“That’d be great,” Hunter said, but the expression on his face didn’t match his words. “I just hope he’ll listen to you.”
Veronica scratched Gracie behind the ears and smiled.
“Why don’t you go with him, Hunter?” she suggested. “You’ll have a better chance at convincing Spencer, and it’ll be good for both you and Gracie to get out of here for a bit.”
Before he could protest that he didn’t want to leave her alone, she gestured toward the crew and raised an eyebrow.
“And don’t worry about me,” she insisted. “I’m not going to be alone in here, am I? Now, you need to get going if you have any hope of having the report ready by eleven o’clock.”
Veronica smiled as she watched Hunter follow Finn and Gracie through the door, glad to see Hunter doing what he loved again. He’d been miserable running the station instead of being a reporter. He was meant to be out in the world chasing down stories, not locked up in a newsroom chasing down advertisers.
She leaned back in her chair, suddenly grateful that Hunter had found his way back to his true calling after his struggle with the PTSD he’d incurred as a foreign correspondent in the Middle East. He’d made a good decision by teaming up with Finn to buy Channel Ten. Together they’d saved the station from financial ruin.
And it had all fallen into place when Spencer Nash had joined the team as station manager, freeing up Hunter and Finn to focus on what they loved to do. Although she disagreed with Spencer on many things, she knew Hunter respected him and counted on him.
I just hope Spencer will back him up with this report on Locke.
The possibility that Spencer may not be at home with his wife flitted through her mind. Rumors that the married station manager was seeing Tenley Frost had begun to circulate months ago, and there had even been speculation that he was the father of Tenley’s baby girl. But Spencer had vehemently denied it, and the rumors had eventually dried up.
And Tenley hasn’t come by to see Spencer at the station lately, so the rumors likely weren’t true…or maybe they’d finally reached Spencer’s wife.
Scolding herself for listening to idle gossip, Veronica went back to worrying about her mother, anxious to know she was safe and well. When her phone buzzed, she jumped, and looked down at the text message with eager eyes, surprised see Mackenzie Jensen’s name.
Just wanted to say sorry about the story on your mom. It wasn’t my idea.
Veronica stared at the message as if it had been written in hieroglyphics, trying to make sense of Mackenzie’s words. How could an article under her byline not be her idea?
Tapping in a response, Veronica tried to phrase her message carefully. She didn’t want to scare the journalist away.
Okay, whose idea was it? Can you tell me who your source is?
She held her breath, hoping she was about to learn who had revealed her mother’s secret to the Willow Bay Gazette.
Sorry, but if my editor knows I’ve contacted you, he’ll kill me.
It sounded to Veronica as if Mackenzie wanted to tell her but was scared. Maybe the editor really had pressured her. If she could convince the journalist she’d keep her secret, she may agree.
What if I didn’t tell anyone that you gave me the source?
Mackenzie didn’t respond to the message right away, and Veronica figured she’d blown it. Then her phone buzzed.
Maybe, but it’s risky. I don’t know. Not via text or over the phone.
Sucking in a breath of excitement, Veronica tapped in a response.
How about I come by your house now? No one else will know.
A minute passed and no text. When Mackenzie’s response did come through, disappointment surged through Veronica.
No, I can’t do that. Sorry.
Veronica knew she couldn’t give up now. Not when she’d been so close. And if Santino showed up demanding Mackenzie’s source, the journalist would likely refuse to give an official statement. Determined not to let the opportunity pass, she typed in a response.
I promise I won’t let anyone else know it was you. Please, it’s important.
An endless second ticked by, then her phone buzzed.
You’ll come alone? No one else? And you’ll keep it secret?
Veronica tapped a quick reply, her heart pounding.
Yes, I’ll come alone, and I promise not to tell.
She felt a surge of victory at Mackenzie’s final response.
Okay, but hurry. I’m going out soon. I have a date tonight.
