Reclaim My Life

by Cheryl Norman

  “Jack Knight. He’s the brother of the missing—”

  “Yeah, Kris Knight. I thought he was at sea.”

  “Well, he managed to call while you were out with demands that you find his sister. He says she’d never leave without telling someone. He left an e-mail address.”

  Apparently, the Navy had internet access even when out of port. “I’ll handle it. Anything else?”

  “Dennis at Cameron Security in Lake City wanted to let you know he’ll meet you Monday for an estimate on an alarm system.” She waited for him to explain.

  Wil ignored her raised eyebrow. He wasn’t going to divulge that the security measures were for Elizabeth’s house. “Is that it?”

  “One more.” She read from the slip. “Special Agent Cory. He wouldn’t leave a number or a message, and he refused to talk to Fred, even though I explained he was the chief deputy. Seemed anxious to speak to you but said he’d call back.”

  “If he does, give him my cell—”

  “I tried that. He said he wouldn’t talk on a wireless connection.” She rolled her eyes. “The guy needs to join the twenty-first century.”

  Wil didn’t have the patience for cloak-and-dagger games. “All right. If anything else comes up, I’ll either be in the Jeep or I’ll have my cell phone.”

  “What about Special Agent Buckner?”

  Who? Oh, right, Ronda Lou. “What about her?”

  “She seems to be hanging around, waiting for you.” Zelda winked. “I think she’s hoping you’ll take her to dinner.”

  He probably should, but he wanted to be at the campus auditorium in time to meet Elizabeth. “Where’d she go?”

  “She’s in the conference room.”

  Wil backtracked to the hall and on to the conference room, where he found Ronda Lou with paper reports organized into neat stacks. “Anything new?” he asked.

  She leaned back and sighed. “No. But Kris Knight’s dental records have been located. Luckily, she’d recently seen a Doctor Jarrell in Lake City. He’s working with the ME now.”

  “Great. Maybe we’ll hear something tonight.”

  “I’m calling in every favor I’m owed. With a hurricane headed this way, I’m eager to get back to Tallahassee.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “The toxicology reports take the longest. We’re still waiting for the one from the first homicide.”

  “While we’re waiting, would this be a good time to grab a bite to eat?”

  She beamed and rose from her chair. “Absolutely! May I leave my reports here?”

  He nodded. “I’ll lock the door, but we’ll be coming right back. I have a feeling it’s going to be a hard day’s night.”

  On their way to the Hurricane Lantern, Wil explained about moving his dad. He omitted his promise to see Elizabeth safely home. Over steaks he reviewed both homicide cases with Ronda Lou. He told her about Ralph Sapp and Sunny’s concern about his obsession with Cathleen Hodges.

  Ronda Lou shook her head. “This crime wasn’t committed by a mentally challenged offender, or you’d know about it. He lacks the sophistication to hide his guilt. The killer has forensic knowledge, and he’s clever enough to have us scrambling for evidence.”

  “I figured as much but wanted to run it by you.”

  She lowered her voice. “Cathleen Hodges was killed by a single gunshot wound to the temple, a short, solid lead twenty-two caliber bullet. I’m betting your Ralph Sapp doesn’t have access to any weapon.”

  Probably, but he’d verify with Fred since his chief deputy seemed to know the family. “I’m anxious to see if that twenty-two we fished from the Suwannee matches the ballistics.”

  “I’m more anxious to find out the history of that weapon. Whoever owned it last may lead us to our killer.”

  Joyce appeared with a pitcher of iced tea to refill their drinks. Wil introduced her to Ronda Lou. “Joyce, you waited on Cathleen Hodges the night she disappeared. Would you be willing to tell Ronda what you remember?”

  “Like I told both you and Devon, nothing out of the ordinary happened.”

  Wil turned to Ronda Lou to explain. “Deputy Devon Winston is Joyce’s husband.”

  Ronda Lou’s blank expression told him she hadn’t a clue which deputy was Devon, but she nodded for the waitress to continue.

