And The Bride Vanishes Read online

  She lay half-curled on the cot, dark hair spilling around her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stroked the long tresses, relishing their silky feel. He ached to sleep with the delicate shape of her body nestled inside his, the way it had every night of their marriage.

  Two months. That was all the time they’d had together. Perhaps it was all the time they would ever have.

  He didn’t expect Linda to stick around once she reached safety. No doubt she would hit him with divorce papers so fast the ink would dry in midair. The next time she walked down the aisle with Avery, he would have no legal right to object.

  Wick felt his gut tighten. He hadn’t wanted to love her, or anyone. Love was a knife planted in his heart that she could twist whenever she pleased.

  The first few months after he went to work at the Lyme Company, he’d been intensely aware of Linda every time he passed through the front office. But he’d confined himself to casual greetings.

  He supposed an analyst would claim his remoteness came from feeling abandoned when his parents died. Then his grandparents, less than eager to take on raising a child just when they were retiring, had left him with a succession of nannies.

  Wick had become strong by fending for himself and needing no one. In college, his friendship with Avery had helped him to mellow, but he’d still felt, deep within, that he was destined to go through life alone.

  He hadn’t gotten to know Linda until the day of the company picnic when the two of them were matched in a three-legged race. Her abbreviated strides had short-circuited his long ones, and they’d collapsed in laughter halfway to the finish line.

  That had broken the ice. By the end of the day, his attraction to her had wiped away any thought of keeping a distance.

  Leaning over the sleeping figure, he brushed her hair back from her cheek. Tomorrow he would set Linda free. Whatever dark secrets lay hidden within the Lyme Company, they were no longer his concern.

  WICK WAS STIRRING on his bed at the back of the trailer when Linda awoke. Her gaze went to him immediately, and the events of the previous day rushed back.

  She could still scarcely believe he was alive. It was such a joyous discovery, and yet so frightening.

  If only he would tell her the truth about who he’d gone to meet and what was happening. She wanted to trust him, but how could she?

  As on every morning since her queasiness faded, Linda awoke ravenous. Trying to ignore that her dress and hair were impossibly rumpled, she padded to the refrigerator and peered inside.

  The man must live on canned food, because there was almost nothing here. Mustard, ketchup and pickle relish did not a breakfast make. There were only two eggs, and the milk smelled suspicious even from a distance.

  “Sorry. I meant to pick up some groceries yesterday but I forgot.” Finger-combing his hair, Wick made his way forward. He had to bend slightly to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling.

  A hint of stubble around his jaw made him look as scruffy as Linda felt. “Aren’t we a great pair?” she said. “It’s a good thing we don’t have to worry about friends dropping in.”

  “Sit down. I’ll make coffee—or can you drink that?”

  She had given it up for the baby’s sake, but this morning she needed all the help she could get. “Just this once.”

  He put a pot of water on to boil and began rummaging through the cupboards. “We’ll have to go out later. In fact, we’ll be leaving here today.”

  Linda held no great love for her cramped surroundings, but the news caught her off guard. “Why?”

  Wick set a jar of instant coffee on the counter. “I’ve decided to take you back.”

  “Back where?”

  “Back to Janet’s.”

  It should have been welcome news, but his grim tone made Linda uneasy. “What’s changed?”

  “Wait until the coffee’s ready.”

  The man was playing games. “Couldn’t you just tell me and get it over with?”

  “It’s a bit complicated.” His eyes closed briefly as if he were seeking inner strength.

  This wasn’t a game, she realized. He was upset. “Wick? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m an idiot,” he said. “I’ve been an idiot from the start. The worst part is that I didn’t just screw things up for myself but for you and the baby, too.”

  The water was boiling, but he didn’t appear to notice. Linda squeezed past him and measured coffee into two chipped cups. “Sit down and talk.”

  “I don’t feel like sitting down.”

  “Then stand up and talk.”

  He was so close she could feel the heat of his body. An undertone that was hardly even a scent awoke memories of tangled bodies and spilled sheets and the strength of his arms around her. But now he stood stiff and remote, a man she hardly knew.

  At last he spoke. “Do you remember the reporter who came into the office wanting to interview Granville?”

  “A tall woman, large-boned?” Linda recalled wondering why the office manager had rushed the visitor out so quickly. “I felt sorry for her.”

  “I called her afterward.” Wick ignored his cup. “I told her that if she didn’t investigate the Lyme Company, she’d be missing a big story.”

  “You really do think there’s something illegal going on, don’t you?”

  Instead of answering, he asked, “How much do you know about offshore banks?”

  She rubbed the small of her back, which always seemed to ache these days. “Just that they’re located on Caribbean islands and they’re basically unregulated.”

  Setting down his cup and turning her gently, Wick began stroking her back. His fingers probed recesses that Linda could never reach.

  “That’s right, as far as it goes. Some island governments allow banks and corporations that not only make their own rules but guarantee secrecy to their clients,” he said. “That means investigators from the U.S. can’t tell where the money comes from. There’s no paper trail to follow back to drug dealers or whatever.”

  “Criminals ought to love that,” she said. “But doesn’t our government object?”