Dropping her phone into her purse, Veronica stood up, ready to hurry out the door, then hesitated. Hunter would be back soon, and he’d likely panic if she were gone when he returned. But the bigger problem was she didn’t have a car. She’d left her Jeep at the house, having ridden over with Hunter in his Audi.
She pulled her phone back out and tapped on the Uber app. The driver was nearby. A red Camry would pick her up in five minutes. That would give her enough time to write Hunter a quick note.
Hunter,
I went to Mackenzie Jensen’s house. She said she’ll give me her source if I keep her name out of it. Will be back soon. Don’t worry!
Veronica
Propping the note on her desk, Veronica added a notepad and freshly sharpened pencil to her bag, startled to see the Glock nestled at the bottom. She’d almost forgotten she’d brought it with her.
Pulling on her red coat, she dropped her phone into the pocket and headed outside. A WBPD patrol car sat in the lot, and she wondered if Officer Ford was still keeping tabs on her, but the red Camry pulled into the lot before she could make out who was inside.
Veronica waved the driver over, anxious to get to Mackenzie’s house before the journalist left for her date. Sliding into the backseat, she snapped on her seatbelt and leaned back against the headrest, trying to plan out what she would say to Mackenzie. She couldn’t risk spooking the journalist before she got the information she needed.
Ten minutes later the Uber driver pulled up to the curb outside the address Mackenzie had texted to her. Veronica stepped out and turned up the collar of her coat against the icy rain.
She scurried up the walkway and stuck out a cold finger to ring the doorbell. Listening, she heard no noise from inside. Panic set in as she wondered if Mackenzie had already left on her date. Looking back to the curb, she saw that the red Camry was gone.
She knocked on the door with little hope of getting a response, but to her surprise, the door swung slowly open, as if it hadn’t been closed all the way.
Warm air drifted through the open door, along with an unpleasant odor. Wrinkling her nose, Veronica called out, her voice sharp with sudden fear. She reached in her purse and put her hand on the Glock.
“Hello? Mackenzie?”
A dim light was on in the foyer, and Veronica strained to see into the darkened room beyond. She thought she could see a shape on the floor. Was someone on the ground?
Stepping inside, she pulled the Glock out and held it in front of her as she moved into the house, her eyes beginning to adjust to the dim lighting. Finally, she was close enough to make out a high-heeled shoe, and then the leg attached to it.
“Mackenzie?”
She stopped in mid-step, gasping in shock as she saw the journalist splayed out on the floor by the couch, a shredded pillow over her head. A sudden movement behind Veronica made her spin around; no one was there.
Trembling with fear, she ran toward the front door, but it slammed closed just as she reached it, knocking the Glock from her hand. The man who had been standing behind the door stepped out and kicked the gun across the floor.
A strong arm wrapped around her throat before she could scream, and she felt the cold muzzle of a gun on her cheek.
“Fight me and I’ll blow your head off,” the man hissed, dragging her backward into the house.
He pushed her toward a door off the hall, and she stepped into the cold darkness of the garage. Keeping the gun pressed against her head, the man pr
odded her toward the car parked within. He opened the back door and shoved her into the backseat, throwing a blanket over her before wrapping some kind of cord around her to hold the blanket in place.
She struggled to get free, but the man jabbed the gun against the blanket and tightened the cords.
“You try anything stupid, and I’ll kill you. It’d be a pleasure.”
The man’s voice sounded familiar, but she was too scared to think as the car backed out of the garage and then accelerated forward. Shaking with fear, Veronica shifted her hand to her pocket, attempting to get her hand on her phone.
“Stop moving around back there,” the man muttered.
Inching her hand out of her pocket, she held her phone, trying to activate it but unable to see the display. As the car came to a sudden stop, Veronica used her thumb to switch the ringer off, then twisted forward and shifted her hand down so she could slide her phone into the top of her boot.
Maybe he won’t think to look for it there. Maybe I’ll get a chance to call someone for help.
The only thing keeping Veronica going was the feeling that if the man had wanted to kill her, he would have already done so back at Mackenzie’s house.