  “The four ladies met here for dinner as usual, leaving around seven thirty. It was still daylight outside. Just from tidbits of their conversation, I gathered they planned to go their separate ways after dinner. They aren’t bar hoppers. But it was a busy Friday night, and I didn’t actually watch them drive away.”

  Ronda Lou nodded. “Thanks.”

  Joyce turned to Wil. “Anything else?”

  “That’s all for now.” Joyce moved to the next booth to top off iced teas. “I was hoping she’d remember an unusual customer lurking about, but no such luck.”

  “Being married to a deputy, she’d probably notice things out of the ordinary.”

  “She would.” Wil took a gulp of iced tea. “As far as witnesses go, I’m nowhere on this case.”

  “Don’t be discouraged. I’m making a nuisance of myself with the ME and FBI. We should have something to work with by morning.”

  Wil dropped her off at the station, then headed for the campus. Fortunately, dinner with the profiler hadn’t taken long, and he arrived at the auditorium by seven. He watched the rehearsal from the back row until Elizabeth dismissed the cast. She gathered her briefcase and script, then headed toward him. Dressed in black, she blended into the darkness. Now he understood her bland wardrobe. The witness in hiding didn’t want to stand out.

  Despite her drab clothing, she smiled and eclipsed every other woman in the building. “Hi, Sheriff Drake.”

  “Hello, Professor. Could I impose on you to help me move my dad into town tonight?” He explained the situation with Hazel. “I can’t leave him out there alone.”

  “Of course. Let me follow you in my truck. I can haul the wheelchair and such in the back, and I can bring the dog.”

  Leave it to Elizabeth to remember Sophie. “That’d be great. Let’s go.”

  She walked with him to the auditorium entrance. “Thanks for showing up. I figured you wouldn’t have time with all that’s happened. You know, the hurricane and … everything.”

  “I’m just taking a breather, darlin’. The day is far from over for me.” He walked her to her pickup and held open the door. “Did you have a chance to eat dinner?”

  “Yes, I grabbed a sandwich. Which reminds me, if the hurricane holds off, I’m invited to a cookout tomorrow night at Sunny and Ian’s. You’re invited, too. It’s just hamburgers—nothing fancy.”

  “I’d like that.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “You would? I was afraid … that is, I didn’t know if you wanted anyone to know—”

  “I’m proud to be seen with you, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s okay for folks to know you’re my woman.”

  She smiled again, as if his answer relieved her of some burden, and she climbed into the cab of her truck. “Am I your woman?”

  “Gee, that did sound caveman, didn’t it? ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane.’“

  “Am I your woman?” This time she asked in a low, sultry voice filled with promises of tangled sheets and naked limbs.

  Leaning into the pickup, he gave her a quick, open-mouthed kiss. “I hope so. Because I’m all yours.”

  She seemed flustered by that and concentrated on inserting the key into the ignition. “Um, where are you parked?”

  “We just passed it.” He nodded to his county Jeep parked at the entrance to the auditorium. “Lock your door, and follow me.”

  I’m all yours. Wilson’s words replayed in her mind. She shouldn’t have felt giddy as a teeny bopper. She should’ve worried about Frank Sullivan’s goons or Kris’s disappearance. Or the missing murderer who probably had struck again. Instead, she fought a silly smile all evening. She tried to blame her good mood on her
long, dry spell— pun intended—between men, but who was she kidding?

  Wilson wasn’t just a man. He tugged at her heart in ways no guy in her past could. If she allowed herself a sensible thought, she’d quash her euphoria in a heartbeat. Tomorrow she’d come back to earth, after a pleasant respite from reality.

  At Drake Oaks, she collected Sophie’s food, supply of vitamin K1, and dog pillow while Wilson packed for his father. She hooked up the leash to Sophie’s collar and led her to the truck. The dog dug in her heels and balked.

  Wilson hurried down the steps behind them. “It’s okay, girl. Dad’s coming, too.”

  But Sophie wouldn’t budge. “Maybe your dad could ride with me, too. Would that work?”

  “We can try.” Wilson finished loading his dad’s belongings—enough clothing and medication for a week—into the Jeep, then he rolled his dad to the Chevy S-10. “Can you get up into the cab?”