  “It has, and there’ve been some reforms.” Wick’s cheek grazed Linda’s hair as he worked magic on her back. “But unless we can prove in advance that there’s a connection to criminal activity, we can’t get access to their records.”

  “And some of the Lyme Company’s clients paid for their real estate through those banks.” She hadn’t thought about the implications at the time. “I just figured they used the banks as a convenience, or because of problems with banks in their home countries. So you gave this information to the reporter?”

  “I thought she would take it and run with it.” Instead, he explained that Sarah had needed his help to access more information. That was why he’d downloaded the files. That was why he’d met her that fateful night, and nearly gotten killed on the way back.

  “She’s the one who’s been helping you hide?” Linda felt a quirk of resentment against the woman.

  “She said she felt responsible for the fact that someone tried to kill me.” His hands dropped to his sides. “Then last night, she said someone might be trying to kill her, too.”

  “She should go to the police.” Linda swung around to face him. “That is, if she’s legitimate. But she’s not, is she? That’s why you’re so upset.”

  Amazement colored his face. “I wish I’d let you in on this business from the start. You would have seen through her a long time ago.”

  “So who is she?”

  “A private investigator. Or so she says.”

  “Did you ask to see her license?”

  He grimaced. “It didn’t occur to me. I was so blown away at learning she’d lied, I just—Linda, I’m sorry.”

  “Never mind, she could have forged one, anyway. What else did she say?”

  He told her that a client seeking a contested inheritance had put the whole mess into motion. But Wick didn’t know the client’s name or even if Sarah had been tellin
g the truth.

  “So all we know is that, for some reason, somebody wanted copies of the Lyme Company’s files on émigré clients for the past two years,” she said. “And that made someone mad enough to try to kill you.”

  “Sarah and I dug up a few additional facts, but it’s like a jigsaw puzzle with most of the pieces missing,” Wick said. “I have no way of investigating this mess now. That’s why I’m going to take you back.”

  As her brain tried to sift through all this information, Linda scrambled the two eggs. Wick insisted she eat them both herself, and as she did, he switched on a transistor radio.

  After a country song and several minutes of commercials, news came on. The lead story, to Linda’s surprise, wasn’t her own kidnapping the previous day. It was something even more shocking.

  “Police in Inland say the body of a forty-one-year-old woman was found in her apartment this morning. She had been strangled,” the announcer intoned. “The victim has been identified as Sarah Walters, a private investigator from Los Angeles.”

  STUNNED, Wick listened to the report. It was sketchy: Police didn’t know why Sarah Walters had been staying in Inland, no one had seen her attacker and the object used to strangle her was missing.

  Someone had ransacked the apartment, but her computer and wallet hadn’t been taken, said police captain Harvey Merkel. However, some computer disks and other papers had been disturbed, and there was no way to tell if some might be missing.

  Wick had a strong suspicion he knew what the killer had taken—the Lyme Company files, and Sarah’s notes on the case.

  The body had been discovered by the landlady, who came upstairs to replace a missing lightbulb and discovered the door unlocked. The time of death was believed to be about ten o’clock the previous evening.

  She must have been killed soon after he’d left, Wick reflected grimly. Poor Sarah. She had been telling the truth, at least in part.

  She was a brisk person, not the sort who made friends easily, he suspected, but she’d had a sharp mind and a wide range of knowledge. In the months they’d worked together, he’d developed a respect for her that survived even the admission that she’d lied. She had deserved far better than this brutal death.

  The police didn’t have much to go on, which came as no surprise. Inland’s finest were more accustomed to dealing with traffic accidents and domestic violence than with murder.

  Particularly a murder as smoothly executed as this one. No one had been seen. There was no sign of forced entry, they couldn’t determine if anything had been taken, no murder weapon had been located.

  Wick remembered the speculation that his kidnapping of Sarah might have alerted the killer that he was alive. If the man really had been watching Linda, then Wick had led him right to Sarah’s apartment when he swung by there before heading to the trailer.

  The man hadn’t wasted a minute. He’d gone after those files, and disposed of Sarah as easily as he might swat a mosquito.

  Wick’s muscles tightened. If he went ahead with his plan to turn himself in, he wasn’t sure even a jail cell could stop the killer. And he had no doubt that he would be the next target.

  The newscaster switched to the story of the bride’s kidnapping. He had conducted an interview with one of the witnesses, neighbor Mina Barash.

  “Tell me, Mrs. Barash, what did the kidnapper look like?”

  “Very tall,” said a soft, accented voice.

  “Did he look familiar?” asked the announcer.

  “In that mask? I couldn’t see anything.”

  “Weren’t you frightened?” the newscaster pressed.

  “Not at all. It was like being in a movie.” The woman’s voice rose in excitement. “There I was, planting my flowers—marigolds and petunias and some of those blue flowers, I forget the name—and I look up and see him. Such a man! All covered in black. I thought I was having a sunstroke.”

  “Did you notice anything else?”

  “That poor girl!” said the neighbor. “Stolen on her wedding day. It is like a story from an opera. Very dramatic!”

  The announcer thanked her, explained that the police had no new information, and proceeded to the weather report. Wick turned off the radio.

