No Escape

“I know magic.”

“Sure you do.”

He studied her with indolent eyes, not saying anything until she recited his address.

His defenses went up. “How do you know so much about me?”

“Like I said, magic.” Lauren raised her right hand, palm forward so he couldn’t see the driver’s license trapped by its edge between her first two fingers.

“I’m not a big believer in magic.”

With a flourish, Lauren shook her hand and his driver’s license appeared at the end of her fingers. For a moment, Heath didn’t know what to say. Before he could recover, she flicked her wrist and sent the plastic rectangle spinning at him.

Heath caught the license in his left hand. His free hand slid down to his pants pocket, then he looked surprised. “You picked my pocket at the morgue.”

MEREDITH FLETCHER lives out West where the skies are big, but still close enough to Los Angeles to slip in for some strategic shopping. She loves old stores with real wooden floors, open-air cafés, comfortable boots, the mountains and old movies like Portrait of Jennie while sipping a cup of hot cocoa on a frosty day. She loves action romances with larger-than-life heroes and heroines with pithy repartee. She has pithy repartee herself, but never when she seems to need it most! She’s much more comfortable at the computer writing her books. Please contact her at meredithfletcher@hotmail.com or find her at www.whatmakesmyheartbeatfaster.blogspot.com.

No Escape

Meredith Fletcher

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Matt and Alyssa, who found each other.

Chapter 1

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

Throttling the urge to scream in rage and pain, Lauren Cooper stared down at the body of Megan Taylor. “She’s— She wasn’t my friend. We were sisters.”

On the other side of the stainless-steel table that supported Megan, the coroner consulted a small spiral-bound notebook. Intensity clung to him like a second skin. He didn’t look like a guy who smiled much, but he was handsome and would have had a nice smile when he put himself to it.

Being a coroner wasn’t a profession that lent itself to a lot of smiles, though. Not even in Jamaica.

His white lab coat was stretched tight across broad shoulders. The notebook nearly disappeared in his big, callused hands. A faded half-moon scar showed on the left side of his cleft chin. He was over thirty, but not by much. He was six feet plus and lean. His sun-streaked bronze hair was short and neat, professional, but a little long now, a little out of control. Maybe he hit the beach a lot when he wasn’t in the morgue. His accent was Southern, somewhere in the lower forty-eight.

Lauren turned her attention from the coroner and focused on Megan. Looking at her lying there on the table was the hardest thing Lauren had ever had to do. Mornings filled with pillow fights, nights packed with shared secrets, all the things sisters did made the reality even more confusing.

Megan’s short-cropped platinum-blond hair was tangled with seaweed, and Lauren knew that she would never have wanted to be seen like that. She had to resist the impulse to comb the debris from Megan’s hair.

You can’t. It’s evidence. It’s all evidence. Tears burned the backs of Lauren’s eyes.

Megan is evidence now.

The thought almost wrung a howl of pain from Lauren. She curled her hands into fists and made herself breathe, made herself push the air out and slowly let it back in. She had to keep the air going out. It was too easy to hold it in.

Looking at Megan’s body lying on the table and covered to the neck by the white sheet was a nightmare. She’d been twenty-seven years old, the same age Lauren was. Both of them were similarly built, athletic with curves.

With her fair hair and dazzling blue eyes, Megan had been the one of them that was the light. Dark haired and dark eyed, Lauren had been the shadow. Megan had always fearlessly rushed in, and Lauren had always waited on the outside, watching before she dove in.

That had changed later. Megan had remained fearless, but Lauren had learned to seize the limelight whenever she needed to. Success in her job had depended on that. She was suddenly aware of the silence in the morgue, and that the coroner was staring at her.

She thought back frantically, trying to remember any question she might have missed. There were so many questions swirling through her head right now. “I’m sorry. Did you ask me something?”

“I did. Which of you is married?”

