Another creak sounded, closer this time. Was someone nearing the bottom of the staircase? The entry floor was marble. She flipped the latch, pulled open the door, then glanced back over her shoulder. Watson flattened himself on the floor next to his mistress’s wheelchair and let out a long, low howl.
Rubber soles squeaked against polished stone in rapid succession. Jaimee bolted outside. Through the small glass panes of the door, she caught a glimpse of the man who ran into the room. Short black hair, brown eyes, a narrow nose, and a scar across his left cheek. Glass shattered, and a bullet creased her upper arm. Crazed barking erupted behind her.
Jaimee sprinted across the lawn, randomly zigging right and left as more shots were fired. Her arm burned, but she ignored the pain. When she reached the creek, she prayed she wouldn’t hit a rock and dove in. Cold water closed over her, stealing all the air from her lungs. She came up gasping, took a deep breath, and dove under again, using a breast stroke to propel herself downstream. She reached the bend at the edge of the estate where the fence ended just as a bullet pierced the water with a hiss, not far to her right.
Breaking the surface to take another breath could prove fatal. Lungs starved for oxygen, she kicked hard toward a rocky ledge on the far shore. When she reached the slight overhang, she surfaced, gasping for air and clinging to the rocks while she hid in the shadows to survey the situation.
The killer walked the bank on the other side of the creek. He had a compact, muscular build and was dressed in brown cargo pants and a black sweatshirt. When he reached the fence, he stood still and studied the water. Jaimee ducked under again, holding her breath for a solid three minutes. When pain in her chest warned she was pushing her limit, she eased back up and gulped air while she blinked water from her eyes and searched for the man hunting her. He was halfway back to the house, running across the lawn.
Jaimee didn’t move until he disappeared inside. Chances were he’d leave the estate immediately rather than risk an encounter with the cops, but she wouldn’t stake her life on it. Maybe he’d take the time to finish the job he’d come to do . . . whatever that was. After he’d murdered Maureen, the killer had stuck around to either rob the place or search for something upstairs. And she wasn’t at all certain he’d given up pursuing her, just changed tactics.
She heaved herself up onto the rocks and scrambled into the woods. Out of sight in the shelter of the dense forest, she paused to strip off her clothes and wring them out. Her arm was bleeding freely, but the bullet had only grazed her flesh. Her teeth chattered so hard, she was afraid she’d get hypothermia if she didn’t warm up fast.
Using the microfiber cloth out of the sunglasses case she found in her fanny pack as a pad, she secured it in place over her wound with the elastic hair tie fastening the end of her braid. She’d dressed again in her damp clothing and was tying on her shoes when a howl caught her attention. Moving closer to the creek, she crouched behind a flowering bush. Watson ran along the other side of the creek, nose to the ground. After a moment, he stopped and howled again. If the killer came back outside to investigate . . .
“Shit!” Jaimee clicked her tongue, hoping the dog could hear the sound over the rushing water. When his head jerked up, she clicked again and ran parallel to the creek, just inside the trees, dodging to avoid bushes and clumps of poison ivy. Watson raced along the other bank and squeezed around the end of the fence. Confident she was far enough from the house to avoid being seen, she ditched the cover to increase her pace as she neared the road. Watson barreled out onto the street and ran across the bridge, his fur flapping in the breeze.
The damned wind was chilling her to the bone. When the dog reached her side, she bent to scratch his ears and picked up his trailing leash.
To her left, a fading ray of sunlight reflected off metal. A dark gray pickup was pulled off the road and backed into the trees not far from the bridge. The front license plate was missing, and the vehicle was empty. She circled the truck only to discovered the rear plate was caked in mud, obscuring the numbers. The driver’s side door was locked, and the interior was clean with no personal possessions in sight.
The killer’s truck?
Before Jaimee could scrape the mud off the plate, running footsteps approached. Pulling Watson with her, she crouched in the shelter of the trees, then flattened herself behind some underbrush when the man she’d seen at the estate appeared, a cell phone pressed to his ear. Watson growled low in his throat, and she lay a calming hand on his head.