  “Just give me a push. I’ll make it.” When Sophie saw the older man seated in the truck, she leapt into his lap. “Ugh. You’re heavy, girl.” Fondness in his voice softened the reprimand.

  Wilson reached inside the tangle of dog and man to secure his dad’s seatbelt. Then he folded the wheelchair and hoisted it into the bed of the pickup. Elizabeth followed him around the truck to the driver’s side, and he opened her door.

  With one foot on the running board, she hesitated. “I don’t know where we’re going, so I’ll have to follow you.”

  “Sam lives on campus, just off Osceola. Dad knows where in case we get separated.”

  “Let’s not get separated.” She leaned inside the truck to turn off the passenger air bag. “Just in case. We wouldn’t want to squish Sophie.”

  Holding the driver’s door, Wilson nodded. “Wise move.”

  Closing the door, he waited until she’d buckled her seatbelt. A few minutes later, he led their two-vehicle caravan up County Road 471 toward Drake Springs. At the city limits sign, they approached Hodges Animal Clinic. Wilson slowed and turned right on Ortega, taking them past Cathleen’s darkened house. A wave of grief washed over Elizabeth.

  Not a day passed that she didn’t wonder about Cathleen’s murderer. Her death left such a deep sense of loss. Although she hadn’t known Cathleen long, she’d gravitated toward her from the beginning of their friendship. They had much in common in their passion for caring for animals, but Cathleen’s road had been much more difficult. After her mother remarried, Cathleen had been estranged from her stepfather for reasons she never divulged. She’d struggled to work her way through vet school, whereas she—Sofia Desalvo—had a supportive and financially able family to help her. A loving family.

  Wilson’s father broke the silence, putting an end to her sad reverie. “Sophie seems to be all right now, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, sir. The vitamins are just a precaution.” She turned left on Osceola, following Wilson west toward the college campus area.

  “You can call me Harold. It’s my name, you know.”

  No, she hadn’t known. The chaos of Sophie consuming rat poison had precluded any formal introductions the night they’d met. “All right, Harold. Call me Elizabeth.”

  “Thanks for giving us a ride. It’s not necessary, moving me into town. I’m all right on my own.”

  He needed to believe as much, and she wasn’t about to contradict him. “You know that and I know that. But let’s humor your sons, make them think you need them.”

  He chuckled at that. “I guess I can do that. Wilson’s got enough on his mind as it is.”

  “He certainly does. With the fire, the hurricane, and now a second murder—”

  “Second murder? He didn’t tell me.”

  Oops. “I doubt he’s had a chance. The firefighters found a body in Sticky Swamp late last night, burned beyond recognition.”

  “Phyllis is going to have a picnic with this.”

  “Who?”

  “Phyllis Gillespie, editor of our local tabloid.”

  So much venom filled his voice that Elizabeth refrained from asking more. Fortunately, Wilson led them into a circular driveway in front of the small brick colonial that was Dean Samuel Drake’s residence.

  When Wilson started helping his dad from her truck, Harold scolded him: “Why didn’t you tell me there’s been another murder, son?”

  “We found a body. It’s not been determined yet whether it’s a homicide.” He cast Elizabeth a questioning look.

  “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

  Wilson shrugged. “I’ll tell you everything we know, but first let’s get inside.”

  Samuel stood in the doorway. Until she’d seen both brothers together, she’d not thought of them as resembling each other. The dean had reddish hair, similar to the color of Harold’s thinning strands, and a rugged complexion that reminded her of the actor David Caruso. Wilson’s features, she now recognized, were nearly identical but with blond hair and a fairer complexion, suggesting that his hair color had come from his mother. She’d not seen any portraits of the woman in either of her brief visits to Drake Oaks.

  It took nearly an hour to haul everything inside the dean’s residence and get Harold settled, not that she’d been much help. Wilson insisted she stay inside and away from doors and windows. The townhouse was not wheelchair-friendly, so Wilson and Samuel turned the living room into a temporary bedroom for their dad. As soon as Harold returned to his wheelchair, Sophie turned in a circle and plopped at his feet. Before they left, Wilson sat on a wingback chair near his father.

