Her Grave Secrets (Rogue River Novella Book 3)

by Kendra Elliot

  Patsy’s expression cleared. “Oh, no. The cheesecake is delicious! I’ve got something else on my mind.”

  Stevie took another bite. Not sour. Absolute heaven. “What’s wrong?” she asked her mother. Nell accepted her assurances that the cheesecake was deli-worthy and was pulled aside by some other women to talk baking.

  Patsy glanced around. “Where’s Zane?”

  “He and Walt went out to his cabin to look at some plans. They won’t be gone long.”

  “Now? He left in the middle of the barbecue?” Patsy craned her neck as she scanned the crowds. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I said goodbye to him. He was going to tell you, but I told him to go ahead and leave.” The concern on Patsy’s face made Stevie’s mouth dry up. She forced down her last bite of cheesecake. “What’s wrong?” she repeated.

  Her mother continued to study the crowd and twisted a bit of hair between her fingers. “I don’t know. I’m feeling odd, and it’s centered around Zane. I don’t think he should have left.”

  Stevie glanced around, unease crawling up her spine. “Is something going to happen here? Like you need him to stop something?”

  “I don’t know. It just feels wrong.”

  “I understand.” Stevie exhaled. She didn’t understand, but she’d learned to listen when her mother spoke like this. “Are all the grandkids here?”

  Her mother nodded. “Brianna’s right over there, and I can see James with his two.”

  Part of her spine relaxed. It’s not about the grandkids.

  Patsy turned her head and stared at Stevie, blinking rapidly.

  “What?” Stevie asked.

  “I don’t know. Are you feeling okay?” Patsy stumbled over her words, eying Stevie in alarm.

  Stevie froze. “Yes. Mom . . . what is it?”

  Her mother covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know. I’m suddenly feeling overwhelmed and a bit nauseated.”

  “Let’s get you inside.” She put an arm around her mother’s waist and glanced around to make eye contact with one of her siblings, but no one was looking her way. She walked Patsy up the deck’s stairs and through the group of bustling women in her kitchen. Together they climbed the stairs to the second level and moved down the hall to Patsy’s bedroom. Her mother’s silence was unnerving Stevie. Patsy lay down on the bed, and Stevie sat beside her. “Better?”

  Her mother met her gaze, a surprising touch of uncertainty showing in Patsy’s usually calm eyes. “A bit. Maybe there was just too much going on. I was running ragged this morning trying to get everything organized.”

  “You make it look effortless.”

  Patsy laughed but her eyes stayed shadowed. “Definitely not effortless. I’ve felt like something has been hanging over me all day. Like the pressure in the air is too high.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

  “Maybe. But when I couldn’t see Zane I felt it increase. And it increased again when I looked at you and asked if you felt okay. Usually . . .”

  Stevie waited. “Usually what?” she finally asked.

  Her mother looked away. “I feel like that before something goes wrong.” Her voice was nearly inaudible.

  Stevie crossed to the window and studied the crowd out back. No red flags. She slid her cell phone out of her pocket and called Zane. No answer. It went to voice mail and she hung up. He won’t answer while he’s driving.

  “He’ll call me back when he gets there and sees I called,” she told Patsy. “I’m sure everything is fine.”

  Her mother’s answering smile didn’t reach her eyes. Stevie could feel her own anxiety start to climb.

  It’s because Mom is upset.

  She looked at the time, trying to remember how long ago he’d left. He should have been there already.

  He’s probably talking building with Walt and too distracted to check his phone. And the service out there is poor. The call might not have reached his phone.

  Her phone buzzed in her hand and relief flooded through her but immediately dissipated when she saw Seth’s name on her screen. Disappointed, she answered.

  “Stevie? Is Zane with you? I’ve been trying to get ahold of him,” said Seth.

  “No, he’s at his cabin. Service is sketchy out there. What’s up?”

  “We pulled a print off that plastic wrapper from the C-22 we found at JD Hearne’s scene.”

