The Killing Game(119)

He whipped his head around. It was there. Ten feet away but drifting away from him.

He swam with one arm toward the canoe. It felt like forever but was probably only seconds. It took all his strength to drag her upward, tumble her inside. When he tried to scramble inside himself the canoe tipped precariously. He threw himself in, smacked his lip and rammed his funny bone, his knee hitting the blade of the other oar, which popped up enough to ram the fingers on his left hand, but he scarcely noticed.

Andi was crumpled on her side and he turned her on her back. Immediately he began CPR, pressing her chest rhythmically, praying hard inside his mind.

“Andi ... Andi ...” He didn’t realize he was saying her name.

His thoughts touched on Carter, but he yanked them back to the present. He would find the man and kill him if he had to. He didn’t give a damn. If Andi didn’t make it ...

His mind shut down.

The rain pummeled him. He realized distantly that he was cold, that she was cold, too. He had to get them out of there ... had to get to shore ...

Her chest buckled. A harsh cough. A flood of water out of her mouth.

Luke quickly lifted her shoulder, turning her onto her side, joy singing through him.

“Andi! Andi ...”

She coughed and gasped. He leaned over her, blocking the rain. She blinked her eyes and they opened dully. Her lower jaw started quivering.

“Andi, it’s Luke. You went in the lake. We’re in a canoe. Gotta get back to shore.”

“Luke ... ?”

“Yes, darling, it’s me.” He felt the burn of emotion.

“Luke, Carter ...”

“He’s gone. We’re getting back to shore now.” He stripped off his soaking jacket and lay it over her. Better another layer, even it if was a wet one.

He pulled out the oar and started paddling, seeing Andi’s white face in the bottom of the canoe.

“Jesus,” he muttered through his own chattering teeth.

By the time the canoe bumped the shore he was shaking all over. His mind was filled with black fury.

“We’ve got to get to my truck,” he whispered in Andi’s ear.

“Yes ...”

She leaned upward, and somehow they wrangled out of the canoe. Luke half-carried her to the truck, where the keys were still in the ignition, his cell phone in the cup holder where he’d left it.

Carter had been heading north, in the direction of the Wren construction site.

He picked up the phone to call Detective Rafferty.

*

Fucking Denton, Carter fumed inwardly, dragging the canoe up the bank in the rain. He knew it was that f*cking investigator following him onto the lake. Luckily, he’d dumped Andi and gotten away. Did Denton know it was him? How could he . . . except that Andi had talked to Detective Rafferty and he was probably there at the time, so Denton would know he was supposed to meet her and had blown her off.

He needed to meet with the goddamn detective. He should call her . . . say he went to the hospital. Explain how urgent it was to see Emma.

But now he couldn’t go back to the summer camp just yet, even though his car was there. Denton had launched a canoe from the same area. He had to find a way to get back there without being seen, but he didn’t trust the water, so that meant thrashing through the brush, which would take forever, or following the road, which was what he planned to do. There would be traffic, but he could stay just off the pavement and duck down whenever a car went by. There was more than enough cover for him to make it without being seen.

But Jesus . . . f*cking Denton!

He trudged up the last thirty feet toward the lodge and pulled out his phone.

You can meet her here, he realized. Tell her you meant to meet her at the site. Then go get your car.

Except what if Denton’s waiting for you at the camp . . .

That’s what the Taser was for.

Carter scrambled up the last wet incline, his feet slipping a bit in the mud, and reached the west side of the lodge. The second story was still a skeleton of framing reaching for the sky, but the main floor’s walls were enclosed by siding. Luckily, there were no doors yet, so he slipped through an open side doorway and made his way to the grand entry.

A woman was standing in the open foyer holding a flashlight.

He stopped short and the flashlight beam swung his way.

“Carter Wren?” she asked.

“Detective Rafferty?” he asked in return, adrenaline zipping through his veins. He generally loved the heightened feeling of danger, but he had to be careful here. Play the game for all it was worth. “What are you doing here?”

“Meeting you,” she said in a cool tone that instantly infuriated him. The bitch thought she was in control.

“We were supposed to meet at the office,” he reminded her just as coolly. “I was about to head there now. I wanted to check things out here because we’ve had some problems with vagrants.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really, Detective. And my sister’s in the hospital, so we need to make this short. I told you everything I know about Lance. If only Greg had lived. They were the ones who were friends.”

“What if I told you I don’t believe you?”

He laughed. “What is this, some kind of shakedown?” He spread his hands, thinking about the Taser in his pocket.

“I guess it is,” she said thoughtfully. “You killed Lance Patten, buried him, then moved him to the Singletons’ basement. You strangled Wendy Kirkendall with a willow branch and threw her into Schultz Lake. You coerced or forced Trinidad Finch into eating an energy bar made with cricket flour because you knew of her severe allergy to shellfish. You tased Christine Tern, dragged her to the Columbia River, and threw her in. And you tossed Belinda Meadowlark over the rail of a Washington State ferry. You’ve been playing a killing game for a long time and you’ve targeted Andrea Wren as your next victim.”