The car door unlocked with the beep of a remote.
“No, I didn’t find the damn key, and I searched pretty thoroughly before I was interrupted. It wasn’t anywhere obvious.” He was quiet for a moment as the door squeaked open. “I got a decent look at her. Don’t worry, I’ll find the bitch and eliminate the problem. Maybe you can look for the key when you—”
The door slammed shut, and the engine started. Moments later, the truck pulled out of the trees and turned right.
Jaimee rose to her feet. Shivers wracked her body as she left her hiding place and cautiously approached the road. There was no sign of the gray pickup, no traffic at all, which wasn’t unusual midday during the May mud season when locals were at work and tourists were few and far between.
“Let’s get the hell out of here, Watson.” Giving the leash a tug, she turned in the direction of her cabin and jogged at a steady pace at the side of the road as the clouds thickened overhead. Thankfully, the dog seemed willing to cooperate and ran beside her, panting a little, but keeping up. With ears tuned to her surroundings, she sprinted into the forest at the first rumble of an engine, but the vehicle that passed a minute later was a Subaru wagon, not the killer’s truck. Heart pounding with increased adrenaline, she returned to the road and gradually increased her speed as her body warmed from the exertion.
When Watson started lagging behind at the five-mile mark, she didn’t have the heart to abandon him. Scooping up the dog, she held him tight against her chest and kept running. Finally, she reached the gravel side road that led to her home and slowed to a walk. Clouds darkened the sky, and in the distance, thunder rumbled again. Setting the dog on his feet, she covered the final mile while she worked through her options.
The man who’d shot at her was a professional, not some disgruntled neighbor or relative who had a beef with Maureen. Nor was he a common burglar after her money or jewelry. He’d specifically mentioned a key, and he’d been reporting to a second party, someone who would later have access to the house since he’d suggested this person search for the key when . . . When what? When the cops went in to process the crime scene? When the relatives and lawyers descended once Maureen’s death was reported?
Although her cell phone was certain to be dead after her unexpected swim, Jaimee could easily have run to the authorities to confess what she’d witnessed instead of in the opposite direction. Every professional instinct she possessed had urged her to proceed with extreme caution. The killer had seen her. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out she was Watson’s dog walker once he asked a few questions. She had little faith in the ability of the local sheriff and his two inexperienced deputies, who made up the entire law enforcement team in Hawthorne, to protect her from a professional killer. Her best course of action would be to discover on her own who had hired him.
Until then, she wasn’t safe, certainly not in her home. She reached the long, rutted driveway leading to the clearing where her small cabin backed up to the forest. Staying in the shelter of the trees, she checked for any movement behind the windows. Her old green 4Runner sat where she’d parked it a good week before. She hoped the battery wouldn’t give her any problems when she tried to start it. Hurrying across the front yard, thick with pine needles and dotted with clumps of ferns and chokeberry bushes, she pulled her key out of her fanny pack and unlocked the cabin door.
“Come on in, Watson.” Jaimee bent to stroke his head. “I bet you’re confused. Poor puppy.” After getting the dog a bow
l of water and placing a few baby carrots and some whole wheat crackers on the floor beside it, she headed straight to the bathroom to start the shower. She stripped off her damp clothes and loosened the makeshift bandage while she waited for the water to heat. The wound didn’t look too bad, a shallow groove through the fleshy part of her upper arm. It had stopped bleeding, at least. She’d gotten lucky.
Standing under the hot spray of the shower, her shivering finally abated. She shampooed her long hair and put on conditioner before she carefully cleaned the wound with antiseptic soap and scrubbed the rest of her body until it tingled with warmth. She couldn’t afford to spend much time here, but she had no idea where she was going. Somewhere safe. The words reverberated through her mind. As she rinsed her hair and stepped out of the shower, all her nerve endings screamed at her to get out while she still could.
