House of Secrets

by Ramona Richards

  Home. She’d not been home since early yesterday, and the unceasing events of today had carried them almost until dark. Seeing her house made her crave its welcome refuge. June suddenly longed to curl up on her sofa with a soft quilt and a cup of hot tea. Lock out the world, everything. Lock him out. Hibernate in her refuge forever.

  So do you believe them or not?

  June picked up her pace again. Of course, she did. Those words were from one of the first lessons JR had taught her, just before he told her she had great potential.

  If God loves us as we are, why would He want us to change? Of course, He wants the best for us, to use our gifts from Him to the best of our ability, to live up to the potential He gives us. But does that mean living only as someone else’s image of who you should be? If it’s a good image, a beneficial image, does it matter if it’s not God’s image of you, His chosen path?

  “Know this,” JR had once preached to his entire congregation. “Know that God has said to you, ‘You are my child.’”

  June crossed the alley and then leaned heavily against a signpost. She closed her eyes and turned her face upward. “Please tell me,” she whispered. “Show me what to do.”

  Suddenly she heard the low growl of an engine dropping into gear. June spun around, eyes flying open as headlights snapped on, blinding her from down the street. A car plunged forward, bounced up on the sidewalk and headed straight for her.

  TEN

  June couldn’t even scream as the small red sports car raced toward her like a malicious wildcat on the chase. She turned and fled for the closest house, hoping the front porch would offer some protection. Any kind of protection.

  She glanced back to see the car closing fast, nearing the alley that ran between the houses of the normally sedate neighborhood. That was when she felt, as well as heard, the thunderous growl of the Bell County sheriff’s cruiser that flared from the alley like an avenging warrior.

  The black-steel push frame on the front of the cruiser impacted the sports car in a direct T-bone hit, crushing the passenger door. The heavy cruiser jammed the smaller vehicle sideways, tires screeching, until the driver’s side collided with a telephone pole on the opposite side of the street. The sound of twisting metal and shattering glass stopped just as abruptly as it began, and Ray leaped from the cruiser, gun drawn.

  June’s knees gave way and she dropped to the ground, heart pounding, as she watched Ray crouch behind his door, calling out for the driver to make himself known. At first, the only thing she heard was the harsh rasping of her own frantic breaths, the drumming of her pulse in her ears. Then she heard a faint call from within the sports car. Ray remained on guard, gun aimed, as sirens blared in the distance and the first responders arrived in droves.

  The next two hours passed in a blur. At some point, an EMT wrapped her in a warm blanket as she sat in the back of an ambulance, watching the scene, shock keeping her numb and silent. Bright halogen lights on tall poles were erected as the night set in, adding to the unreal nature of the event.

  The driver of the sports car surrendered up two guns, including a rifle, before being extracted from the crushed vehicle. As the firefighters lifted him out, June felt a strange disappointment. She’d assumed the sniper would be a man whose build was as menacing as his actions, but her attacker’s short, wiry, muscular frame seemed distinctly unimposing. Then he turned and looked at her.

  Bright gray eyes glared from beneath a thick, heavily shadowed brow. A beard hid his mouth, but his expression, frozen into a hard mask, held true malevolence. The chill that ran through her made her pull the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

  Yet she could not look away, anger and fear blending inside her chest with a deep sorrow. This man had killed David. He’d choked the life from Kitty.

  And he wants to kill me. Why? What makes someone do that?

  EMTs hefted the man, both legs broken, into an ambulance. The last bits of fear slipped away from her as an officer closed the door and thumped on it, signaling to the driver that he could leave.

  No fear. He may have been wicked, even evil, but he was just a man. No match for God. Or even the sheriff of Bell County.

  June searched for Ray in the crowd, spotting him giving orders, and watching as a tow truck approached for the sports car. Small and made mostly from fiber-glass, the red car would have been deadly to June, but Ray’s cruiser had almost demolished it, receiving only minimal damage in return. June could see a few scratches from flying metal and glass, a cracked panel near the motor and a smashed headlight.

