Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Olivia yanked open the van’s door and then slammed it shut, making sure to click the locks. The man who had accosted her on the pier had to jump out of the way as she started the engine and barreled out of the parking lot.
When she looked behind her, she saw him standing next to where the van had been and holding a fishing rod like a flagpole. She also saw a man in a dark green T-shirt and an Orioles cap, which kept her from getting a good look at his face.
Her heart was pounding, and she wanted to press the accelerator to the floorboard, but she kept her speed under the town limit as she headed for the Bay Bridge. Travis had warned her not to go poking around his boat. And he’d been right.
She filled the car with curses. She hadn’t listened to him, and now...well, she didn’t exactly know what now.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” She hadn’t even gotten Fishing Pole’s name. She should have, so she could check him out. In their brief encounter, it had seemed like he was trying to protect her. Or maybe that was a ruse to get her to trust him.
At least he hadn’t gotten her name, either.
Could he find it out? And what about the guy who Fishing Pole had said was staking out the marina?
That could be true, or it could be part of the fake scenario.
She bashed her palms against the steering wheel.
She hadn’t handled that right at all. But she hadn’t been expecting anyone else to show up at the marina. Maybe she should have.
Still feeling like her insides were being churned around in a washing machine, she headed for home.
* * *
Gabe hurried back to his car, threw his fishing gear inside, and headed after the van, hoping that the guy from the parking lot thought they were just going to meet up again at the town dock.
He was tempted to follow her and find out where she was going.
But he didn’t have to do that. He had her license plate.
As he drove away from the marina, he glanced in his rearview mirror.
Mr. Slouch was not following. Probably he had orders to stay in position, but had he phoned someone to pick up Gabe’s tail?
He drove around several streets until he was sure he didn’t see anything suspicious.
Then he went back to the shopping center lot and called Decorah Security.
Teddy Granada, one of their IT guys, ran the plate for him.
The van belonged to Olivia Langston, and the picture on the driver’s license Teddy sent him matched the woman he’d just met.
He spent the next three-quarters of an hour on his laptop, researching information about Olivia Langston. She was an artist with the unusual occupation of creating custom-painted furniture. Probably she used the van for delivering custom pieces to clients.
She lived in Frederick. Had she crossed paths with Travis Carson? She’d blurted out that he was dead. How could she know what had happened to him unless she was involved?
* * *
Olivia made for the safety of home. She should never have gone to the marina. She should have just delivered the furniture to Sarah and left.
Now she had to face Travis, and he would know immediately what had happened.
Again, she cursed her own stupidity. But it was done now, and she couldn’t take it back.
She saw him the moment she stepped into the house. He was in the front hall standing as though he’d been waiting there for her the whole time she was gone. He looked as solid as she had ever seen him—and like a man whose wife was hours late coming home.
There was no way he could miss the look of worry on her face. He started to say, “What’s...” but stalled in mid-question, and she knew he had pulled the recent scene at the marina from her mind.
She felt a wave of emotion rolling off him, a mixture of fear, confusion, and...anger. He had told her to stay away from his boat, and she had tried to do just the opposite. Only she had never gotten there.
“Sorry,” she breathed, starting to shake. When she reached to wrap her own arms around her body, he got there first, pulling her to himself and holding her. Lord, it was wonderful to feel those arms around her. As she had gotten used to doing, she closed her eyes, making him all the more solid.
His hands stroked comfortingly up and down her arms. He was silent as she sensed him mentally reviewing what had happened.
“Do you have an Aunt Lydia Wilder?” she whispered against his chest.
“Yes.”
That brought a small measure of relief. The guy hadn’t been lying about that part. “And she’d be worried about you? I mean, enough to hire a detective?”
“Yeah, sometimes it felt like she was the only one who cared about me.”
“So she might have hired that guy to find out what happened to you.”
“She’s very precise. She would have done some research and picked a top agency.”
“I could call her...”
“And make the same mistake again?” he asked sharply.
She felt her face heat and burrowed further into him. “Right. How do I know you?” She thought for a moment. “I suppose I could make up some story about booking you for a charter, and you weren’t there when I got to the marina.”
