She followed her mind's command. She stood up and reversed course, making tracks as fast as any good runner could without looking back.
* * *
Kent Stanton took a leisurely walk along the beach as he liked to do every morning. It gave him time to think without all the distractions of daily life. In this case, he pondered the twists and turns that had cost him his wife and a good job with the U.S. Marshals Service. The fact that she had been cheating on him with his partner was bad enough, but retaliating as he did and then getting booted out of the agency was just plain dumb.
I can't undo what's done, he thought.
Kent rubbed his nose and gazed out at the water. He'd been living in Fortune Beach for just over a year now. It was a far cry from his previous life that was split between Los Angeles and San Diego, but not so bad really. He'd used what was left after his ex was finished gobbling up their assets to buy a cabin near the beach and set up shop as a private investigator. None of the cases here were too tough, and that was just the way he liked it. If he couldn't be a U.S. marshal anymore, he sure as hell wasn't interested in putting his life on the line for some nickel and dime work.
Kent had been hired to locate a missing would-be bride named Jennifer Anderson, after she vanished without a trace just one day before her wedding. According to her fiancé and Kent's employer, Richard Mitchell, this was totally uncharacteristic of her.
Because there had been no sign of foul play since she went missing four days ago, the police were reluctant to consider it a crime.
Kent kept his options open. Runaway brides, or grooms for that matter, were more common than most people thought. Maybe she'd had a classic case of cold feet and bolted like her pants were ablaze before waking up one morning and finding out that she was married with two and a half kids.
Or maybe there was reason to be concerned.
Kent turned and saw a woman running toward him. Given her smooth and even strides, it was obvious that she was a runner. He'd never taken up the sport himself, content to lift weights and use an elliptical machine to stay fit.
The closer she came, the more he seemed to read fear in her face.
"I need your help," she said, struggling to catch her breath.
Yes, it was definitely fear.
Kent raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
"There's a...dead woman...down there on beach," she said, sucking in air as she pointed in the direction from where she'd come. "And I think the man who killed her...is after me now—"
Kent looked over her shoulder. He didn't see a soul. His eyes landed back on the woman who looked a lot like the one he was hired to find. She was certainly attractive, and in great shape, with long, layered blonde hair. He guessed she was in her late twenties.
"Looks like we've already gotten off on the wrong foot, lady," he said. "Unless my eyes are playing tricks on me, there's no one coming to get you—"
* * *
Gena gave the man a disbelieving glare and swiveled around, half expecting the killer to be standing there. Instead, she saw no one. Where did he go? She hadn't bothered to check to see if he was gaining on her for fear of losing ground.
Obviously, he had veered off in a different direction, probably after spotting the man she was now standing before. Gena forced herself to look at him. She was sure he must have thought she was a hysterical woman subject to illusions.
In his early thirties, he was taller than her five-eight by probably five or six inches and he looked like he worked out regularly. Thick black hair surrounded a handsome face while gold-flecked gray eyes stared back at Gena with something resembling skepticism and amusement.
"I know what you must think," she said, "but I'm not crazy. I saw a dead woman on the beach. Then the man who might have killed her came after me."
"Did you witness this killing?" he asked.
"Uh, no, but—"
"But you know this man is a killer?"
Gena's mouth tightened. "No, I can't say that for sure," she admitted. "But there's no question that there's a woman back there on the beach."
He raised a brow. "A dead woman?"
"Yes, dead!" Gena reiterated.
"Are you sure she wasn't asleep?" he asked. "People have been known to snooze on the beach you know."
Gena shot him an angry look. "She was not sleeping! I know a dead person when I see one."
"Have you seen many dead people?"
Gena paused, realizing she could count the number on one hand, including two grandparents, a cousin, and a college friend. "No, not many," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean I can't tell when someone is dead."
"Well, did you check her pulse?" he pressed.
She sneered at him. "Of course I did. Give me some credit!" Gena didn't appreciate getting the third degree from him, but since he was the only person available at the moment and somehow seemed trustworthy enough, at least in this instance, she kept her emotions in check.
"Did you call 911?" he asked.
"No. I left my cell phone at the cabin," she said regretfully, while hoping she hadn't revealed too much information.
"I see..."
He gave her the once-over, as if not taking a word she said seriously.
"Look," she said, "I could really use your help, if only to witness what I've seen...and maybe stand guard over the body till the police arrive."
The man studied her intently and ran a hand through his hair. "So what are we waiting for? Let's go check out this dead woman."
Gena felt like she was finally getting through to him.
* * *
"By the way, my name's Kent Stanton," he said as they headed down the beach.
"Gena."
He didn't blame Gena for not revealing her last name. If what she said was true about a dead body and a killer on the loose, she was smart not to divulge too much about herself.
With the talk of a dead woman on the beach, he couldn't help but think about the woman who was a no-show at her own wedding. Jennifer Anderson. He hoped to hell it wasn't her, preferring that she had simply gotten cold feet figuratively, not literally.
Aside from the uneasy nature of their meeting, Kent certainly liked what he saw in Gena physically. What hot-blooded and single for far too long guy wouldn't be? But that would have to be put on hold for now.
