by Stacy Green
She hit “end” and handed the phone back to Nick. This time, he couldn’t resist. He reached out, cupped her face. Ran his thumb beneath her bottom lip. She flexed, moving forward an inch. Her eyes flamed.
God, he wanted to kiss her.
“That took a lot of strength.” He dropped his hand. She caught it in her own.
“Let’s hope it works.”
17
Barely an hour into the drive home, Jaymee’s heavy eyelids won the battle, and she fell asleep in Nick’s comfortable leather seats. Now, his baritone invaded her consciousness, pulling her away from dreams of lost children crying for their mothers.
A warm hand touched her forearm, followed by a gentle shake. “Jaymee, wake up.”
She groaned and curled into a ball in the reclined seat. The safety belt dug into her shoulder, but she was too tired to care. Sleeping ensured her thoughts wouldn’t drown her. She didn’t have to think about the torrent of feelings brewing for Nick, didn’t have to wonder if her message to Elaine Andrews made any difference. Sleep was easy and peaceful. Real life was painful and jarring.
“Cage called. Something’s happened. He said for us to meet him at Annabelle’s.”
Peace shattered. She sat up, blinking in the bright sunlight. “What happened?”
“He wouldn’t say. Said to go straight to Annabelle’s. Not to take you home.”
Cage was pissed off, Jaymee reasoned. She’d left a message she was going to Jackson with Nick. He was bound to be angry, especially when she didn’t come home.
“Something’s wrong.” Nick spoke again. This time, Jaymee caught the worry in his tone. Fear slid into her thoughts.
“It’s because we’re together. Because I didn’t come home.”
Nick shook his head. “No. It’s more than that. He didn’t even mention your not being home.”
A ball of nerves wedged itself into Jaymee’s throat. If he were upset about her staying overnight in Jackson, then Cage would have laid into Nick on the phone. Had something happened to his father? Maybe Oren’s overeating had finally gotten the best of him. But even as the thought brimmed, Jaymee squashed it. Cage didn’t want her going home. Something had happened in her trailer.
“Mutt.” A blinding stab of pain forced Jaymee to close her eyes. Vomit suddenly rolled through her stomach. In her mind’s eye, she saw Mr. Moonie, hanging stiff, an expression of shock and agony on his white face.
“What?”
“Something’s happened to Mutt.” Her voice rose with the building panic. Tears bubbled over onto her cheeks. “My father found out what we’re doing and went to the trailer. He hurt my dog, just like he did Mr. Moonie.” She covered her mouth with her hand, but the sobs still erupted. The sound of the engine revving as Nick accelerated made her cry harder. They were too late.
“Jesus.” Nick’s hand closed around her knee. His fingers pressed into her kneecap. “Swear to God, if your father hurt Mutt, I’ll hunt him down and string him up myself.”
They were entering Roselea’s city limits. Jaymee couldn’t speak. Her heart rammed against her ribcage, battling her churning stomach. Her head felt cluttered. And yet in the dark recesses of her mind, rage brewed. Her father wasn’t going to get away with this. This time, she wouldn’t run to her room and cry, fearing his beating. This time, she’d face Paul Ballard head on. He’d pay for his cruelty.
They drove past the new housing districts, past the antebellums, and through downtown. At nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, life rolled on. Tourists strolled the sidewalks, townies rushed by them. Nothing had changed. And yet Jaymee sensed a monumental shift–a tear in the pristine fabric weaving Roselea together.
Something terrible had happened. Again. At Annabelle’s, Cage paced in front of his cruiser. He stopped when they pulled into the driveway. Jaymee had her seatbelt off and the door open before Nick brought the car to a full stop. She barely registered the heat or heady scent of magnolias when she jumped out of the car. Her feet pounded against the brick sidewalk sending vibrations through her still half-asleep legs.
Cage caught her by the arms. “I’m sorry.”
“Did he do it the same way?” Jaymee’s hysterical voice rang through the hot air. “Did he string him up like Mr. Moonie and Rebecca’s stray cat? Do you think he suffered?”
Cage’s dark eyebrows knitted together. “What?”
“Mutt.” Jaymee didn’t care how loud she screamed. She shoved Cage off. “My bastard father killed him, didn’t he? That’s why you didn’t want me to go home?”
