The teen’s brows scrunched together, that rebellious look returning. “I’m not a girl. I can take care of myself.”
“Are you sure?” Gabe asked. “Women aren’t the only murder victims in the world, you know.”
“So, that doesn’t mean it’ll happen to me.” His son bounced the bicycle impatiently. “Is that all you wanted?”
“Let me know where you’re going and when. That’s all I’m asking. That way I’ll know which ditches to look in if you don’t come home on time.”
“You wouldn’t have to worry about me being run off the road if I could drive myself.”
“Boy, you are so wrong.” Gabe shook his head, a smile curving his lips. “When you start driving, I’ll worry even more.”
“Not like I’ll be driving anytime soon.” Dakota sighed.
“Your probation ends on Saturday. We’ll start driving lessons then, I promise.”
Dakota scuffed his tennis shoe against the gravel on the shoulder of the road. “Stupid to be on probation for a little graffiti.”
“It’s considered destruction of property,” Gabe stated in a matter-of-fact way. “Property that doesn’t belong to you. How would you feel if someone painted your house with graffiti?”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a house.”
Gabe sucked in a deep breath and let it out. The kid had a point. They were living with Gabe’s sister in her bed-and-breakfast until Gabe found a house he liked enough to buy. “Just call and leave a message on my voice mail when you come and go from your friends’ houses, will ya?”
“I don’t have any friends.”
“At least text me to let me know where you’re going.” His voice was a little sharper than he’d intended, but he couldn’t walk on eggshells with the boy forever. “And don’t be late for dinner, it makes your aunt crazy.”
Gabe climbed back into the cruiser and pulled out onto the road, his gaze shifting between what was in front of him and the boy in the rearview mirror. He didn’t like leaving him on the side of the road, but short of manhandling him into the cruiser, he had no other choice. The kid just didn’t get it.
A murderer was loose in Cape Churn. Until they caught him, no one was safe. The knot in his gut tightened. Though he’d assured her otherwise, Gabe had begun to wonder if Kayla’s attack was connected.
Chapter 4
Kayla woke from a nap on the couch, surprised she’d fallen asleep at all. Drawn to the picture window overlooking the ocean and the road leading up from town, she noted the sun hovering over the horizon. It would be dark soon. A shiver of dread slithered down her spine.
A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Kayla’s heart skipped a beat and then thudded against her chest. Her hand rose to her throat where her breath lodged, as a solitary figure appeared walking along the road. At first all she could see was a dark silhouette, until the figure moved closer.
Finally, Kayla could make out a teenage boy pushing a bicycle.
She let go of the breath caught in her throat and laughed shakily. She really was a mess. “Your mommy’s losing her mind, Baby. But don’t worry, I have six months to get it back before I can start driving you crazy, too.”
Maybe coming to the coast wasn’t such a good idea. Alone on the edge of a cliff almost made her feel more of a target than if she’d been surrounded by people in a bustling city.
The boy stopped, dropped down by the rear wheel of his bicycle, fiddled with something and then stood, his gaze panning the area.
When he spotted the cottage, he resumed pushing the bike. Instead of passing by on the road, he turned onto the gravel drive leading down to the lighthouse cottage.
Moments later, the teen knocked on the door, the sound jolting Kayla from her stupor. When she didn’t move to open the door, the boy leaned to the side and peered into the window. He blinked and stepped closer, his hand cupping around his eyes and pressing against the glass. “Hello?” The teenager’s gaze landed on her and his face brightened. “Miss, could I use your telephone?” he called out, his voice muffled by the thick panes of glass.
It would be rude to ignore the boy. “Is everything all right?” she asked, her voice little more than a squeak. Oh, no, what if someone else had been hurt? Had another woman been attacked?
“I got a flat tire on my bike. I need to call the police station.”
“The police?” Kayla inched toward the door. “Why the police?”
“Why not?” He shrugged. “It might give them something to do.”
Something to do? Kayla shook her head. Had the boy not heard about the murder? Curiosity warred with wariness, pushing it to the side. The teen looked harmless enough. A glance at his bicycle confirmed the flat tire. He was as tall as she was and lanky, but not very muscular. Certainly not big enough to overpower a woman and strangle her to death. And surely he wasn’t the man in Seattle two weeks ago who had tried to kill her. The boy didn’t have the build. What did Kayla have to worry about?
“Just a minute.” Kayla left the chain secure over the door, while she unlocked the doorknob and the dead bolt. She eased the door open and stared out at the young man. “I’m not sure the landline’s been turned on yet. Give me a minute, will you?”
“Sure. I guess I could push the bike all the way to the B and B, but the old man will go ballistic if I’m late. Thinks I’m a little kid or something.” The boy turned his back to the door and scuffed his tennis shoe against a porch column. “This place is so dead, it’s lame.”
Kayla cringed at the young man’s choice of words and closed the door, racing for the telephone on the kitchen counter. She lifted the receiver. No dial tone. With a sigh, she replaced the phone on the charging unit and dug in her handbag for her cell phone. The display showed two bars. Maybe.
Back at the door, she unlatched the chain and handed the phone to the kid. “The landline isn’t connected yet. But you can try using my cell phone. No guarantees—the reception isn’t great. But I got a call through yesterday.”
The boy punched in the numbers and hit the send key. After a few moments, he shook his head. “Nothing.” He pressed the redial key and waited again. With the same response, he closed the phone and handed it back to Kayla. “Guess I’m walking. Thanks anyway.” He turned and stepped off the porch.
Kayla watched him amble down the gravel road, shoulders slumped. She called herself every kind of fool. If she let herself be afraid to step out of the house, she’d more or less create her own prison. That was no way to live. If she retreated from life in fear, her attacker back in Seattle had won.
Bull on that!
Kayla was made of sterner stuff. Officer McGregor was right. Her attack had nothing to do with the woman killed last night. No one knew where she’d gone. She’d told no one. He couldn’t have followed her.
