“Of course not,” Elizabeth muttered. What man wanted any woman to think that?
He continued, “But females never chased me, and I was always working on some project in Death Valley or Chile or Panama, and I never thought … with my job and my strike-out record with women, it never occurred to me I’d get married.”
Maybe Misty thought you were a nice man.
Maybe she wasn’t very smart.
Elizabeth bit her lip against the sarcasm and the pain.
“Later, after we were together, Misty told me she liked me the very first time she saw me lecture. Liked my enthusiasm for my work. Liked the way I respected my students, even the beautiful ones.” Charles still smiled, but he brushed away a tear that trickled down his cheek. In a lower tone, he said, “I should have known a woman as glamorous and as charming as Misty would fall in love with another man.”
Elizabeth couldn’t keep quiet any more. “So she killed your dreams—and you killed her?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Charles looked at Elizabeth in confusion. “Killed Misty? No, I can never hurt a hair on her head. Perhaps she doesn’t love me anymore, but I still love her. I will love her forever.”
He was talking about Misty as if she was still alive, saying stuff that made Elizabeth vacillate between wanting desperately to believe him, and wanting desperately to slap him.
He didn’t notice her reaction. Or maybe he did, because he got quiet. He turned his head as if he was listening. Then he lifted one finger. “Here comes another one.”
“Another one … what?” This aftershock hit with the suddenness of a plane crash, jolting Elizabeth half out of bed, making her press one hand against the wall and the other against the bed frame.
The aftershock threw Yvonne out of her chair.
Screams echoed down the corridors from the patients’ room.
Yvonne clutched the nurses’ station desk to steady herself, glanced at Charles and Elizabeth, glanced down the hall, and made her decision. She ran for the patients’ rooms.
The earth was still shuddering when Charles said, “With the earlier quake of such a magnitude, multiple aftershocks of six-point-zero and more are to be expected. But it’s always a surprise, isn’t it? And there’s that element of fear, that the shaking will grow until it’s greater than the last earthquake, and we’ll all be killed in the cataclysm.”
“It is unlikely that we will top the big earthquake we had today, but you and I both know that—” why was Elizabeth discussing this with him? “—that earthquakes are unpredictable at best and therein lies the excitement.”
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Were you out there? Did you see it? The tsunami? How big was the tsunami?” He was so excited, like a kid seeing the Batman movies for the first time.
“I was out there,” she said. “The tsunami was larger and more impressive than even I had imagined.”
“I knew it.” His knobby fists clenched on his knees. His eyes closed as if he could see it in his mind’s eye. “I wish … well.” His eyes opened again, and he sounded absolutely pragmatic and totally sane. “I wish a lot of things. Seeing this tsunami is pretty far down the list.”
Still moving slowly—she didn’t want to set him off—she sat all the way up. “I, um, videoed it.”
“What? You … you filmed it?” His faded blue eyes sparkled.
“I did. I ran from the town to the canyon and got there before the first wave washed in.” She glanced around. Yvonne had plugged the charger into the wall and placed the video camera on the battered table beside the bed. The battery light now glowed green. Elizabeth reached for the camera. “Want to see it?”
A flush rose in his cheeks. He trembled with excitement. “It’s all right? You’ll show me?”
He looked so much like the man she remembered, the man on the seashore who had shown her the wonders of the universe, that the fear retreated to that place inside her where it resided.
Besides, she had the knife close at hand, under the covers, and she had removed the sheath. The blade was bare. She could defend herself.
“Yes, of course.” She unplugged the camera and flipped open the screen.
He scooted around so his back rested against the cot.
Even from the side, she could see his eager anticipation. She started the video, saw her opening shot, heard her own voice saying, “I’m Elizabeth Banner of the Banner Geological Study…,” and once again the wonder of the day’s events overwhelmed her. Her hand trembled as it held the camera.
Charles put his hand on her wrist to steady her.
And they both watched in rapt attention as the tsunami swept up the canyon.
Charles exclaimed several times, “I said that would happen!” and “Oh, I never imagined that.” Once he had her stop the video while he showed her a small whirlpool she hadn’t noticed, and once he corrected her commentary.
It was odd to talk with someone like this, someone who understood the ramifications of a tsunami, studied and filmed by a professional. Perhaps Alzheimer’s disease had wiped out memories of where he had been and what he had done, but it had apparently done nothing to wipe away the knowledge and intelligence that made Charles Banner a scientific legend, and she glowed with a sort of pride that this man was her father.
When he heard her wrap up, he sat with his knee in one hand, and nodded, and thought. Then he scooted away and asked, “What happened to the bones?”
“The bones.” Her mouth felt stiff. “The bones?”
“Didn’t you find the bones?”
Shock held Elizabeth rigid, and she stared at Charles Banner in disbelief and terror. “How did you know there were bones?”
“Misty told me,” he said.
Elizabeth couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t speak coherently or ask the right questions because … because no matter how she looked at it, this didn’t make sense.
And her father sat on the floor, his head tilted, and watched her with eyes both wise and innocent.
How could she have forgotten the crime he had committed? How could she have forgotten the house drenched in blood? Yet she had forgotten all of it, or at least wiped it from the memories of her childhood.
