She Can Tell (9 page)

Behind Mrs. Holloway, a thick board lay on the grass. “That was nailed across the door. What happened?”

“Someone locked me in here. After he did this.” Rachel stepped aside.

Mrs. Holloway peered into the building. She scanned the damage. Her eyes widened as she read the threatening poem. She pressed a palm to the center of her frail chest. “Oh, my. Just now?”

“I’m not sure how long ago.” It felt like hours since Rachel had been locked in. She tilted her head to read Mrs. Holloway’s watch. Time did not fly during a panic attack. “Less than twenty minutes.”

“That’s even worse that the last one.” The flush on her neighbor’s face paled. “I thought Troy was still in jail.”

“He is.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Holloway wiped a hand on dark jeans ironed to a sharp crease. “So you don’t know who did this?”

“No. I didn’t get a look at him either.”

Mrs. Holloway cast a nervous glance at the tree line, now thick, impenetrable with early evening shadows. “We should get back to the house.”

And lock the door.

Rachel’s foot slipped on a patch of wet grass. Mrs. Holloway righted her with a hand on her forearm. In her other hand, she still held the crowbar. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Rachel pasted a smile on her face. But from her neighbor’s suspicious frown, Rachel doubted she was fooling Mrs. Holloway any more than she was kidding herself. Sweat was pooling at her lower back, and her heart was hammering like it’d been cast as a lead in
Stomp
. She had no idea who was behind today’s prank. Troy she could predict to a certain extent, but this…

How could she rate a danger she couldn’t identify?

Mrs. Holloway tugged on Rachel’s arm. “Don’t touch anything. He may have left fingerprints or DNA evidence.”

Her sweet neighbor was a rabid crime show fan. The bloodier the better. Rachel followed obediently as she was led toward the house.

“And we’ll call Michael,” Mrs. Holloway said.

“Michael?”

“The chief of police.”

Oh. Right.
Him
. Rachel’s pulse did a quick rat-a-tat-tat. Cripes. She needed to get a grip.

“That’s not necessary. I’ll just call the station,” Rachel protested. The chief of police already had way too much interest in her. The last thing she needed right now was the laser focus of his blue eyes slicing through her I-can-handle-it charade.

“Nonsense. I have his cell number. I’ve known him since he was in my fourth grade class. I’m positive he’ll want to handle this personally.” Mrs. Holloway guided Rachel across the grass to the back stoop. The grip of her crooked fingers
was surprisingly strong. “You should write the details down before you forget anything.”

Rachel suppressed a shudder. No matter how hard she tried, there were some things she would never forget.

Steeling himself for the inevitable third degree, Mike pulled up to Sean’s house, a modern cedar-sided two-story built on five acres of wooded mountainside. A bright gold and red collage of turning foliage framed the structure. Quinn’s minivan was parked out front. Not in the mood for the doctor’s scrutiny, Mike bypassed the front door. The faint whir of discreet security cameras shadowed him as he followed the smell of grilling meat around to the back deck.

“There you are.” Sean lifted the lid on a cooler and pulled out a dripping bottle. “Beer?”

“No thanks.”

Twisting the cap off his beer, Sean gave Mike the fish eye. “Don’t tell me you’re still working.”

“I’m not.” Not officially anyway. He helped himself to an iced tea from a glass pitcher on the table.

“Bullshit. You’re dressed in police chief casual.” His friend frowned as he lifted the lid of his enormous grill to baste three racks of ribs. “When was the last time you took a vacation?”

The smoky scent of meat and barbecue sauce wafted across the deck. Mike’s stomach growled. “I have no idea.”

“You look like you’ve been mostly dead all day. You’d better take some time off soon, or I’m siccing Quinn on you.” Sean emphasized his point with giant tongs.

“My ears are ringing over here.” Quinn stepped through the slider onto the deck. The door closed, muffling the sounds of kids and commotion inside. He handed his brother a plate of raw hamburgers and headed for the cooler.

Both brothers were tall and blond, but Quinn was merely runner fit, while Sean looked like he could still fastrope off a helicopter with a hundred pounds of gear on his back.

“Just commenting on Mike’s overall crappy appearance.” Sean moved food around on the grill.

Twisting the cap off a Bud Light, Quinn gave Mike the once-over. “You do look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks.” Mike grabbed a pretzel.

“I mean it. You are dead-fish pasty. I know I’m usually ragging on you to ease up on the weightlifting, but not today. You’ve lost weight. On the bright side, it’s probably the first time in years you’ve been able to fasten the neck on that shirt.” Quinn crossed his arms over his chest. “You used to be Mr. Disgustingly Healthy. What the hell happened?”

Neither the pretzel, the iced tea, nor his friends’ nagging was helping the burn that was working its way up into Mike’s chest. “Christ. Are you two going to tag-team me? I have enough stress.”

Quinn’s eyes zeroed in on the hand Mike was unconsciously pressing to his sternum.
Shit.
Mike shoved his hand into his pocket. Truth was, it was getting bad enough he’d actually considered calling Quinn last week, and that was before Troy Mitchell went ape-shit.

Quinn lowered his voice. “I haven’t forgotten your, uhm,
aversion
to the hospital. I’ll see you in Claire’s office, and we’ll arrange the test in an offsite facility. You trust me, right?”

Mike squirmed. He was only slightly less phobic about going to Quinn’s wife’s family practice.

“I’ll get him there if I have to ambush and drug him,” Sean volunteered with a feral smile that indicated that he’d enjoy a kidnapping.