The question surprised Lauren. It didn’t seem like the kind of information a coroner would want. But this was Jamaica. She didn’t know how things worked down here. She’d never been to the island country.

“Neither of us is married.”

The coroner’s eyes were gold with green flakes that stirred restlessly. He didn’t blink. “Different last names. Is one of you divorced?”

“No.”

“But you said you’re sisters?”

“Yes. I was adopted.” Rescued was more like it. Lauren still had nightmares about the orphanage and foster homes. Her adoptive mother told her those memories would fade, but they hadn’t. Lauren had always been thankful for the second chance she’d gotten, and being orphaned once had made losing her adoptive father to a heart attack four years ago even harder. Megan and her mother were all that Lauren had left.

And now Megan was gone.

“You kept your birth name?”

“Yes. It was all I had left of my parents.” Lauren had wanted to keep something from them. They had died tragically. It hadn’t been their fault that they’d left her. From everything she remembered of them, they had been good people.

“Do you know who Ms. Taylor came down here with?”

“She came by herself.” Lauren looked down at her sister. There had been so many wild things Megan had gotten her to do when they’d lived at home and during college.

“Was she in the habit of doing things like that?”

Lauren kept her voice soft. “She liked her adventures.”

“Adventures?”

“That’s what she called them. Her adventures.” Lauren’s eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. She wasn’t going to do that in front this stranger. She had always been emotionally reserved.

Except with Megan. With Megan she’d always been able to just be herself.

Now that was gone.

“Coming down here by herself was risky.”

The flat tone in the coroner’s voice stopped just short of insulting, but that somehow made the statement worse. He winced, as if he’d just realized how harsh he’d sounded.

“Sorry. Something like this, it’s hard to take even if you’ve seen it dozens of times before.”

The morgue, for all its stainless-steel and tiled-floor impersonality, suddenly seemed too small. Lauren made herself breathe out. He’s just here to do his job. Just answer the questions. She worked to unclench her fists and failed. She wanted to defend Megan, wanted to explain how her sister loved life and new experiences, and she wanted to lash out at the coroner all at the same time.

“Megan was impulsive.” The statement felt naked and indefensible to Lauren’s ears. She desperately wanted to make the man understand, but she just couldn’t find the words. There were words. She knew there were. “She wanted to see Jamaica. She’s— She’d been going on about it for weeks. This trip was something she’d promised herself when she finished up a project at her advertising firm. This was a celebration. A getaway from the 24/7 life she’d been doing the last few weeks to close the deal.”

“So there was no particular reason she came to Kingston?”

“She wanted to come here. For Megan, that was reason enough.” Lauren thought back to her discussion with Megan before her sister had left. “There was some movie she’d seen lately. Something about an island cop.” She shook her head. “I can’t remember anything more than that. She caught a movie on Netflix, and she decided this was where she had to go.” She took a breath. “That’s just Megan. It’s always been Megan.”

The coroner made another notation in his book. “Was she meeting anyone down here?”

“No.”

“Would she have told you if she was?”

“Yes. When Megan was in discovery mode, that’s what she called it, she didn’t want anyone else around that she knew. She said having a friend along was too limiting. It didn’t let her really explore a new environment.”

The coroner studied her with those gold eyes. “Would you say you and Ms. Taylor had a good relationship?”

It took a moment for Lauren to answer the question because her voice was thick and felt like shattered glass. “Yes. We did.”

“You knew she was here?”

“Yes.”

“Who else knew she was coming?”

“I don’t know. Lots of people. Megan was people-friendly. That’s why she was so good at her job. She kept a Facebook account and updated it regularly. She let everyone know she was taking this trip.”

He wrote something else down. “So someone could have been meeting her here?”

“You’d have had to know Megan. If she knew something, or even thought she knew something, she told you. That’s how she was.”

“Did she have many romances?”

Heat filled Lauren’s face, and she glared at the man.