  Adrenaline spiked through her veins. “And?”

  “It belongs to Walt Burrowes. And he’s the registered owner of several handguns.”

  Stevie went still. “Seth. Walt is out with Zane at his cabin. Right now. I’ve been trying to call him too.”

  Patsy abruptly sat up, her gaze locked with Stevie’s.

  “I’m forty-five minutes away,” Seth said. “I’ll notify dispatch to get the closest county units over there.” He ended the call.

  Stevie dialed Sheila to notify Solitude’s two on-duty officers to get to Zane’s cabin. The phone rang in her ear as her heart’s pounding echoed in her head. “I need to go,” she said to Patsy and strode out of the room.

  “Stevie! Wait!”

  She whirled around, her phone still at her ear.

  “Don’t go out there. It’s too dangerous and this won’t end well.” Patsy’s eyes were wide, her voice low as she pleaded with her daughter.

  Stevie locked gazes with her mother, torn between a desperate need to get to Zane and her mother’s warning.

  “I have to go,” she whispered.

  She tuned out her mother’s pleas and raced for her car.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Zane’s head hurt.

  He blinked and felt the packed dirt pressed against his cheek. Squinting, he discovered he was staring at the back wall of his cabin. Where’s Walt?

  He closed his eyes against the pain in the back of his head, remembering he’d gotten out of the car and walked around to the back of the cabin to get Walt’s opinion on how to add on another thousand square feet. He’d squatted down to sketch in the dirt.

  Then what?

  The throbbing in his head increased.

  Walt hit me with something.

  He licked at his lips, his commands to move his limbs not being transmitted through his nerves.

  “I didn’t have a gun with me. I was going to a party.”

  Zane’s lids flew open at Walt’s faint voice.

  “Are you sure? Do another cop? They’re digging deeper since they found Roy.”

  He’s on a phone call. Getting orders to kill me. Shock rushed through him. Did Walt commit the murders?

  Zane managed to move his arm, then froze as he wondered if he was in Walt’s view.

  Play unconscious.

  “I can’t do it here. Stevie knows we were coming here. I’ll have to take him somewhere else.”

  Fuck. Zane wiggled his toes, feeling control over his limbs slowly return. Hell if I’ll let him take me anywhere. Walt sounded like he was inside the cabin or around one of the sides. Zane spotted his four-foot-long metal level propped up against the corner of the cabin. There’s what caused my headache.

  Now to get his hands on it.

  He wasn’t armed, so he and Walt were even on that count. But Walt hadn’t suffered a blow to the head to short out his nervous system.

  Zane would correct that.

  He turned his head. Walt was still out of view. He tried to push up to all fours and fought back the urge to puke.

  “I’ll find a good spot. He’s out cold, but I’ll tie him up first.”

  Panicked energy shot through Zane. Move!

  He pulled to one knee and balanced, breathing heavily. The back steps of the cabin doubled and blurred. Walt ended his call, and Zane heard his steps moving in his direction.

  Zane lunged for the heavy level as Walt came around the corner of the cabin.

  Walt grabbed the l
evel as Zane tripped and rolled in the dirt. He spun over and pushed into a crouching position, his focus on Walt, who held the level like a baseball bat. The lean man grinned at him. “How’s the head?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Walt stepped in his direction, and Zane scooted backward.

  “You a little dizzy? You went down like I’d knocked your brain off its stem.”

  Zane said nothing, struggling to focus on which Walt was the real one. “You shot JD Hearne,” he stated.

  Walt shrugged. “Not sure what makes you think that.”

  “Then why’d you hit me?”

  “Because you’re making waves.” The man tightened his grip on the level. “Things were smoothing out. Then you stepped in and stirred them up again.”

  “Roy?” Zane croaked.

  “He was our smoothing agent.”

  Zane briefly closed his eyes. Why, Roy? He focused on Walt again, his eyes working together finally. “You sucked him in. Got him to look the other way.”

