Deadly Christmas Pretense Read online

  “Step away from the car,” a voice shouted. It was low and husky. Angry. The cowboy. It had to be. Was he shouting at her? She squatted next to the open driver’s-side door. The Vette had skidded to a stop on a grassy clearing. The slight odor of rubber burned her nostrils and she looked down to see the remains of her ruined front tire. She wasn’t going to be driving out of there, even if the way wasn’t blocked by the sedan. The train barreled on, the noise waning in the distance. For a fleeting moment she wished she could run after it. Instead she was left to cobble together her own escape plan. There was no convenient cover nearby, no structures to hide behind or even trees to conceal her.

  The cowboy took a few steps toward the stranger’s idling car. “I said get out of the vehicle, mister, unless you want your tires flattened,” he shouted again.

  While both men were distracted, she should run. But her shaky legs would not cooperate. She clung to the car door, trying to steady her nerves.

  A half second later the sedan jerked into Reverse, squealed backward until the driver peeled around and floored it, receding into the distance.

  “Coward,” she heard the cowboy say.

  The sound of his boots plowing through the grass toward her car made her pulse ratchet even higher.

  What should she do? What would Tammy do?

  He stopped at the other side of her car, silent. More movement sounded in the still night and, all of a sudden, a sturdy white dog raced around the side of the car and barked.

  She screamed.

  At the sound, the animal lunged forward, swabbed a wet tongue over her forehead and sat, tail wagging.

  A hysterical squeal rose to her lips but she kept it in. The boots came closer, until the cowboy rounded the front fender of her car.

  “And you teased me about my driving,” he said. A strong Southern accent colored his words though she could not make out his features, only the hint of a wide chin and a cowboy hat.

  What is he talking about? Teased him?

  “Tam?” he said. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  Tam. The pieces fell into place. This had to be Liam Pike, Tammy’s ex-boyfriend.

  She leaned her dog-dampened forehead against the metal. What were the chances she’d hit town, nearly get driven off the road, narrowly avoid being hit by a train and finish up by running into her sister’s ex?

  The dog let loose with a howl.

  Maggie felt like doing the same.

  TWO

  Liam rested the rifle on his shoulder, frustration and confusion warring inside. Wouldn’t have been prudent or safe to take a shot and risk return fire with his horse nearby, a nutty dog and Tammy in the vicinity. Still, he would have felt a surge of satisfaction at shooting out the guy’s tires. It would’ve been easy; he was an expert marksman. At least he wasn’t losing hold on that.

  He reached out a hand and helped her up, her palm freezing cold in his. Tammy Lofton. He’d always admired her impulsivity, the unfettered abandon with which she approached life, but this was sheer recklessness and just plain nuts.

  “What in the world are you playing at, Tammy?” Saying her name aloud brought back the anger he’d felt at being unceremoniously dumped for another guy; a computer programmer she’d met when applying for a new job. That stung. “You could have been killed or caused a train wreck.”

  He realized she’d backed up, palms half raised as if he was an approaching mountain lion. He stopped, blew out a breath and tried for a calmer tone.

  “Tammy, it’s Liam. Sorry if I scared you. Tell me why that guy is after you. Must be something bad to rile you into forgetting there’s a train crossing.”

  She didn’t answer, just stood there frozen.

  “Liam,” she finally said, almost making it sound like a question. Poor light, scary situation, confusion. Understandable.

  “Yeah,” he said bitterly. “Glad you remembered my name. Least you can do since we dated for four months. How’s the computer programmer?”

  “What?” Her voice was softer than he remembered, or maybe he’d begun to lose another level of hearing.

  “Did you hit your head?” He felt a glimmer of alarm creeping in. “Tam? You okay?”

  “Yes, of course I am. Why did you jump in the road like that?”

  “Why...?” He rubbed a palm over his stubbled chin as he struggled for calm. “’Cuz I thought you were gonna crash into the train, that’s why,” he snapped. “I don’t generally welcome people to Driftwood with a rifle in my hand.”

