Heat scorched her palm and she released her grip. Stepped back from the door. Staring at it as if it might bite if she tried to touch it again. Like it was a snake or a mad cat.
Had Alfred Hamilton’s third wife died in that room? Tori stood in the hallway, facing the fear of what might be on the other side of the door.
“Don’t be silly, Tori. It’s only a locked door. You just need to break the lock. That’s all.”
Her voice didn’t sound very reassuring, and she probably wouldn’t fool anyone with her false bravado, especially not herself.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement. She twirled and scanned the hallway. Nothing. It appeared she was alone. So why did she feel as if a presence hovered over her? A presence so heavy its weight pressed down on her shoulders. Just as quickly as the heaviness came, it disappeared.
“Just my imagination. Just like last time.”
She pressed her lips together. Was the old problem returning? She was stronger than that. She wouldn’t succumb to the old pattern of mental behavior. Not this time.
There were four rooms on the other side of the hallway. She shrugged off her paranoia—because surely that was what she was experiencing—and decided to do a cursory check of the remaining rooms for condition and furnishings. Surely a bathroom hid behind one of the four doors. She hoped the plumbing was operational. She desperately needed to pee.
None of the other rooms yielded any surprises. Relief flooded her as she discovered a functioning toilet. After she did her business and washed her hands, she lifted her purse from the counter, slid the strap over her shoulder, and straightened to face the mirror over the bathroom sink, halfway expecting to see a ghostly reflection. Nothing. Her pale face stared back at her.
After leaving the bathroom, she descended the stairs to the first floor and stopped on the bottom step. Hadn’t Grayson’s blog post mentioned a missing fortune that had once been hidden under the house? She had already searched all the rooms on the bottom floor, and as far as she could tell, the house didn’t even have a basement. So much for that piece of the legend.
She wandered through a swinging door and into the middle of the huge kitchen. She could easily imagine the large, lavish meals that might have once been prepared there. The room would be a chef’s delight. Two large islands and space for an industrial-sized refrigerator and freezer. No dishwasher, but that could be added. She could imagine spending countless hours in the room made cozy from the heat of the stove and the smell of baking bread.
She shook her head. What was she thinking? Could she live in a place that gave her the heebie jeebies?
As was the case with most legends such as The Lady Of the Lake, the story was surely based on more myth than reality. She just had to separate the fact from the fiction and made a mental note to search the local newspaper archives for any mention of a story about the murders at Victoria House. Surely, over the years, someone had written a feature article about the so-called haunting.
When she got back to her motel suite, she’d check Grayson’s blog post for the year of Alfred Hamilton’s death again. Then, she’d begin her own research into the infamous Hamiltons of Hill County. She didn’t think she could rely on what her mother had told her about her family’s history. But then, she’d never been able to rely on Paris for much of anything.
****
Tori hated being out of Greek yogurt, so a stop by the grocery store was necessary. She was unfamiliar with the particular store and took her time locating the dairy section and studying her Greek yogurt options.
“Tori?”
She turned and tried hard not to react. Josh McCord didn’t look good. In fact, he appeared as if he’d been thrown off the side of a cliff after being dragged ten miles by a truck. Was his forced leave of absence messing with his ego that much or was he indulging in a little liquid comfort? She’d heard the rumors about his drinking. In fact, she couldn’t ignore them. The gossip after Halsey sent him home was thick and ugly.
“What are you doing here?” She bit her lip. That made it sound as if she thought he’d followed her. Wait. Did he?
“A guy has to eat, you know. Even when he’s been wrongly accused of a crime he didn’t commit.” He smiled and winked.
She was speechless. How could she respond to that? How could he joke about something so serious? She knew how fast a false accusation could kill a career or wound a heart. She still hadn’t recovered from the allegations made against her by people who used to be her friends and co-workers.
His eyes roamed up and down her body, and she suddenly felt as if she didn’t have enough clothes on. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be working like a dog to solve Crenshaw’s murder?”
She smiled at him, a thin smile that she wasn’t sure he deserved. He was being a butt hole. He knew he shouldn’t ask her about the case, or at least, he should have known she couldn’t answer his questions. Josh was officially a person of interest.
“A gal has to eat, you know.”
He laughed and stepped closer, leaning on the end cap of the dairy refrigerator. “Uh-huh. So how’s the Standridge case going? Have you been working on that while I’m gone?”
There was just enough edge in his tone she suspected passing the case off to her grated on his ego.
“Bet the Department doesn’t even miss me with a pretty lady like you handling things. I’m sure they’d rather see your face than mine.”
What was that supposed to mean? Her looks had nothing to do with her job performance. Or his job security. Although, she suspected most of the male deputies treated the females in the Department a bit differently from their male colleagues. Well, with the exception of Lucy Kimbrough. They treated her like one of the guys.
Did Josh think he could flatter the information out of her? Maybe he thought he could seduce... Stop that thought, Tori. Stop it right there. Why do you suspect every flirtatious, good-looking man of having an ulterior motive?