He had forgotten what had happened.
So had she.
Were they so very different?
Yvonne’s low, gentle voice spoke from the doorway. “Mr. Banner, how did you get out of bed and sneak in here?”
He spun to face her. “Misty told me Elizabeth was in here, and when I came to see her, you were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Thank you. That’s sweet of you.” Yvonne came in and helped him to his feet. “Now Elizabeth is tired, and so will you be in the morning if you don’t get back to bed.”
“I’m too excited to sleep. If you had only seen the film—Elizabeth filmed the tsunami!”
“I’m sure it was wonderful.” Yvonne led him toward the door. “So why don’t you go to bed and think about what you learned from it?”
“I will.” As he walked with her down the corridor toward his room, his enthusiastic voice faded away.
Elizabeth tucked her shaking hands around her bent knees and pondered the interlude. Those moments showing him the film had been so normal, or as normal as they could be with an Alzheimer’s-stricken father confined to a care facility, in a night disturbed time and again by earthquakes.
But that last bit about the bones was too weird.
Okay, maybe he had heard the story about the prostitutes’ cemetery. And maybe he had figured that it would be washed away. But with all the tons of debris that had been sucked into the sea, the chance of her finding a human bone was minuscule, and to ask about it … when her mother’s body had never been discovered …
Yvonne spoke from the doorway. “He’s already asleep.”
Elizabeth looked at her, eyes haunted by memories … or lack of them.
Yvonne looked both tired and sorry. “I apologize for leaving you unguarded.
I don’t think you’re in any danger, but I know he scares you. I won’t sleep again.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Elizabeth slid back onto the pillows, pressed her face into the synthetic foam, and whispered to herself, “But he asked about the bones. How did he know about the bones?”
Just before she slept, she felt the naked steel of the knife blade, which she still held in her hands, and she was comforted.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Andrew Marrero finished presenting his paper, now rendered obsolete by the evening’s cataclysm in Virtue Falls, to an almost empty auditorium. And not an auditorium filled with seasoned geologists, as he had rightfully expected, but a sparse number of pimply-faced students, probably visiting from the local college.
Where were his fellow geologists, the men and women who should be here paying him homage?
Down in the bar, gathered around the Internet, watching with rabid geek fascination as videos of the Washington earthquake were posted. Even his own crew pretended to pay attention, when in fact their eyes were fixed on their iPhones held low in their laps. Damn them all.
As soon as the scant polite applause died down, Andrew had them raise the house lights. “Any questions?” he asked.
Half a dozen hands shot into air.
Andrew pointed at the blond young female with the long, long legs and the short, short skirt. “Yes, Miss…?”
One of the brash male geologists shouted from the back, “What changes do you expect the earthquake will have made to the area?”
“As I said earlier, I can’t be sure of the changes the earthquake made to the area, but I speculate a tsunami in Virtue Falls Canyon will have proved all of the theories I’ve expounded tonight.” He pointed again at the young woman.
The same geologist shouted, “So you’re sure there was a powerful tsunami in the area?”
“Without a doubt,” Andrew said crisply. “Did you not listen to any of the presentation?”
“No, I came in late.” The man walked from the dim back of the auditorium toward the front. He was young, handsome, intent. “I read that you’re the leading geologist for the affected stretch of the Washington coast.”
Luke Baker, second in command of Andrew’s team, must have finally decided it was time to do a little judicious sucking up. “That’s true,” he called.
The student didn’t even glance at him. All his attention was fixed on Andrew. “You’re this big expert, yet you didn’t predict the earthquake? Of what use is the study of geology if it can’t warn us of the most basic disaster so we can make preparations?”
Now Joe Cruz got into the act. “How ignorant can you be? No one predicts an earthquake.”
The young man turned to the seats. “Who are you?” he asked the three guys.
“They’re my team,” Andrew said. “Luke Baker, Joe Cruz, and Benjamin Richardson.”
The guy dismissed them with a flick of his finger, and turned back to Andrew. “I’m Noah Griffin from the local news.”
A reporter. Andrew wanted to groan.
Noah pushed his fingers through his shock of blond-tipped brown hair. “The paper sent me down here today to cover the geology convention—”
The girl with the short skirt giggled and batted her eyelashes at Noah. “What did you do, piss someone off?”
He looked at her, too, and smiled, all youthful charm. “Pretty much. But there’s opportunities everywhere and when the earthquake hit, that turned this convention coverage into a big opportunity.” Again he scrutinized Andrew. “So your team is here with you and missed the quake?” He made it sound as if Andrew had been deliberately negligent.
“We have one member who is still in place,” Andrew said.
“Who?” Noah asked.
“Elizabeth Banner, a brilliant geologist,” Joe said hotly.
Luke elbowed him to shut up.
Too late.
“Elizabeth Banner?” Noah consulted his phone. “She’s on the Banner Study? Any relation to Charles Banner, the guy who started the study and who killed his wife with the scissors?”
Andrew shot Joe a deadly glance. “It’s his daughter.”
“Whoa.” Noah read his phone with intent focus.