  “Dad, I have to go back to work. Hazel will be here in the morning, but if you need anything—”

  “I’ll manage. You and Samuel needn’t worry about me.” He gave each son a pointed stare. “Half of me still functions.”

  At that moment, Harold looked almost as young as either son. He straightened his posture and ordered them to stop fussing over him. Then he thanked Elizabeth for her help and invited her to drop by to visit him.

  “Only a hurricane could keep me away.” Well, a hurricane, a contract killer, or the feds, but she didn’t say that.

  Wilson escorted her to her truck. “I’m following you home and checking out the house.”

  “Yes, sir.” Though tempted to salute him, she smiled.

  He grimaced. “Sorry. I don’t mean to order people around.”

  “Don’t apologize.” She cupped his jaw in her hand. “I’m touched that you worry about my safety.”

  He covered her hand with his and held her gaze. “Darlin’.”

  A rush of pure lust heated her body. Seconds passed in silence, the passion in his eyes matching the fire inside her. If he’d wanted to kiss her, he must have reconsidered. After all, they were parked under a streetlight in full view of the dean’s living room window. Not cool to put on a display in front of his family.

  Pulling her hand free, she buckled her seatbelt. “You said you need to get back.”

  “Yeah.” Regret tinged his voice. “But I’ll do my best to finish up in time to eat dinner at your friends’ place tomorrow.”

  She took that to mean he’d be getting little sleep tonight. “I have a suggestion. Rather than drive all the way back to Drake Oaks tonight—or whenever you finally get to break for a few hours—you can sack out at my house. I’ll give you a key.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Wilson’s neutral expression morphed into one of surprise. Oh, dear, she’d just offered her key. Did he think she wanted him to move in with her? He probably wanted to run for his life from her offer. Heat suffused her body, this time from embarrassment.

  When he didn’t say anything, she panicked. “That didn’t come out right. I meant I’d loan you a key for tonight—”

  He silenced her with a long kiss, in front of his family, God, and the world. The touch of his lips and the gentle caress of his tongue blocked out everything else. She focused only on his talented mouth, fueling fantasies of having him kiss every inch of her body. Her nipples tightened against the inside of her bra,
the whisk against soft cotton further arousing her.

  When he finally paused to take a breath, he touched his forehead to hers. “I accept your offer, darlin’, but don’t think you’re going to stick me in the guest room.”

  It was almost midnight when Wil and Ronda Lou called a halt. Jamie Peterson met Wil at the dispatch desk with news that the Magnolia PD in Arkansas had picked up Michael Moore, the former abusive boyfriend of Cathleen Hodges. Unfortunately, he had an iron-clad alibi. He’d been working on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico. News of Hodges’s death appeared to hit him hard, so Wil moved him to the bottom of the short list of suspects.

  Preliminary reports placed the time of death of the second victim between Saturday and Monday, the same time period of the Sticky Swamp fire. Using Dr. Jarrell’s dental X-rays, FDLE confirmed the identity of the corpse as Kris Knight. Wil notified next of kin, which was no easy task. Now he had to face Elizabeth with the terrible news.

  His earlier thrill at her invitation to stay the night vanished. She’d hardly be in the mood for making love when he told her. Guiding his Jeep down the now-deserted Main Street, he turned onto Fifth and drove to her house, parking in her driveway behind her Chevy S-10.

  Using the key she’d given him, he unlocked the front door and then closed and bolted it. A single night-light burned in the dining room, casting the living room in a dim light. Elizabeth appeared in the shadowed archway that led from the hall. Her short hair tousled and her eyelids at half-mast, she padded into the living room.

  “What’s happened?”

  He hadn’t wanted to disturb her—not this way. He couldn’t let the scent from her shower gel or shampoo or whatever the hell smelled so nice distract him. Now wasn’t the time to notice how her University of Georgia sleep shirt barely covered her long legs. He shouldn’t be staring at her nipples poking the gray knit fabric. Did she have on panties? His own underwear grew tight at the thought of her naked. Get a grip, idiot!