  “Roy had a weak spot. He liked to gamble. It’d gotten him into a tight situation,” agreed Walt. He took another step toward Zane, studying him like a big cat moving in for the kill.

  With his peripheral vision, Zane cast about for a weapon. Anything. He’d left some tools at the side of the cabin where Walt had found the level. But at the moment, the only things within Zane’s reach were dirt and dried grass.

  Walt rushed him, swinging the level at his head. Zane pushed off with his legs and dived to the side, rolling onto his back in time to see Walt pivot and swing the level down at him again.

  Move!

  Zane rolled as the end of the level sliced his ear. Walt took two stumbling steps to get his balance and lifted the level for another swing. Using every ounce of his power, Zane pushed to his feet and ran toward the side of the cabin. He scanned his stash of tools. Sawzall . . . not plugged in. Demolition hammer . . . too short compared to the level. Sledgehammer. Yes.

  He grabbed the giant hammer, stunned at its weight. His muscles weren’t at 100 percent. Possibly not even at 50 percent. But damn it, I’m not going to back down. He spun around to face Walt and swung the hammer at him.

  Walt halted his dash, jerking his abdomen back in time to miss connecting with Zane’s swing.

  “Now what are you going to do?” Zane roared at him.

  “You can barely stand up. Your fucking arms are shaking.”

  He was right. Zane’s muscles felt like they belonged to a newborn. He let the sledgehammer head slide down to rest on the ground as he panted, trying to catch his breath. The burst of energy that’d launched him off the ground and to the tools had vanished.

  His vision of Walt blurred, and the man laughed at him.

  “Problems seeing, Zane?”

  “Who’s making the C-22?”

  Walt snorted. “Stalling?” He moved closer, that predatory expression narrowing his features.

  “Did you kill Bill Taylor?”

  Surprise crossed Walt’s face. “Hell, no.”

  Shock shot through Zane’s brain; he believed the man. “Then who did?”

  Walt swung the level at him in answer. Zane yanked the sledgehammer up and into both hands at chest height, blocking the blow. Walt’s level bounced off the handle and bashed Zane’s chin, making him stutter-step backward and fall, landing hard, which knocked the breath out of his lungs. His skull bounced against the dirt.

  As he lay on his back, the level rushed at his face, and he blocked it again with the handle. He kicked and thrashed with his legs, snagging Walt’s shin and thrusting him off-balance. Walt lurched to the side, panting, and Zane spun on his back, continuing his kicking assault. The man danced out of range, and Zane’s arms quivered as he braced the sledgehammer protectively in front of his face.

  He couldn’t hold it much longer.

  Stevie yanked her steering wheel to the side and parked behind Zane’s vehicle at his cabin. She relayed her arrival to Sheila, who reported back that Rogue County units were five minutes out. She stepped out of her car, her hand resting on the weapon at her hip, and listened.

  Gentle wind rushed through the firs. It smelled hot and dry, with that baked-pinecone odor that belongs to a long hot summer.

  “Zane?” she yelled at the cabin.

  All quiet.

  Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. Zane and Walt were probably around back, eagerly discussing foundations and framing.

  What sounded like an ax splitting wood reached her ears.

  “Zane?”

  Silence again. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she stepped toward the house.

  Her mother’s words echoed in her head. This won’t end well.

  She walked slowly, her senses on full alert, her gaze sweeping the area.

  A groan sounded from behind the house. Zane?

  Stevie changed course and dashed to the corner of the cabin, drawing her weapon, keeping it at her side with her finger off the trigger. She stopped, her back against the front of the cabin, took a deep breath, and stole a glance around the corner.

  Zane was on his back on the ground, a sledgehammer handle braced protectively in front of his face. Walt stood next to him with a long metal level held above his head, about to bring it down on Zane’s skull.

  Stevie whipped around the corner and fired.

  Walt froze, staring at Stevie, the level still over his head.

  “Put it down, Walt,” Stevie ordered.

  “You missed,” said Walt.

