Epiphany: Part Two Page 5

  Logan broke the silence first. “I’m sorry about the ambush. I used Payne-Davis resources to find the info you wanted, and Dad caught wind of it. He froze me out, wouldn’t tell me who hired the PI.”

  “So you and Dad are best buds now, huh?”

  “Hardly.” Logan let out a dry snort. “I try to keep contact with the ole Payne-in-the-ass to a minimum. Why do you think I jumped at the chance to work in the Portland office?”

  “But you guys must have talked about me.”

  “He mentioned that you disappeared from Boise a couple of weeks ago. I guess Mom’s so worried, she’s got her panties in a bunch—his words, not mine.”

  Aidan dragged a hand through his hair. “I should call her.”

  “Probably.” Logan stuffed his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “What were you thinking, leaving in the middle of rehab like that without saying a word to anyone?”

  My gaze flew to Aidan’s, but he looked away. “What do you think?” he asked.

  Logan walked to the granite bar that sectioned off the kitchen. He grabbed a newspaper. “It’s been all over the news. So it’s not a copycat?”

  “I don’t think so,” Aidan said. “He left a picture of Deb in Mackenzie’s apartment. It’s him. No doubt about it.”

  “Dad’s not completely in the wrong here, you know. Do you really wanna end up in jail?” Logan’s contemplative gaze darted between Aidan and me. “The best thing you can do is move on. Get your life back.”

  “I just want him caught.”

  “No.” Logan shook his head. “You know better than to lie to me. It’s rolling off of you in waves.”

  “Don’t go there, Logan.”

  “Trust me, I try not to.” He stared at the paper for a moment before tossing it back onto the counter. “Did Dad at least tell you who hired the PI?”

  “Yeah.” Aidan’s jaw twitched. “He said it was the sheriff.”

  Trying to get out of Portland during rush hour was a nightmare. Bumper-to-bumper traffic congested I-5 for miles, and an accident ahead worsened the chaos. The emergency lights flooded the night in whirling color.

  Aidan’s silence was more stifling than the heat coming through the vents. He hadn’t said two words since leaving the penthouse. I stole a look at him and wondered what was going through his head, wondered if he was as mystified as I was at discovering the sheriff had hired the PI. In fact, I had enough questions to fill a page.

  He caught me staring, and some of the tension melted from his shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to witness the Payne family freak show.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No,” he said with a burst of dry laughter, “it’s not. My dad and I…we’ve never meshed.”

  “How come?”

  It was a simple question, though from the way he frowned as he turned down the heater, I guessed his father and the word “simple” didn’t mesh either. “It’s complicated.”

  Usually is.

  Irony played at the corner of my lips. “We have time.” I gestured to the road in front of us.

  “I guess we do.” Traffic inched forward a few feet and then stopped as an ambulance came onto the scene.

  “Well, I won’t twist your arm,” I said, “but if you want to unload it’s not like I’m going anywhere for a while.”

  “If I don’t tell you, you’ll probably just dream about it anyway.” He shot me a teasing grin.

  “Always a possibility.” Especially when it came to him.

  He eased onto the gas pedal, and we rolled forward at a snail’s pace. “I guess it all came to a head in high school. My father already had my future mapped out for me. Harvard, a degree in business, a job at Payne-Davis.”

  “I take it you had other ideas?”

  “I didn’t know what the hell I wanted. I just knew I didn’t want his life.” Aidan stomped on the brake to avoid rear-ending the Escalade in front of us. “Jeez, I forgot how crazy traffic gets up here.” He let out a breath and tightened his hold on the steering wheel.

  Gripping the leather seat, I waited for him to continue.

  “He cheated on my mom constantly, was never home…” Rain splashed the windshield, making visibility difficult. The wipers flapped back and forth to keep up. “And when he was home he made certain we all knew who was in charge. Bastard could’ve used a cattle prod and it wouldn’t have been enough for him.”

