Take the Key and Lock Her Up (12 page)

“Her name was Shannon Fisher, and I’m sure she’d resent being called a ‘sweet little
dish.’ She’s an intelligent woman who runs her own small business.” He repeated the
fake cover she’d used last summer.

“But you’re probably not dating her anymore.” Austin wheeled around to face him. “And
like all of the women you date, you never brought her home to meet Dad. What was wrong
with this one? She looked pretty close to perfect to me.”

Devlin shoved away from the countertop. “I should have made you clean the kitchen
by yourself.”

Austin followed him to the kitchen archway. Devlin didn’t relish the additional teasing
his little brother would probably dose out for the next half hour about all the women
Devlin had “enjoyed” through the years.

The doorbell rang just as he stepped into the foyer. He glanced at his brother in
surprise. Alex’s property was a good distance from Savannah, a several-hundred-acre
spread without any neighbors close by. No one just “stopped by.”

The doorbell rang again.

“Someone gonna get that before they wake Alex?” Braedon called out from the family
room.

“I’ve got it.” Devlin looked through the peephole and swore.

“What’s wrong? Who is it?” Austin asked.

Devlin swung the door open and braced his hands on the door frame. “O’Malley, haven’t
you done enough damage for one day? Couldn’t you have waited until tomorrow?”

She clasped a thick manila folder to her chest, which of course sent Devlin’s thoughts
down the lusty path of self-destruction again. Maybe he should try to get her into
bed just so he could work her out of his system. One thing was for sure—he didn’t
want her inside the house. She was enough of a distraction in his thoughts without
having to deal with her in person.

“I’m sorry. Truly I am,” she said. “But I couldn’t risk your family hearing about
this secondhand. The lieutenant is already feeling pressure on this case even though
it’s only a handful of hours old. He’s holding a press conference in the morning.
So, no, this couldn’t wait.”

“
What
couldn’t wait?” Austin asked.

When Devlin didn’t move to let O’Malley inside, she shot him an exasperated look.

“May I please come in?” she asked.

He tried not to. He really tried. But his gaze dipped down to those perfect, heavy
breasts, modestly covered by her plain white button-down blouse. For the tiniest of
moments he allowed his gaze to linger, to caress her curves, to trace the shadow that
hinted at the hidden cleavage. To his dismay, he started to harden.

He wrenched his gaze up to her face and glared at her. “You’re not setting foot in
this house without a warrant or a damn good reason.”

She returned his glare without a hint of fear or respect for the fact that he towered
over her both in height and muscle mass. She was feisty, stubborn, and a real pain
in the ass. Which made him want her only more.

“How about this for a reason?” she snapped. “The body in the morgue is
not
your stepmother.”

E
MILY TRIED TO
pay attention while Devlin made the introductions, but after meeting his four very
tall, handsome, impressive-looking brothers—including Austin, even if he was hampered
by a wheelchair—she couldn’t remember which name went with which brother. Only two
of the Buchanan men were married, which made it easy for Emily to remember the women’s
names. Tessa was the green-eyed, auburn-haired FBI agent on the same couch as Emily.
Tessa’s husband sat between them. On the opposite couch, the tiny, black-haired beauty
named Madison, sat beside her husband. Devlin sat beside him.

Austin’s wheelchair was a few feet from Emily. The last brother—she thought his name
might be Braedon—sat alone on the couch that made up the middle of the U-shaped arrangement.
But there was one person noticeably absent.

“Where’s Mr. Buchanan?” When all the men looked her way, she realized how foolish
that question had been. “I meant your father, Alex. Is he home?”

“He’s here,” Devlin said.

She waited, but he didn’t seem inclined to explain further. “He needs to be here for
this discussion.”

He waved his hand to encompass the rest of the family. “We’ll decide what to tell
him after we hear you out.”

His reticence was understandable after everything that had happened, so she forced
back her irritation. Still, Alex needed to be here. “It’s important that your father—”

“You said Carolyn isn’t the woman in the morgue,” Austin said, wheeling right up to
the end of the couch. “I thought DNA tests took days or weeks to come back. How can
you change your mind so fast? You were sure it was her earlier.”