  “I did,” agreed Stevie. “My instructors would not be happy. But I won’t miss the second time. Put it down.”

  Walt looked at Zane and then over at Stevie. “You won’t shoot me.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “I wouldn’t take that challenge,” Zane muttered.

  “Did you kill JD?” Stevie asked. “And Roy? Were you the one who thought they deserved two bullets in the back of the head?”

  Walt sneered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Enlighten me.” Her finger rested heavily against the trigger. Walt hadn’t put down the level. Her damaged left hand had cramped as she’d cupped her right for the first shot, sending it wide. She’d been lucky Walt froze. According to her training, she should have fired until the threat he presented was gone.

  Walt looked away. “It’s none of your business.”

  “Did you kill my father?” she whispered.

  He gave a short laugh. “No. Wasn’t my place.”

  What?

  Zane dropped the sledgehammer he’d been bracing above his face. Walt jerked at the movement and whipped his level toward Zane’s head.

  Stevie fired.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Stevie rested her head on Zane’s shoulder and stared up at the dark sky. The sun’s last rays had finally disappeared and the fireworks would start at any moment. This final event for Founder’s Day would cap a crazy few days. Simple thankfulness filled her—she was able to sit beside the man she loved and look forward to the next day.

  She leaned to the side and kissed him, feeling the odd roughness on his face against her skin.

  Zane had five stitches in his chin, three in his ear, and another dozen in his scalp from Walt’s blows with the level yesterday. The ER doctor had pronounced that he had a concussion and sent him home with Stevie to keep an eye on him.

  The dog on her lap stirred. Her mother had been waiting with Magic at Stevie’s apartment when she arrived with Zane, claiming the dog would help him heal faster. The dog had slept between them on the bed and spent the rest of the day curled up against Zane. Apart from a splitting headache, Zane claimed he felt fine.

  “You’re sure you’re okay with how things went this morning?” Zane asked. The two of them had brought low beach chairs to the park at the river, placing them as close to each other as possible. He kept her hand tight in his, but reached out often to stroke Magic.<
br />
  “How can I not be okay with being cleared for a shooting?”

  “They grilled you pretty hard.”

  “I told the truth. You were covered in blood, and he was going in for a final blow.”

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Stop asking me that!”

  The truth was she had no clue how she felt. Walt had died from her shots to his chest.

  She’d taken one man’s life but saved Zane’s.

  Could she have done anything differently? What if her first shot had hit Walt and made him stand down? What if Zane hadn’t dropped the sledgehammer? She buried her fingers in Magic’s fur.

  She had to stop asking what if.

  It was over.

  “You know one of his handguns will be linked to Roy and JD’s shootings,” Zane said. “I’m willing to place a lot of money on it. We’ll know in a few days.”

  Stevie nodded against his shoulder. She believed it too. They’d found JD’s clear fingerprints inside Walt’s truck on the passenger door handle. Walt had driven him somewhere, presumably to his death at the rest stop. Seth said they’d found a pair of boots he was certain would match the footprints at JD’s scene.

  “He didn’t deny killing them,” Zane said. “We both asked if he killed Bill, and he denied it twice. But he didn’t give a clear answer on Roy and JD. And the bullets from Roy’s body were already tied to that one death at the coast. Someone’s been very busy cleaning house.”

  “They haven’t found any drugs at his place,” Stevie added.

  “That just shows he had half a brain. He was up to his neck in this drug ring. I can feel it.”

  “But what was his role?”

  “I don’t know, but he wasn’t at the top. He was on the phone when I woke up, taking orders from someone to kill me. Too bad his last call went to one of those burner cell phones. It’s already been dumped. I hope we find something in his home that leads us to the source.”

  Stevie hoped so too. She wanted her quiet town back. She wanted dull work days of chasing cows and helping senior citizens with broken windows.

  Not drug deaths.

  Shock waves had shot through her core as she saw Zane on the ground with his head bleeding and a killer about to strike. She’d almost lost him.