"So, you're a runner," he said, if only to take the stress level down a notch.
Gena raised her chin. "Yep."
"How long?"
"Ten years."
Kent was impressed. Long, lithe runner's legs appealed to him in more ways than one.
"I'm not much of a runner myself," he said, "but I do try to keep in shape."
"I can see that," she said.
She looked up at him and he detected a hint of a smile.
"How much farther?" he asked.
"We're just about there."
He was curious about the attractive runner. Her accent told him she was likely from the Midwest. So what was she doing in Fortune Beach of all places? Perhaps the same thing he was: escaping bad memories, if only temporarily.
"Are you here on vacation or...?" he asked.
Gena seemed to measure her response carefully. "You could say that. I'm just looking for a little R&R."
But not romance, he assumed. Too bad. Could have been some potential there, were they both on the same page.
"You've definitely come to the right place for that," he said. "Fortune Beach is about as relaxing as it gets. Aside from running across dead bodies."
"I'll try to remember that," Gena said cynically.
Kent hadn't intended to make light of a serious situation. As it was, this town prided itself on being relatively crime free, insofar as the serious stuff. Having a murder on its beach was bad for business. So was a woman who went missing and left no clues behind.
When Gena's face suddenly turned pale, Kent looked ahead and could see why. There was a body on the beach, just as she'd said.
"There it is," Gena said in a shaky voice
.
"Wait here," Kent directed, wanting to spare her a second round of getting up close and personal with a dead body.
She obeyed and he stepped up to the body for a better look. The blonde-haired woman in question was nude and her body was coated with a thin layer of sand. Kelp flies covered a mound of seaweed near her feet. Her mouth was slightly open as if trying to call out for help and getting none. He checked for signs of life, but had seen enough dead bodies to know when one was right in front of him.
Kent honed in on the face and then looked at Gena. The resemblance was uncanny, save for the fact that one had the vitality of a living being and the other did not.
He took out his cell phone and brought up the photo of Jennifer Anderson. His heart sank.
"Do you know her?" Gena asked perceptively.
"I know who she was," Kent said sadly. "I'm afraid I just found the runaway bride I was hired to look for."
* * *
Eyes wide with disbelief, Gena studied the picture on Kent's cell phone. The woman was attractive and seemed so full of life. Not at all like the image Gena had of her.
Moreover, she was struck by the resemblance between them, which she hadn't been able to discern nearly as much in seeing the ashen face on the beach. If she hadn't been an only child, she would swear this was her twin sister, which gave her the creeps even more.
"Yeah, I thought the same thing," Kent said as though reading Gena's mind. "Her name is Jennifer Anderson. She's been missing for four days. Her fiancé was quite naturally worried as to her whereabouts."
Gena was still trying to absorb the idea of a dead woman look alike and Kent's role in this. "So are you a private investigator?" she asked.
"Yes. Formerly a U.S. marshal, but that's another story," he said.
Gena imagined it was probably as interesting as her own story. "I'm sorry you couldn't find her alive," she said.
"So am I," Kent said bleakly. "But at least she's been found. Some people simply vanish and are never seen or heard from again."
"Do you think she killed herself?"
He glanced at the corpse and back. "Would you kill yourself this way?"
Gena considered the question, morbid as it was. Getting naked and drowning herself—not a chance. "I don't think so," she told him.
"I'm thinking she wouldn't either," Kent said. He took the cell phone from her and brought up another photograph. "Is this the man you saw running after you?"
Gena looked at the image of a man in his late thirties with graying hair. "I didn't get a good look at him," she said. "Certainly not his face."
Kent frowned. "But you can't say for sure this isn't the man you saw?"
"No." She tried to conjure up a picture of the man, but drew a blank. "Is he the fiancé?"
Kent nodded. "Richard Mitchell."
"You think he killed her?" Gena asked.
"Wouldn't be the first time someone hired a private eye to find a missing girlfriend to throw suspicion in a different direction."
Gena could imagine her ex-boyfriend taking such measures to get rid of her. But she had left before he had a chance to get his revenge, deadly or otherwise.
"I suppose you're right about that," she said thoughtfully, while hoping the woman wasn't killed by the very person who was supposed to love and cherish her.
"In any event, that'll be up to the police to try and figure out," Kent said, and called 911 to report the body they'd found.
* * *
"Damn, damn, damn," the man cursed while sitting in his car. Someone had seen him and could potentially identify him. He'd thought it was too early in the morning for people to be hanging out on that stretch of the beach.
Obviously, he had been wrong.
He should never have looked back, but he couldn't help but take one last peek at the woman he'd killed. That's when he spotted the jogger heading toward the body on the beach.
Had she gotten a good enough look at him, even from a distance?
Would that be enough to have the cops sniffing their noses in his direction? Fortunately, he didn't intend to stick around long enough to find out.
On the other hand, he hated the idea of some bitch forcing him into hiding. Not when he could take her out too.
That idea quickly gained momentum, giving him a whole new reason to kill and say goodbye.