  But she wasn’t even listening. Instead she was inspecting the ruined tire of the Vette. Then she lifted her face to the evening breeze, turning it in the direction of the ocean. She was clearly working out some sort of plan.

  “I’m sorry,” she said simply.

  Was that all she had said or had he missed some? He wasn’t feeling like asking her to repeat herself. “Sorry doesn’t quite cut it, Tammy. What’s going on?” He eased back on his heels and something bumped his leg. He stumbled, winding up on the ground, staring up into the face of Jingles.

  Jingles placed a crooked paw on Liam’s chest.

  “Jingles,” Liam yelled. The dog responded by swabbing his face with a warm tongue until Liam finally pushed him off. Jingles sat back, tail skimming the ground in happy lashes. Liam hauled himself to his feet and gathered up the rifle he’d dropped. “Can’t ya see I’m in the middle of a situation here?”

  Jingles barked.

  Liam ignored him this time and ordered a thunderous, “Stay.”

  He turned back, flabbergasted to find that Tammy had gone, headed off into the night, leaving her disabled Corvette behind.

  He looked across the field to where she must have headed: the fog-shrouded beach. “What’s gotten into you, Tammy?”

  He almost smiled. She should know him well enough to realize she’d piqued both his concern and his curiosity. And Liam Pike had never been one to ignore either.

  He whistled once, low and soft, which brought Streak to the fence on quiet hooves. Jingles was on his feet now, too, bottom waggling right along with his tail, apparently convinced his services were needed.

  “Just try not to fall off a cliff, okay?”

  Jingles barked once and then took up a position behind the horse.

  * * *

  Maggie was grateful there was just enough moonlight glowing through the coastal fog to help her orient herself. She was heading west, toward the beach and the lighthouse. Directly east, near where she’d spun out, must be the vast acreage of the Roughwater Ranch. That explained Liam’s arrival. She’d only heard bits and pieces from Tammy, enough to know that their relationship “had no legs,” whatever that meant. Imagine running into the guy. He, too, thought she was her sister, thanks to the darkness and the car. At least she knew he wasn’t the one Tammy had entrusted her stolen goods with. The poor man sounded as clueless as she felt.

  Well, since you’ve stepped into Tammy’s shoes for better or worse, you’re going to rub elbows with her acquaintances. She hoped her rendezvous with her sister at the lighthouse would clear the whole thing up. Didn’t matter. She’d do whatever she could to pull her sister from the hot water.

  But this time things were more serious than unpaid bills or romantic troubles. She thought about the train barreling past, inches from the front of the Corvette.

  Way more serious.

  Whispering a prayer, she picked up her pace. The grass gave way to a rocky black cliff. Reaching the edge, she peered down onto a rugged beach cloaked in fog. Ahead and to the right she could just make out the steep trail that led down to a jutting promontory of rock where the outline of the lighthouse was visible.

  It was a historic structure, no longer in use, though there was a string of Christmas lights twined around the gangway and one small beacon at the top. The lights were courtesy of the ranch owners, Gus and Ginn
y Knightly, Tammy had told her, to honor the men and women who had served in the navy, as had Gus’s father. Maggie had been struck by the story, picturing the couple who believed in honor and respect, two qualities hard to come by these days, it seemed to Maggie.

  She picked her way slowly, since the black rock was slippery with condensation and the moonlight partially obscured by fog. The roar of the surf grew louder. They should have met at a café or a gas station, but Tammy always did have a flair for the dramatic. Maggie could never understand it. She could be fully content spending every day bunkered behind a restaurant stove, cooking for patrons like she’d done for years in her parents’ café, gleaning plenty of excitement from managing a kitchen. It pained her that she’d had to walk away from several days’ wages to come to Driftwood. She’d kissed goodbye money that wouldn’t accumulate in her meager bank account, which wouldn’t help her with her goal of reopening her parents’ restaurant.