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I apologize. That wasn’t supposed to come out like that.” He waited a moment to see if she would respond. When she didn’t, he went on. “I just wondered if there’s the possibility that she was currently seeing someone and you didn’t know about it.”

“No. Not that I’m aware of. Maybe Megan wouldn’t tell me about a new guy in her life at the time that relationship started, but I always knew. Megan thought she could hide things like that, but she really couldn’t. Not from Mom. Not from me. I knew.” Lauren looked down at her sister and wanted to believe that. No, she did believe that. She would have known.

The air-conditioning unit cycled, and the cool air washed over Lauren. She wrapped her arms around herself and trembled slightly. Her fists still wouldn’t open. She couldn’t remember feeling so cold and so alone.

“If Megan had been meeting someone here, I would have known.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“I’m positive.”

“Was Ms. Taylor casually seeing anyone back home? Someone that didn’t come along on this trip?”

Lauren tried to keep up, but the questions just kept coming with staccato regularity. The man was like a machine. “No.”

“There wasn’t anyone she’d started seeing a little more of before she left? Maybe someone she was interested in but not officially seeing?”

“No. Like I said, with Megan, every potential romance was a big deal. I would have known.” So would everyone on Facebook. Megan liked being in love. None of her suitors had stood the test of time, though. Megan had liked her diversions, but most of her exes were still friends of hers. That was just how she was. No one would hurt her.

Except that someone had. The dark bruising around Megan’s throat testified to that.

“Was there anyone your sister had stopped seeing recently?”

“No.”

“Anyone she’d stopped seeing in the past that would hold a grudge?”

“Look.” Lauren’s tone came out sharper than she’d intended. “You didn’t know Megan. She wasn’t like that. No one would want to hurt her. Not even an ex-boyfriend. She was the kindest, gentlest, most innocent person I’ve ever known.” A tear fell from her right eye, and she felt it skid down her cheek. She refused to brush it away because she knew that would only open the floodgates.

“Where are Ms. Taylor’s—” The coroner stopped himself and offered a correction. “Your parents?”

“We lost our father a few years ago. Mom’s not well. She’s gone through chemo and isn’t able to travel. She asked me to bring Megan back home.”

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that.” For the first time, the cold, impersonal voice softened just a little.

Lauren took a deep breath and looked at the bruises around her sister’s throat. They looked almost like handprints. “Can you tell me what happened to Megan? The police inspector I talked to on the phone wasn’t very informative. I’m supposed to meet with him later.” She didn’t want to know what Megan went through in her last moments. She knew her mom wouldn’t want to know, but they had to know so they would be prepared for what was going to happen next. For when whoever had done this was caught. “He said there’s going to be an investigation.”

“What were you told?”

Again with the questions. Lauren made herself breathe out. “A police inspector, Wallace Myton, contacted my mother and told her that Megan had drowned. When my mother told me, I knew that couldn’t be true.”

“Why?”

“Megan was a strong swimmer. And she didn’t take chances out in the water.”

“But you said she was impulsive enough to come to Jamaica on a whim.”

Lauren’s voice tightened and grew sterner. “I’m telling you what I knew the minute I was told what had happened. My sister did not drown.”

He looked at his notebook. “I see that. You called Inspector Myton back and insisted that your sister could not have drowned. You wanted him to investigate your sister’s death.”

“That’s right. The inspector was very polite, but I could tell he didn’t believe me.”

“He believed you after the bruises showed up postmortem on your sister’s neck.”

Lauren closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe the man had stated that so coldly. “That’s when the police knew Megan had been strangled.”

“I’m sorry.”

Keep breathing. Deal with this. Mom is counting on you. Lauren opened her eyes and looked back at the man.

“Did your sister know a magician named Gibson?”

The question came so far out of left field that Lauren couldn’t help being surprised. “No.”

The coroner looked puzzled. “Your sister didn’t know Gibson. But I can tell by your expression that you do.”

