Shadow of Doubt Omnibus

by Lisa Jackson

  “Are you really?” she asked as she quickened her step so she was right behind his broad back.

  “Am I really what?”

  “From Missouri?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Yeah.” A bird squawked off to their right, making them both jump. “Gotta ask you, why’d you pick this island of all the damned islands? Ten Thousand Islands and you pick this one.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Are you serious? Can’t you feel it? The place gives me the creeps. What horrible thing hasn’t happened here? Only you would pick a haunted damned island to hide out on.”

  “You don’t really believe the island is haunted,” she said, scoffing at such foolishness.

  He glanced around uneasily. “Bad things have happened here, darlin’. Maybe you can’t sense it, but I can. And you know what they say about places like this….”

  “No,” she said, telling herself he was just trying to scare her. “What do they say?”

  “Bad things will happen again. Evil attracts evil. It’s a known fact.”

  He wasn’t serious. The next thing she knew he’d be out burying a jar behind the villa. “You’re a strange guy, Landry.”

  He turned to look at her and grinned. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  And that’s what worried her.

  * * *

  LANDRY SLOWED at they reached the rear of the villa. He could hear voices and music playing. His stomach growled as he caught the scent of barbecue.

  “Looks like we made it back just in time,” he said over his shoulder.

  Odell looked up in surprise as Landry came through the archway into the courtyard. Odell and Henri were sitting together in a pair of old metal lawn chairs outside his apartment. There was a bottle of wine on a small table between them, two mismatched plastic glasses and a deck of cards.

  “Nice pool,” Landry whispered to Willa.

  Her gaze went to the dark water, then Odell. He had turned and was watching them with interest. Too much interest.

  Clearly the two of them had interrupted something because Henri looked surprised to see them and maybe a little suspicious. Landry had seen the redhead and the devil child arrive this morning by boat. Thanks to Willa, he now had their names. If only he could have easily found out what they were doing on the island.

  But he was more interested in Odell. Everything about the man worried him. Especially Odell’s obvious interest in Willa.

  “I made it,” Landry said cheerfully, and put his arm around Willa, pulling her close. She nudged him.

  “Look who surprised me,” she said, as if trying to match his cheerfulness. She looked scared and war, y as well, of her villa mates.

  “You go swimming?” Odell asked, lifting a brow as he took in their wet clothing.

  Landry grinned and pulled Willa closer. “I was so glad to see her I didn’t even give her a chance to take off her clothes.” He chuckled and let his gaze move appreciatively over her. That at least he didn’t have to pretend. She had a great body and wet clothing left nothing to the imagination. “We really should get out of these clothes, darlin’.”

  Henri laughed. “My kind of man.”

  Odell turned his attention back to the redhead.

  As Landry led Willa past the two, he saw that they had been playing poker. Strip poker from the little they were both wearing—and the pile of clothing beside the table.

  Odell was down to his shorts. Henri was wearing a string bikini.

  As Willa and Landry passed them, Landry took a good look at the full swell of Henri’s breasts in the tiny bikini top.

  Willa elbowed him even harder this time and smiled as he rewarded her with a satisfyingly painful grunt. She slipped out from under his arm and ran up the stairs ahead of him. At the top, she turned to look back and caught him admiring her butt. She glared at him.

  He shook his head and laughed as he charged up the stairs and pinned her against the wall, leaning down to kiss her neck and whisper, “You can’t have it both ways, darlin’.”

  “Well, we know what those two are going to be doing the rest of the day,” Henri said, loud enough for them to hear.

  “You should change and join us,” Odell said. “Don’t worry, I have enough steaks for everyone.”

  Landry didn’t like what he heard in the man’s invitation. Odell sounded upset. Because he was jealous? Or because the last thing Odell wanted was anyone in Willa’s room tonight?

  * * *

  WILLA WAS TRYING desperately to ignore Landry. It was more than difficult given that he was nibbling on her neck and sending tingles through her body. She tried to shove him away, but he was much stronger and he seemed to be enjoying what he was doing. Unfortunately her body was reacting. She felt her nipples harden.

  Landry pulled back to look down at her chest then grinned as he met her eyes. “Glad to see you’re getting into your role.”

  She would have hit him if he hadn’t had her pinned against the wall with his body. “You really are despicable,” she hissed so only he could hear.

  His grin broadened. He bent again to tease her throat with kisses and suddenly froze. She turned her head in the direction he was looking and saw Alma Garcia. The woman stood as if poleaxed, staring in horror at Landry just feet from them.

  She said something in Spanish, then quickly crossed herself.

  Willa gripped Landry’s arm, frightened by the crazed look in the older woman’s eyes. Willa could feel Odell and Henri watching the scene from below, as if spellbound.

  Landry said something to Alma also in Spanish. The woman drew back, her hand going to her throat, tears welling in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. Then she turned and practically ran, her antique gown rustling as she disappeared through the arch at the end of the walk.

  “What was that about?” Willa whispered on an expelled breath.

  “Welcome to the looney bin,” Odell called up.