With one hand, she spread ointment on the graze then awkwardly bandaged the wound. Hopefully it wouldn’t get infected. After dressing in a clean pair of running tights and a T-shirt, she put on a loose jacket, then sat to tie on a dry pair of running shoes. When Watson wandered into the bedroom and lay down by her feet, she bent to pet him.
“What am I going to do with you, huh?” Straightening, she rubbed the back of her neck were tension arched between her shoulders. At this point, there was nothing she could do for Maureen except call the authorities, and they would certainly have questions.
Whoever the killer had been talking to would be at the estate at some point. Probably sooner rather than later. She couldn’t risk talking to the cops, not until she knew who she could trust. Rising from the edge of the bed, she pulled a duffle bag out of the closet to pack.
The first step would be to identify the asshole who’d shot a defenseless old woman at pointblank range. Coffee would have been able to do his magic on a computer and dig into government databases to come up with known assassins who fit his description. Knowing she couldn’t go to him for help hurt far worse than the bullet wound. But letting herself wallow in grief wasn’t an option at the moment.
She zipped the bag shut and hoped the new person Counterstrike had recruited was just as good. Once she was safely away, she’d reach out to Wolf for some answers. Opening the fanny pack she’d tossed on her desk earlier, she examined her phone. Definitely dead. She wouldn’t be calling anyone until she replaced her only means of communication.
First, she had to get away from her cabin before the killer figured out her identity and came looking for her. Hefting her bag filled with the bare essentials, she headed into the bathroom to add toiletries. Watson followed her from there to the kitchen where she loaded energy bars, bottled water, and fruit into a tote bag. When her little pal thumped his tail on the floor, she tossed in the box of crackers. They’d have to suffice as dogfood until she figured out what to do with him. Lastly, she took a wad of emergency cash from the freezer and stuffed it into her purse.
“Let’s get out of here.”
After grabbing her laptop and taking everything out to the 4Runner, she shut the door behind the dog, slid onto the driver’s seat, and cranked the sluggish engine. Holding her breath, she tried again as a misty rain fell. Nothing. The third time was the charm.
With a sigh of relief, Jaimee put the car in gear and bumped down the driveway before picking up speed. Slowing as she reached the intersection at the main road, she looked both ways and narrowed her eyes to see through the gloom. A gray pickup rounded the bend about a quarter mile away, coming from the direction of the Croft estate.
“Dammit.” Throwing her car into reverse, she backed up the road a good fifty yards and swung through a break in the trees. She gunned the engine to push the car farther into the bushes and waited.
Thirty seconds later, the truck cruised past without slowing. Her heart pounded as she waited long enough for it to disappear from sight before pulling out of the shelter of the trees. Branches scraped the sides as her car rolled forward. The pickup was long gone, probably already nearing the driveway to her cabin.
Conquering her clamoring nerves, she hit the gas and swerved out onto the road. She had no intention of stopping until she found a safe place to plot her counterstrategy. Clasping the wheel with shaking hands, she slowed her breathing and found her focus.
She’d make the son of a bitch who’d killed Maureen pay.
* * * *
The key was nowhere to be found.
After searching half the night, Vanna Shreve dropped onto the swivel chair behind the opulent teak desk and snapped off her flashlight as the first hints of dawn lit the eastern sky outside the library window. Damn Maureen and her threats. She’d hated the woman from the moment her father had married her. At the time, she’d thought anyone would be a step up from the blond bimbo who’d taken her own mother’s place. Turned out, she was wrong. Maureen was far from stupid, and that made her dangerous.
Cradled by the butter-soft leather, Vanna massaged her temples and tried to think where the safe deposit box key might be. She’d pried that much out of her closed-lipped father during their last verbal battle. He’d told her the proof of her son’s indiscretions was safely locked away at the bank and would remain there as long as he didn’t do anything stupid. Again.