  “I’m glad she finds my abduction so entertaining,” Linda said dryly.

  “I wish I did,” Wick admitted. “It was a mistake.” He couldn’t bring Sarah back, but he could remove Linda from danger. “As soon as you’re ready, I’m going to drop you near the police station.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll have to disappear. Permanently.”

  Linda’s chin tilted upward in a familiar stubborn gesture. “No way.”

  “I should never have come back for you. Linda—”

  “I’m staying with you.” He felt a spurt of hope, wondering if she meant because she loved him, until she added, “How can you be sure the killer won’t target me, as well? It would be a fair assumption that I know too much, too.”

  He shouldn’t have expected anything more, Wick told himself. “I can’t guarantee your safety while you’re with me.”

  “Do you think I expect a warranty?” she snapped. “As if I were purchasing an appliance? Or do you just want to get rid of me? If I’m in the way, just say so, Wick.”

  “It isn’t that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Where would she be safer? he asked himself urgently, and realized there was no way to tell. In this world of shadowy truths, it was even possible Linda wanted to remain here to spy on him because she was in some way connected with a conspiracy.

  But, selfishly, he wanted to keep her close. Since for all he knew that might be the wisest course, he decided to take it.

  “The problem is, we’ve got to figure out a way for both of us to disappear.” He collected her breakfast dishes and stuck them in the sink. He didn’t feel even mildly hungry, himself. “It won’t be easy, given your condition and the fact that you’ll need medical care. We’ll have to head out of town and arrange to get forged IDs as soon as possible.”

  Linda was staring at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “You mean, spend the rest of our lives on the run? We haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “The killer doesn’t care. This could be a professional hit man, Linda. Even a trained investigator like Sarah couldn’t stop him.”

  “I won’t live like a fugitive, and neither should you. Our only hope is to catch the killer before he catches us.”

  Absentmindedly, she stroked her abdomen, and Wick wondered if the baby was moving. He wished he dared reach down and feel his child. It seemed like such a miracle, and one he wanted to share. But Linda’s strained expression warned that she was in no mood to be touched.

  “We can’t stay here,” he said. “Not in the trailer.”

  She agreed. “We need a better place to hide and we need a contact, someone who can go places and talk to people that we can’t.”

  “There’s no one I trust”

  “I’m aware of that.” Irony edged her tone. “After all, you didn’t even trust me. But I’ve lived in Inland my whole life. I’ve got family and friends there.”

  Outside, the day was heating up, its warmth penetrating the interior. Wick peered through the blinds, anxious to be on his way and grateful that there was no sign of an intruder. Yet.

  “The problem with family and friends is that they talk to each other,” he replied. “Before you know it, there won’t be any secrets.”

  “On the other hand,” Linda replied, “some of those people might know things that could help us. About the Lyme Company or its clients. Avery, for instance.”

  The mention of his old friend cut hard. For weeks now, Wick had pictured Avery as his enemy, a man who had schemed against him and stolen his wife.

  He’d had second thoughts since Linda revealed her pregnancy. It was believable that Avery would marry her out of friendship and concern, under the circumstances. In college, where they’d roomed together, Ave
ry had been the first to find good in anyone, and the first to offer help when it was needed.

  It would be a relief to forgive and forget. If Avery were still a friend, maybe the world wasn’t quite so upside-down as Wick believed.

  And yet…Avery’s father owned the Lyme Company and Avery stood to inherit it. If there was anything wrong, the odds were high that his old friend knew about it. “We can’t afford to trust him.”

  “He’s a decent guy, and he admires you very much,” Linda said. “But if you feel that way, how about Janet?”

  He entertained the prospect for about ten seconds before the obvious drawback hit him. “She’d never be able to keep it from Harvey. Confiding in Janet would be about as secret as filing a police report.”

  Logically, the next choice should have been Linda’s parents. But they both knew that John and Melissa Ryan were more likely to turn Wick in than to assist him.

  “We can give this more thought once we figure out where we’re going when we leave here,” he said. “A motel comes to mind, but that takes money.”

  “Besides, the manager might recognize one of us,” Linda said. “Wait! I’ve got it! The cabin!”

  “What cabin?”

  “You know. My parents’ vacation place.” Her eyes brightened. “It would be like hiding in plain sight. They won’t be using it until the Fourth of July.”

  Wick had visited the place twice, when her parents invited them to barbecues. The two-bedroom A-frame structure sat right beside Inland Lake.

  It had seemed like an indulgence to him, that her family owned a vacation home so close to town. But she’d explained that her father considered it an investment as well as a getaway.

  Unfortunately, thanks to a recession, the developer had gone broke before selling the adjacent lots, which remained empty. There were only a few other houses scattered along the street.

  As he recalled, a few blocks away lay a small commercial strip with a grocery store, a few shops and a senior citizens’ center. On the far side of the strip stood one of several public piers that jutted into the lake.

  There was just enough foot traffic in the area so that a couple of strangers wouldn’t attract attention, but no close neighbors to get nosy. Of course, people might have seen his and Linda’s pictures on television, so the two of them would have to be careful.