“I don’t know him. I know of him. Everybody who loves magic knows who Gibson is. I’ve seen him perform.” Lauren didn’t like the way she suddenly felt guilty. That came from the coroner, not her. She grew more uncomfortable with the questioning, but she told herself she’d never dealt with something like this before and that her answers would help catch whoever had hurt Megan.

“What do you know about Gibson?”

That question was easier to answer. Lauren knew about Gibson. She answered automatically, pulling up the information effortlessly, and was grateful for the change of subject. “The man’s a master illusionist. He’s up there with David Copperfield. Criss Angel. Doug Henning. Siegfried & Roy.”

Frowning, the man shook his head. “I’ve heard of Criss Angel.”

Lauren could tell from the coroner’s reaction that he didn’t care much for the magician.

“And I thought Siegfried and Roy were lion tamers.”

“Magic is a part of their show.” Lauren studied him. “I don’t suppose you care for magic shows or magicians.”

“Magicians are just another type of con artist.”

Under other circumstances, Lauren knew she would have argued the point and maybe even gotten angry. Magic and illusion were an art, and shows depended on audiences wanting to be fooled just as much as on magicians and illusionists. For now, though, she just let it go.

“Why would your sister have been interested in Gibson?”

“I don’t know that she was.”

The coroner reached under the lab coat and took out a photograph. He held it so Lauren could see it.

In the photograph, Megan sat at a table in an elegant club. She held a wineglass in one hand and looked as carefree as ever. The lights sparkled in her blue eyes, and Lauren knew her sister was having a great time. She didn’t look frightened or under duress. Her smile was carefree.

The man sitting beside Megan was instantly recognizable. Gibson—that was the only name anyone knew him by—was a virtuoso of illusion. He’d had shows in Vegas and in Europe that were always sold out.

Dark and broody, a wild flip of hair hanging down into his face, Gibson looked mysterious and otherworldly. His persona, if it was a persona, never slipped. In the few interviews he’d done, he’d maintained his distance and hadn’t revealed much about himself. No one knew where he came from. He’d just appeared on the magic scene almost as if by arcane means. If it was a shtick, it worked for him.

The black suit was Italian, neatly pressed, and fit him well. In the darkness of the club, he almost seemed to be disappearing into the shadows, as if the darkness around him was drawing him in under its protective wing. His was a hatchet face fleshed out by hard planes and deep-set eyes. A thin beard edged his jaw and pooled in a goatee around his thin-lipped mouth. The pale complexion made him look stark, as if he never saw the light of day.

Lauren had followed his career and had gotten to see him when he’d played at the Cadillac Palace Theatre in Chicago. Megan had bought the tickets and planned their whole night—including a blind date with an accountant for Lauren that was nice but didn’t really have any spark.

“Is that Gibson?” The coroner jostled the photograph and broke the hypnotic intensity.

“Yes.”

“Ever met him?”

“No.”

“Your sister obviously knew him.” He put the picture back inside his jacket.

Lauren didn’t know what to say to that. She thought for a moment. “That picture wasn’t on her Facebook page.” She had looked at Megan’s Facebook information and updates several times since she’d gotten the news about her sister. Until the night of her death, there had been constant updates and Tweets. “When was it taken?”

“The night she went missing.”

Pain racked Lauren. “Megan was reported missing?”

The man nodded. “You didn’t know that?”

“No.” Lauren focused on her control. She needed to listen. She needed to learn. Her mom would want to know everything. “The first contact we had was Inspector Myton’s phone call to tell us—to tell us Megan was gone.”

“Your sister was reported missing.”

“By whom?”

“A friend she’d made over the last couple days.”

“What friend?”

The coroner hesitated, then answered. “A man she was supposed to have breakfast with the next morning. The guy called the police because he didn’t feel like your sister was someone who would just stand someone up.”

“Megan wouldn’t. If she didn’t want to go somewhere, she didn’t go. If something came up, she called. That’s just how she was.”

“Then we have to assume she went with whoever did this to her.”

