She Can Tell

by Melinda Leigh

  She’d rejected the bond between them, but it had been there. He’d felt it, but he didn’t blame her for running. It terrified him too.

  Chapter Twelve

  As usual, Rachel woke Tuesday morning long before the alarm went off. Without turning on the light, she stepped into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, then moved to the window. She tugged one broken slat of the mini blind down with her forefinger.

  Yep. In the middle of the predawn autumn fog, Mike’s SUV sat in her driveway.

  Confusion clogged Rachel’s throat. She backed away from the window and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Dammit, she wanted coffee and a Pop-Tart. But if she went downstairs, Bandit would wake. He’d want his breakfast, and then he’d need to go outside. Once she opened the door, she’d have to face Mike and what had happened between them the day before.

  When she’d blubbered all over him. She’d lowered her guard. She’d been tempted to drop her walls entirely and let the peace of that moment in his arms take over.

  Unfortunately, there was only so much she could stuff under her emotional rug. Warmth flooded her belly at the memory of the cop’s arms wrapped around her. As hard as his body had been, his embrace was gentle, and the sincerity behind the gesture had touched her more profoundly than the physical contact. For that minute, she hadn’t been alone. He’d willingly shared her pain and offered to help her shoulder the burden. So, of course, she’d pushed him away. But how could she have opened herself up like that? Even for a second? Damn, it had felt good, though. Too good. This must be what crack cocaine felt like. One hug and she was an addict.

  Instead of feeding her caffeine and sugar addiction, she went into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and changed the Band-Aid on her cheek. Other than the tiny row of stitches and a faint yellowing bruise, her face looked normal. On the inside, though, everything churning inside her was alien, like her body was suddenly fluent in a foreign language that her brain hadn’t learned yet.

  When she emerged, her bedroom had lightened with the gray of early dawn. She crossed back to the window and watched until the dark SUV started up and drove away. Grabbing a pair of socks, she tiptoed down the stairs. The jingle of dog tags alerted her to Bandit’s entrance. The dog stopped for a pat on the head before crossing to the door. He lifted a paw and scratched at the molding. Once his leash was clipped to his collar, she opened the door. They stepped out onto the stoop into the chilly morning.

  Bandit scanned the driveway. His tail abruptly stopped wagging as he looked up at her.

  “I’m sorry. He’s gone. We shouldn’t get too accustomed to having him around.”

  The dog walked into the grass and lifted a stubby leg over a tall weed. On his way back into the kitchen, he shot her an accusing look from sad spaniel eyes.

  “It’ll be better for us in the long run. I know it doesn’t feel that way, but you have to trust me on this one.” Rachel added a scoop of kibble to his bowl and all was forgiven.

  But the dog was right. No doubt about it. She was a coward.

  From the weedy shore of Lost Lake, Mike stood with the hydrographic survey team and watched two divers emerge from the murky water. The late morning sun glowed on the still water. Ethan headed toward him, while the fireman who’d accompanied him into the lake moved toward his own crew. Behind Mike, a few dozen sign-toting protestors shouted, “Save Lost Lake!”

  Ethan dropped his underwater flashlight on the tall grass and shed his tank.

  Mike ignored the crowd. “Well?”

  Water dripped from Ethan’s back. “Can’t see a thing down there. All I can tell is that it’s an SUV of some kind.”

  “How long has it been underwater?”

  “Long time.” Ethan peeled the shorty wet suit down to his waist. “Lot of accumulated sediment. Vegetation’s thick all around it.”

  “Anything inside?” Mike caught his eye.

  “Don’t think so.” Ethan shook his head. “But visibility is for shit, so I could be wrong.”

  “May as well haul it out, then.” Mike walked over to the crowd and motioned for the protestors to retreat. “I need everyone to back up to the road. Let’s give them some room to work.”

  “Don’t you mean, let’s give them room to destroy our lake!” A short, balding man shook his fist. The sign he held over his head read.

  Mike eyeballed the heckler. “Just move back, everyone. A rusty old car in the water certainly isn’t doing the environment any good. It isn’t your lake anyway. You’re trespassing on private property.”

