A murderer was loose in Cape Churn. Until they caught him, no one was safe. The knot in his gut tightened. Though hed assured her otherwise, Gabe had begun to wonder if Kaylas attack was connected.
Chapter 4
Kayla woke from a nap on the couch, surprised shed fallen asleep at all. Drawn to the picture window overlooking the ocean and the road leading up from town, she noted the sun hovering over the horizon. It would be dark soon. A shiver of dread slithered down her spine.
A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Kaylas heart skipped a beat and then thudded against her chest. Her hand rose to her throat where her breath lodged, as a solitary figure appeared walking along the road. At first all she could see was a dark silhouette, until the figure moved closer.
Finally, Kayla could make out a teenage boy pushing a bicycle.
She let go of the breath caught in her throat and laughed shakily. She really was a mess. Your mommys losing her mind, Baby. But dont worry, I have six months to get it back before I can start driving you crazy, too.
Maybe coming to the coast wasnt such a good idea. Alone on the edge of a cliff almost made her feel more of a target than if shed been surrounded by people in a bustling city.
The boy stopped, dropped down by the rear wheel of his bicycle, fiddled with something and then stood, his gaze panning the area.
When he spotted the cottage, he resumed pushing the bike. Instead of passing by on the road, he turned onto the gravel drive leading down to the lighthouse cottage.
Moments later, the teen knocked on the door, the sound jolting Kayla from her stupor. When she didnt move to open the door, the boy leaned to the side and peered into the window. He blinked and stepped closer, his hand cupping around his eyes and pressing against the glass. Hello? The teenagers gaze landed on her and his face brightened. Miss, could I use your telephone? he called out, his voice muffled by the thick panes of glass.
It would be rude to ignore the boy. Is everything all right? she asked, her voice little more than a squeak. Oh, no, what if someone else had been hurt? Had another woman been attacked?
I got a flat tire on my bike. I need to call the police station.
The police? Kayla inched toward the door. Why the police?
Why not? He shrugged. It might give them something to do.
Something to do? Kayla shook her head. Had the boy not heard about the murder? Curiosity warred with wariness, pushing it to the side. The teen looked harmless enough. A glance at his bicycle confirmed the flat tire. He was as tall as she was and lanky, but not very muscular. Certainly not big enough to overpower a woman and strangle her to death. And surely he wasnt the man in Seattle two weeks ago who had tried to kill her. The boy didnt have the build. What did Kayla have to worry about?
Just a minute. Kayla left the chain secure over the door, while she unlocked the doorknob and the dead bolt. She eased the door open and stared out at the young man. Im not sure the landlines been turned on yet. Give me a minute, will you?
Sure. I guess I could push the bike all the way to the B and B, but the old man will go ballistic if Im late. Thinks Im a little kid or something. The boy turned his back to the door and scuffed his tennis shoe against a porch column. This place is so dead, its lame.
Kayla cringed at the young mans choice of words and closed the door, racing for the telephone on the kitchen counter. She lifted the receiver. No dial tone. With a sigh, she replaced the phone on the charging unit and dug in her handbag for her cell phone. The display showed two bars. Maybe.
Back at the door, she unlatched the chain and handed the phone to the kid. The landline isnt connected yet. But you can try using my cell phone. No guaranteesthe reception isnt great. But I got a call through yesterday.
The boy punched in the numbers and hit the send key. After a few moments, he shook his head. Nothing. He pressed the redial key and waited again. With the same response, he closed the phone and handed it back to Kayla. Guess Im walking. Thanks anyway. He turned and stepped off the porch.
Kayla watched him amble down the gravel road, shoulders slumped. She called herself every kind of fool. If she let herself be afraid to step out of the house, shed more or less create her own prison. That was no way to live. If she retreated from life in fear, her attacker back in Seattle had won.
Bull on that!
Kayla was made of sterner stuff. Officer McGregor was right. Her attack had nothing to do with the woman killed last night. No one knew where shed gone. Shed told no one. He couldnt have followed her.
Guilt and determination pushed her out the door to stand on the porch. Wait! she called out. I have an SUV. Im sure I can fit the bicycle in the back. Want a lift?
He turned, shielded his eyes from the sun falling toward the sea. No, thank you. I dont want to bother you.
I insist. Just give me a minute to get some shoes on. When she turned to close and lock the door, she stopped herself. The boy wasnt going to bother her, and shed be damned if she acted like a pathetic old lady, locking herself inside every minute of the day. She purposely left the door unlocked and opened as she ran for her room to dig out her sandals.
When she returned to the living room, she gasped.
The teen stood beside her easel, holding up the palette and paintbrushes. When he heard her gasp, he dropped the items to the table beside the easel. Im sorry, the door was open. I thought you wanted me to come in.
Kayla laughed, her voice shaky. I did want you to come in, she lied. I just didnt expect you to be so quick.
A guy would be stupid to pass up a free ride. He nodded at the easel. You paint? He snorted. Dumb question. Of course you do, why else have paintbrushes and an easel?
Kayla stared at the empty canvas and sighed. I used to paint.
Used to paint?
She shrugged and gathered her keys from the kitchen countertop. Havent felt much like it lately. Hooking her purse over her shoulder, she stared across at the boy.
He didnt seem at all in a hurry, intent on studying the paints, pressing his finger to the globs of oil on the palette. I like the way the colors blend and make new colors.
Me too. Its one of the reasons I took up painting in the first place. Kayla moved closer to where the boy stood. Seeing as Im giving you a ride home, it might be nice to know your name.
Dakota. He glanced at her. Are you any good?
At driving?
No, painting.
Kayla almost laughed out loud. She never took her talent for granted, nor her success over the past five years. From selling her paintings on the sidewalks of Seattle to being sought out by rich-and-famous art aficionados, shed come a long way. Good at it? The laughter died before it could emerge. Sometimes.
The teen turned away from the palette, the canvas and the brushes and strode to the door. At least you dont get fined, put on probation and kicked out of your home for your art. He pushed through the door and jumped off the steps to the ground below.
Fined? Kayla followed him out, locking the door behind her.