by Regan Black
The only silver lining she could see was successfully giving Laney what she needed without exposing herself to humiliation and deportation. Troy would be pleased and possibly proud.
Peering through the window near the front door, she saw the police car parked at the end of her drive. Griff, true to his word, keeping her safe. Would he still do that if he knew she was only a legal American citizen thanks to superbly forged documents and honorable behavior?
When her coffee was finished, she slipped into her shoes, gathered her purse and headed in to work. Her cell phone rang just as she pulled into the clinic parking lot. Recognizing the number, she answered at once.
“Dr. Perez. This is Troy Duval.”
He sounded agitated. “Did you change your mind? Do you need assistance getting to Sylvia’s service?”
“No. I won’t be attending in person. I’ve made arrangements to watch the service on a live feed.”
The idea sounded both lonely and brilliant. ”They’re recording it?”
“At Mrs. Cole’s request, I’m told.”
A practical idea. The events would likely go by in a blur and she’d want to remember the outpouring of support for her daughter’s memory.
Troy cleared his throat. “I’d like you to come by after the service. Can you make the time?”
“If it’s urgent I can send someone—”
“No, no. I’d prefer to speak with you,” he said. “Unlike so many others, you don’t seem cowed by the grizzled old man in the haunted house.”
She laughed at the image. Troy might be an intimidating hermit and crotchety at times, but he would never be deemed grizzled.
Only a few patients got away with dictating their treatment protocol and Troy was at the top of the list. “I’ll call when I’m on my way.”
“Thank you, Dr. Perez.”
The morning clinic hours raced by and all too soon it was time for Ana to stow the paperwork and leave for the service. This wasn’t her first funeral since settling in Shutter Lake, but it was definitely the most personal. She hadn’t attended a funeral of someone younger than her since she’d run away from home.
At the church, Ana parked her car in the last available space on the last row. She’d been the primary care physician for too long to ignore which of her patients would appreciate a shorter walk into the church.
She thought of Troy, watching from home, and envied him. He could react however he pleased while she didn’t have that same freedom. Yolanda in particular would need support rather than the emotional meltdown Ana felt brewing.
Entering the church, she leaned on the hard lessons of both her early years and medical school, keeping her reactions buried deep behind a mask of serenity.
Yolanda and Zion were tucked away somewhere with the minister, she was sure. Church elders served as ushers, guiding people to fill the pews. Ana had planned to go straight into the sanctuary and sit quietly with her thoughts and memories. She hesitated when she saw Renata walk in with the other Sparkle employees.
Renata had been working tirelessly to keep the business going for the sake of the clients as well as the employees. Ana wondered if Sylvia had been proactive about the fate of her business or if those instructions were lost along with the dead man’s switch.
Clustered together, the women looked a bit weepy around the edges, consoling each other before an usher guided them to their seats in the area reserved for the family. They looked so miserable. It left her wondering if there was something more going on. Wouldn’t they want to sit with the family?
She didn’t recall Sylvia mentioning any strife between her parents and her employees. Except for the time when Josie, young and new to the staff, was unsure how to interpret Zion’s friendly and familiar manners. The situation had been quickly smoothed over by Sylvia.
And a few weeks later Josie disappeared.
Nolan walked over to the church from the coffee shop at the last possible moment. He didn’t want to give anyone an opening to talk with him or wonder why he was there. He didn’t intend to stop by the gathering at the Cole house afterward. He only wanted to say goodbye to Sylvia.
Again.
What he wouldn’t give to touch her silky hair, her petal soft skin one more time.
He stretched out, spent, loving the feel of Sylvia’s long legs tangled with his.
All he could smell was her. Her skin, her sheets, her shampoo. She insisted he shower well before he came over. Though she raved about his excellent coffee, she refused to have the smell in her sheets.
He didn’t mind. It gave him a deeper enjoyment of the details that were specifically her.
Her mind had drawn him in at first. She was a savvy businesswoman and in a town as set and tidy as Shutter Lake her insistence on discretion was logical.
He would have done whatever she wanted just to spend time with her, in or out of bed. And the complete privacy suited him. He’d been in no hurry to deal with community opinion on their relationship.
He drew circles on her shoulder, her hair a ripple of delicate sensation over his arm. She was thinking, her body relaxed, but her mind had started working again.
“What’s on your mind?”
She propped up on her elbow and leaned in, pressing her lips to his. She indulged both of them with a deep, sensual kiss that set his heart racing. He was ready for an encore, slid his hands down her supple body, but she slipped from the bed on a husky laugh.
“I have some work to do.” She dragged sexy lavender panties up her lean legs and then shimmied into a pink nightshirt. The Sparkle logo caught the soft light from the bedside lamp. She finger combed her hair, her gaze hungry as she watched him lounging on her bed. “I’m serious,” she said, tugging the hem of the long shirt down over her hips. “Get moving. But come back tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you for coffee in the morning?”
“Of course.” She sauntered closer, walked her hands up his chest and around the back of his neck. “I have a dozen cupcakes in my fridge. I can’t share those with the girls without coffees.”