He has plans for me. If I stay alive long enough, I might be able to escape.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Hunter held his phone to his ear, desperate to hear Veronica’s voice on the other end. But the unanswered call rolled to voicemail again. Jabbing a thumb at the display, he ended the call. He’d already left two messages begging her to call him back.
Either she’s deep in conversation with Mackenzie, or she’s in trouble.
Gripping the Audi’s steering wheel with both hands, he raced down Channel Drive, trying not to panic or overreact.
“It should be the next street on your right,” Finn said, navigating from the passenger seat. “There it is, Hawthorne Road.”
Hunter steered the Audi onto a street lined with neat houses cheerfully illuminated by porch lights and glowing windows. Finn pointed to a house with an ornate lamppost lighting up the walkway.
“According to Google, it should be that one.”
Inhaling deeply, Hunter jumped out and hurried up the stone walkway. He rang the doorbell, then knocked loudly.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said, as Finn joined him on the porch, followed by Gracie. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”
The white Lab suddenly barked, causing both men to flinch and look down at her. Gracie began scratching at the bottom of the door, her paws frantic in her distress as she barked again.
“That’s not good,” Finn said, his eyes meeting Hunter’s. “She’s signaling again. She thinks there’s a body in there.”
Reaching out to grab the doorknob, Hunter was surprised to find it turning smoothly in his hand. He pushed the door open and stepped into the dark interior.
“Mackenzie? It’s Hunter Hadley, are you home?”
Gracie barked and pushed past him, her paws scrabbling against the hard floor. She disappeared into the room beyond, and Hunter felt along the wall, searching for a light switch.
He finally found the panel on the wall and flipped the switch. A soft light flooded the room, allowing him to see the big, white Lab anxiously scratching at the floor in front of what appeared to be a woman’s leg.
“Oh, no, Veronica!”
Finn’s terrified yell shook Hunter out of his state of shock, and both men dashed forward, stopping short when they saw the body sprawled on the floor.
“It’s not her,” Hunter said, his voice cracking. “It’s Mackenzie.”
He knelt by the motionless figure, already knowing from the smell that it was too late to do anything to save the journalist, but he felt compelled to check her pulse just to be sure.
Glancing up, he shook his head at Finn, who immediately pulled out his phone and tapped in 911.
Hunter stood and looked around the room, scared of what he might find. If Veronica had come to meet with Mackenzie, she might have left when no one answered the door, but then again, she could have been attacked as well. She could still be in the house.
His eyes fell on a door leading off the hall. It was ajar, and he could see scratches along the wood, as if something sharp had been dragged along it. Walking forward with quiet steps, he peered through the door into the pitch-black room beyond.
The smell of gas and oil told him he was staring into the garage, and as he flipped on the light switch, he prepared himself to see Veronica’s body collapsed on the floor.
But the garage was empty. Whatever car Mackenzie had driven was gone, and there was no sign of a struggle.
“The police are on the way,” Finn said, coming up behind him. “They said to be safe we should get out of the house and wait in the car until they arrive.”
Hunter shook his head.
“I’m not leaving until I know Veronica’s not in here.”
As he stepped back inside the hall, his eyes fell on something half hidden behind the door. Crossing the room in long strides, he bent and stared down at a gun. The engraved initials VL were visible on the grip. It was Veronica’s Glock.
Just then soft footsteps sounded outside the door, and Hunter motioned to Finn to be quiet.
“Someone’s on the porch,” he whispered.
Bending to scoop up the gun, Hunter held it out in front of him and put his hand on the doorknob.
Finn hissed at him not to open the door, but Hunter had already flung it back and was holding the gun toward the dimly lit porch.
“Whoa there, big guy! Don’t shoot!”
Frankie Dawson stood on the porch, his skinny arms raised in the air as he stared into the barrel of the Glock.
