Alana Candler, Marked for Murder (13 page)

When he had definite proof, then he’d let the department in on it.

Long into the sleepy morning hours, Chet’s eyelids drooped. Maybe he would close his eyes—just for a minute. The barking of a neighborhood dog snapped his head up straight again—suddenly, he was wide awake. He blinked and saw a tall shadow move across the yard next door and enter the old shed behind Pop’s house. Chet sat up tall in the seat—his hands were clammy—and listened. A motor growled as it came to life, and Pops slowly pulled his white truck out of the driveway.

Sweat rolled down Chet’s face and stung his eyes as he pulled his car into the road. A nagging uneasiness urged him to call Kent. He wouldn’t be at the station this early, but he could call his cell number—just to be safe. He reached to grab his cell phone, but it wasn’t in the holder. He’d left it beside his bed. The call would have to wait.

Chet watched the truck turn onto the next street over and compelled the temperamental Camry down the quiet street.

When Pops reached the lower part of the city and parked outside a run-down mom-and-pop store selling antiques, Chet turned off his lights and coasted to a stop on the corner several blocks away. A short, frizzy haired man rushed out of the building and joined Pops in the truck. Pops popped the clutch and the truck lurched away from the curb.

Chet cranked his car. At the same time, a slow-moving, delivery truck pulled out in front of him. Helplessly, Chet watched Pops make a quick left hand turn at the next light and struggled to keep his neighbor in sight. When the red light caught the truck in front of him, Chet felt disappointment course through his heart. He was going to lose them! Banging his hand on the steering wheel made him feel better, but it did nothing to stop Pops from disappearing down the side street. When the light turned green, the offending delivery truck ambled on down the street.

When Chet continued his left hand turn, Pops and the truck were nowhere in sight.

What rotten luck!

After searching the rows of plush condominiums in the area, Chet headed to the warehouses situated on the waterfront. Turning off his lights, he searched by moonlight—row after row. A couple of hours later, he finally spotted a white blur in the distance parked at the loading dock of a large warehouse. Chet pulled his car over to the side of the alley, and got out slowly. The smell of sulfur and dead fish was strong as he drew in a breath of uncertainty.

Brad was a patient man, but Chet knew patience wouldn’t stop the chief from raking him over the coals when he found out what he was about to do—without backup. Following a vehicle alone was less hazardous than entering the suspected hideout of thieves. . . and murderers. If his suspicions were true, that’s exactly what he was about to do.

TWENTY-FOUR

THOUGH HIDDEN FROM THE BLAST
, Alana could feel and hear debris pelting Jaydn’s body as he tried to protect her. The force of the explosion sent objects careening through the air toward their unprotected position on the floor. Jaydn grunted as a large object landed full on his back, and Alana whimpered at the impact. Pieces of wood, plaster, and insulation continued to fall around them, and even after the roaring stopped, they could hear crackling and popping noises in the middle of the chaos as it settled in the room.

Alana felt smothered. “I can’t breathe,” she whispered.

She felt his muscles tense and bulge as he heaved with all his might to move the bedroom door and other rubbish lying on his shoulders. When the door moved a few inches, he shifted his weight, and Alana crawled out from under him.

With all her strength, she struggled to help him move the heavy door and pieces of sheetrock and insulation. Spots of fire popped up around them and grew, licking at the carpet and furniture.

“Call the fire department,” he yelled hoarsely through the smoke that was filling the room as he began beating the flames with a small rug.

Forcing her legs to obey her brain’s command to move, Alana ran the short distance to the kitchen and returned to throw Jaydn a large, red fire extinguisher.

“Here,” she yelled as she dialed the phone with her other hand. The smoke burned her lungs and threatened to close her airway as she coughed her instructions to the 9-1-1 operator.

Jaydn grabbed the red cylinder, pulled the pin, and began spraying the widening patches of fire. Alana crawled to the windows and opened them both. The fresh air irritated her lungs, and she coughed even harder.

When the spewing noise on the extinguisher stopped, the room was full of smoke, but no open flame lingered.

She saw Jaydn drop to the floor in relief. When he turned and saw Alana leaning against the wall beside an open window, he crawled over to her. “Alana, are you hurt?”

Coughing peppered her speech, but panic strengthened her voice. “I’m okay, are you?”

Jaydn sat up slowly and grabbed the back of his legs. Small holes peppered his pants where pieces of wood splintered through.

“I’m okay,” he panted as he pulled the bigger pieces out of his leg and brushed off the rest. He touched his shoulder with the other hand and winced. “Maybe a little bruised.”

“You saved my life again,” she whispered as she stared at him.

Her voice was steeped in fear. Her brown eyes revealed her terror at realizing that someone had tried to kill her.

Again.

Scooting closer, Jaydn put an arm around her. She laid her head on his shoulder and shook. He held her gently until the trembling stopped, then lifted her chin to look into her eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded but turned her head to look around her. There was no wall to her bedroom anymore, and half of the ceiling was lying on her bed. The rest was covered in black sooty smoke or debris from the fire extinguisher.

“What’s going on?” she asked in a daze.

“Alana, someone’s trying to kill you. Surely you don’t believe these are isolated incidences.”

She shook her head slowly. “Not anymore. But, I don’t understand why. I don’t have any enemies.” She looked around her again in a wide sweeping circle. “Not one that would do this. Martin was upset with me, but . . .”

At that moment, they heard a frantic knocking on the door.

“Alana, are you in there? Alana!”

Alana struggled to the door and opened it wide to reveal her neighbor, Cynthia Beal. Cynthia was a good neighbor and a faithful friend. She was eighty-one years old and a little on the plump side, making it hard to maneuver up and down the stairs. It was surprising she’d been able to climb the stairs and arrive at her door so quickly.