“I’ll have the order ready.”
She kissed him. “You really are the best, Nolan.”
It was as close as she’d come to declaring feelings. She certainly made him feel unstoppable.
She walked him to the front door and he left, his body still humming and her scent all over him. That heady sensation carried him all the way home before he realized he’d left his cell phone at her place and had to turn around.
Nearing her house, he saw the lights on in her front room.
She was deliberate about keeping business and personal life separate, so he returned to the space just off the road where he normally parked and walked back.
Close to the house, he could hear voices. Odd, since he didn’t see a car. Respectful of her strict boundaries, he went around back.
He’d go in through the bedroom window and be back out again before she or her guest noticed.
Grabbing his cell phone, he started to leave when he heard her shouting. The deeper voice of a man rumbled in contrast to hers, but Nolan couldn’t pick out the words.
Smooth and cultured, the fury still came through loud and clear.
What the hell?
He heard a slap followed by Sylvia swearing. The man kept talking in those carefully modulated tones. He sounded so reasonable, yet Sylvia remained quiet.
A minute later, Nolan heard a thud. A sniffle. And silence.
Too much silence.
Sylvia was a spitfire. If someone had come to her house and argued with her, she’d still be fuming.
Knowing he shouldn’t do it, that she’d likely break up with him as soon as she discovered he was here, he peered around the corner to check on her.
She was on the floor, her nightshirt riding up high on her thighs, a sliver of those lavender panties visible. Her eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling fan overhead and her hair fanned out as if someone had stroked it into place.
She looked… dea
d. Her chest didn’t rise and fall, no matter that he watched and waited for the movement.
No! The word echoed in his mind as he wept.
He reached for her, desperate to hold her, to shake life back into her. He stopped when he saw the marks on the slim column of her throat.
It was clearly too late.
He touched the silk of her hair, gently pressed his lips to hers in a loving farewell. The reality, the horror, crashed over him. She was gone.
He clapped a hand over his mouth before he started screaming. He had to get out of here. Protect her reputation. Their secret. Aching with the battle to leave when he wanted to stay and look after her, he took his phone and climbed out her bedroom window.
Then he ran, blind with grief.
Someone nudged his shoulder and he got to his feet with the rest of the congregation to sing the next hymn.
Although Dr. Perez had urged him to go to the police, he didn’t see how he could help. It wasn’t as if he’d seen anything but Sylvia’s lifeless body. He’d nearly called in a tip that the kid who’d first confessed to the crime couldn’t be the killer when the kid was cleared by other means.
Thankfully.
Sylvia might be dead, but he refused to violate her trust even now. Deputy Chief Holt could eye him with suspicion every time their paths crossed. She knew from the DNA he’d left on Sylvia’s sheets that he’d been in the house that night. That would have to be enough for her.
And he’d been trying to recall any helpful detail about that voice. It had been deep, authoritative, and otherwise indistinguishable. He’d been listening closely to every customer since, hoping for a flicker of recognition. Even if he told Holt about the mumbling he’d heard, it wouldn’t point them to the right person and he’d only implicate himself.
His business would take a hit if people thought for even a minute he’d killed Sylvia. As an entrepreneur, she would scold him for even thinking about taking that kind of chance with his livelihood. From the start, she’d been eager to make suggestions he could use to innovate and improve the bottom line at The Grind. Now she’d never see her ideas come to fruition.
After nearly two weeks, it seemed so ridiculously impossible that she was gone. Yet here he was, singing “Amazing Grace” with the vast majority of Shutter Lake’s residents.
When the service finally ended, everyone shuffled out of the church, leaving her parents to stand beside the open casket, quietly weeping.
What if he’d gone out there, to hell with her rules? Would she be alive now, or would they both be dead?
Why the hell had he run? He should have confronted the bastard.
But he’d run.
The investigation remained open, but he couldn’t see how it mattered. Finding her killer wouldn’t bring her back, wouldn’t heal his broken spirit.
Feeling crowded by his thoughts as much as the people moving too slowly toward the doors, Nolan moved away from the general flow of traffic and out a side door.
Chapter Thirteen
Ana’s hand trembled as she knocked on Troy’s door. Her emotions were in turmoil after the service. It had been a lovely celebration of Sylvia’s life and the minister delivered an inspiring sermon and moving eulogy. None of it changed the fact that Sylvia was gone.
She didn’t think Yolanda had heard a word. Ana had grown concerned for her patient as she resisted all attempts at comfort. She hadn’t even leaned into Zion the way she’d done through every press conference and prior outing.
Brittle. That was the best word for it. Hopefully the reception wouldn’t be too much for her to bear this afternoon.
Troy called out for Ana to come in and when she closed the door behind her, he asked her to throw the deadbolt. “Thanks for coming so quickly,” he said, urging her to join him in the great room.
“Are you hurting?” she asked, concerned now.
“No more than usual,” he replied. “I put tea on when the service ended.”