  Shorty flushed to the roots of his receding hairline. Murmuring, the crown receded. Mike signaled to the tow truck driver. The cable Ethan had attached to the submerged vehicle began to retract.

  The winch whirred. Leaving Ethan to supervise, Mike returned to his official SUV and reached through the open window for the deli bag that sat on the passenger seat. His stomach rumbled as he unwrapped his combination late breakfast early lunch, a free-range chicken breast and tomato on rye.

  “Mike, I’ve been looking for you.”

  With a sigh, he lowered his sandwich and gave Mayor Fred Collins his full attention.

  “Are you sure all this is necessary?” The mayor tilted his gray-streaked head toward the tow truck and its groaning winch. “The team needs to finish mapping the bottom of the lake so it can be dredged.”

  “Well, we can’t just leave a car in the lake. Some tourist on a ski-doo could run into it and sue the township.”

  “I guess.” Fred frowned at his wingtips. “But let’s not make a big deal out of it, OK? There’s a lot of money tied up in this project.” Fred meant Lawrence Harmon, Vince, and Vince’s pal, fellow town councilman Lee Jenkins, wouldn’t be happy with the discovery of anything illicit in the lake. Not only might a crime investigation turn buyers off, but the project could be delayed. Heaven forbid.

  Mike made a vague, noncommittal sound.

  “The council is still angry about all the vandalism out here. You need to do more to protect this project,” Fred insisted. “Like get rid of them.” He gestured toward the protestors, now waving their signs from the roadside.

  “The road is public. They’ve every right to be there unless they cause a disturbance. We’ve increased the frequency of drive-bys, but we been over this repeatedly, Fred. The town doesn’t have the manpower for an officer to babysit this place all night, unless you can find room in the budget for some whopping overtime. Harmon Properties should hire private security, as I suggested the other day.”

  Fred didn’t answer. Clearly, he knew Mike was right. The mayor just didn’t want to admit it. “Well, there’s one more thing we need to discuss.”

  And here it comes.

  “I had breakfast with Vince this morning.”

  Bingo.

  “Vince claims you have a personal interest in Rachel Parker, and it’s influenced your decision to harass Troy.”

  “Harass?” Mike gave the mayor a pointed stare. “Troy was drunk and violent. His wife was unconscious. He attacked a woman with a baseball bat. The arrest was justified.”

  “Allegedly attacked a woman with a baseball bat.”

  “I saw him with the bat, Fred.” Mike hadn’t seen Troy take a swing at Rachel but saw no need to point that out to the mayor. “Plus, his wife was in bad shape.”

  Fred swallowed and looked away. “Troy had a perfectly good explanation for his wife’s injuries, and he said his sister-in-law attacked him first.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? Troy’s blood alcohol was two-point-three. He was still half-loaded and puking his brains out the next morning. His statement isn’t worth anything, and you know it. And for the record, I had never met Rachel Parker before Saturday night.”

  Fred had the decency to flush. “Just watch yourself. Vince’s gunning for you. If he gets the rest of the council on his side, I won’t be able to stop him. Vince also said you should think about parking your car out here at night instead of at Miss Parker’s hous
e.”

  Well, shit. “What I do when I’m off duty is my business.”

  “The vehicle belongs to the township. If you continue to show Miss Parker preferential treatment, I won’t be able to help you.”

  Like you’d try anyway.

  A metallic groan and squeal interrupted the conversation.

  No longer hungry, Mike rewrapped his lunch and tossed the bag onto his passenger seat. The tow truck winch dragged the rusted carcass of an old Jeep Cherokee onto the lake bank. The windows were open. Water drained from the vehicle.

  Fred hovered as Mike joined Ethan next to the old Jeep and peered inside. The only occupant was a dead perch. “It’s empty.”

  Visibly relieved, Fred backed away. “Well, then, I’ll be on my way. See you at the meeting tonight. Think about what I said.”

  Mike waved the mayor off.