  You’ll get there. The words were stoked with optimism but each year seemed to bring more troubles and financial setbacks. “Eliminate the distractions. Get this thing with Tammy settled and put your nose to the grindstone,” she whispered to herself before the wind snatched the words away.

  The dial on her father’s old watch read nine thirty. Precise down to the second, it was not the loveliest accessory, but Maggie didn’t care. It was a part of her father and his legacy, and family was everything.

  A rock tumbled loose from somewhere nearby. Maggie froze. Was there someone following? She strained to listen. The wind was howling now, numbing her cheeks. She zipped her thin jacket as far up as it would go, but the chill seeped in anyway.

  Finally she made it to the level path that took her to the door of the lighthouse. She listened one more time and checked her phone. Again she dialed Tammy’s number, but the call would not go through on this wild, wind-whipped beach. No way to leave a message anyway; her sister had never bothered to set up her voice mail. Her fingers tingled with the cold.

  She stared at the device, but the blank screen gave no answers. Had Tammy made it to the lighthouse or not? Perhaps she’d lost her phone. A crack sounded in the night. A rock falling into the ocean? Or something entirely different?

  What if her pursuer had waited after the encounter with Liam, retreated, only to find a hiding place from which he could follow her?

  She paused with her hand on the wooden door.

  What if?

  She had no other choice but to go in and follow through on the plan her sister had set in place earlier. Palm clammy, she shoved open the door.

  The chilled interior of the old lighthouse smelled of mildew. In the gloom she could barely make out the spiraling metal staircase and cracked plaster walls glazed with moisture. The graffitied interior had been painted over, but more recent messages were scrawled in spray paint.

  “Tammy?” she whispered. The only answer was the crash of the surf outside. “Tammy?” she said louder. She let a full two minutes go by before she made a decision. Her sister wasn’t there. She could feel it. It was time to get out.

  Shoes crunched up the walk outside, heavy, not Tammy’s. Prickles of panic erupted up Maggie’s spine. There was nowhere to hide, no place to go, except up. Breath held, she scampered quickly up four steps, enough to take her out of the view of the doorway. The creak of the door split the night.

  One second. Two...three. Immobile as a statue, she waited.

  “Tammy?”

  She recoiled deeper into the shadows, her back pressed against the cold plaster. Everything in her shouted at her to run up the staircase, but trapping herself at the top of an abandoned lighthouse would be suicide.

  “I know you’re here, Tammy. I saw you come in,” he said.

  She bit her lip.

  His tone went soft and friendly with the hint of an East Coast accent. “Listen, I didn’t mean to hurt you earlier, back in Sand Bar.”

  Hurt? Her heart thundered. Was he talking about the car accident?

  “I just wanted to talk, but you didn’t cooperate. You should have stayed in the hospital, let me help you, not run off into the night.”

  Hospital? Maggie clamped her teeth together to keep from screaming.

  “I was told you’d picked up your Corvette at the garage,” he said, “so I guess you weren’t too badly hurt. That’s good, sweetie.”

  Sweetie?

  Her muscles screamed for escape, but he was between her and the exit. There was only one avenue open: farther up the narrow flight of spiraling metal stairs. She moved as quickly as she could, trying to tread on the stairs where they attached to the wall to minimize squeaking. Maybe he hadn’t actually seen her come in. He might be bluffing and give up.

  Below her, she heard him move.

  Impatience crept into his tone. “I only want the jewelry. Give it back and forget about it.” He paused. “We had a good thing going for a while, Tammy. Don’t throw that all away over a misunderstanding.” He paused. “I know you’re up there... There’s no way out. My phone doesn’t work here, so I’m guessing yours doesn’t, either.” He chuckled. “Cat and mouse game.”

  And I’m the mouse.

  Without warning, he charged, metal squealing under his feet, and she had no choice but to sprint up the stairs. Fear powered her, but he was tall and long-legged. He caught her at the top, grabbing her by the wrists and pinning her back against the railing. Her face twisted away from his, eyes blinded by the eerie glare of the lighthouse beacon.

