  “Wake up, sunshine. C’mon.” She’s cold. Far too cold and she won’t stop shivering. I haul her against me, her body small and vulnerable against mine. The urge to protect, to save, is so overwhelming my grip tightens around her. She makes a sound of protest and I gentle my hold.

  “Ford?” Her blue lips form my name, but no sound comes out. Her eyes roam over my face, confusion clouding them. “What?”

  I brush my hand over her hair and it comes away red. Cursing, I pull a bandana from my pocket and press it to the knot on her head. She winces. “I’m sorry, you must have knocked your head good. You almost drowned.”

  “Drowned?” she repeats, shaking her head as though to clear her thoughts. Her eyebrows squish together and she blinks rapidly.

  “Yeah, looks like you fell into the water and hit your head. If I hadn’t found you, you could have drowned.” Her eyes widen and she shoots up, nearly knocking heads with me. “What the hell, calm down. You could hurt yourself.”

  “He hurt her. She’s hurt. We have to get help.” She begins to struggle out of my arms like a wildcat.

  “Hang on there, you keep steady now. You could make it worse.” She rips out of my hold and stumbles back, nearly falling off the other end of the dock. “Peyton, what the hell?”

  �
��He drowned her. He drowned her, and we have to get help.” Her eyes roll in her head and she flips onto her hands and knees and begins crawling when she can’t get to her feet.

  “Peyton, wait. Let me help you.” She slaps my hands away when I try to help her stand. “Dammit, did that bump also knock all the common sense out of you? Calm down so we can fix this.” I grab her by the arms and haul her up. When her knees buckle, I brace her against me. “You didn’t drown. You’re fine, you’re here with me. You’re safe.”

  Peyton grips my shirt with both fists. “Not me. God, not me. The woman on the boat. The man drowned her. I-I think she’s dead. We have to help her.”

  I glance at the empty lake. “There’s no one there, Peyton.”

  She spins around, and I brace her wavering body with my arms. “What? No, they were just there. A man and a woman, I think. They were arguing, and he pushed her over and drowned her. I’m not making this up.”

  I guide her to the edge of the dock, picking up my flashlight along the way. When we get to the edge, I shine the beam out over the empty water. “Can you tell me what happened? Did you see who they were?”

  She closes her eyes as she remembers. “I couldn’t see everything, they were pretty far across the lake, it was mostly their shadows with the light of the moon behind them. I heard them arguing, once it got more intense, the sound of her falling after he shoved her nearly echoed. Then the splash of water when he pushed her over.” When the shivers overtake her again, I wrap my jacket more securely around her shoulders.

  I know what she’s feeling. The sense of unreality, shock, disbelief. I never wanted to feel it again let alone watch someone else go through it right in front of me.

  “Could you see what they were wearing?” I ask. “What the boat looked like? Maybe a tag or name?”

  “Not really. The woman was in a dress, shorter than the man who had to be wearing pants, but that’s about it. It was too dark,” she ends on a whisper. She’s shaking so violently, I worry she’s in shock. “It’s too dark. Can we go inside?”

  As I walk her back up the dock, her body leaning into my side, I say, “Are you sure this is what you saw? Maybe you were mistaken. It’s pretty hard to see a ways out, you could have been confused.”

  Her feet stop moving, forcing me to turn and look at her. Grief ravages her face and too late, I realize she’s crying. She nods to the tags at my neck. “You were in the military, right? Would you mistake someone dying right in front of you?”

  Point taken, we start walking again. “The boat. Can you describe it?”

  She sighs. “I could probably pick one out if I saw it again. Big. I’m sorry, I’m tired.”

  We get to the edge of the dock and begin the short climb up the path that leads to the lodge.

  “Why were you down at the lake?” I ask when she gets too quiet.

  “Please, Ford. Don’t interrogate me now. I’m too exhausted to argue.”

  My strides eat up the ground, but I have to pace myself to keep up with her. “I need to keep you focused and awake. Don’t want you passing out on me. Tell me. Were you trying to take a midnight swim?”

  “I’m an artist. I wanted to see what the water looked like at night.” She rests her head against my shoulder and more of her weight leans against me. “It was so pretty. Besides, I can’t swim.”

  Ignoring the thought of her drowning, I shake her awake. “Oh, no you don’t. Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

  She growls at me. “You’re such an asshole, Ford.”

  I nearly smile. “Call me whatever you want, but you were underwater for God only knows how long. You hit your head and could be suffering from a concussion. Keeping you conscious supersedes being nice.”

  “I think I hate you,” she says.

  “You wouldn’t be the first,” I answer.

  We reach the steps to the deck and she shoves out of my hold. “I can walk by myself.”

  She teeters a little at the top step, but manages to make it to the back door. A wave of heat greets us, along with Nell, and to my growing frustration, Mercy and Lexie.

  “We, like, heard there was a missing woman,” Lexie says in a whisper that carries. “Is that her?”

  “Is everything okay?” Mercy asks.

  “We’ll talk later,” I tell them. “Go to my rooms, please. Nell, will you call the sheriff?”