“What the hell are you doing here, Frankie?” Hunter asked, not lowering the weapon. “We’ve got a dead body inside, and the police are on the way, so you better talk fast.”
“We’re on a surveillance gig.” Frankie’s eyes widened as Hunter’s words sank in. “Who’s the body?”
Hunter ignored the question.
“Who’s we?” he countered. “You got somebody with you?”
“Just me, Mr. Hadley.”
Pete Barker stepped onto the porch, his hands lifted slightly, as if showing Hunter he wasn’t armed.
“We’ve been tailing Garth Bixby as part of a case we’re working.”
“Yeah, he and Mackenzie Jensen have been going at it like rabbits for the last few weeks,” Frankie added. “So, when Bixby’s wife said he never came home tonight, we decided to swing by here. See if we could catch him making a booty call on camera.”
Barker shot Frankie a sour glance.
“I think he gets the idea, Frankie. Now, what’s happened here, Mr. Hadley? You said there’s a dead body? Is it Bixby?”
“No, it’s Mackenzie Jensen.”
Hunter watched as a police cruiser sped around the corner, its lights flashing. As the officers jumped out and ran toward the house, Hunter lowered the gun and placed it on the porch.
He stared at the initials on the Glock’s grip, his mind reeling at the likelihood Veronica had been abducted by Mackenzie’s killer.
Who’s taken you, Veronica? And where are you now?
Chapter Thirty-Four
The cruiser’s flashing lights startled Peyton as she turned the Dodge Charger onto Hawthorne Road. She glanced over at Deputy Santino, who was riding shotgun. He appeared to be as shocked as she was to see a patrol car parked in front of the same house they were planning to visit.
Pulling up behind the cruiser, Peyton and Santino climbed out and approached the house with caution. Dave Eddings frowned at Peyton as he waved her over.
“Detective Bell. I wasn’t expecting you. The dispatcher said Detectives Vanzinger and Jankowski were coming.”
The young officer nodded as Santino flashed his badge, then gestured toward the house.
“The scene still needs to be secured,” he advised. “So far, we have reports of a dead body, and a gun�
��s been found on the porch, but we haven’t performed a thorough search inside yet.”
A man stepped out of the shadows, and Peyton was shocked to see Hunter Hadley walking toward them.
“Mr. Hadley? What are you doing here?”
Santino glanced up at her words, immediately on alert as he saw the stricken expression on Hunter’s face.
“What exactly is going on, Mr. Hadley?”
“Veronica left me a note saying she was coming here,” Hunter said, speaking fast. “Apparently, Mackenzie Jensen agreed to reveal the source of her story on Ling Lee.”
He cleared his throat, his voice raw.
“When I got here the door was open and Mackenzie was dead. She’d been shot, and Veronica’s gun…I found it on the floor.”
“Where’s Veronica now?” Santino asked.
“I don’t know,” Hunter murmured. “I think he’s got her.”
His words sent a shiver down Peyton’s spine.
“Who’s got her?” she asked, stepping closer.
“Her father,” Hunter said, turning to Santino. “I think Donovan Locke killed Mackenzie, and he’s taken Veronica with him.”
Eddings pointed toward the shadows.
“You might want to question the other witnesses that were here when we arrived,” he said. “They haven’t been inside, but they say they were watching the house.”
A tall, thin figure emerged from the darkness, and Peyton suppressed a gasp as she recognized Frankie Dawson. Pete Barker’s stockier figure joined him on the driveway.
“It sounds like we pulled up just a few minutes after Hunter arrived,” Barker said, nodding a greeting at Peyton and Santino. “We’re private investigators; a job we’re working on led us here tonight. Mr. Hadley’s car was parked outside when we pulled up.”
Just then another cruiser roared around the corner and screeched to a halt in the road. Andy Ford jumped out of the car and jogged toward Eddings. Hunter intercepted the young officer before he made it across the yard.
“Where’s Veronica?” Hunter demanded. “You were watching her, right? Did you see where she went?”
Her Winter of Darkness Page 20