  “This is fun, Tammy, the cat and mouse, but I’m short on time.”

  She writhed in his grip, trying to kick out, wrench her arms free. He was strong and his height gave him leverage.

  “Get away from me,” she rasped.

  He squeezed her wrists until she thought the bones would crack, angling her torso over the railing, the only thing standing between the lantern room behind her and a plummet to the ocean below. Frigid wind tore at her hair, yanking as if it meant to pull her down into the sea. He used his weight to crush her against the metal. Still she could not turn her face to look at him.

  “You’re going to tell me where you hid the jewelry, who you gave it to. I know it’s someone here, someone you know and trust.”

  Tears of pain gathered in her eyes. “I won’t tell you anything.”

  He pressed harder, his jaw clenched with the effort.

  “You want to die? Such a pretty young thing? Splattered all over the rocks?”

  “You won’t kill me. Then you’d never know,” she snapped.

  “I don’t want to kill you,” he said. “But I will if I have to.”

  “I—” she started.

  She felt his body twitch, as if something past the railing had caught his attention down on the beach. “Who’s the cowboy?”

  Liam, she thought with a surge of hope. He’d followed her.

  She wriggled, but he increased the pressure, nearly expelling all the air from her body. “You give me what I want and don’t involve anyone else, or you know what will happen. It would be so easy.”

  She was too oxygen-deprived to reply.

  “Hey,” Liam shouted from below. “Get your hands off her.”

  Without warning, the man released her and raced away down the stairs. The sudden movement sent her staggering. Her hips hit the rusted railing. Gulping for air, it took a second for her to register that the railing had given way and she was falling backward. Flailing, her fingers desperately sought for something, anything, to save her life.

  THREE

  Liam sprinted around to the walkway a few seconds too late to properly neutralize the guy. He got off only a quick rifle shot that skimmed over the goon’s shoulder, just enough to scare him. It worked. The guy stumbled in his fear and fell. On the ground, he rolled then dived behind some rocks. When he popped a head up, only the whites of his eyes and teeth shone in the thick darkn
ess.

  “Gonna stay and shoot me? She’s not gonna hang on for long. Tough choice, right, cowboy?” he called.

  Liam gripped the gun, glancing quickly upward to see the shadowy movement on the lighthouse platform. He did not dare look too carefully. “Won’t take me long to stop you.”

  “But you’re not that kind of guy, are you? Shooting an unarmed man?”

  “Guess you don’t know what kind of man I am, do ya?”

  “Oh yes, I do.” He came up with a handful of sand and hurled it in Liam’s direction. Liam flinched and the man took off, running full-on into the night.

  Liam had learned when he was seven years old that there was right and there was wrong. The lines blurred at times, particularly in his tenure as a Green Beret, but they were still there, which was why the lunatic was not already dead at Liam’s feet. As he ran into the lighthouse and charged the steps two at a time, he wished he hadn’t learned that lesson quite so well.

  I’ll have another showdown with that clown, he told himself.

  He heard her gasping, struggling to hold on, as he exploded onto the top level to see her fingers clawed around the broken piece of railing. Flopping onto his stomach, he grabbed her forearms. The angle was bad; the leverage was worse. He couldn’t see past the end of his nose, but he hung on for all he was worth.

  She wriggled, fingers white and trembling with the effort.

  “Can you brace your feet on the wall?” he grunted.

  Breathing hard, she shimmied, almost detaching herself from him. He slid one palm down her arm and gathered a bunch of her jacket. “All right. Plan B. You’re going to have to let go so I can haul you up.”

  She whimpered once and the sound went right through him.

  “It’s okay,” he said, trying to gentle his tone. “I promise I’m not going to let you fall.”

  Fear pinched her mouth, bangs scattered over her eyes. “I can’t,” she breathed.