  Ray turned and saw June watching him. He walked slowly toward her, almost as if he were expecting her to turn away. She didn’t, waiting until he stood close before speaking. “This is becoming a habit of yours, isn’t it? This saving-my-life thing.”

  “Just glad I was here,” he said, watching her closely.

  “Why were you here?”

  He hesitated, then went on. “I knew you didn’t want me to follow you. But I wasn’t about to leave you unprotected…” His words faded.

  June nearly laughed. “You were trying to sneak down the alley to my house.”

  “Be glad I was,” Ray replied, a hint of a smile in his eyes.

  June let out a deep sigh. “You have no idea.” She pushed back the blanket, stepped out of the ambulance and put her arms around him. Her move startled Ray and he stiffened at first, then relaxed, folding her into a deep hug. June pressed her cheek against his shirt, relishing the warmth of his chest, the secure strength of his embrace.

  After a moment, June leaned back to look into his face. “You’ve also given me some things to think about. And believe me, I’m going to think about them.”

  Ray stroked her face with one finger. “So you’re not mad anymore?”

  “You’re joking, right? After this, you think I’d still be mad at you?”

  “June, lovely lady, I never second-guess what a woman thinks. I do not, and never will, understand how women think.”

  In spite of it all, June laughed. An officer interrupted from behind Ray with a crisp, “Sheriff?”

  They turned, and June stepped away from Ray, crossing her arms over her stomach.

  “Yes?”

  The officer handed Ray a paper as he spoke. “The driver refused to talk and he didn’t have ID on him. But the car was reported stolen early yesterday morning from a downtown Nashville garage. It’s registered to Virginia Bridges.”

  June felt the hair on her neck prickle. “Virginia Bridges. You mean Hunter’s mother?”

  Ray nodded, the car’s registration clutched in his left hand. “It’s the right address.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser.” June paused, then put her hand on Ray’s arm. “You know, Virginia Bridges has a preference for stiletto heels.”

  Ray held up a finger to stop her. “Don’t go there. At least not yet.”

  June smiled. “And you claim not to know how women think.”

  Ray sat in the dark, watching June’s house. The street behind him had been cleared of all vehicles, the glass swept away, sand put over the oil that had drained from the red sports car. Once again, it was a sedate neighborhood street, with its residents going through their nightly routines undisturbed by smashing cars and blaring sirens.

  Including June. Two yellow lights glowed from within, casting long shadows on the small, neatly landscaped yard. Early spring flowers lined the sidewalk and flowering shrubs stood guard under the living room and bedroom windows. Floodlights under the eaves illuminated the sides of the house, and Ray had given June strict instructions to leave them on all night.

  He could see her shadow moving against the closed blinds, and he imagined her maybe having a last cup of tea before bed, then plucking a favorite book to read.

  Ray liked this little cottage, and he was glad she’d asked him to help her maintain it. It had been in perfect shape when she’d bought it three years ago, but Tennessee’s odd weather never was kind to a home, and he’d repaired gutters, repl
aced shingles, fixed the dryer—whatever she needed.

  He’d always admired June for her spirit and dignity but had never thought about her in a romantic way until long after JR’s death. Then one day, she’d asked him to change out a light fixture and he’d stayed for coffee afterward. As she’d bustled about the kitchen, Ray had been struck by the soft flow of her hair, the blue eyes that sparkled with intelligence and wit.

  Unlike some men, Ray had always been drawn to strong women, the kind who make you think they’d go into battle at your side. June certainly fit that bill. Ray had seen her stand down gossipy committees and annoyed board members. Her reason for being at the parsonage yesterday morning had been believable to him because it was typical of June.

  Was it only yesterday?

  Ray released a long, exhausted sigh. The weariness in his very bones told him how long the past two days had been. Still, he would not leave June. Daniel would relieve him at midnight, but only as the alert guard. Ray might rest, might even sleep, but he would do it right here, in his car.