Andrew tried to undo as much of the damage as possible. “But I assure you, she was chosen for the study based on her credentials, not on that old relationship.”
“Okay.” Noah slipped his phone into his pocket and faked a smile. “Thanks for the info, Dr. Marrero. If I have any more questions, I’ll call you.”
“Feel free.” Andrew moved away from the podium, wanting to get away from this professional disaster. As he closed in on Short Skirt, the reporter swung back at him.
“One more thing—why would you hire the daughter of the guy who’s an acknowledged genius in your field, a genius who has never been surpassed?”
Andrew had to unclench his jaw to answer. “As I said, of all the applicants, she had the best credentials.” He waited until Noah got all the way to the back of the auditorium, and actually got the door open, before turning back to Short Skirt.
The audience was on their feet, shuffling toward the door.
“Wait,” Noah shouted. “Another question—why would Elizabeth Banner willingly come back to the scene of such a hideous crime … which she witnessed?”
Andrew was done answering his questions.
But Joe Cruz, big mouth extraordinaire, had to reply. “Her father’s been released from prison and is at a memory care facility nearby.”
“Whoa,” Noah said again. The door slammed behind him.
“What are you going to do about him, professor?” Luke only called him professor when he thought Andrew was angry.
In this case, he was right. Andrew was very, very angry. “Nothing,” Andrew said. “It’s not like his station or newspaper or whatever is going to pay him to go to Virtue Falls and report on the situation.”
Benjamin Richardson, tall, smart, and quiet, got to his feet. “I wonder if he’s a freelancer? Some kind of paparazzi?”
“Paparazzi at a geology conference?” Joe mocked. He stood, too.
“Lots of paparazzi in Tahoe,” Benjamin said. “When the report of a major earthquake comes through, there’s always a chance for a story, like how useless the study of geology is if it can’t even predict an earthquake.”
“A story is what he came for, and he got it,” Luke said thoughtfully. “Probably not the one he had first envisioned, but that story about Elizabeth and her father is worth a rehash.”
Short Skirt looked between the three young men with interest.
Andrew interposed himself between them. “It doesn’t matter, there’s no way to get to Virtue Falls. If there was, wouldn’t I be there now?”
“Of course, professor.” Luke could see Andrew’s intentions, and he pushed the other two toward the door. “You would never leave poor Elizabeth Banner to deal with such a calamity. Your responsibilities weigh too heavily on your shoulders for that.”
Short Skirt transferred her attention back to Andrew.
Andrew bent a darkly romantic look on her and offered her his hand.
Behind him, he heard Joe mutter, “There’s always a way if you try hard enough.”
* * *
Garik Jacobsen barreled across the Nevada desert at a hundred and twenty miles per hour, fleeing a past that tasted like a gun barrel, headed for a disaster composed of his foster mother and his ex-wife, and hoping to hell he got there soon enough to save them and himself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bradley Hoff stood in the penthouse suite in the Westin Hotel in Denver, Colorado, and wished he could remember why he had once found his wife attractive.
Vivian was tall. She wore her long, dark hair coiled into a well-tended chignon. In the last few years, she had withered into that hollow-eyed, gaunt look that very thin older women developed. But she was still handsome. She still worked endlessly to promote his career, and as his manager, he could not imagine anyone who handled publici
ty as well as she did.
Yet now she stood, hands on her hips, neck thrust out, saying, “I’m not going back to Virtue Falls.”
He wanted to strangle her.
Too bad for him she wasn’t the kind of woman any man dared to threaten.
Her eyes were big, brown, and cold as ice. She knew how to use words cruelly. She always sensed where a man’s ego was frail, and went for the kill.
So Bradley kept his temper and in a level voice said, “We need to return to Virtue Falls. The town needs attention, and we can give it to them.”
“There’s no power. There’s no water. We have no idea what shape our house is in, and I’m in no hurry to find out because there’s no one there who can fix anything.” Vivian tapped her foot on the floor. “Denver has at least a modicum of civilization, and I’m not going to Virtue Falls today.”
“We don’t have to stay in our house. The studio was built to withstand earthquakes. There are no trees close to fall on it.” He ran his hand through his artfully styled, carefully dyed black hair. “We could stay there.”
“I am not staying in that studio of yours. There’s one single bed. The place smells like pigment and turpentine. And—” Her words hung on the air.
“And what?”
Being Vivian, she went for the slam. “I don’t like it in there. It’s your place.”
He needed to win this fight. He needed to get to Virtue Falls.
So he appealed to the one constant he could depend on with Vivian—her greed. “Aren’t you worried about my paintings? That’s a sizable investment to write off so cavalierly.”
He could see the mere thought of his wasted work hurt her. But she was practical all the way to her chilly core. “As you said, the studio is soundly built, so all the damage would be from falling canvases and paints. Besides, I’m not writing them off, but whatever has happened, has happened. It’s over. Fini.”
“I can save the work. For God’s sake, Vivian, have some respect for my artistry.”
“Your artistry. Nature’s Artist.” She chortled. “Don’t try to play that card with me. I’ve lived with you on and off for how many years now? Almost twenty-four years? I know you better than you think I do. I know what you really think of your work.”