Lauren looked down at her sister and shook her head. “No. Megan would never go with anyone that would do something like this.”

“Then she didn’t know what the guy she was with was capable of.”

“How do you know it was a guy?”

The coroner held up his hands. “Her killer had big hands.”

An image of someone’s hands around Megan’s neck squeezing the life out of her nearly brought Lauren to her knees. She thought she was going to be sick. The room spun around her.

A strong hand took her by the elbow and lent her strength. “Easy. Just keep breathing.”

Lauren did. She forced her legs to hold her up and concentrated on the door on the other side of the room till the room stopped spinning. “Did you find out where this man was when Megan went missing?”

“He was with friends. Iron-clad alibi.”

Iron-clad alibi? What coroner talked like that? Obviously he had been watching too many cop shows. “If the police knew Megan was missing, why didn’t they do something?”

“Adults come down to Jamaica to go missing all the time. There were no signs of foul play in her room. The police checked. She just didn’t come back to her room that night.”

Because she was dead.

“Normally three days have to pass before an adult is presumed missing.” The coroner’s voice was flat, but she knew he was trying to help her understand what had happened. “Since there was no evidence that she was abducted, the police kept on the lookout for her.” He hesitated. “Things happen down in the islands. The police know that, too. Because they were looking, they knew who she was when they found her. Otherwise she could have been here in the morgue for days before anyone knew who she was.”

That was a horrible thought. Lauren couldn’t bear the idea of Megan lying here in this place of the dead for days without anyone knowing where she was.

The coroner’s voice was lower, softer, and the Southern accent was more pronounced. “I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Cooper. But I’m going to get the guy who did this. For what it’s worth, I can promise you that. He won’t get away with what he’s done.”

The conviction in his voice startled Lauren. It was raw and hoarse. She looked into those gold eyes and saw the stormy intensity of his gaze. She cleared her throat to make her voice work. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name.”

The morgue door opened, and a rotund man in his fifties stepped into the room with a file in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. He wore dark blue scrubs and a matching surgical hat. A mask hung loose around his neck. He gazed heatedly at the coroner standing beside Lauren.

“What are you doing in here, Detective Sawyer?”

The coroner ignored the older man and focused on Lauren. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”

Not knowing what was going on, Lauren drew away from the man.

“Never mind what you’re doing here.” The new coroner set his cup down on the nearby counter and grabbed the door. He pulled it open. “You’re leaving. Get out of here.”

The coroner—Detective Sawyer—looked at Lauren, tried to say something, then shook his head and left.

Lauren watched him go and didn’t understand anything that had happened, but she was going to find out. She headed for the door, hurrying to catch up.

Chapter 2

You’re some piece of work, Sawyer.

Sighing in self-disgust, Heath Sawyer slipped out of the white lab coat as he strode down the hallway from the morgue. His long legs ate up the distance, but he couldn’t get out of the building fast enough.

He’d wanted to see the dead woman’s body himself, to get a feel for her and how she’d died. Whenever he was working a case, he wanted to know as much as he could about the victims. Seeing them at the crime scene or the morgue helped, but the trade-off was demanding. That kind of intimacy was a lodestone for nightmares. Years later, he could still remember the faces of the first case he’d investigated. He hadn’t planned on running into the sister on this one.

But that didn’t stop you from taking advantage of the situation when it presented itself, did it?

A wave of guilt assailed him, but he pushed it away. He’d learned to do that on the job, and he was on the job now, even out of his jurisdiction. Hell, he was out of his country.

Memory of the woman’s perfume teased at his mind. Lauren Cooper was holding herself together better than a lot of grieving relatives Heath had dealt with over the years. In fact, she was holding it together better than he had when he’d found out about Janet.

He dropped the lab coat onto the counter where an older woman talked on the phone and entered data on a computer that had seen better days. A Bob Marley poster hung on the wall beside a calendar that said, Welcome to Jamaica. Have a Nice Day.