Chapter 51
FIFTY-ONE
“S heriff. This a bad time?”
Rafe glanced up at Earl, standing in his office doorway. Yes, it was a bad time. He’d had to go inform Charlie’s wife that she was now a widow. And that his kids were now without a father.
Felt like there had been mostly bad times since he’d started this job to be honest. “Is it urgent?”
“I think so.”
“All right. Come on in.”
Earl came in and stood before the desk. “I made a note of all this in my log to report to you at our next briefing. But in light of the crash, there are some things I think you should know.”
That sounded ominous. And he’d learned to value and trust Earl’s instincts and intel. “Okay, what?”
“Last night, I noticed a light on at the end of the dock. It was late, so I scoped it out, and it was coming from Charlie’s hangar.”
“How late?”
“Just before midnight.”
“That’s pretty late.” He couldn’t think of any reason for someone to be down there at that time. The hangar was kept locked, and only certain people had access.
Earl nodded. “The light was only on for a few seconds, but I saw someone go into the hangar before it went off. Couldn’t get a clear view of them though, I was too far away, so I headed down there to take a closer look.”
Very on brand for Earl. “And?”
“Don Rafferty drove past me heading the other way just before I got to the parking lot.”
Rafe frowned. There was only one way in and out of that marina lot. “Don? You sure?” What reason would he have to be there so late? He wasn’t a pilot, had no affiliation with the hangar or Charlie.
“Positive. I made a note of his plate number if you wanna check it. I kept going, went down to the hangar to see for myself, and the light was off by then, gate locked.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened. “All right. Guess I’m gonna need to talk to Don.”
Earl nodded. “You want backup?”
“Why, you wanna tase him for twenty or thirty seconds?”
One corner of Earl’s mouth lifted. “Only if he deserves it.”
Rafe was pretty sure Don did.
He clapped Earl on the shoulder. “Thanks, but I’ll be taking a deputy along. This was good work, by the way.”
“Glad to be of service, Sheriff. Happy hunting.”
Rafe strode for his vehicle, calling for backup on his radio. “Need an address for Don Rafferty.” He was still on the island. Rafe had just seen him that afternoon in town, and nobody would have been able to get on or off the island since then. The storm had shut down all ferry and air traffic.
Dispatch gave him an address. He coordinated with a deputy and headed up island, shoving down the rising anger. Charlie was dead. Xanthe and Blaine were lucky to be alive.
Could Don have done something to the plane? Everyone knew he hated Xanthe. Maybe he hated Blaine too. Enough to kill them?
On the drive up there, the full fury of the storm pushed his vehicle around.
The exclusive rental property sat above the fourteenth hole fairway on the island’s posh, full golf course.
He waited for his deputy to arrive then walked to the front door and rang the bell, reporting in to dispatch and activating his body cam.
A light flipped on inside. He automatically put a hand on the butt of his service weapon.
The door opened. Don stared at him blearily, as if he’d just woken up. His gaze darted to the deputy beside him and back to Rafe, eyeing them warily. “Sheriff. What can I do for you?”
“We’d like to ask you some questions. Can we come inside?”
“What kind of questions?”
“Can we come inside?”
Don’s fingers tightened convulsively around the edge of the door, his expression tense. “I guess.”
Rafe stepped inside. Glanced around, searching for hidden threats.
Don stepped out of view around the corner of the wall. “I’m gonna grab a stiff drink. Can I get you boys anything?”
“No, we’re fine.” Rafe started after him.
Realized his mistake too late when he heard a door slam at the back of the house. Cursing under his breath, Rafe ordered his deputy to go around front and charged after Don.
Don’s heart lodged in his throat as he dove into his rental car, which he’d parked alongside the house. He managed to get it started and in gear and then stomped on the gas just as the sheriff and deputy raced around the side of the house and drew their weapons.
The back end of the car fishtailed on the wet asphalt as he swerved down the driveway, panic choking him. He’d thought he’d gotten away with it.
Had someone seen him leaving the marina last night after meeting with his contact? He’d passed that one vehicle on the way out. That old fart busybody always shoving his nose into other people’s business here. Had Earl recognized him and reported him to the cops?