“Thank you.”
So the live feed from the church must have worked. Ana had never seen him so animated. He was always rather deliberate and careful with his words and movement, as if he might draw the wrong kind of attention.
He impatiently waited for her to sit down and take the cup of tea. What was bothering him? She’d blame it on the service, but he’d called her hours beforehand. Had he thought of something pertinent to Sylvia’s investigation? If so, she’d have to call Laney immediately.
“Forgive me. I’m rattled,” he admitted. “I feel particular sympathy for Yolanda and Zion. Outliving a child is the worst form of heartache.”
Ana would take his word on that. She’d decided never to have children of her own. The world was cold and harsh and she’d never had the full confidence that the goodness she added would be enough to offset the evil perpetrated by her father and his associates.
Troy ignored his cup of tea and lowered his voice. “I found Sylvia’s dead man switch.”
Ana froze. “She stashed it here.”
“Yes.” Troy’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “She was so, so clever.”
It made perfect sense. In addition to his state-of-the-art security system, Troy was always home. His reputation as a grumpy recluse only added another layer of protection to the information.
“Have you looked at it?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Didn’t seem right. Sylvia’s business was her own.”
Except when it involved the world Ana had escaped. “How?”
“I found a flash drive as well as an envelope addressed to you.”
“Me?” Ana carefully placed her tea cup on the tray and reluctantly accepted the notecard Troy handed over. Sylvia had used Sparkle stationery and Ana’s name was indeed written in script on the envelope.
“Sylvia’s handwriting,” she murmured, tracing the three letters. An odd fear filled her as she turned the envelope over. “I’ll open it later.” It seemed like something that should be done in absolute privacy. “Where is the flash drive?”
Troy reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and withdrew a flash drive in the shape of a unicorn head with a sparkling rainbow horn.
She tugged off the character’s horn and exposed the USB tab. Leave it to Sylvia.
What had her friend stashed here? And where would it lead the investigation? “I’ll take this straight to the police,” she promised.
“What? No, you can’t do that.”
“It’s the right thing to do.” She wouldn’t give Laney any cause to doubt her again. At least until she disappeared.
“It’s not. You can’t,” Troy sputtered. “You can’t hand it over until you know what’s there.”
She gave him a long, assessing look. “You have opened this.”
He dropped his gaze to the fire. “Only to make sure there was in fact something on it.”
“What did you find?”
“Several folders organized by numbers. Nothing like her numbering system for clients,” he added. “The numerical system didn’t jive with the pattern she uses for my invoice anyway.”
Interesting. “I’m sure the police will figure it out.”
“Be smart about this, Dr. Perez. If you leave here and go to the police station, you run the risk that the killer will find out and suspect something.”
A chill raised the hair at the back of her neck. Griff believed she’d been shot at for doing just that on Monday even though she’d made previous house calls for Troy. Would the police officer tailing her be any real deterrent to a killer determined to snip loose ends?
The killer had definitely been familiar to Sylvia. She’d allowed him into her home late at night when she was only in her sleep shirt. “Did you save the files to your hard drive?”
“No. But we can do that if that makes you feel better.”
“It might.” Ana toyed with the little unicorn. She wanted to take a peek at the information, to verify there wasn’t anything that would implicate her dubious citizenship. It was highly
unlikely that Sylvia had figured out the whole truth or even cared about Ana’s past.
Thinking about the fit Laney would have if she figured it out and the cold bite of handcuffs on her wrists, Ana decided not to chance it. “I can get the information to the police without going by the station.”
“If you intend to pop it in the mail, I could do that myself.”
“I’m not about to take that risk.” Or waste the day or two it would take. “But I would like to back up the information to a secure cloud service if you’ll allow me to use your computer.”
“Of course.”
He insisted on walking with her to his office. She sat down in the executive chair behind the desk, admiring the rich caress of the leather upholstery. This space suited him with the view of the mountains through the wall of windows on the opposite wall.
As Troy had said, the folders were numbered. At first glance each folder contained a series of photos. Once Ana had saved the data with a patient name and identification number she ejected the flash drive. “Hopefully the police will understand what Sylvia stored here right away.”
“If you send that intel through cloud access they’ll know you were involved,” Troy pointed out.
Looking up, she met his gaze. “That’s my last resort, and I’ll use it only if the drive is lost or compromised. I can get this drive directly into police custody without being caught.”
“You seem confident.” His gaze narrowed. “What are you planning?”
Suddenly she was confident. Getting Sylvia’s notes to the police gave her hope that her killer would be locked up and this mess would soon be behind them.
“Skepticism becomes you,” she teased, tapping her brow where his furrowed. “Quite scholarly. Believe me, I don’t want to be forced out of my position here anymore than I want you to be drawn into this mess.”
He folded his arms, unconvinced.
Standing, she changed the subject. “Would you like to ride with me to the reception at the Cole’s? We don’t have to stay long.”
“No, thank you. Yolanda’s grief during the service was too much. I would be no comfort to her.”