“You can’t stay here, Jessie. The same people who killed your father are after you, and they know where you are.”
She tipped her head, as if shifting the words in her brain might help them make sense. She’d actually started to wonder if what he claimed was true until he got to the part about killing her father. Donovan was either operating under a misconception, or he was more paranoid than she was. Or…“You can’t wait to get rid of me so you can go through this house, can you? You probably already have buyers lined up for the Persian rugs and antique hookah pipes. There must be a small fortune in the furnishings, and they mean nothing to you but a nice windfall.”
He waved her accusation aside. “There’s nothing in the house I want. I’ve already checked.”
“You what?” Her outrage rose to squeaky levels. “You went through this house without my permission?”
“Key, remember? I checked the files and computer logs; it’s not here. Whatever your father wants me to know, he left with you, just like he said he would in his last message. You can have the rest.”
“I… Do you mean you don’t want the rugs? Or the paintings?”
“It’s all yours. Right now I just want to save you from the people who killed Wally and who are trying to kill you, too.”
The paintings were hers. Her elation lasted several seconds, until reality crept back in. He was still operating under some paranoid delusion of murder and intrigue. “You’re mistaken,” she said, a gentle way of saying the more accurate phrase: You’re crazy. “My father died of a heart attack; the sheriff told me so when he first called.”
“I spoke with the coroner and the sheriff yesterday evening, Jessie, and I examined Wally’s body. Your father was injected with a drug that stopped his heart. He was murdered.”
Her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s true. He was killed after a day of questioning and torture. Since the men who did it have already tried to kill you twice, I’d say you’re next on their list. I’m taking you someplace safe so we can figure out the information Wally died to keep secret.”
It was too much, even for a woman who dabbled in paranoia. At least her delusions of the dangers that lurked in everyday situations were more realistic. This guy was a freaking nutcase, possibly as crazy as the man who had attacked her. What in the hell was happening in Nipagonee Rapids?
A bin of lunatics was running loose in the north woods, that was what, and she fallen into the middle of them. The theory made as much sense to her as his absurd claims about torture and murder.
“You’re crazy,” she declared. When he didn’t loosen his grip, she went back to the tactic of pacifying the lunatic. “Look, Mr. Donovan, I’m grateful for your concern, but I’m perfectly safe here. No one even knows I’m here, because I’m still registered at the Valley View Motel.”
“I found you, didn’t I?”
She frowned. “Yes, but—”
“I’m not the only one.”
The hardness in his eyes made her pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Ask the dead guy in the garage, the one who came to kill you. Where’s your suitcase?”
“What?” It felt like he’d socked her in the jaw, it took so long to get her mouth working. She licked her lips. “What dead guy?”
He didn’t wait for her response, ducking down the hall into the first bedroom. “Three suitcases?” His incredulous voice carried back to her. “For three days? Are you fucking kidding me?”
He reappeared with her carry-on bag slung over his shoulder, rolling two stacked suitcases behind him. “Come on, let’s go.” When her frozen feet didn’t move, he grabbed her hand and tugged her along like a fourth piece of luggage.
It had to be awkward pulling all that weight plus a resisting woman, but he made it seem effortless. She tried to plant her feet but his hand held hers in an iron grip and she ended up staggering after him. “Let go. You can’t do this.” she insisted, fear edging into her voice, as she made a futile grab at the kitchen counter.
He could, and did. She barely had time to gain her balance as he opened the back door. Then he was tugging her into the attached garage, closing the door behind them. Darkness enveloped them.
He tugged her alongside her father’s car. “Stay here and don’t move,” he ordered. Releasing her hand, he opened the back door of the car and began tossing her bags inside.
Stay with the stranger who was trying to take her against her will? The hell she would. It smacked of every fear her mother had instilled in her for the past fifteen years—fear of conspiracies, fear of others controlling her life, fear of men.