  I didn’t know what to say. He looked so lost in the memories of his past. Lines of hurt crisscrossed his face. I could have sketched them in charcoal.

  “My junior year of high school, I met Deb.” He paused, and his face relaxed in the memory of his wife. “It was something else to see her so focused on her dreams. She knew exactly what she wanted, right down to the school she wanted to teach in. I had a habit of editing her essays, and one day she told me to join the school paper so I’d stop torturing her.”

  A lump formed in my throat. His wife might be gone, but his love for her wasn’t. A part of me ached for him—for his pain, for what he’d lost. The other part ached for me. How could a ghost inspire such jealousy?

  “So I did it,” he went on, “and I never expected to like it so much. Dad flipped when I told him I wanted to go into journalism. Said he’d yank my college fund if I didn’t follow his plan.”

  “From what I saw of your father today, I can imagine.”

  “Yeah, those weren’t happy times, not that there were a lot of them anyway. Mom supported me, but he’s always had her stringed like Pinocchio. I refused to back down.” His expression turned impish. “Got a scholarship and shoved it in his face.”

  We passed the scene of the accident then. A pickup truck had pinned a sports car to the median. What was left of it. I cringed. The path of life was much too tenuous for my liking. The flow of traffic picked up, and I steered the conversation to more recent events.

  “Why would the sheriff hire a private investigator?”

  Aidan shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve thought about it, but something’s off. My father said he looked into the guy. Turns out he’s a personal friend of McFayden’s.”

  “But he’s a PI?”

  “Yep.”

  “Maybe he’s worried you’re gonna do something stupid.”

  “I already got the third degree from Logan.” A hint of warning crept into his tone.

  “Yeah, about that. He asked me if you’ve been drinking.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “I didn’t tell him anything. Aidan…you were in rehab?”

  Muttering something about his brother’s “big mouth,” he nodded. “I didn’t handle Deb’s murder very well. Took to drinking for a while. Logan, he’s just worried.”

  “Should I be worried too?” As if I wasn’t already.

  “No.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed him, and it was clear his bother didn’t either. In fact, Logan’s insights set me on edge. “Speaking of your brother, what is up with him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he’s…I don’t know how else to put it, but he’s kinda odd.”

  Aidan laughed. “He’d be heartbroken to hear that, I’m sure. What else did he say to you?”

  No way would I admit how he’d guessed, with matter-of-fact certainty, the extent of my feelings for Aidan, so I settled for a vague answer. “He just had an uncanny way of getting into my head. It was disturbing.”

  He seemed to consider his words carefully. “I guess you could say he’s special like you.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, the rest of us call him exceptionally perceptive, but—and I can’t believe I’m telling you this—Logan has always called himself an empath.”

  “An empath?”

  Aidan nodded. “Someone who can sense people’s emotions. Can feel them even. Supposedly the Payne side of our family tree is full of ancestors with ‘odd quirks,’ as Mom likes to call them.”

  “You’re pulling my leg, right?”

 
He laughed. “It’s all legend, but my dad and Logan believe it.”

  “What about you? Do you believe?” My voice dropped on the last word, and I gave him a wide-eyed look. I wasn’t being fair, but I couldn’t help myself. For someone who possessed an “odd quirk” of my own, what right did I have to mock other people’s claims? When had I become so jaded?

  He shrugged. “I never put much stock into it, but then I met you. Who knows?”

  “What’s your super power?” I bumped my shoulder against his. “You must share the legacy, right?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I knew telling you was a bad idea.”

  “Oh, come on, I’m only teasing. So what is it? Do you have super hearing?” I eyed his hands. “You don’t launch spider webs, do you?” Or even worse… “Tell me you don’t read minds.”

  He arched a brow. “What if I did read minds? Would that worry you?”

  My mouth fell open. “Not funny, Aidan.”