  He would not leave her.

  A chime at his side alerted him to an incoming message on his cell phone, and he checked the brightly lit screen. It was from June.

  500 yrs ago, you would have been a knight on a white horse. Thank you. Get some rest. J.

  Ray grinned. Well, their courtship had been unusual even before the shooting started.

  Courtship. If that was what you could really call it. Part of Ray didn’t want to admit exactly how much this woman meant to him. The other part wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let go. Either way, they had to get through this first.

  Lord, help us get through this, safe and sound. And preferably soon.

  Ray shifted in his seat, pressing down with one foot to release a cramped calf. He hoped that with the capture of the sharp-shooting assailant, June was most likely safe for a while. But if he was just a hired gun, whoever orchestrated this could just hire someone else. Regardless, Ray would not—could not—lower his guard.

  Instead, he watched as the last two lights downstairs in the cottage winked out, leaving just the bedroom light on. He then reached for a thermos of coffee and settled in for a long night.

  June stared upward, watching the ceiling fan circle slowly and tapping her fingers on her stomach. Her bedtime book, a new mystery by one of her favorite writers, lay abandoned on the bedside table next to her new cell phone, her portable house phone and a can of pepper spray—the last pressed into her hand by the man sitting in the car outside her home.

  June had thought sleep would come easily tonight. Instead, tension overrode exhaustion, and her mind wouldn’t stop going over possible reasons behind these attacks. It circled and spun, and the reasons ranged from the simple to the ridiculous. June wondered if it were all making her just a bit paranoid.

  When her cell phone chirped, she jumped, then snatched it from the table. She grinned and thumbed her phone open.

  Rivers on at 12. Will rest then. What book?

  Her smile broadened at his accurate guess, and she tapped in the answer:

  Maron’s latest. Want a review? Would tell you to give Daniel a hug, but the neighbors might get the wrong idea.

  She sent it, imagining his laugh. She liked his laugh, the way it came deep from within his chest and added a sparkle of light to his brown eyes.

  Her phone chirped.

  Ha! Would be a surprise to April. Maron’s good, review later. You are safe. We will unravel more tomorrow. Dream well.

  June’s grin eased into a gentle smile as she hesitated in responding. Her initial thought came from a rush of emotion unlike any she’d ever known. But she held it in check—it was too soon. Too much chaos enveloped them both.

  Guard well, my sweet knight.

  With that simple text, June closed her phone and snuggled into the pillows, discovering that she was, in fact, truly exhausted.

  ELEVEN

  The first light of dawn woke Ray. He opened the door of the cruiser and forced himself to emerge, stiff and sore. He’d slept hard, which he knew would serve him well later, but for now, he felt old and stiff. He stretched, adjusted his clothes, then checked in with Daniel, whose patrol car sat only a few yards away.

  The night had been a quiet one, and Ray sent Daniel home to sleep. When Ray called into the station, how ever, a surprise awaited him. Jeff Gage, who’d slept through last night’s events, had already arrived at the office and had been making calls and following up on reports, including one on the fingerprints taken from June’s attacker.

  “His name is Stephen Webster. Miami PD has a running file on him. Served in Iraq, first in the army then as a civilian security contractor. Now he apparently takes on contracts of an entirely different nature.”

  “A professional.”

  “Yep, and not your run-of-the-mill gang hitter, either. Seems he’s known in Florida for leaving some prominent citizens in the Everglades for the gators.”

  Ray braced himself against his car’s trunk, forcing his leg muscles to stretch. His left calf tried to cramp again, and Ray pressed down hard with his toe. “Sounds like a lovely guy.”

  “They sounded glad to have him out of Florida. They haven’t been able to gather enough evidence for a conviction, so they’ll be thrilled if we can pin this on him.”

  “Did you tell them we’d do our best?”