  Ethan crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Let me guess. Vince Mitchell already got to the mayor.”

  Mike sighed and pointed at the rusted Jeep.

  Ethan took the hint and refocused on the vehicle. “It has to be twenty years old. Maybe more. No license plates.”

  “Try to find out who it was last registered to.” Mike strode back toward his SUV. As he settled in the driver’s seat, he took a bite of his sandwich, which did nothing to ease his churning stomach. He set it aside.

  Vandalism and a submerged Jeep at Lost Lake. More vandalism, poetic threats, and an assault at Rachel’s farm. Vince Mitchell was keeping tabs on Mike. Which of these events were related and which were random crimes?

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Watcher glanced both ways down the hall. He was alone. Using the hem of his shirt, he opened the door and slipped into the basement of town hall. He closed the heavy metal door behind him, muffling the sounds of the growing crowd on the first floor. The basement of town hall was dusty, dim—and empty, but he didn’t risk switching on a light. Instead, he pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and picked the lock to the police storage room in seconds. Inside, filing cabinets were lined up in rows like soldiers.

  Old municipal records were stored down here, including the ones he didn’t want any curious cops to reread. Not after all these years. Who knew what Rachel’s research would uncover? If he were lucky, he could destroy all the township historical records of her house along with the old police records. Rachel’s house had secrets it should keep.

  He fished a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and pulled them on. Just in case. He scanned the labels on cabinet fronts until he found the section that housed records from twenty-five years ago. There were more than he’d expected. Way too many to search. He rattled the top drawer of the closest cabinet. Locked. He pulled out a pocketknife and jammed it into the key slot. A quick turn of the handle busted the mechanism. Working quickly and quietly, he littered the floor with paper, then moved to the next few cabinets and dumped hundreds of manila files.

  He retreated to the main room and perused the janitor’s cart in the corner. After selecting a few flammable cleaning agents, he poured them liberally over the strewn papers. On his way out, he struck a match and tossed it in the center.

  His pulse kicked up at the familiar whoosh.

  He paused at the top of the steps, listened, and then cracked the door to make sure the hall was empty before strolling out.

  Rachel ripped open the box of Pop-Tarts in the parking lot of the Stop ’N Shop. She shook a pastry out of the foil pouch and took a bite. Fake strawberry jam and frosting competed for top billing in her mouth. She stowed the rest of her groceries behind the seat. The Pop-Tarts rode shotgun. Before starting the car, she reached around and fished a can of soda from the brown bag.

  Five minutes later, the sugar from three toaster pastries hadn’t restored her depleted energy. The events of the last few days had drained her. In a very short period of time, she’d lost her horse and managed to anger Blake, Sarah, and Mike.

  Sarah still hadn’t forgiven her for selling Lady, and the day had been full of angry glances and uncomfortable tension. Sticking with her cowardice trend, Rachel had stayed in the barn as much as possible. On the bright side, she was ahead on her weekly chores. Missing lunch was the downside. She popped the last bite into her mouth and washed it down with the rest of the cola. An ache rolled through her shoulder. The extra work had taxed her, but busy didn’t give her time to continue to dissect anything that had happened or her reaction to it.

  She glanced at the dashboard. She had another hour to kill until feed time. At four o’clock the township clerk’s office should still be open. If she brought home some interesting tidbit about the house’s history, maybe a land survey or an aerial map, Sarah might forgive her. Rachel put the truck in gear and drove onto Main Street in the direction of town hall.

  The municipal lot was full, as was the lot of the strip center next door. A car in the front row pulled out, and Rachel zipped into the empty space. Inside, the lobby was teaming with people. Harsh gestures and raised voices underscored the tension. A black-lettered notice board indicated that the town council meeting would start at six, which explained all the commotion. Tonight some big shot real estate executive was supposed to talk about a proposed hotel and resort out on Lost Lake. Since the vacation home development under construction was already a local hot button, tonight’s meeting could result in a brawl or three. Standing on her toes, she scanned the crowd. Mike would likely be here given the uproar. Not that she was looking for him.