  “Wow, that was scary,” Henri said. “What did she say to you?”

  “Mistaken identity,” Landry said with a laugh and drew Willa down the walkway to the door of the apartment, keeping his hand firmly on her arm.

  She fumbled out the key and the moment the door opened, Landry pushed her inside and closed the door after them.

  “What the hell was that?” he whispered, even though no one could hear them.

  “You tell me.”

  He looked pale and she felt a tremor go through him as he held on to her arm.

  “She called me her amour, her love, then asked me what I was doing back here. Did you see the look in her eyes?”

  Willa nodded. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  He stared at her. “What?”

  “That,” she snapped, pointing back toward the balcony.

  His eyes narrowed. “I thought I made it clear. Whoever is trying to kill you needs to believe we’re lovers.”

  “Bull. Wouldn’t it be more effective to tell them you’re my brother the cop? Or even better, the FBI?”

  He smiled. “We should have thought of that before we told them we were lovers.”

  She daggered a look at him, wondering if she could hate him any more.

  “That old woman—she lives here?” he asked, obviously more shaken by that than any look Willa could fire at him.

  “Her name is Alma Garcia. She used to be the nanny here.” Willa shivered from her wet clothing. She sighed and told him a shortened version of the story that Odell had told her. “I think Odell is writing a book about the disappearance of the family. But I also found a recent newspaper about…us. Complete with photos.” She went to the table and picked up the newspaper and handed it to him, watching him as he stared at his photograph.

  “How’d you get this?”

  She squirmed a little. “I took it from Odell’s room.”

  Landry looked up at her. “He’s going to realize it’s missing.”

  She shook her head. “He offered me the rest of the newspaper. So I t
ook it. I’m just afraid he recognized me.”

  “Neither of us looks like this now,” he said.

  Landry was right. With his hair much longer and the designer stubble that was starting to be a close-cropped beard, he looked nothing like the clean-cut, clean-shaven cop in the photo. Now he looked more like a beach bum.

  Or a pirate.

  Is that why Alma thought she knew him? Hadn’t Odell said that Alma’s boss, Andres Santiago, was a modern-day pirate? Then others like him would have visited the island and apparently Alma had fallen for one of them. Fallen hard, given the way she’d looked at Landry with both love—and fear.

  But why fear? Did she think that her pirate had caused the deaths of Andres and Medina and their children? Did she live in fear that the killer would come back for her, as well?

  Or had Alma been afraid because as delusional as she might be, she’d seen a killer when she looked at Landry?

  Willa felt a chill as she met his eyes.

  “You should get a shower and change.”

  She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest again. “You’re going to tell me what painting we’re looking for first.”

  Landry studied her, wondering what went on in that head of hers, suspecting he knew. “It’s a blue sailboat bent in the wind with a red and white sail, small.” He held his hands about eight inches apart, all the time watching her face. “It was marked for the art show but it wasn’t there.”

  Her smile could have cut glass. “That’s why you came to my show. You were only after the painting. Until you couldn’t find it. Then you were after me.” She looked like she might want to scratch his eyes out. “Just tell me this. What would have happened if Zeke hadn’t come along when he did? If I would have gotten into your car with you?”

  He didn’t answer her. Instead, he glanced toward the bedroom. He could see her bed, a double all made up with pretty floral yellow-and-white sheets and a brightly colored spread of primary colors. It looked more than a little inviting since he hadn’t had but a few fitful hours of sleep for the past seventy-two hours.

  But unfortunately sleep was the last thing he thought of when he looked at Willa St. Clair’s bed—and that made that bed damned dangerous.

  Dragging his gaze away, he saw her easel, a painting on it. He stepped into the second room, glanced into the bathroom, then studied her artwork.

  The painting was of the villa but there was something about it that made his stomach knot. One wall was blood-red. At first he thought it was bougainvillea, but on closer inspection it appeared to be splattered with blood as if a massacre had happened here.

  He heard her step into the room, could feel her watching him. The painting was haunting. He pulled his gaze away to look at her, surprised by the effect of her painting on him, but maybe even more surprised by her talent and the effect she had on him.

  “Well?”

  He frowned, having forgotten the question.

  “What did you plan to do to me the night of the art show?” she demanded, meeting his hooded gaze with a furious one of her own.

  “You know the answer,” he said, waving it off. “I needed the disk.” He hated the hurt he saw in her expression. “Darlin’, I’m a cop. I was doing my job, just like I’m doing right now, whether you believe me or not.”

  He looked at the painting again. It was like looking at a car wreck. You didn’t want to look but you couldn’t help yourself. “What the hell is this?” he asked, pointing at the red splatters on the wall.

  She seemed to pull her gaze away from him, focusing slowly on the painting. “I don’t know. It’s just what I see. I paint what I see in my…mind.”

  He swore softly. “All your other stuff was nice sailboats, sunny days, warm turquoise water.”

  “That was before I witnessed a murder.”

  He sobered, softening as he looked at her. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Believe me it’s given me a few nightmares, as well.”

  A silence fell between them. Willa felt herself softening toward Landry and mentally slapped herself.