Josh was good-looking. Not in a perfectly symmetrical sort of way like Gray. Perhaps, attractive in an unconventional way would better describe him. His features were a bit irregular, but he worked them, oozing charm and sex appeal. He wore his red hair close cropped, almost military style. He obviously worked out, because his biceps bulged his shirtsleeves. As he towered over her, his muscles rippled and flexed. Was he doing that on purpose? That was so cliché. Did he think she’d ooh and ahhh over his manly physique?
She wanted to move back, but she also needed to stand her ground. It might have been best to be direct with him, but instead she decided to play his game. Should she push one lock of hair behind her ear? Lick her lips? Touch her neck? Gaze at his mouth? Standard body language for sexual interest might throw him off his game. Sometimes all she had to do with a man like Josh was call his bluff.
She tried them all. “Oh, come on, Josh.” Tuck the hair behind the ear. “You know I can’t talk about an on-going investigation with you.” Lick the lips. “Not right now.” She edged closer and leaned in. “What if someone overheard us talking?” Touch the neck. “We’d both be in deep pookey.” She smiled at him as if he were the handsomest man she’d ever met and concentrated on his mouth.
He laughed as if she’d said the funniest thing ever. “Well, you have a point. Maybe we could—”
“I’m sorry, but I have to go.” She glanced at her watch and pouted. “But maybe we can talk about this later.”
Did she sound hopeful enough?
“Oh, sure.” He brushed her upper arm with his hand.
Nothing. Not even the smallest sizzle of electrical energy passed between them. Josh McCord was not a man she could ever be with. He was wasting his time with her. She smiled as if she hadn’t just mentally rejected him.
He turned and walked away, whistling as he strolled down the frozen food aisle. She suppressed her laughter. She’d played his game and managed not to tell him anything at all. No doubt, he’d try again, but she’d be ready for him.
She selected ten cartons of Greek yogurt and headed toward check out. When she was almost to the front of the store, her yogurt rattled around in her basket as she nearly bumped into Lucy Kimbrough.
The woman turned and smiled. “Oh, it’s you.” There was no hint of warmth in her eyes.
“Hi, Kimbrough.”
“Did I just see you talking to Josh McCord?”
Why did Kimbrough’s question hold so much bite? If she’d just seen Tori talking to Josh, why did she act as if she’d just noticed her? Odd. The woman was odd.
She pointed toward the door. “He just left. Did you want to talk to him? You might catch him before he—”
“Seems like the whole Department needed to go to the store on the same day...or were the two of you here together?”
Her question stunned Tori for a moment. “Me and Josh? Together? No.”
She suddenly caught the significance of Kimbrough’s interrogation. The thought horrified her. Would the woman blast it all over the office that she and Josh were seeing each other? Buying food together? Did that imply they were living together? Oh my God, no!
“Josh and I... No. Never.”
Kimbrough’s expression changed from curious to suspicious. “Oh. I thought maybe...”
“No. We just ran into each other next to the yogurt.”
Why did the idea of Tori and Josh being together disturb Lucy Kimbrough so much?
The other woman stood beside her shopping cart, blocking Tori’s progress, and because of the tight space Tori couldn’t get around her without making it obvious she was trying to escape the woman.
“So how’s the Crenshaw case coming?”
She blinked at the deputy. “There have been some interesting developments.” Was that vague enough?
“New evidence?”
New? They hadn’t exactly finished processing the “old” evidence. She offered Kimbrough a smile that was empty and fake. “I’m sorry. I’ve been instructed not to discuss evidence in this case.”
“Oh why? Because Josh is involved?”
Where had the woman gotten that idea? Oh, of course. It was obvious. Halsey had put Josh on leave right after he punched Gray, right after Jared’s body had been discovered. It wasn’t hard to follow the trail of circumstantial evidence. Not for a bunch of gossipy deputies.
She glanced at her watch. “I have to go. I’ll see you later, huh?”
She moved forward and Kimbrough pushed the shopping cart out of her way.
Tori was almost to the end of the aisle when Kimbrough’s voice rang out behind her, thick and full of what sounded like hostility. “You’d better stay away from him.”
She turned. “What?”
“It’s not safe for anyone who gets involved with him. He’s a dangerous man...for women.”
Tori raised an eyebrow, but had no idea how to respond. Kimbrough spun on her heel and pushed her shopping cart down the aisle with a hard shove.
****
Electric fingers skimmed the bare skin of her shoulder. Tori’s eyes jerked open and she bolted upright in bed.
Whispered words from disembodied voices swirled around her. “You’re not good enough. You’ll never be good enough. You deserve to die.” Over and over.
A glowing, fuzzy shape appeared in the mirror over her dresser. When the image solidified into a blurry face, blood dripping down his cheeks and off his chin, she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound erupted. The terror kept rising from deep in her gut, wave upon wave of hysteria. Yet she couldn’t make her mouth cooperate. No cry for help passed her lips.
Helpless. She felt as if her entire life had gone off the rails. Out of control.
Derisive laughter echoed around the room, yet the face in the mirror remained impassive, expressionless, as if devoid of any feeling.
The curtains billowed from a strong wind blowing through her bedroom window. She didn’t remember leaving the window open. Everything moved in slow motion, like wading through a muddy creek. Turning her head slowly, she faced the other side of the room. Rivers of red flowed down her bedroom wall, pooling on the floor, threatening to flood the house.