  The assembly room and council members’ offices were on the ground floor, with the administrative departments located upstairs. She elbowed her way through the throng toward the stairwell. The crowd shifted around her. Bodies pressed closer. A hand closed around her left arm and yanked hard. Pain ripped through her injured shoulder. Someone slammed into her back. Already off balance, she pitched forward onto a masculine back. Before she could right herself, another hand groped between her legs. Ow! She clutched the nearby biceps, sorted out her feet, and whipped around to face her assailant. All she saw were chests and shoulders as a crush of male bodies pushed her backward. What the hell?

  Bodies shifted. A big hairy guy sneered at her, navy blue eyes narrowing with hostility. “Better watch your step.”

  Dammit. She bet he was the one who’d just copped a feel.

  “Hey, back off.” Rachel bristled, temper burning off the shock and humiliation. She fired a few bony elbows into nearby ribs. Men grunted. Her path cleared, and she broke free.

  Assholes.

  She headed toward the steps and spotted David walking across the tiled floor toward her. Though they’d parted on decent terms the day before, he didn’t offer her his hand this time. “Rachel, are you all right?”

  Rachel smoothed her rumpled T-shirt and jeans. “Yeah. Just crazy in here. You here for the meeting?”

  “No. I’m picking up permits for a job.” He nodded at the manila file he held against his chest. “I’d like to stay, but I have to meet a client. You?”

  “No. I just stopped by to see what kind of historical records the town keeps.”

  Something buzzed in the pocket of his jacket, and he pulled out a cell phone. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I have to take this. I’ll see you in the morning. Cross your fingers for another dry day.” He turned away and pressed the phone to his ear.

  Sweating, Rachel jogged up the stairs to the second level, where the administrative offices were located. On her way down the hall, she spotted the mayor and four council members powwowing in a conference room. A guy that Rachel didn’t recognize, but looked like big bucks, was talking to them. The developer? None of the men looked very happy. Vince shot her a dirty look through the glass as she passed the closed door. Wow. Her day was just getting better and better.

  Rachel headed for the clerk’s office at the end of the hall. She closed the door behind her against the din rising from the first floor. Behind the waist-high counter, Edna Kaiser sat behind a desk and squinted through thick glasses at a computer screen
. Rachel gave the clerk kudos for technological ability, given that she was somewhere around a hundred and fifty years old. Edna wobbled to her feet and reached for a cane as Rachel stepped up to the counter. Four and a half feet tall and pudgy, Edna could’ve moonlighted as a garden gnome. Rachel tapped her foot as the aged clerk snailed it to the counter. Her cane thunked and her orthopedic shoes scraped on the tile with every forward shuffle.

  Edna pulled her glasses off her nose and looked up at Rachel. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi. I’m looking for some background information on my house. Phyllis Holloway said I should see you.”

  The clerk beamed. Square white dentures flashed. “What kind of information are you looking for?”

  “I’m not sure. I inherited the farm from my grandfather. He claimed it was a historical landmark.”

  “Who was your grandfather, dear?”

  “Samuel Bishop.”

  “Oh. Your people have owned that farm forever. You know your ancestors were Quakers, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Hmmm. If my memory serves me right, the farm was built in the early 1800s.” The clerk tapped a gnarled finger on the top of her cane. Behind those rheumy eyes was a sharp mind. “It’s not the oldest landmark in Westbury. We have a few buildings that date back to the 1780s. Any township records that old will likely be archived downstairs. The historical society may be of more help—”

  The shrill peel of a fire alarm cut her off.

  Rachel hurried to the door and cautiously opened it.

  Smoke!

  Mike closed the folder on his desk. Rachel was right. Cristan Rojas wasn’t a drug lord, at least not officially, though his occupation was a little vague for Mike’s comfort. A native Argentinean who immigrated to the US ten years before, Cristan was the CEO of Rojas Corp., a privately owned conglomerate heavily invested in real estate and coffee. Other than a general disregard for speeding and parking regulations, Mike hadn’t been able to turn up anything suspicious in his background.