  At the mention of the police, Peyton’s face drains of all color. I cross to her in two long strides and catch her weight before she sinks to the ground.

  “Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” Nell says, as she hurries to the phone. For once in her life, she doesn’t argue with me. Maybe I won’t fire her today after all.

  “Don’t faint on me, sunshine.”

  She glares at me, her eyes clearing a bit. “I wasn’t going to faint. I got a little dizzy.”

  I walk her over to the seat in front of the fire. “Dizzy my ass, if I hadn’t caught you, you’d be in a puddle on the floor, now snap out of it.”

  “You have a wonderful bedside manner,” she hisses. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

  Lifting her chin with my finger, I smile wanly. “You don’t look like you’re gonna pass out now, so bedside manner or not, I got the job done.”

  She accepts a cup of coffee from Nell. “Thank you.”

  “Are you all right, honey?” Nell asks. “You had us worried.”

  Peyton doesn’t answer. She doesn’t really have to. The haunted look on her face is answer enough. To me, she says, “What were you doing out by the lake?” She tries to disguise it, but I note the wary tone in her voice.

  Disappointment has my voice hardening and me taking a step back. I cross my arms over my chest. “I was looking for you. What else?”

  “And you didn’t see or hear anything?” she asks.

  “Other than you floating facedown in the water, no. I didn’t really have time to pay attention to anything else, what with me saving your life and all.”

  The smile she gives me is fake and she doesn’t look me directly in the eye. “Of course,” she says, but it doesn’t sound sincere.

  I turn away from her and stalk to the front desk to wait for the police to arrive.

  Chapter Seven

  Peyton

  Ford hovers in my peripheral vision and even though I know it’s foolish, I can’t help but feel threatened. He saved me. I’d be dead if he hadn’t found me. But that doesn’t do anything for the survival instinct inside of me, telling me to run away from him as fast as I can.

  Men like Ford are dangerous. Not just because of what they’re capable of physically, but because when I’m around him, it’s so easy for me to forget my better judgement.

  When I get to my feet, needing the space or to move, it’s like he’s a satellite anchored to my position. He turns to me, his eyes watchful, waiting.

  “I’m going to go get in some clean clothes,” I announce. “I’ll be back before the police get here.”

  “Of course,” Nell says. I can tell she wants to hover, but she lets me go. She scurries to the counter and retrieves another keycard. I’d left mine with my purse and the bags of food and goodies in the car. “Here you go.”

  Grateful for the reprieve, even for a moment, I hurry up to my room and close the door firmly behind me.

  Keep yourself busy.

  That’s the only way I know to keep from dissolving into a sobbing mess, so I go to the clothes I neatly folded and put away in the dresser. I choose a pair of jeans and a soft cable-knit sweater along with new underthings. My wet clothes land in a pile underneath the bathroom sink. I wish I could burn them, forget tonight, and act like none of it ever happened, but I can’t. I make a mental note to bring them to the dry cleaners. Maybe they can get the smell out. My hair is a drenched, tangled mess, so I take the time to brush it out and pull it into a sleek ponytail.

  The process of dressing and grooming calms me enough to face going back downstairs. A man in his mid-thirties in a dark brown uniform, with a walkie at hi
s shoulder and gun at his side, stands at the front desk deep in conversation with Ford. The woman and child—Ford’s family? I wonder—have disappeared. Nell is hovering about ,tidying the great room in a nervous habit that reminds me all too well of my own mom’s tendency to clean when she was nervous.

  Ford’s eyes nearly pin me to the floor when he spots me at the foot of the stairs. “Sheriff Hadley, this is Peyton Rhodes, a guest here at the lodge. Peyton, this is Paul Hadley.”

  I hold out my hand, thankful it stopped shaking. “Sheriff,” I say.

  “Got somewhere private we can talk, Collier?” the sheriff asks.

  Ford studies me a moment longer, then jerks his head behind him. “Yeah, you can talk in the back. Nell, will you keep an eye on things out here?”

  “Of course, Boss.” Nell sends me a sympathetic look.

  Sheriff Paul Hadley isn’t intimidating, per se. Around five ten with dusty blond hair, desperately in need of a trim, and watery blue eyes. When he turns to hold the door open for me, I’m close enough to see the dusting of freckles along the bridge of his nose. He’s not quite as imposing as Ford, with less brawn and a more lackadaisical air. I’ve gotten good at judging people, or at least getting an impression of them, and Sheriff Hadley strikes me as an efficient man. The kind of guy you judge as affable at first until he proves himself to be more observant than you’d expect.

  The room Ford’s taken us to must be his office. It smells like him and I almost wish he’d brought me somewhere else. Being in a space where he spends so much of his time feels too intimate. The desk is what I guess could be described as organized chaos. Papers litter its surface in haphazard piles, punctuated by pens and paper clips. It strikes me there isn’t a personal touch, no photographs; or homemade knickknacks. No military service medals. I’d imagine he spends a lot of his time in here, but there’s nothing personal adorning his desk. I wonder if he’s trying to hide his past or if he’s that much of a loner.