Her scream finally found its voice.
The scene shifted suddenly. Standing over her, a masked man wielded a butcher knife. She knew why he held the weapon. Knew why he’d come for her. Just for her. In one swift motion, the man ripped the mask off. His grin stretched across his face. He raised the knife over her. Then slash after slash...
Tori jolted awake. Her eyes darted around her motel suite, her heart racing. No one was there. She drew in a deep breath. Another nightmare. That’s all. Just another nightmare. She lifted the edge of her nightshirt. One scar. Only one. A long red streak across her abdomen. The masked intruder that had broken into her home in Little Rock had left his mark on her. The physical scar would never fade. Neither would the damage to her psyche.
Gasping in one breath after another, she sat on the side of the bed. The nightmare embodied every one of her fears. The details seemed so vivid. It wasn’t real. Just her fears and her imagination combining to freak her out. She could try to shake off the horror and go back to sleep, but the effort would be useless. Instead, she rose from the bed and made her way to the small in-room kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and retrieved her cell phone from her purse. Checked her messages. Grayson still hadn’t called. He probably wouldn’t until after the sun had peeked over the eastern horizon. Although she was certain he was supposed to keep his phone on at all times, he probably had turned it off for the night. If he had managed to go home to get some sleep. She couldn’t blame him for shutting out the rest of the world. The man was probably exhausted.
She had one missed call and a voice mail from a number she didn’t recognize. Hardly anyone ever called her cell. It was a brand new number, and she didn’t give it out to just anyone. Only a few people in the Hill County Sheriff’s Department had her new digits.
She tapped the playback button. “Lose the evidence, Tori, or you’re a dead woman.” The longest pause of her life. “You know how to do that, don’t you?” The last wasn’t so much a question as a taunt.
She stared at the phone a long while. Not moving. Barely breathing. With trembling hands, she pulled her purse across the counter. Her fingers wrapped around the canister of mace she kept in a side compartment. As soon she could fit it into her work schedule, she would go to the firing range and recertify to carry a service weapon.
Chapter Nine
Monday morning, Tori examined the last of the lifts from the Crenshaw case, this one pulled from the electrical box. None of the previous fifty-two prints had matched anyone in the AFIS database other than Jared Crenshaw.
She examined the last one with a magnifying glass designed especially for evaluating fingerprints and noted there was enough ridge detail to scan. Shortly, the print appeared on one side of the computer monitor. She entered the correct code and the AFIS system began scanning its database for a match. Images flicked onto the screen in rapid succession.
She sighed, planted her chin in her palm, and waited. Without further instructions, she was at a loss as how to proceed. She hadn’t heard Grayson’s voice since mid-afternoon the previous day, and she wouldn’t mind hearing his voice again. Deep. Bass. Sexy.
“Is that my case?” he asked from behind.
He just about scared the crap out of her. How did he do that? Sneak up on her when she was thinking about his sexy voice?
Our case, you jerk. This is our case. After all the hours she’d already logged working through the evidence, she wanted partial ownership...joint ownership. She sucked in a deep breath and nodded without turning toward him.
“How long will it take?”
He didn’t seem to be in a rush for the answer to his question. In fact, he sounded as if he was merely curious. Maybe even weary.
She finally turned toward him. He seemed even more exhausted than when she’d last seen him. She wanted to
ask if he’d gotten any sleep, but bit her tongue. The question was too personal, and she didn’t want him to think she was interested...like that...in his sleeping habits...or anything...like that.
“If there’s no match, hours. Otherwise, I have no idea. There weren’t any hits from the other prints. I eliminated all of Jared’s after Epps sent me his ten card from the morgue, but if I had Courtney’s, I could probably eliminate most of the rest of them.” She pulled a folder out of a briefcase next to her chair. “I think I’ve identified which ones were probably hers simply by assuming there were certain things that only she would have touched. If I’m right, that would eliminate ninety-nine percent of the prints. But I couldn’t take my conclusions to court.”
He nodded his head as he scanned her report. “But your logic makes sense.”
“Jared didn’t leave a lot behind.” She stared at the side of Grayson’s face. If he noticed her intense scrutiny, he didn’t let on. “He must not have been around much.”
“I would have thought there’d be a lot more of him in the trailer.”
Grayson turned and stared at the computer monitor, as if his gaze would somehow force the program to give him the answers he needed.
“Some of the stuff had been wiped down.”
“Really? That’s a lot of junk to wipe. Who would go to that much trouble?”
She grunted, aware that he really didn’t expect an answer. “Have you gotten any hints where she might be?”
The evidence they’d taken from the trailer hadn’t given Grayson much to go on. It was likely that Courtney was dead, but that they hadn’t been able to locate her body yet. She had probably died the same time Jared had, and their bodies had been dumped in two different locations. A search of the nearby woods had been a wasted effort. Courtney might remain missing for eternity.
Grayson shook his head. “All my leads have gone nowhere, and the Standridge case broke yesterday afternoon. I haven’t had much time to think about anything. Haven’t even had time to...”
Victoria House (Haunted Hearts Series Book 2) Page 9