“That sounds kind of lame. And how would you know to call her? You’d have to be closer to me than a fishing charter customer.”
“Right.”
“Let’s not get her any more tangled up in this.”
She knew part of his decision came from worry about his aunt. “Okay.”
And she knew he was reviewing her memories, seeing the scene from her perspective. In a voice she couldn’t quite hold steady, she asked, “Was the guy who said he was a detective one of the men who kidnapped you?”
“No. So he could be telling the truth about what he was doing there. What about the other guy?”
“You didn’t get a good look at him, but I don’t think it’s one of them.”
“I guess Mr. Smith probably has more men working for him.”
Travis eased away from her and started to pace up and down the hall. The mixture of emotions she had first seen on his face had solidified into worry.
“You think Smith sent the other guy to watch the marina?” she asked.
“I do,” he said in a flat voice, then added, “Too bad we don’t know the detective’s name. I’d like to warn him to watch his back.” He raised his head, his gaze locking with hers. “You could be in danger.”
A frisson went down her spine. “Nobody followed me. I don’t have a sign on my van or anything.”
“Let’s hope there’s no way to connect you.” He stopped pacing and turned to her. “We need to be able to protect you. Hurling napkins at Smith’s men isn’t gonna cut it. Let’s go out and try some of those fireballs he mentioned.”
She glanced toward the window. “It’s light out there.”
He laughed. “A fireball will show up a lot better in the dark.” He followed her gaze. “This is a pretty big property, and there are a lot of trees between you and the road.”
“My parents planted them for privacy.”
“And we’ve got it. Nobody is going to see what we’re doing up here.”
She nodded. “Fireballs,” she mused. “How are we going to work it? Conditions have been pretty dry here. I wouldn’t want to start a blaze.”
“Let’s set something up in the driveway, like target practice.”
She thought for a moment. I have a metal step stool. We could put...”
“Tin cans on it,” he supplied.
Now that he had suggested something positive to do, she felt better. Hurrying to the pantry closet, she retrieved the step stool along with a grocery bag with empty cans ready for recycling.
From behind her, he said, “I wish I could help you.”
“You are going to help me by giving me the power to do it.”
She took the step stool outside and set it on the blacktop about ten yards from her workshop. When it was in place, she opened the recycling bin and fished out several cans. “They’re not going to burn.”
After setting one of the cans on the stool, she surveyed the arrangement. “I guess we should aim perpendicular to my workshop. We don’t want to set that on fire.”
“I’m thinking that a shot isn’t going to go wild. We’ll be focusing on the can,” he said.
Nevertheless, they also faced away from the house. Olivia backed up almost to the front windows, and Travis moved in behind her, pulling her into a close embrace, so that his body almost felt like it was part of her.
“I think you have to generate the attack,” he murmured. “I’ll give you power like we did with the napkins.”
She narrowed her eyes, focusing on the can, not sure exactly what she was supposed to do.
Then she thought about a battle she’d seen in a space opera movie.
As the ships fought each other, beams of light shot out from each ship toward the other.
She struggled to summon something similar—a beam of destruction that would damage the can.
Good, Travis approved.
She felt him pouring energy into her, and as he did, she kept her imaginary beam on the can.
Sweat broke out on her forehead as she tried to create some kind of ruinous attack on the innocent can that had held diced tomatoes.
At first, nothing happened. In frustration, she willed her mind to produce the effect she wanted.
And suddenly it happened, almost like a death ray striking the can.
It started to glow, then leaped up into the air.
Thinking it might explode, she pressed her hands over her face until she felt the can clatter to the blacktop.
“I think we did it,” she marveled as she hurried over to the ruined vessel. It lay on its side, the exterior charred and the metal partially melted.
Wow, Travis gasped. I guess Smith was right.
Let’s try again.
Don’t touch the can.
I won’t. She got a rake and pushed the target out of the way before setting another on the stool.
I need to be able to do it, too, Travis said. Let me see if I can direct the power.
So we should reverse our positions.
She moved to his back and clasped her hands around his waist.