House of Secrets

by Ramona Richards

  “Virginia.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “So Virginia hears the Corvette and recognizes the sound. She flees, calling 911, leaving Webster in the study. Virginia knows we’ll find June standing over David’s body, which will make us doubt any story she has about seeing anyone else at the scene.”

  “And the second call to Carter warned him that the plan had gone off base because of June.” Jeff took a deep breath. “It gets worse. While we were at the scene, Brent made a call to a different anonymous cell.”

  “Webster.”

  Jeff nodded. “He called Webster to tell him what route you were taking to the hospital.”

  The two men stared at each other as they fought to maintain control in light of the betrayal. The flood of anger washing over Ray made every muscle tense and he could see in Gage’s stony expression the same struggle. “Any proof beyond the record of the calls about any of this?”

  “No, sir.”

  Ray stood abruptly, and Gage followed suit. “Bring Carter in here. I want this cleared up now.”

  “Yes, sir.” Gage turned sharply and left the office.

  Alone, Ray closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of pure rage, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Since Webster had first fired at them from that ridge, Ray had known something screwy was going on. Webster had been one step ahead of them all the way. He’d known where June was, and he’d known when the time came to dump the SUV.

  But in the back of his mind, Ray had convinced himself that maybe the phones were tapped or someone local was watching them. He’d not wanted to believe the obvious and most likely choice—that it was one of his own men.

  Carter. A local kid who’d been one of his most reliable officers for the past few years. Efficient and extremely good at his job. I guess blood is thicker after all.

  Ray took two deep breaths. The office door popped open again, and Gage’s face had gone a shade paler. “Carter’s gone. He asked where Daniel was taking June and left right after.”

  “Get Rivers on his radio.”

  Gage shook his head. “Dispatch is trying. Radio and cell. He’s not responding.”

  FOURTEEN

  June’s head throbbed, and she fought the urge to lash out at everything around her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears of pure, burning anger slid down her face as she shivered from the overwhelming wrath.

  Get it under control! You can’t help anyone like this!

  Not that she could even help herself at the moment. The trunk of a car wasn’t an easy place to escape from. She’d already tried the emergency release latch—disabled. And kicking at the brake lights had only hurt her toes: they were covered with a thick wire mesh.

  June made herself take a long, slow breath. Then another. Slowly, her mind cleared as she replayed what had happened. She and Daniel had returned to her cottage after getting her new driver’s license and bank card. Daniel had gotten out of the car and checked her house, signaling that all was clear. She’d grabbed the backpack and gotten out, just as an older sedan had pulled up behind Daniel’s cruiser. Brent Carter had emerged, motioning for Daniel to come talk to him.

  She could still see Daniel greet Carter with the open ness and welcome of a fellow officer. Then his face twisted with the shock of betrayal as Carter shoved a Taser into Daniel’s chest. Daniel had dropped heavily, shuddering, against the fender of his own cruiser, then to the ground.

  June ground her teeth, angry at herself for not reacting quicker. When Daniel fell, June tried to run, stumbling, digging in her pocket for her cell phone. Carter had been faster, grabbing her from behind and batting the phone away. He’d knocked her to the ground with a single blow. She’d been stunned and woozy when he’d picked her up, backpack still clutched in her hands, and tossed her into the trunk of the waiting car.

  Carter. One of Ray’s own men. He’d been one of her guards, had been at the Victorian when…

  When my car exploded.

  A numbing calm settled over June as realization set in. Carter had been on his own at the parsonage the day before. He’d left the scene of David’s murder to clear the crowd away from the house. With all the time in the world to call Webster and tell him the route Ray planned to take to the hospital.

  June squeezed her eyes shut tighter, her balled fists pressing into her stomach. She had to get out of this. Ray would never suspect Carter. She had to find a way to get out—

  The car picked up speed suddenly, pitching June toward the back. In the distance, she could hear the distinctive sound of a train’s horn and the bells of a crossing.

  He’s trying to beat a train across the tracks!

  “Are you insane?” June shouted, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her. “What are you doing?” Almost out of instinct, she banged on the trunk. “Stop! Have you lost your mind?”

  The roar of the train’s diesel engine joined the horn, echoing around the trunk as if it were on top of the car. The car’s brakes and tires abruptly screeched in tandem, and June hurtled toward the front of the car, banging her head, ribs and shins against the spare tire and an assortment of metal objects that rocketed around the trunk.

  Her fury exploded as she screamed from the pain and pummeled her fists on the trunk’s roof. She felt the metal give under her wrath, popping small dents outward. As the train’s sounds faded, June’s rage became words. “Let me out of here! Ray Taylor will rip out your spine, you traitorous—”

  The car jackrabbited forwarded again, spinning one wheel and sending the smell of burning rubber flooding into the trunk. June’s cries broke off into yelps as the car bounced twice, leveled off, then bounced again.

  June clamped her mouth shut, her mind racing. Bounce. Level. Bounce. Level. An image snapped into her mind. Only one railroad crossing in Bell County had that peculiar space between double tracks. Simpson Pike, the road that led straight from White Hills into Kentucky’s Simpson County.

  He’s taking me out of state.