  Jeff chuckled. “When I told them Webster spent most of last night in surgery for two broken legs, they suggested we put guards on the surgeons as well as the nurses. They’re also sending me what they have so far on his financials. Maybe we can track the money, see who hired him for this.”

  “If he’s a pro, I wouldn’t count on it. My guess is it’s either cash or through an offshore account. Is he awake yet?”

  “Not sure. I talked to the charge nurse on his floor, and she said surgery lasted several hours. You did quite a number on him. They had to put six pins in one of his femurs. He’s cuffed to the bed, but he’s not going anywhere for a while anyway. How hard did you hit him?”

  “I wasn’t exactly watching the speedometer.”

  “I’ll go over the car this morning, but my guess is that it’ll be as clean as the SUV. Interesting that it’s registered to Virginia Bridges.”

  “More interesting is that she reported it stolen from a Nashville garage before David Gallagher was killed and while Webster was still traipsing around Bell County in a black SUV. Why don’t you check with that garage and see if they have security cameras. Find out why the attendants who see Mrs. Bridges drive in and out every day didn’t notice when a mean-looking guy with a beard decided to leave with the fancy red car.”

  “You got it, boss. Anything else?”

  Ray hesitated, something tickling the back of his brain. “Jeff, is there anyone around you?”

  Gage hesitated, obviously hearing the suspicion in Ray’s voice. “Two.”

  “Were you surprised to see either of them there so early?”

  Another hesitation. “Yes.”

  Ray cleared his throat and stood a bit straighter. “Webster didn’t wind up on that ridge over the Springfield highway by coincidence. If anyone asks you, I’m taking June to Nashville to talk to Virginia Bridges. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Text me those two names. And call the phone company. I want the usage details on every line out of the station and everyone’s cell phone. Even yours. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Call Judge Hines. You’ll have warrants by noon. I’ll fill you and Rivers in later. I want to see both of you in my office around four this afternoon.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  “Thanks. And be careful.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ray hung up and instantly received Gage’s text. When he saw the two names—Carter and Parkinson—his chest tightened. Both had been at the scene last night and should not have been on duty so soon this morning. Their regular shifts didn’t start for another hour.<
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  He snapped the phone shut and looked at June’s cottage, where the kitchen light glowed through the drawn blinds. The sun had cleared the horizon, but long, deep shadows still mixed deep purples and blues into the rising golds. The air smelled damp and fresh, and a heavy dew coated his shoes as Ray headed for the backyard, which was enclosed by a high privacy fence. Although Webster lay cuffed to a bed, not all the parties in this were under lock and key. Ray wasn’t about to take chances with June’s life.

  He circled the perimeter of the backyard, checking the outside of the fence for tampering and the ground around it for footprints and disturbances. Other than a badly buried hambone, he found nothing. He slowly returned to the front, where he found June sitting on the front porch with two mugs of coffee.

  June ran a hand through her hair, still tousled from her night’s sleep. “Good morning.”

  Ray paused at the foot of the front steps. June’s cottage, built in the 1940s, had a broad plank porch complete with a swing hanging from the rafters and two cane-bottom rockers. Pots of Boston ferns and petunias hung from the eaves, and window boxes of impatiens stood guard on the rails. June, dressed in a sweat suit and socks, sat in the swing, one foot pushing it slowly back and forth. The mugs sat on a low table between the rockers.

  “Want some coffee before you mount your charger for the day?”

  “I would love some.”

  She scooted to her left in the swing. “Bring them. Sit next to me.”

  Ray picked up the mugs and handed one to her. She stilled the swing while he sat, then resumed the slow push, letting the swing arc slowly under their weight.

  “You’re up early.”

  She drank deeply from the mug. “Mrs. Digsby, my neighbor out back, called to tell me some man was prowling around outside my fence.”

  Ray’s face grew warm. “Sorry.”

  June laughed, a low, soft sound. “Never apologize for taking care of me, Sir Knight.” She paused. “I like it.”