The anger in his voice surprised her, especially given his lack of emotion at the
station when he’d learned his mother might have been murdered. But as she noted the
anguish on his face now, and the concern mirrored in Devlin’s, she realized the hurt
that Carolyn Buchanan had inflicted on this family ran much deeper than she’d thought.
They weren’t cold and unfeeling. Quite the opposite. The survivors—the ones left behind
when Carolyn had abandoned them years ago—had formed a close-knit family, and the
common emotions they shared were love and concern for one another and their father.

But Austin’s hurt went deeper. She could see that by the spark of hope in his eyes.
He thought his mother was still alive. What had she done? She’d been here only a few
minutes and already she’d bungled things. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt
these people again.

“O’Malley.” Devlin’s deep voice broke into her thoughts.

Relief swept through her at the excuse to look away from Austin’s tortured gaze. Devlin
looked at her with none of the anger, condemnation, or even hope that had been in
his brother’s eyes. Instead, he gave her a small smile of encouragement.

“Whatever you have to tell us, just say it.”

She gave him a grateful nod. “Thank you. On behalf of my entire department, I’d like
to express our deepest apologies to your family. We made a terrible mistake saying
Carolyn was one of the victims in that basement. We know now that she wasn’t. But,”
she said, forcing herself to be brave and looking at Austin as she broke the rest
of the bad news, “that doesn’t mean she’s alive. I’m sorry to tell you this, but she
died a few months ago in a single-car accident. That’s why we don’t have to test the
DNA.”

Austin’s face paled, confirming that she’d been right—he’d been holding out hope that
his mother was still alive. “Are you sure this time?” he accused.

“Half the department is working on this case because of the urgency to find the missing
women before it’s too late. We’ve found out quite a bit in the last few hours. One
of the detectives was assigned to find Carolyn’s last known address, which was in
a small town about an hour away. And when he went there, he spoke to the person still
living in the home—her
husband
—who told us about the accident. We verified the information through local police
records. We even pulled her death certificate, which was under her married name—the
reason it didn’t come up in the routine search we performed earlier today. We did
everything right this time, got all the facts together before I came out here. So,
yes, Austin, I’m certain that Carolyn is gone. I’m so sorry.”

He stared at her for a moment. Then he shrugged and looked away, as if he didn’t care.
But Emily wasn’t fooled. She doubted anyone else in the room was either.

“What about the jewelry?” Devlin asked, drawing her attention back to him. “Did you
ask her husband about that?”

“Yes. He told us it was reported stolen four months ago, just a few months before
the car crash. Carolyn is the one who reported it. Our detective worked with the local
police to verify that as well.”

“Are there any leads on who stole the jewelry?” Devlin asked. “It could have been
the killer. But it also could have been a petty thief who pawned it, and the killer
acquired the jewelry that way.”

“Those are both theories we’re considering. We haven’t had time to look into them
yet.”

On the couch beside Emily, Austin’s identical twin edged forward. His poise, and calm,
friendly demeanor, gave the impression he was much older than Austin.

“I’m Matt,” he reminded her. “I’m a private investigator. Do you mind if I ask a few
questions?”

“Not at all. Go ahead.”

“I’d be surprised if Carolyn wore that jewelry in public, since it was specific to
this family. The charm bracelet would have made friends or co-workers curious.”

“You’re right. Her husband said she never wore the jewelry.”

“Was anything else stolen?” That question came from his wife, Tessa.

Emily couldn’t help but smile. It was obviously impossible for a family of FBI agents
and PIs to allow her to say what she’d come here to say without barraging her with
questions.

“Just jewelry—the items you know about and a handful of others.”

“Anything expensive?” Tessa continued.

She shrugged. “Expensive enough. Total value was just under six thousand dollars.”

Matt nodded, as if absorbing that information. “So the thief, or thieves, took the
jewelry but nothing else. I assume there would have been other items of value in the
home.”