“Alana! Oh my!” she exclaimed now as she stared at the destruction behind Alana. “I thought I heard an explosion. What happened? Did you let the pilot light go out on the stove, honey?” She patted Alana’s arm. “Are you all right?”

Alana smiled. Cynthia’s obsessive fear of fire was the topic of many of their conversations. She was always afraid someone in the building would let their pilot light go out and burn the entire building down. Alana could hear the fear in her voice and hurried to assure her.

“No, Mrs. Beal. It was . . . just . . . well, everything’s okay now. I’m fine.”

“Well, okay, dear. Now the fire department will have to come, won’t they?” She glanced fearfully at the smoking, charred room.

“They’re already on their way, Mrs. Beal. The fire’s out, but we’ve called them anyway, just to make sure it doesn’t start up again. Thank you, for checking on me.”

When Mrs. Beal was gone, Alana watched Jaydn pull out his cell phone and flip it open.

“Who are you calling?” Alana asked.

“Your brother. He needs to know I’m taking you to my apartment where you’ll be safe, just for tonight. What’s the number?”

“Your apartment? Why?”

“Look, Alana. Someone’s trying to kill you. You need somewhere to hide—a place this guy doesn’t know about. At least at my apartment, you’ll be safe for the night.”

“But, Jaydn, I can’t impose on you. Can’t I just wait here for Brad? He’ll come as soon as he hears, and I can go back home with him. I should be safe at his house. I mean, he’s the police chief, for goodness sake! No one would dare attack me there.”

“Yeah, but Brad’s not at home all the time, is he? I’m sure he’s been working harder than ever on this recent string of murders.”

Alana had to agree Brad was spending more time at the station. She hardly saw him at all while she stayed with him and Lisa.

“Besides, whoever’s doing all this knows where you live. I’m sure he knows Brad’s your brother,
and
where
he
lives. It’s also reasonable to assume it wouldn’t matter if Brad was there, anyway. One bomb would kill you, no matter who else was there.”

Alana’s eyes doubled in size when she thought about her niece and nephews and the possibility of their being harmed because of her.

“Now, will you tell me Brad’s cell number?”

Alana squeezed her eyes shut in resolved acquiescence and gave him the number.

When Brad answered, Jaydn spent time explaining who he was and why he was calling.

Alana half-listened as Jaydn and Brad discussed what steps she should take now. Just because Jaydn saved her life, he thought he had the right to plan her future. She was hoping Brad would disagree with Jaydn’s idea and come up with one of his own, but according to what she was hearing, it wasn’t going to happen. Both Brad and Jaydn seemed to be in agreement.

“He wants to talk to you,” Jaydn said as he handed her the phone.

“Brad?”

“Hey, honey. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, just a little scared.”

“I know. Me too. I wish I could be there, but something’s come up here, and Ross is out of my jurisdiction anyway. I’ll call a friend on the detective squad there to handle the investigation for now. I’ll try to get down there tomorrow.”

“Brad, do you really have to come all this way?”

“I’d feel better if I were there in person to check out the evidence the police gather.”

She nodded silently.

“In the meantime, I want you to go to Jaydn’s apartment tonight.”

“But, Brad—”

“No buts! I’m not sure the police department will be convinced you need round-the-clock protection, and I don’t want to worry about you tonight. At least spend one night there, okay? Until we get something else arranged?”

Alana didn’t speak.

“Lane? Please?”

“Okay, Brad, but—” She turned to see where Jaydn was. He was poking through some of the rubbish in the bedroom where he couldn’t hear. Convinced he wouldn’t overhear her, she asked, “Don’t you think it looks funny for me to go to Jaydn’s apartment?” she whispered. “I mean it’s—”

“Listen, sweetie. Jaydn says the apartment belongs to his company, and they have a live-in housekeeper who stays in a room at the back of the apartment. It’ll be okay. You don’t really have much of a choice. Trust me. I’ve known Jaydn for a long time. You can trust him too.”

“Okay, Brad. I’ll do what you want me to. But, just for one night. Then, tomorrow, we’ll think of something else. Promise?”

“I promise, honey. Go with Jaydn tonight, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Jaydn walked back into the room, and Alana handed him the phone.

“Now, get enough clothes to wear for a few days, and we’ll . . .”

“What do you mean for a few days?” she interrupted. “I thought we said
one
night.”

Jaydn let out a frustrated breath of air. “Do you have to argue about
everything
? Do you really want to return and stay in this apartment?” He waved his hands around, accenting his argument. “Even if you came back here tomorrow, you couldn’t stay. Look at your bed! It’s smashed to the floor, and your mattress is torn to shreds. Not to mention the ceiling is scattered all over the apartment. And, whoever did this might be back.”

Alana shivered. “All right,” she whispered—completely petrified.

The lines in his face relaxed, and he touched her trembling arm. “Look, I know you’re upset. Just take it one day at a time, okay?”

She nodded.

“Great! Now, try not to do anything that might disturb the investigation, but find clothes for a couple of days while I call the police here in Ross.”

TWENTY-FIVE

THE APARTMENT COMPLEX WAS RUN
down and in one of the lower class neighborhoods, but Martin cruised into the parking spot in front of the first floor apartment as if he had been there before. He jerked his truck door open and hurried to the door marked with the number 15B. The name Sandra Temple was on the metal mailbox mounted on the crumbling bricks. Banging on the door, he glanced around the area—worried he might be seen.

When the door opened and the woman let him inside, Martin strode to the center of the room.

“Sandra, you owe me.”

Standing beside the door she had just closed, she raised her hand to her hip defiantly. “For what?”

“For my father keeping your dad out of prison when he robbed that gas station last year. You said you’d return the favor one day, so . . . I need a favor.”