The car’s engine roared as he raced onto the rain-soaked, darkened street, his only thought on losing the sheriff, now chasing after him in his SUV with lights and sirens going.
His mind raced, desperation making it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t get off this fucking island right now. All the ferries were cancelled because of the storm.
The best he could hope for was to get to the woods and make a run for it. Hole up somewhere until morning and steal a boat or bribe someone to take him to the mainland.
The car careened down the road, its wipers struggling to keep the windshield clear of the driving rain. He veered sharp right at an intersection onto a road he knew ran toward the northern coast.
It was heavily wooded up there, not much development. His group had eyed it for potential development before they closed on the other property.
Blue and red lights flashed in his rearview. The sheriff was right on his tail.
Ahead of him the road was pitch black, winding through the thick forest on either side. Branches blew across both lanes, torn off by the violent wind. One crashed on top of his hood with a jarring thud.
He yanked the steering wheel to the left, narrowly avoided a tree limb lying across the road at the last second.
The cops were still right behind him, weren’t slowing down. He was running out of road, and time.
Pressing as hard on the accelerator as he dared, he kept going. The dim running lights illuminated a dark shape in the distance, blocking the way.
A whole fucking tree had come down across the road.
Swearing, he slammed on the brakes. His gaze snapped to the rearview. There was no way to turn around on this narrow, two-lane road and get past the cops. No way around the tree. He had no weapon.
All he could do was run for it.
Abandoning the car, he jumped out and took off, clambering over the massive tree trunk lying across the road. He made it over just as the cops stopped on the other side.
Don turned and raced blindly toward the trees. Rain and wind pelted him as he plunged into the woods. Beneath the howling wind he could just make out the crashing sound of waves.
He ran toward it, tripping and falling in the darkness. Looking for an escape route.
“Rafferty! Stop and put your hands up!” a hard voice shouted behind him.
He didn’t dare stop. They would charge him with arson, then dig into his financials if Slater hadn’t already. If they could place him at the dock last night, they could charge him with a whole lot worse.
He was fucked unless he could lay low and get off this rock before they arrested him and put him behind bars. Prison wouldn’t save him. It would only prolong the inevitable until the people orchestrating all this came for him.
He veered left, scrambling over more branches. Brush and sticks caught his clothing. Slowed him down when he needed every second. The stygian darkness lifted slightly as he raced into a clearing.
His heart shot into his throat, blocked the scream of terror trapped there as he realized it wasn’t a clearing.
He was standing at the edge of a cliff.
He skidded to a stop in the muddy soil, fell on his ass. Ten feet in front of him, the cliff plunged straight down into the ocean. Massive waves smashed into the jagged rocks at the base, sending up geysers of foam whipped up by the fury of the sea.
“Rafferty!”
He whipped his head around to face the trees. Shot to his feet on unsteady legs, glanced right and left.
There was nowhere to go.
The sheriff plunged out of the trees. Stopped when he saw him trapped there, and aimed his weapon at him. “Hands up.”
No way he would go to jail. He would die in there for certain. And the people he worked for might kill his family.
He glanced over his shoulder. Measured the drop. Spotted a narrow ledge of rock leading away from the clifftop.
“Don’t move,” the sheriff warned.
Don darted left. Aimed for the rock ledge, prepared to climb down like a fucking goat if necessary to escape.
“Don’t!” the sheriff yelled.
The rock shifted under his feet. He slipped. Toppled sideways. Made a desperate grab at a thick root sticking out of the bank.
He caught it. Gripped it tight. But it was wet. It started to slip through his hands.
“Rafferty!” The sheriff appeared above him, a looming shadow on the safety of solid ground. “Gimme your hand!”
Don was too scared to let go of the root. He grabbed higher up it, fighting to hold on. If he could just climb down to the rocks, maybe he could find an escape route at the bottom.
He didn’t dare look down, the wind roaring around him. Blinding him with stinging needles of rain.
“Grab hold of my hand, dammit!”
I can’t.
The mud-slick root slid through his hands. He lost his grip.
A scream of raw terror tore from him as it slipped through his fingers.
His body tipped backward. Arms pinwheeling as he plunged through the wind for those endless, terrifying seconds and slammed into the jagged rocks below.