  Apparently, he disagreed. He laughed and said, “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m ordinary. Although my mom’s compared me to the Hulk on occasion.” He took my hand, and his skin warmed mine as our fingers locked together. “It’s all tall tales, Mackenzie. Though Logan does seem to know things he shouldn’t, just as you do.”

  The comfort of his touch, along with the lull of the road, cast me into a light slumber. Somewhere along the way I sank deeper, to a place where comfort was nonexistent, where dreams weren’t an inconsequential product of the subconscious, but a vision of the future.

  A man masked in shadow nudged a body with his boot. He bent and slipped a noose around her neck.

  “No,” she cried, struggling on the ground, her arms straining against the rope binding her hands at her back. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Headlines, sweetheart.” He tossed the rope over a branch and tested it for strength.

  “Oh God! No! Plea—” Her cries cut-off as he strung her up, and her feet scissored above the ground. Behind her the ocean lit up like snow under the full moon.

  “Mackenzie!”

  I awoke gasping for air. Slowly, Aidan’s garage came into focus. The low rumble of the engine was absent. His hands cradled my cheeks, his worried face hovering close to mine.

  “He wants headlines.”

  “What?”

  “She asked him why he was doing it. He said ‘headlines, sweetheart.’” I closed my eyes. “I still can’t see who she is, or who he is, but I saw the full moon again.”

  “Shh.” His breath whispered across my face before he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “First thing in the morning, we’re gonna pay the sheriff a visit. We’ll tell him about your dream and hopefully get some damn answers.”

  “I suppose you’re here about the PI?” Sheriff McFayden didn’t bother to look up from the file in his hand.

  “Gee, you think?” Aidan closed the door behind us, and we settled into the chairs facing his desk.

  The sheriff snapped the folder shut. “I already got an earful from your father, so let me have it—give me your best shot.” He folded his hands and waited with the air of a patient man.

  “First off, I’m not my father.” Aidan’s expression turned sour, as if the thought of Hamilton Payne left a bad taste in his mouth. “I didn’t come here to argue with you. I came here to find out why you hired a private investigator to tail me.”

  “How do you know I didn’t put the tail on Ms. Hill?”

  “If you had, my father wouldn’t have jumped your shit.”

  “Fair enough.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Is this off the record?”

  Aidan rolled his eyes, and I had to smile. The gesture seemed so un-Aidan-like. “I’m not a journalist anymore.”

  “And this won’t get back to your father?”

  He straightened at the sheriff’s words. I did too. “No, we don’t talk, if I can help it.”

  McFayden didn’t seem surprised by his reply. “I’m only telling you this because I figure you’ll find out on your own anyway, and I need to keep this between us.”

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  The sheriff sat forward and refolded his hands, and I was struck with how nervous he suddenly appeared. “Your mother and I went to high school together. She contacted me.”

  Aidan looked stunned. “You knew my mom?”

  “It was a long time ago.” McFayden shrugged. “She only contacted me because I’m the sheriff, and she’s worried about you.” His mouth twisted into a scowl. “You might try staying in touch with her once in a while. Couldn’t hurt.”

  Aidan didn’t say anything, and they seemed to come to an impasse.

  “Can I help you with anything else?”

  “Maybe.” Aidan didn’t elaborate, and I wondered if he was being purposefully vague in order to goad the sheriff.

  “Well, let’s have it.”

  “Mackenzie’s had some tough nights lately.”

  “More dreams?”

  “Mostly vague,” I said, “but I did see a white van.”

  The sheriff propped his chin on his knuckles. “No shit?”

  I blinked at his reaction. Was he making fun of me, or was he genuinely surprised?

  “Someone else mention a white van?” Aidan asked.

  The sheriff hesitated. “A witness reported seeing a van outside Ms. Hunsaker’s apartment on the night she was murdered. Didn’t see anyone in it though, so no description of a suspect.”

  “Who’s the witness?”

  “You know better than to ask that.”

  “It was Brad, wasn’t it? I mean, we know he was there.”