Daddy hadn’t mentioned sharing the information with his bitch of a wife, and since Vanna wasn’t at all certain Maureen could be trusted, she’d taken steps to eliminate the threat. Instead of solving her youngest’s problem, the whole scenario had turned into a major train wreck. No key anywhere. Ignoring the bright yellow Do Not Cross crime scene tape the police had left behind, Vanna had snuck onto the family property like a thief in the night and searched the whole freaking house. To no avail.
She slammed her gloved fist down on the desk so hard a glass paperweight jiggled.
Then there was the witness who’d caught a glimpse of the professional she’d hired—outwitted by a freaking dog walker. Somehow the woman had managed to escape. Completely unacceptable since there was a slim chance the authorities might uncover a connection between her and the hitman. Another loose end to take care of.
Vanna let out a long sigh as exhaustion weighed on her. If she couldn’t find the key, no one else would be able to, either. Webb’s secrets would be safe. Once the dog walker was silenced for good, she’d be able to sleep again.
Pulling her phone from her jacket pocket, she dialed and waited for her associate to answer.
“Yes.” The smooth voice with the slightest hint of an accent sounded impatient.
“Is it done?”
“I’m afraid not. She’s proving to be more elusive than I anticipated.”
Vanna gritted her teeth. “When?”
“Soon. She can’t stay hidden forever. The second she makes a mistake, it’ll be her last.”
Uneasiness slithered down her backbone. “She hasn’t reported what she saw to the police. Not yet, anyway. I wonder why.”
“If she’d made a move in that direction, I would have heard about it. My guess is she’s still hiding in the woods near the estate, too afraid to come out.” His tone took on a conciliatory note. “There’s no reason for you to worry. I’ll fix this.”
Vanna swiveled her chair to face the stretch of forest beyond the creek just visible in the dim morning light. “I’m counting on you to do exactly that. Don’t disappoint me.”
Chapter Three
Eli pushed harder on the accelerator as he drove too fast down the rural road toward Hawthorne. He still couldn’t believe Maureen was gone. His grandpa had battled cancer for months, so his death wasn’t unexpected. This time was different. Knowing someone had murdered a defenseless, elderly woman, one he cared about and admired, made his stomach churn.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter as the anger inside him built. The popular theory was an armed robber had broken into the estate, surprised Maureen at home, and had bolted after shooting her. To Eli’s way of thinking, that scenario was full of plot holes since nothing was stolen. His intuition told him th
ere was more to Maureen’s death than a robbery gone horribly wrong. He wasn’t sure what, but he damned well intended to find out.
First, though, he needed to take a break and chill before he arrived at the estate and went off on one of his relatives. Even though the road was empty, Eli flipped on his blinker before turning down a lane leading to a nature preserve. He’d go for a hike, let his temper cool, and then finish the last leg of his trip.
The only other vehicle in the small lot at the end of the road was an old green SUV. He parked near it and climbed out of his BMW. After locking the car, he set off down the main path that wound into the woods, letting the light breeze and warm sun defuse his anger. He’d walked for a good fifteen minutes and could almost feel his blood pressure lowering when a dog barked somewhere up ahead.
“Watson, no! Leave that squirrel alone.”
Watson? How many people named their dog Watson? Stephen hadn’t mentioned Maureen’s dog when he’d called to break the news about her death. Not that his uncle would care what happened to Watson. That would require empathy, a quality the man sadly lacked.
Eli rounded a bend in the trail and stopped. Jaimee stood on the path with her hands on her hips, while Watson planted his front paws on the trunk of an elm and barked again. High above the dog, a squirrel chattered in a high-pitched squeak. Though Eli wasn’t aware of making any sound, Jaimee spun around to face him, her eyes wide. She backed up a step, and he got the feeling she’d run if he approached any closer.
“Did you volunteer to take care of Watson after Maureen . . . well . . . after? I’m glad someone is looking out for him.”
Her body resembled a coiled spring, and tension practically radiated from her. “You’re the last one I would have suspected.” Eyes wide, she scanned the forest on either side of him. “How’d you find me?”
Fatal Encounter (A Counterstrike Novel Book 1) Page 3