“This week.” Quinn gave his younger brother a nod before turning back to Mike. “In the meantime, lay off the coffee, eat regular meals, and try to close your eyes at some point.”

Mike’s sigh was his admission of defeat. Neither Quinn nor Sean would give up. They were a pain in the butt that way. The Wilson brothers were also the closest thing he had to family.

A woman called Quinn’s name, and he went back into the house, leaving Mike and Sean alone on the deck. A breeze rustled through the trees. Leaves tumbled along the back lawn.

“Now tell me about this favor,” Sean said.

“I need you to put in a security system for Rachel Parker.”

“No problem.” Sean sipped his beer.

“I don’t think she has any money.”

Sean shrugged. “Also not a problem. We’ll work something out.”

“And Troy’s bail hearing is tomorrow. He’ll be out by lunch.”

“Then I’ll shift some things around in the morning and be at her house in the afternoon. We can get a basic system up and running in a couple of days.”

“Thanks.”

The sound of a car door slamming signaled the arrival of another guest.

“Who else is coming?” Mike asked.

“Just Jack and Beth and the kids.”

Guilt flooded Mike. Through the sliders, he watched the happy chaos as Jack and his new family entered. Jack’s fiancée, Beth, rose up on her toes to kiss Quinn on the cheek. She was small and delicate, her pregnancy barely showing on her tiny frame. The thought of her in a killer’s hands was a shaft of guilt that skewered Mike like a shish kebab.

Jack looked up, saw Mike and Sean, and headed for the deck. As he opened the door, his German shepherd, Henry, bolted through the opening. The big dog greeted Mike with the usual slobbery enthusiasm before turning his attention to the smells emanating from the grill.

“Don’t even think about it, Henry,” Sean warned, closing the grill lid.

Leaning on his cane, Jack limped over and sank into a patio chair with a grimace. “How’ve you been, Mike?”

“Fine. You?” Before Jack could respond, Mike reached into his pocket. “Excuse me.” He pulled out his not-vibrating phone. Pretending to read the display, he backed away. “I have to go. Sorry.”

“Hey, you didn’t eat yet,” Sean yelled, but Mike was already jogging back to his truck. What he needed was a few hours of solid sleep, not the living reminder of how his failure to catch the Riverside Killer had almost cost Beth her life. But he’d just turned onto the main road that led toward his small house in town when his phone vibrated for real. He glanced at the display. Alarm rushed through him. Lying had its price, and fate was going to make him pay up.

Rachel shivered in the damp evening air. All business, Mike finished writing her statement in his notepad. Had she misread him that morning? God knew her people skills could use some work. Kids and animals were so much simpler.

She rubbed her arms, then lifted her chin and straightened her spine. “He took me totally by surprise.”
Which shouldn’t have happened
. But she’d never expected anyone to be in the building. Not when Troy was still in jail. Sure, Mike had suspected another person was involved all along, but Rachel hadn’t wanted to believe it. No getting around the truth now.

Someone besides her brother-in-law hated her enough to go to some serious effort to hurt her. Sarah’s theory was that Rachel had been attacked by one of Troy’s friends. He had a whole contingent of low-life drinking buddies to pick from. On top of the immediate property damage, Troy could claim his daughters weren’t safe at Rachel’s place. It was a perfect setup.

Mike squinted at his notes. “Let me get this straight. You saw that the lock had been cut, you went in anyway, and then you were surprised that someone was in there?”

Rachel didn’t miss the edge in the big cop’s voice. His emotions were ruthlessly controlled, but she sensed the anger simmering beneath his calm façade. He paced the grass in the fading twilight. His body was stiff, and his movements lacked their usual athletic grace. And really, could she blame him for being frustrated with her? She was frustrated with herself. Rushing into the well house had been dumber than dumb. “In hindsight, it wasn’t my best decision.”

Mike stopped pacing, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at her. Seemed the big cop wasn’t as imperturbable as she’d originally thought. She’d been able to provoke his temper. But then, she was especially skilled in that area.

A flash went off inside the well house, where Ethan was collecting evidence and taking pictures. White halogen silhouetted Mike’s face, adding stark shadows beneath his exhausted eyes. A pang of concern tweaked through her. The cop needed more sleep and less aggravation. In short, he needed less of her. She and her rabid impulsiveness had added to his workload again tonight.

“If you called us instead of rushing in there, we might have caught him,” he pointed out.

And didn’t that sting? She rubbed her throbbing forehead. “I know.”

“You’re sure you’re all right?” His eyes zeroed in on hers. “Maybe you should go to the ER.”

Rachel dropped her hand. Her headache had diminished to a dull thrum. “It’s just a bump. Trust me. My head is the hardest part of my body.”

His mouth quivered for a second before he went back to being Mr. Serious.

Ethan poked his head out the door. “This rabbit didn’t die right away, but there’s an awful lot of blood in here. You want me to sample it?”

“Yes,” Mike answered without turning away from her. A muscle in his jaw quivered, and the emotion in his eyes intensified, like he could see her distress—which made it worse. How was she going to keep all her issues and angst buried nice and deep where they belonged if he was going to look at her like that?

She swallowed hard and ripped her gaze away. His ability to read her—and her inability to hide her feelings from him—made her feel too exposed.

Rachel shoved a stray piece of hair behind her ear. As Ethan left the shed, she caught another glimpse of the blood puddle. A rushing sound echoed in her ears, and
stars danced in her vision. She ripped her eyes away. One hand on the trunk of a tree steadied her, hopefully before Mike noticed. She had already made herself look like a fool in front of him today. Several times.