Page 147 of Whispers

“Do you think something awful happened to her?” A tear slid from a corner of Samantha’s eyes and Miranda’s heart tore. As brave as Samantha was trying to be, the kid was scared out of her mind.

Miranda settled onto the couch and draped an arm over her niece’s shoulder. Samantha was trembling. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Miranda said, hoping she was just soothing the girl. “We’ll find your mom and brother.”

“It’s all his fault,” Samantha said, choking a little as she tried to keep from sobbing. “He should never have left.”

“Shh. He didn’t know this would happen,” she whispered and added silently, “None of us did.”

“Where are you taking me? Where is Sean?” Claire demanded as Weston, careful to obey the speed limit drove along the narrow highway that snaked high above the sea. They were in a pickup with a gun rack, but the rifle wasn’t clipped into the rack. It was propped beside Weston’s left hand, impossible for her to reach. At the sight of the gun, she shivered inwardly. Just how desperate was this man? Where was Sean? The thought that her son might already be dead sent chills to the very heart of her. No, she wouldn’t think that way. Sean had to be alive. He had to. And she had to save him. Somehow. Some way.

Tonight the ocean wasn’t visible in the fog, the only way of knowing where the asphalt ended was the white stripe painted but fading along the shoulder. Face etched in stone, Weston drove continually south and though Claire couldn’t see the guardrail that was often as not missing along this stretch of road, she knew the drop-off from these cliffs was hundreds of feet to the swirling angry sea.

“Where the hell are we going, Weston?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“Is my son all right? You haven’t harmed him yet, have you, you bastard.”

“Just shut up.”

But Claire was trying to keep Weston distracted as she reached into her purse, her fingers moving silently until she found her cell phone. She didn’t dare bring it out, had to fumble in the dark. Thankfully Weston had the radio turned on and was listening to the news, checking the weather report. Her fingers found the phone and she flipped it open, coughing and clearing her throat loudly as it clicked on. She could see the digital readout in her purse and with quick glimpses, she fumbled, trying to turn the volume down. Her heart was pounding a million times a minute and she could barely breathe, but she prayed she could call 911 without him realizing what she was doing.

A car bore down on them from behind. Headlights in the rearview mirror. Weston glanced at the mirror and slowed, as if hoping the guy would pass. He didn’t.

“Damn it all,” he ground out and saw a turnout, a vantage point overlooking the ocean on a clear day. The car behind them passed. Weston checked his watch, then eased back onto the highway. Claire saw the readout of her phone glowing in her purse. Nervously she punched out the numbers, then covered the speaker with her hand. She stared straight ahead and when she thought the connection was made, said, “Where are we going? What’s south?”

“I told you not to ask any questions,” he said, and she imagined she heard a female voice say, “Police Dispatch.”

“But I want to know where you’re taking me,” Claire said loudly, over the radio. “You’ve got my son, Taggert, and my sister, too, so where do you think you’re taking me and why? I have the right to know if you’re kidnapping me.” While she was talking she thought she heard a muted voice say, “Police dispatch. Do you have an emergency?”

“Where are we going? Where is Sean? I’m supposed to be at my father’s party, remember. Dutch is announcing that he’s running for governor tonight and if I’m not there, if any of my sisters, his daughters, aren’t in attendance, he’s going to get suspicious.”

“It’ll all be over before he knows a thing.”

“Not true. Miranda’s with the DA’s office in Portland. They’re going to hunt you down like the dog you are, Weston Taggert, and if you hurt me or my son or anyone else, they’ll find you.”

“Like they found out about Harley?” he demanded and then laughed. Her heart stopped. “You don’t know what happened do you? All this time you thought you were protecting your sister, Tessa. Because she slammed him over the head with a rock.”

Claire froze. What was he saying?

“That might’ve done the trick, but I couldn’t be sure, now could I? Couldn’t take a chance. I hated to do it, but Harley was weak and I gave up trying to carry his ass.”

“So you killed him? Wait a minute, how?” Claire said, silently praying that the police dispatch hadn’t hung up and was recording this, Weston’s confession.

“I was there that night. I saw what happened and I dived into the water. It was instinct. At first I thought I’d save the son of a bitch and then it occurred to me to let him die.”

“What did you do?” she asked, more frightened than she’d ever been in her life.

Weston slid a glance her way and she shivered for it was pure, undiluted evil. “I just helped nature along. Held on to his ankle until he quit struggling.”

“But you . . . how did you breathe, I mean . . .”

“Incredible lung capacity. He’d already taken in water on the way down. I just had to wait.”

“Oh, God.”

His smile was a slash of white. “And do you know what my fantasy was back then?”

She couldn’t answer, didn’t want to know. All she could think about was saving Sean and Tessa.