  And out of Ray Taylor’s jurisdiction.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” June’s thoughts clicked through the businesses along Simpson Pike as she twisted, her hands searching the trunk for the backpack. She found it near her feet and clawed it open, pulling out her laptop. She opened it and booted it up, the bright light from the screen almost blinding her in the pitch-black of the trunk.

  About two miles north of the railroad crossing, two strip malls had sprung up on a crossroads that connected several new subdivisions with the interstate. One of the most popular businesses was a coffee shop offering live music at night, its own special blends of fourteen different coffees…and free Wi-Fi. She watched the laptop move through its start-up routine, praying fervently that the coffee shop sat close enough the road…and that the stoplight would turn red as they approached.

  Daniel River’s fist hit the hood of his cruiser hard enough to leave a dent, and the abrupt, hollow thud made more than one officer take a step away from the deputy, who still leaned heavily against the fender, fighting to remain standing.

  Ray stood his ground. “He gave you no reason to be suspicious, Rivers.”

  Daniel shook his head, more in disgust at himself than in acknowledgment of Ray’s statement. “He wasn’t in uniform. And he was driving that trashed old sedan of his mother’s. I should have known something was up.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  Another shake of the head. “Not really. I was up toward the house, and he motioned for me. Said he had a message from you. Then he punched me with the Taser.”

  “Did you go out?”

  “No. June tried to run, but he caught her, knocked her down. I found her phone in the yard. She tried to call 911.”

  “Was she unconscious?”

  “Stunned. She’d started to fight by the time he dumped her in the trunk.”

  “I pulled the license plate when I got your call and alerted the Tennessee Highway Patrol as well as all our guys. I want everyone on cell phones, in
case Carter has a scanner.” Ray took a deep, bracing inhale, one of his best weapons in his war to stay calm and focused on finding June. A lot of years had passed since he’d felt this kind of deep, searing panic in his gut.

  Daniel straightened, squaring his shoulders. “Are we going to his place?”

  “I’d already dispatched Gage to Carter’s house when we got the 911 call from June’s neighbors.” Ray explained how he’d just learned about Carter’s family connections to the Bridges.

  “We can’t just wait here!”

  “We’re not. Martha’s pulling records on any property Carter or his parents own. I’ll call her when you’re ready to ride.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Ray pulled the cell phone from his belt and called the Bell County sheriff’s dispatcher. Martha Williams had been on their phones for almost thirty years and often conducted background research for their officers. When she answered, Martha’s words spilled out like an excited teenager.

  “Ray! I was just about to call you. We just got the weirdest 911 call on the planet. It has to be June.”

  Ray’s eyebrows arched, and he held up a hand, motioning Daniel to wait. “Tell me.”

  “Emerson Pitt called in. He had some day workers in his pickup, taking them over to his place, when they had to stop for a train.”

  “Get to it, Martha.”

  “An old sedan tried to beat the train and wound up hitting the brakes instead. Slid right in next to Emerson’s truck. His workers got all excited after the train passed. They claim they heard someone banging inside the car’s trunk, screaming.”

  Ray yanked open his cruiser door and got in, pulling back on the road before Daniel could get the passenger door closed. It slammed as Ray gunned the big engine and the car leaped forward. “Where?”

  “Simpson Pike. The double crossing.”

  “Headed for Kentucky.”

  “Looks like.”

  “Expand that search, Martha. Include any property owned by Virginia or Hunter Bridges as well.”

  The dispatcher hesitated. “You’re sure?”

  “Do it, Martha.”

  “On it, Ray.”

  Ray flipped the phone closed, then slung the cruiser into a tight turn north.

  June braced the laptop in the crook of her arm and typed out a message with one finger. She’d pulled her feet up and braced her knees against the spare tire, her back against the rear of the trunk, in an effort to remain as stable as possible. Sharp corners and edges of metal dug into her skin with every bounce and bump.

  She kept one eye on her Wi-Fi status, knowing her window of opportunity was minuscule at best. She prayed that Carter would stick to the speed limit, which was twenty-five through the crossroads.

  “First time I’ve ever been grateful for a speed trap,” she muttered as the car slowed. A low beep indicated that her link to the café’s server was hot, and she logged in as the car came to a halt, idling roughly. She clicked Send, then held her breath as the car accelerated again.

  The link disappeared, the connection lost. No confirming message or beep.

  June fought back disappointment that bordered on despair. Maybe it went. Maybe they’d be looking anyway.

  Please, Lord?

  She activated the GPS tracker she’d installed in the laptop just after she’d bought it, closed the lid and pushed the computer back into the backpack. Uncurling and trying to ease the pressure on her back, June felt around the spare tire until she found a space big enough for the backpack. Maybe when he let her out, he wouldn’t remember he’d put the backpack in here with her.

  If he let her out.

  FIFTEEN

  Just past the crossroads, the car turned left off Simpson Pike and began a circuitous route through the backcountry of northern Tennessee and southern Kentucky. For the next hour or so, June focused on prayer and whatever sounds she could hear. She kept expecting fear to rush in and cloud her mind, but it never did. The anger hovered, keeping her stomach tense, but the more she prayed, the more calm she found herself.

