he’d managed to borrow from someone while sorting the bill. The four of them headed out of the diner for the relative privacy of Burne’s police car. They’d barely gone five steps along the sidewalk before Meg bumped into a young couple, whom she introduced as the bride and groom she’d been escorting on the ferry.
Jack’s inner reporter sized them up. The young bride, Rachel, was stunning but in a rather generic way—blond, with a slender, athletic frame and a plastic beauty-pageant smile, which she’d plastered onto her face in an apparent attempt to hide the obvious irritation in her eyes. The groom, Wesley, was skinny and twitchy, with a mop of chestnut curls and small horn-rimmed glasses. Nervous because Meg introduced Jack as a reporter? Because Burne was a cop in uniform? Or simply because he was getting married in two days? It was impossible to tell. But Jack couldn’t help noticing how Rachel’s fingers clutched her fiancé’s arm, and that while everyone smiled politely, a thin tremor of tension ran through the small talk they exchanged. The bride was preoccupied with the reception details and seemed oblivious of Meg’s state. No wonder Meg had wanted to get away from them on the ferry. Just five seconds in the company of these two and already he was eager to go.
He also noticed that when the bride asked why Meg hadn’t met them at the docks, Meg didn’t say a word about being attacked, let alone thrown overboard. She’d only smiled professionally, apologized and promised yet again to call them later.
For some reason that bothered him. Could he really expect her to just spill the story out to this young couple, sharing her troubles and fears two days before what was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives? Even if she was willing to burden them like that, would it really be professionally appropriate? No. Not quite. Yet his whole career was based on knowing that keeping the wrong things to yourself only put other people at risk. At risk of what, though? Did he really think the Raincoat Killer was about to infiltrate their wedding? The bride was young and rather beautiful, after all.
He didn’t know. That was the problem. It wasn’t as if he’d expected the killer to attack Meg on the ferry either. How could anyone possibly defend herself against an unknown, unseen threat?
Ten minutes later, they were sitting in Burne’s police cruiser with the windows up. Not quite the private room Jack would have hoped for, but with the closest police station half an island away, it would have to do. Meg and the officer sat in the front seat. Jack, Benji and Harry the dog were crowded in the back. Burne had called his supervisor into the conversation and was taking copious, conscientious notes as first Meg and then Jack relayed what had happened on the ferry.
“We’re going to be calling an emergency meeting in with the various island police services.” Burne turned to Jack. “The island actually has more than one police service, including both Aboriginal and provincial forces. It’s important that everyone get up to speed. We’ll have you two tell your stories and then strategize a response. If there is a serial killer on our island, we’ll take every precaution to make sure that people are aware, alert and safe.” Then the cop turned back to Meg. “In the meantime, why don’t we head back to the ferry and get your car and belongings?”
Jack glanced up through the window toward the overcast sky. Thunder rumbled in the dark and distant clouds. Thank You, Lord! After everything he’d gone through in Toronto, the police here looked as though they were taking the threat seriously.
* * *
Meg walked slowly through the bowels of the ferry’s parking deck. The slap of borrowed flip-flops echoed loudly in an empty room, as dark and silent as catacombs. Something about the claustrophobic space always gave her the creeps. The sight of it now, totally bare except for her car sitting alone in the back row, didn’t help matters. Officer Burne walked silently beside her. Everything about the cop radiated how seriously he was taking matters—which somehow didn’t help the tight knots of nerves in her chest. What she needed right now was someone to help lighten the mood, not to remind her with every concerned glance of just how terrified she’d been above-deck, not that much more than a couple of hours earlier. But her brother would have been the one most likely to cheer her up, and she’d insisted that Benji return Harry the dog to McCarthy’s farm before the cranky old man had a heart attack. Meanwhile, Jack had gone above-deck with a member of the ferry’s crew to get his bag.
The backseat of her small blue hatchback was down, and crammed with bags from her shopping trip to the mainland. Burne opened the door for her. “Drive down the ramp and wait for me in the parking lot. I will go check with Mr. Brooks, and then we’ll head over to the police station in tandem. Okay?”
“Absolutely. No problem.”
He closed the door for her, then patted the roof of her car, as if giving it his stamp of approval. She hid a smile. As jittery as she was, she was sure she could handle driving down a ramp and parking her car just fine. She locked the doors anyway.
Meg started the engine and began inching the car slowly through the ferry. She glanced up to the rearview mirror. Burne was watching. She refused to believe that what had happened on the ferry had been anything other than a random attack. Brutal, terrifying, life-shaking—and yet not the slightest bit personal. Now she would have to focus on healing her frightened heart and trusting it to God so that the killer didn’t steal away the peace in her soul. And it would be in the hands of the authorities to protect all of the women on the island by making sure he never struck again. Dear Lord, help them. Help me.
She reached the end of the deck and gently pressed the brakes as she eased her car down the ramp. Something rustled behind her seat. Shopping bags fell over, spilling their contents around the car. A dark shadow rose to fill the rearview mirror.
She looked up, and into the deep, menacing hood of an orange raincoat.
Jack was halfway down to the car deck when he heard Meg scream. He leapt down the stairs and burst through the door, just in time to see Meg’s car lurch forward. The hatchback shot down the ramp and clipped the railing. Dear Lord, protect her from... From whatever was making her screams shake the air and tear holes through his heart.
The car hit the bottom of the ramp, spun sideways on the wet pier and plowed into the deck’s guardrail. Jack ran toward it. The unmistakable silhouette of a hooded raincoat filled the window. His fear spurred him faster, even as he heard Officer Burne pounding through the ferry behind him. The car door fell open and Meg tumbled out onto the ground.
Her eyes met his, wild with panic. “He’s in the car!”
The hooded form disappeared from the back window. Was he crouching? Hiding? Searching for something? Had he hoped she’d drive somewhere secluded where he could secretly and cruelly end her life?
Meg was running toward Jack now. But his eyes were focused on the car.
“Jack!” Meg grabbed his arm.
He pulled away and brushed past her.
“Jack! Stop! What are you doing?”
But he’d already reached the car. No movement from the mess of fallen bags in the back. He lunged into the open driver door. “Get out! Now!”
Nothing. Jack yanked the trunk release lever. The hatchback popped open, spilling packages over the ground.
“Get away from the car, Mr. Brooks!” Officer Burne had arrived behind him now, and Jack was just about to turn when something inside the car caught his eye, sending his pulse pounding in frustration.
“Please,”