  “I know which painting you’re talking about,” she said after a moment. “But I don’t know what happened to it.”

  “What?”

  “I remember the painting. It was supposed to be in the show but I don’t remember seeing it after the paintings went to the gallery.”

  He swore again. “Was it possible Simon hid the painting somewhere in your studio? The police searched the place, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Freddy D.’s not in jail so he knows the disk hasn’t turned up. So where the hell was it?” She could hear his frustration and his fear. “Did anyone else have access to your shop?”

  She shook her head. “Another artist who worked next door would sometimes watch the shop if I had to leave for a few minutes…. But she wasn’t in the shop between when Simon Renton came in and I packed the items for the show.”

  “Okay, let’s walk through what happened after Simon left your shop, okay?”

  She explained how she had finished the last of the framing. “I was too excited to sleep so I packed up the art for the show, then I went to bed.”

  “And you’re sure that painting was one of them you packed?”

  She nodded.

  “You say you went to bed?”

  “My apartment was just upstairs.”

  “You think you would have heard if anyone had come in during the night?”

  “Of course. Anyway, the paintings were packed. It would have been impossible for someone to sneak in, find that particular painting and take it without me hearing them.”

  He groaned and raked a hand through his hair. “Okay, the painting was packed, then what?”

  “The next morning, Evan came over and helped me load the paintings into a van and take them to the gallery. Evan is the gallery owner. I helped him put the boxes in the back of the shop. Then I left and he set up the show after the gallery closed that afternoon.”

  “He does everything himself?”

  “It’s a small gallery.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I went back to my studio and worked. I like to paint when I’m anxious. It calms me. Later, I went over to the gallery to make sure Evan had everything he needed.”

  “But you don’t remember seeing the sailboat painting.”

  “No, but then I can’t be sure it wasn’t there and disappeared later. Evan might remember.”

  Yes, Landry would have to talk to Evan. “Did all the paintings sell?”

  “Almost all of them. Evan packed up the rest.”

  Landry felt his heart quicken. If the small painting had accidentally been overlooked in a box at the back of the gallery, Evan would have just packed the unsold ones with it. “What happened to those paintings, the unsold ones?”

  She frowned. “I asked him to put them away for me until I came for them.”

  The painting had to be one of two places if it hadn’t been found yet, which he was counting on. Either it had been misplaced at the gallery. Or Simon had hid it in the studio.

  “Okay,” he said, feeling better. “What happened to everything in your studio?”

  “The police took me back there and I packed up everything.”

  “Did any of the officers help?” he asked.

  “Two.” She seemed to see where he was headed with this. “Yes, but no one walked away with a painting or a disk. They just made sure you didn’t try to kill me while I told them what needed to be packed, and they did it. I watched the entire process.”

  He ignored the part about him killing her. As far as he knew, the police didn’t know that Simon had hid the disk in a painting. Simon was dead so he couldn’t have told them and Zeke wasn’t about to tell them since he’d changed sides no doubt long before all of this had happened. So the police wouldn’t be looking for the painting. That meant either of them could have unknowingly packed the painting with the disk, never suspecting what they had in their hands.

>   “Is it possible you missed the painting—it was small, so maybe you overlooked it and left it behind?” Especially if Simon had hidden it.

  She shook her head. “I gave up the studio so everything was packed and cleaned out. There really wasn’t anyplace to hide anything.”

  He nodded. “So where is everything you boxed up?”

  “In storage.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I gathered that. Okay, darlin’,” he said, his gaze locking with hers as he stepped toward her. “What do I have to do to get you to trust me?” he asked, his voice soft as he cupped her cheek.

  She tried to step away from him, but he pressed her to the wall with his body. She smelled clean and a little citrusy. He sniffed her hair, breathing her in.

  Her big blue eyes were on him. He removed her glasses and tossed them aside; her eyes widened. He could feel her breath quicken. Her heart was a hammer in her chest. She really was something.

  As he bent to kiss her, she tried to turn her head away but he was still cupping her cheek, still pinning her to the wall.

  She glared at him as he lowered his mouth until his lips were only a hairbreadth above hers. He felt her breath catch as he lowered his mouth to hers.

  He kissed her gently, slowly, carefully. At first it was to show her how things were going to be but somewhere along the way he felt things change. Not so much in her as in himself.

  Her mouth was paradise. There was a shyness to her, an innocence he’d seen the first time he’d laid eyes on her and yet hadn’t believed. It was still there though beneath the bravado. And he was surprisingly touched by it.

  He drew back to look into her big blue eyes. She looked like a deer caught in headlights. Her tongue darted out to touch her lower lip. She looked scared and excited all at the same time. He could feel her heart pounding beneath his. Something had changed between them and he already regretted it.

  Sometimes he hated his job, hated that he had to use people, to gain their trust, to hurt them.

  He especially hated that in the end he would hurt Willa St. Clair.

  * * *

  WILLA LOOKED PAST him, her eyes growing wider. He swung around, going for his weapon, expecting to see someone behind them.