* * *
Kent pulled into the small parking lot of the Fortune Beach Sheriff's Office. It didn't exactly evoke memories of his law enforcement days in L.A. and San Diego. And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Between hunting fugitives and sometimes finding himself being hunted, it was a life he was happy to leave behind, all things considered. At least the locals didn't have to worry about being overrun with serious crimes, assuming one had been committed here.
He had voluntarily come in with Gena to give their statements. Kent was sure this wasn't the way she wanted to spend her vacation. And he could certainly think of better ways to begin his day. But they were both much better off right now than Jennifer Anderson was.
"Right this way," the deputy said, leading them through a small maze of desks to a corner office. "The sheriff will be right with you."
Kent followed Gena inside. The sheriff was talking on the phone rather animatedly, all but ignoring them.
Kent glanced around. A fan was blowing air from atop a file cabinet. There was a vase with fresh flowers on a small table in the corner, and a computer and printer took up space on part of the desk.
The sheriff muttered a few more words and hung up before standing; a hulking figure. "I'm Sheriff Franklin. Sorry to keep you waiting." He looked at Gena. "You found the body?"
She nodded. "Gena LaCrosse."
Franklin turned to Kent. "And you are?"
"Kent Stanton."
The sheriff stared at him. "Your name sounds familiar..."
"Probably because we've crossed paths," he said. "I'm a private detective, looking into a missing bride-to-be."
Franklin's face turned dour. "The dead woman on the beach?"
"Looks like it," Kent said.
The sheriff sighed. "Figured as much. Why don't you both have a seat and I promise I won't keep you long."
* * *
Gena studied the sheriff. He was about forty, solid in build and probably a couple inches taller than Kent. His grayish-blonde hair was combed backwards and looked freshly washed.
"So why don't you start from the beginning and tell me what and who you saw," Franklin said, peering at her from the other side of his desk.
She glanced at Kent. "I saw a woman at the edge of the water."
"And when was this?"
"About five-thirty this morning."
He scribbled something down on a notepad. "Was she alive?"
"No, I checked her pulse," Gena said.
"So you're saying she drowned?"
"I only know that she was near the water," Gena responded, not qualified to suggest more.
"The autopsy will give us the answer," Franklin said, lifting a thick brow. "Now what about the man you say you saw?"
"I did see him," she made clear.
"You saw him doing something with the body?" the sheriff asked.
"No, not exactly," Gena said. "I saw him in the area where I found the body and he acted suspicious."
"But he could have been just another person on the beach, like you, am I right?"
"Well, yes, but if that were the case, why did he come after me, as if to protect himself from discovery?" she challenged the sheriff.
"Interesting question," Franklin said. "Once we find him, we'll ask him. Why don't you give me a description of him, and make it as complete as possible."
Gena regarded Kent, remembering he had asked her to describe the suspect and she hadn't offered much. She told what she could in terms of his general build and what he may have been wearing, wishing she had paid more attention.
"That's a start," Franklin said, then gazed at Kent. "What do you have to add?"
"Other than the fact that I believe the deceased is Jennifer Anderson, whom her boyfriend reported missing four days ago, not much."
Franklin leaned back in his chair. "So how did you and Ms. LaCrosse happen to come together on this?"
"We were both on the beach," Kent said. "She ran up to me and told me about the body. I checked it out, confirmed the woman was dead, and called 911."
"What's the name of your client?" Franklin asked him.
"Richard Mitchell," Kent said.
"Have an address?"
Kent gave it to him.
"Pending the autopsy results, it probably does no good to speculate at this point," Franklin said, "though I'm sure we all will anyway. Thank you for your time. We'll take it from here."
"I still have a client who's paying me for information," Kent said. "I owe it to him to bring him up to speed on this."
Franklin furrowed his brow. "Can't stop you from doing that. Just remember, this is an official investigation and whatever you learn, don't keep it to yourself."
"Agreed," Kent responded.
Gena wondered if this would end up being a murder investigation. Or had the woman simply decided she didn't want to live for some reason?
* * *
Kent was happy when Gena took him up on his offer to go for coffee after the interview. Apart from unwinding after a bad start to their day, he welcomed the opportunity to get to know her a little better.
The weather was perfect so they sat outside at the bistro.
"You mentioned that you were once a marshal," Gena said.
"Yeah," Kent replied, sipping his drink pensively.
"And now you're a private eye. What's the story there you alluded to earlier?"
Though he found it painful to delve into that part of his life, Kent realized that to learn more about her, he had to give more about himself. So he told her about his previous life, including the betrayal of his ex-wife.
"It must have been really hard to have your wife turn on you like that with your partner," Gena said.
"That's putting it mildly," Kent muttered. "Guess you have to find out some things the hard way and deal with it—though not always in the right way."
She batted her eyes. "I don't think there is any right way to deal with bad situations."
"Maybe you're right." Kent looked at her. "Tell me what went wrong in your life—apart from this morning."
Gena sighed. "Not what, but who—"
Kent listened as she spoke about a domineering and scary ex-boyfriend in Chicago and the best means she had for escaping him, if only for the short-term.