  Even though she knew that she might die.

  June turned this over in her mind a few times. Dying had ceased to frighten her years ago, the moment she realized her brother, Marc, was gone. She’d stared at him for a long time after their father had savagely beaten him, strangely relieved that his pain had finally ended. He was at peace. Now, after her years with JR and a newfound faith, she knew Marc was with God. Back then she just knew her father could no longer inflict pain on her beloved brother.

  Back then death just brought release. Now it meant being with her Lord.

  No, the idea of death held no fear. But lying there in the dark, unaware of what even the next hour would bring, June realized that all her rage, her despair, came from the possibility of losing Ray.

  It was his face that kept appearing in her mind, and a desire to hold him settled over June, as crystal clear an emotion as she had felt in a long time. “Lord,” she whispered, “I’ve never felt anything like this. You get me out of this, and I’ll never walk away from that man again.”

  The car turned right but June had lost all sense of whether they had turned north, south, east or west. The back roads of this part of the country meandered, and a driver could easily start out heading west and wind up heading northeast before reaching a destination.

  June still felt amazed by Brent’s actions. Tall and bulky, still single in his forties, Brent Carter had been an active member of her own church. He’d been with the sheriff’s department for more than a decade. What drove him to do something like this?

  Money? Maybe, but it would have to be part of something else, something bigger.

  Blood kin? June felt her senses perk up a bit. That would do it. People could always be tempted by money, but in these parts, blood held a deeper sway. Brent had been loyal to his parents until their deaths. She remembered him bringing his mother to church, even when she couldn’t walk anymore. He’d pick her up and carry her in, if he had to.

  June had known men like that all her life. Stay calm, girl. If you attack him, he’ll sulk up. You’ll need to talk your way out of this one.

  She groaned as the car slowed almost to a stop, then bounced hard over what felt like a cattle grate in a driveway. The car proceeded slowly, then the sound changed entirely, shifting from the echo of open space to the flat noise of enclosure. She heard a garage door descending and squinted, preparing for the return of light.

  The trunk latch popped, and the lid rose gradually. June lay still and opened her eyes slowly. She made no attempt to lunge at her attacker—not that it would have done any good, given that he held a 9 mm pistol in his left hand.

  She cleared her throat. “Awfully long way to come for a murder.”

  Brent, who had sat on the right side of the White Hills Gospel Immanuel Chapel for most of his life, grimaced. “No killing. Not yet anyway.”

  “Stephen Webster certainly seemed determined to kill me.”

  Brent snorted. “Webster was an idiot. A huge, out-of-control mistake. We were about to take care of that when Ray did it for us.”

  “You’re feeling awfully chatty today.”

  “Like it matters if I am or not. Get out of the trunk, June. Don’t act like you don’t know what’s going on.”

  He stepped back, and June grabbed the edge of the trunk to pull herself up. “I’m stiff. That’s not exactly a comfortable place to ride.” She struggled to find a flat place to brace her knee and swing her leg out. Brent reached out and grabbed the back of her jeans, hauling her out of the car and holding on until she found her feet.

  “If I thought for a second you’d keep that mouth of yours shut, you could have ridden up front.”

  “Not exactly something I’m known for.”

  “No. Walk through the door on the right. And I will shoot you if you get out of hand. Not to kill you. Just someplace where it’ll really hurt.”

  “I’ve been shot before, Brent. It hurts, no matter where.”
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  He chuckled, but the sound held little humor. “Oh, right. You’re the pastor’s wife with the criminal past.”

  “And for the record, I do not know what’s going on.”

  “That I doubt.”

  June looked around at Brent, then at the garage itself. A two-car structure, but only the space where Brent’s car sat had an opener attached to the door. The other could be opened with its latch. Handy. “It’s true. And this is the cleanest garage I’ve ever seen.”

  “Stop casing the place. You won’t have a chance to run.”

  “And my guess is we’re a far piece from a main road.”

  “A piece, yes.”

  June reached for the doorknob and let herself into the huge kitchen of a pristine country home. The spotless tile floor matched, in both design and color, the granite countertops. The glass-front cabinets revealed high-end china and crystal. Even the pots hanging from a rack over a center island looked as if they cost a fortune. Spotless, but with the clinging scent of a long-unused and closed house. “Hunter’s summer palace, perhaps? Or Virginia’s?”

  “And you said you didn’t know what was going on.”

  June stopped, turning to face him. “I really don’t. Suspicions, but no facts.”

  “Virginia’s. Comes here to get away from the hustle and bustle of her law firm, so she says.”

  “And her king making?”

  “She does have plans for Hunter, that’s for sure.” He motioned with the gun. “Den’s through there.”

  June pushed through a swinging door and stepped down into a room steeped in amber-tinted stone and burgundy leather. A six-foot-wide fireplace sat in a hearth on the far side of the room, and the heavy chairs and couch looked more suited to large men back from a hunt, not a petite lawyer who didn’t quite reach June’s own short height. “This must be Hunter’s space when he’s here.”

  “His and his boys. There’s a big high-definition television behind that painting.”

  “Clever. Could be a fun room.”