“Yes, and before you ask, we’ve already concluded the theft doesn’t seem typical.
If other jewelry hadn’t also been stolen, I’d suspect someone had specifically gone
looking for those particular pieces. Then again, the thief could have taken the additional
pieces to make sure no one realized he was specifically targeting any of it.” She
turned her gaze to Devlin. “And we can’t ignore the tie-in at the murder scene this
morning—that one of Carolyn’s sons just happened upon that basement where his stepmother’s
jewelry had been left with a corpse.”

When Devlin didn’t react, she raised her brows. “But you’d already thought of that.”

“The coincidence is somewhat glaring. It also supports your theory that I’m involved
in the murders and abductions.”

Everyone started talking at once, barraging Emily with denials and angry accusations.

The brother beside Devlin held up his hand. Surprisingly, everyone quieted down immediately.

“I’m Pierce, a special agent with the FBI,” he reminded her. Where earlier he’d been
calm and only mildly curious as he’d sat and listened, now his eyes practically snapped
at her and he was all business.

“Detective O’Malley, my brother was cleared by Mrs. Hawley’s own statement. If you
consider him a suspect, this entire conversation is inappropriate and should be taking
place with his attorney, downtown.”

The angry mutterings started up again.

Emily held up her hands in surrender. “Listen, everyone. Please. The investigation
has only just begun. To be fair,
you’re
the ones asking
me
questions, not the other way around. I’m not here to interrogate Devlin. I came here
tonight to correct our mistake about the victim’s identification, and hopefully to
make you feel better knowing your mother, your stepmother, wasn’t abducted and murdered.
She died tragically, yes, but it was better than what she would have suffered in that
basement.”

Pierce started to reply, but his wife, Madison, shot to her feet and put her hands
on her hips. “This is ridiculous. You people arrested Devlin and interrogated him
and you don’t even know who the victims are. You have a lot of nerve even showing
up here.”

Pierce gave Emily a pained look and tugged Madison back down on the couch beside him.
He whispered something in her ear, which earned him a glare. But she crossed her arms
and didn’t say anything else.

“My apologies,” Pierce said. “My wife has a . . . history . . . with the Savannah
police and being the object of false accusations. Regardless, we do appreciate your
updating us. My father will be relieved that Carolyn’s death was . . . kinder than
it could have been.”

Emily nodded. “Thank you. I would, however, like to address one thing Mrs. Buchanan
said, about our not knowing the identity of the victims.”

She thumbed through the manila folder, pulled out a sketch, and handed it to Matt.
He and his wife studied the paper before passing it to Braedon on the middle couch.

“That’s a police artist’s rendering of one of the women Mrs. Hawley said was being
held with her when she was abducted. As you can see, it’s a very detailed sketch,
including a birthmark on the woman’s cheek. So we’re hopeful someone will recognize
her once we begin circulating it through the media tomorrow.”

“Is there a sketch of the man who tortured Mrs. Hawley?” Devlin asked.

“Yes, but I’m afraid it’s not of much value. Her abductor wore a hat and kept his
face concealed much of the time, or kept the room dark when he was with her. We have
a vague description. The only things she felt certain of were that he was Caucasian,
about six feet tall, and had no tattoos or distinguishing marks.”

She would have expected him to look relieved that Hawley’s description, even though
it was vague, ruled Devlin out. Instead, he looked disappointed at the lack of information.

As the sketch of the woman Hawley had seen slowly made its way around the room, Emily
slid a photograph out from the folder. “One of the detectives on the case was assigned
to compare basic statistics from the coroner’s preliminary autopsy report—sex, height,
approximate age—to our missing persons reports. He found two reports that met the
basic criteria. And since we encourage families to provide us the dental records with
each missing persons report, he was able to immediately have the coroner compare the
records to the victims. We have a match.”

She handed the photograph to Matt. “The woman who was wearing Carolyn’s jewelry was
Shannon Fisher. Even if her name isn’t familiar, I’d like each of you to look at her
picture and tell me if you’ve ever seen her or met her in the past. We’re trying to
figure out if there’s a link between her and your family because of the jewelry.”