  “He has an alibi.” He grabbed a notepad. “Anything else you can tell me, Ms. Hill?”

  Aidan let out a sigh. Clearly, the sheriff wasn’t going to give an inch.

  “It was a utility type of van with no windows. I saw it on Highway 101 heading toward a tunnel. There was a full moon.”

  He took a few more notes.

  “In case you’re wondering,” Aidan said, shifting in his seat, “there’s a full moon Sunday night.”

  “Perfect.” The sheriff threw down his pen. “That’s only three days from now.” His frustrated gaze landed on me. “We’ve checked DMV records for all the white vans registered in the area, but nothing yet. Do you have any idea who the next victim might be?”

  “I didn’t see her clearly, but she’s a brunette. Last night I heard him say he’s after headlines. Sorry, I know it’s not much.”

  “It’s a start.” Setting aside the paper, he scrunched his brows. “I’ll see if I can round up an extra deputy to patrol the highway, though with Jameson out on vacation that might pose a problem.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll put Judd on it. Maybe the state troopers can help too.”

  He was either desperate for a lead, or he believed me. Maybe it was a little of both. He stood, and we followed suit.

  “Don’t go putting yourself in the middle of this now,” he warned. “Let us handle it.”

  Though Aidan nodded, I knew him well enough by now to guess at what he was thinking.

  When hell freezes over.

  “That’s probably too much to ask, isn’t it?” the sheriff asked. Apparently, Aidan’s reputation as a rule-breaker had traveled all the way to Watcher’s Point. Aidan remained silent, so McFayden’s attention fell on me. “Let’s hope you’re wrong about this.”

  I hoped I was wrong too.

  A freakish November thunderstorm ushered in the evening, and a sense of excitement infused the Pour House. The crowd of customers was surprisingly large for mid-week. Of course, Christie and her cohorts were in the thick of it.

  “Word is you’re shacking up with your coworker.” She sat alone at the bar while the other two men-prowlers she’d come with were busy rubbing against a couple of guys at the other end. “So tell me”—she perched an elbow on the counter and smirked at me, chin in hand—“is he good in bed?”

  I set another shot down in front of her, the
sixth or seventh of the night. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Aidan offered me his guest room because someone broke into my apartment.” Thunder boomed, causing the lights to flicker.

  “Whatever,” she said, though her nasty expression contradicted her indifferent tone. She demolished the shot.

  “Look, Christie, I know today was your dad’s birthday.” I was taking a stab in the dark on this one, but she seemed off tonight, like something was eating at her. Otherwise she would have joined the girls-gone-wild group a few feet away. Christie didn’t normally do the alone thing.

  “What do you know about his birthday? You don’t know shit about my dad.”

  “You’re right, but I wish I had known him. I grew up without a father, and to learn that maybe I could have changed that—” I clamped my mouth shut. My anger over the situation wouldn’t help her right now. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just trying to say—”

  “Oh stuff the ‘poor me’ speech.” She got up on wobbly feet, and her dark hair swung in her face. “Not everything is about you.” She stumbled away and joined her friends.

  I gave her a wide berth for a while, until she started waving at me. “We’re dry over here, honey! Stop cooling your heels and load us up.”

  Filling a tray with another round, I approached them. Christie let out an obnoxious laugh as the blonde to her left made a pyramid out of the empties. Blondie threw her head back and joined in the laughter.

  “It’s not that funny,” said the woman on Christie’s right, a near replica of Christie herself. “Let’s see you walk twenty blocks in fuck-me boots.”

  Blondie arched an eyebrow. “Sounds like the only thing that got fucked were your feet.”

  “And my pride. Remember Elmo? Well he ditched me. Can you believe that?”

  Christie laughed again. “Wish I’d stuck around for that one.”

  “Hey!” she cried. “Don’t be hatin’. He turned out to be a jerk anyways. I saw him arguing with some girl.” She folded her arms. “I can’t believe you left me on my own.”