And she wasn’t alone, not anymore. “How do you figure that?” she asked.
“ Tara was always so weird about your sister’s disappearance,” he murmured. “Besides, it just kind of makes sense to me.”
“Me too.” Silence fell between them. After several moments, she met his eyes. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. I called you because I wanted someone…to know everything. In case something happens to me.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, alarmed.
“Right now I only suspect that her friends killed her. I’m going to find out for sure.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “How?”
“I’m going to become one of them.”
“Bad idea. Very bad idea.”
“It’s the only way.”
“Why not go to the police?”
He simply looked at her and she acknowledged the answer to her own question: as the father of Tara ’s baby, he would be a prime suspect. To make matters worse, by his own admission he had been there that night. And had run from the scene.
Most probably, if he went to the police, he would end up behind bars.
She let out a long breath. “You think these people are killers, for heaven’s sake. If what you suspect is true, getting close to them will put you in harm’s way, big time. This is not a good idea.”
“You’re not going to change my mind.” He glanced behind them at the nearly empty square, then stood. “I better go.”
“Wait!” She followed him to his feet. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Mark. Mark Morgan.”
“Don’t go yet.” She held out a hand. “Let’s talk about this before you-”
He cut her off. “There’s nothing to talk about. Besides, it’s too late. I already contacted a couple of Tara ’s friends.” A smile touched his mouth. “Thanks though, for…caring.”
She made a sound of frustration. “But how will I know if you need help?”
“You won’t hear from me,” he said simply. “If that happens, go to Rick Wells. He’s a friend. I trust him.”
“Rick Wells?” she repeated, surprised.
“Do you know him?”
“Yes, I…we met.”
He nodded and started off, then stopped and looked back at her. “Remember me in your prayers, okay? I think I’m going to need them.”
CHAPTER 26
Friday, November 16
10:20 p.m.
Mark waited for Sarah, his Horned Flower connection. While he waited, he prayed. For guidance and protection. For strength.
Tonight he would be initiated into the Horned Flower.
He was afraid.
Mark lifted his gaze to the sky. Dense cloud cover obliterated the full moon. This time of night Southernmost Beach -so named because it was literally the southernmost beach in the country-was deserted. From behind came the sound of traffic from Whitehead and South Streets. A Jimmy Buffet tune poured from a car’s open window.
“Cheeseburger in Paradise.”
Paradise. He had thought of Key West that way. Had thought her a sparkling, perfect jewel of a place.
Now he saw that her beauty masked an ugliness without compare.
Mark glanced at his watch, then toward the beach entrance. They had agreed to meet at ten-fifteen. He frowned. She was late.
Sarah, where are you?
Sarah had been the friend Tara had talked about most, the one, he knew, who had campaigned for Tara to invite him into their group. The night he met Tara for the first time, she had been with Sarah.
Mark had lied to the girl. Tara had told him about the Horned Flower and foolishly he had believed he didn’t need their family. Tara had broken up with him because he wouldn’t join, now she was dead.
Life seemed pointless, he’d told Sarah. He was drifting, alone without an anchor. He had always believed in God, but now he saw he had been wrong. To deny earthly pleasures for a life in heaven was wrong. Life was short. It was meant to be enjoyed.
He wanted to be a part of their family.
When Sarah resisted, he had begged her. He needed the Horned Flower. Tara had been ready to invite him into the family; she had gotten the okay. He would do anything she asked, he promised. Anything the family required of him.
In the end she had agreed to vouch for him. She had set up tonight’s meeting. He was to come alone, she had instructed him. He was to wait on the bench nearest the burned-out utility light.
She had accepted him, his story, so easily.
Maybe too easily, he thought. Maybe she had no intention of meeting him here, of bringing him to the Horned Flower. Maybe she-and the others-had discovered his true purpose for contacting her.
If that was true, he was a sitting duck.
Another scenario occurred to him, one much worse. Perhaps, by convincing her to help him, he had put her in jeopardy?
An image of Sarah lying in a pool of blood, her throat slit as Tara ’s had been, filled his head, and his stomach rose to his throat.
He swallowed the sickness back and thought of Liz. He had called and left a message on her machine. Tonight was the night, he’d told her. He would call her tomorrow. If he didn’t, she was to call Rick.
A part of him had been glad Liz hadn’t been home-she would have tried to talk him out of this.
She very well might have succeeded. He could turn himself in to the police. Let them deal with this. It was their job.
It wasn’t too late.
Momentarily, the clouds cleared and he saw her. She started toward him. Twin emotions of relief and fear trembled through him.
Lord be with me now and at the hour of my death.
Amen.
He didn’t know why that prayer had leaped into his head but he was glad it had. No matter the outcome of the night, he knew the Lord would be with him.
Mark stood and forced a smile. “I was afraid you weren’t coming.”
She didn’t return his smile. She held out a strip of dark fabric. “Until you’re fully a part of the Flower, our total anonymity has to be maintained. Turn around, Mark.”
A blindfold. He did as she requested, though his every instinct shouted he not.
She fixed the fabric across his eyes, then tied it. The fit was snug but not uncomfortable. The dark fabric completely blinded him.
“Face me.” When he did, she cupped his face in her palms. He sensed her gaze boring into his. “Remember your promise to do anything I asked?” she murmured. “Anything, without hesitation. Do you remember?”
He nodded and she stood on tiptoe. She pressed her mouth to his, and with her tongue, deposited something on his, then drew her tongue out but kept her lips pressed tightly to his.
A pill, he realized with alarm. She was drugging him! He gagged but she stood fast, her mouth against his, sealing it, forcing him to swallow.
He did and she smiled. “Good baby. Just let me make sure.” She kissed him again, this time with abandon. With a passion that took him as much by surprise as her drugging him had. She moved her body against his in time to the movement of her tongue in his mouth.
With a throaty laugh she brought her right hand from his face to his shoulder, then chest, across his abdomen to his crotch. She cupped him, massaging with alternating pressure.
His body responded and guilty tears stung his eyes. How could his body betray him that way? How could he betray Tara that way?
“It will be wonderful,” Sarah whispered against his ear, as if sensing his distress. “The most perfect experience ever. Just trust me.”
She caught his hand again and led him slowly forward. After a few moments they stepped from sand to pavement. They took eight steps, then stopped.
A car door opened. Footsteps came around the car. Mark strained to hear, to pick up anything that would reveal the other person’s identity. He couldn’t even determine whether the other person was male or female.
The footsteps ceased. “He took it,” Sarah said to the other’s unspoken question. “I think it’s starting to kick in.”