The Final Victim(108)

Why would the imposter known as Royce Maitland have fooled his own wife, for God's sake? And it isn't just him-it's his daughter as well.

Mimi can't help but remember a movie she once saw, about the witness protection program-or so you were led to think. In the end, it turned out the hero and heroine really were running for their lives, and had taken on the identity of a dead couple to save themselves.

But even if that's the case with the Maitlands… Where… How does little Theo fit into the picture?

Another wave of nausea sweeps through her, along with yet another memory of the drowning on her watch.

All she wants is to go home, but she can't. Dorado convinced her that she's stuck here now, for the duration of the storm.

She did manage to reach her mother by telephone and learned that they've lost power out on the island, but that she found candles and flashlights. Cam is doing just fine playing shadow puppets on the wall.

"What about Jed?" Mimi asked, unable to forget her husband's ominous comment about hurtling himself into the Atlantic during a storm.

Her mother told her that he'd been sleeping all afternoon. Mimi made her go check him again, and held her breath until her mother came back on the line to say that he was there, in bed, snoring.

So here Mimi sits, mulling over the latest incredible turn of events involving Gib's family, and then noticing an agitated elderly man talking to the desk sergeant.

He's a distinguished-looking fellow, despite a shock of wet, windblown white hair and a soaked trench coat.

Intrigued when she overhears him say, "Remington," Mimi casually gets up and goes to get a drink of water at a fountain within earshot of the conversation.

"No, it isn't life or death this very moment," she hears him saying, "but it is life or death for anyone who-" He breaks off, glancing at her.

She realizes she's forgotten the water fountain and is staring directly at him.

Embarrassed, she stoops over the spout and presses the lever.

The man resumes his conversation with the sergeant in a stringent whisper, all but drowned out by the running water.

But Mimi releases the lever just in time to hear the one phrase that compels her to instantly give up all pretense of good manners: Kepton-Manning Syndrome.

"Stop! Hey!"

Charlotte ignores the angry shout of the police officer behind her; ignores the black-and-white car with the flashing light as she sprints past it, onto the causeway.

It's about a mile, she calculates as she hurtles herself forward, driven by sheer panic.

Thank God she had jammed her feet into sneakers, and not her usual sandals this morning.

Each footstep that lands in the streaming roadway sends up a spatter of spray; she's being soaked and battered from every direction by stinging rain and a wind so strong it's all she can do to stay centered on the causeway.

I've got to get to Oakgate.

Got to get to Lianna.

Got to get to-

No, not Royce!

He isn't-

Yes, he is. He has to be.

He's her husband. She loves him.

And Aimee-Aimee is his daughter. Her stepdaughter.

Aimee wasn't lying. Detective Dorado said it himself.

Aimee was telling the truth… You were right about her being innocent all along.

Yes, she was right.

Aimee is innocent.

I knew she wouldn't hurt Royce. I knew it.

So what in the world is Detective Dorado talking about?

Maybe that wasn't him on the phone right now. Maybe it was somebody who read something in the media and decided to play a cruel prank…

A sharp stitch pierces Charlotte's left side.

Panting, she slows her pace.

Just a little.

Just enough to relieve the pain in her side.

She can't stop altogether.

She's only a third of the way across the bridge. She can see the towering white foam hurled repeatedly against the man-made rock retaining wall on the distant shore.

Turning her head to look down for the first time, she realizes that angry green-black waves are breaking close to the road's surface, held back only by a low concrete barrier.

If that washes away, so will she.

And she'll be overcome quickly-no doubt about it.

The strongest swimmer couldn't survive more than a few minutes in that churning vortex.

She'll drown, just like her son.

Oh, Adam.

Oh, baby…

Maybe that's what is meant to happen.

Maybe she, too, is meant for a watery grave. Maybe-

No! Lianna. Lianna needs me. I can't die.

There's nothing to do but go on. Keep her feet moving, one splashing down right after the other. Get to the island. Get to Oakgate. Get to Lianna.

And Royce?

What about Royce?

Royce is as much a victim as she is.

Somebody tried to kill Royce… Or were they trying to kill her?

Well, it couldn't have been Aimee. She was in New Orleans.

And obviously it couldn't have been Royce. He was the one who got shot. He didn't do the shooting.

So who was the phantom figure that Charlotte saw lurking among the tombstones in the cemetery?

Who shot her husband?

"Excuse me? Hello?"

Jeanne stiffens, hearing the door open at the foot of the stairs leading up to the third floor.