“Oh, God.” Cage’s hands hung awkwardly in the air. “The dog’s fine. I gave him some water before I left the scene.”
Jaymee staggered back, straight into the hard planes of Nick’s chest. His arm came around her waist to steady her. She leaned against him, too relieved to care what they must look like to Cage.
“God.” She started to laugh. “I let my mind run away from me. I was so sure…”
Cage rubbed his chest hard enough to pop a button on his uniform. His face twisted into the sickly expression he got when he was dreading something, like visiting Lana’s grave. The meaning of his previous words dawned on her. “What scene?”
She held fast to Nick’s rigid arm. Their tension melded together until they were a live wire, the charge rippling through Jaymee’s system.
Cage glanced down at their embrace and then gave a quick shake of his head. Jaymee knew she’d have to deal with his questions later.
“Cage, what the hell’s going on?” Nick asked.
He raised his head. Jaymee saw the sadness and resignation in his eyes. She pulled away from Nick and met Cage’s stare.
“Crystal Harns was found dead in her trailer this afternoon.”
Jaymee couldn’t breathe. Shock sucked every bit of air out of her lungs and then smacked her upside the head.
One thought ricocheted through her mind: Crystal knew about Sarah, about Wilcher, about everything.
Crystal knew.
Jaymee dropped to her knees, scraping her skin against the old cobblestones. Her hands burned as they made contact. Pain shot up her arms. She closed her eyes and swayed from the dizziness that had overtaken her. The world sounded far away and hollow.
Voices nearby. Distinctive vowel sounds, fast speech. Tourists. Probably freaked out by the girl losing her mind in front of the historic home they wanted to tour. Cage shooed them away. Jaymee’s arms gave out, her elbows dropping to the stone walk. She dropped her head to her clenched fists. The crying refused to cease.
Dead, dead, and dead. All because of her. Elaine Andrews was right. Going up against Holden Wilcher wasn’t safe. The only life he valued was his own.
Cage knelt in front of her, hands on her quaking shoulders. “I’m sorry. I know you two were friends, but I didn’t realize…I just didn’t want you driving home and finding out that way. Crime scene unit’s still there.”
The words didn’t come. What could she say, anyway? A magnolia leaf flitted to the ground next to her. She smelled the sweet scent and wanted to vomit.
Pressure on her back, small circles, strong fingers moving against her skin. Nick.
“Crystal knew, didn’t she?” he asked.
Jaymee managed a nod. Her hands were soaked with moisture, face sticky with it. She didn’t have the energy to look up.
“What?” Cage said.
“Crystal knew the truth of Jaymee’s past,” Nick said. “Just like Lana and Rebecca.”
Utter silence. Then, a starling squalled.
“Was it the same M.O?” Nick’s hand still glided over her back. Calm began to settle over her.
“Not exactly,” Cage said. “Strangled, yes. But not beaten.” He emphasized the last word, and Jaymee knew the worst was yet to come. “She fought. Hard.”
Jaymee blew out a gust of air. Dust and dirt rose up from the cobbled walk. She sneezed.
Nick’s hand stopped moving. Strong and resolute, it rested on the middle of her back. He wasn’t
going anywhere. Jaymee raised her head and pushed herself back to her knees. Cage handed her a tissue. She wiped her face, gazing up at him. He stood beneath the blooming magnolia, framed with the delicate blossoms, blue sky peeking out from in between the branches.
Nick’s gentle touch on her back never wavered. “Is there more, Cage?”
“Yeah.” Cage ran the palm of his hands over his forehead and then dropped his hands to his gun belt. “Crystal’s mouth was slit from the corners to her ears on each side.”
Jaymee threw up on Annabelle’s historic cobblestone walk.
18
Nick sat Jaymee down in the B&B’s kitchen as Annabelle herself fussed over Jaymee, running a cool cloth over her face. “Don’t you worry about the sidewalk, honey. That’s what hoses are for.”
“I’m sorry,” Jaymee said. “I’ll clean it up.”
“You won’t.” Nick took the cloth from Annabelle. “You’ll stay right here in the cool. Your face is beat red. You’re sweating and shaking. You’re half a panic attack away from going into shock. I’ll clean up the mess.”
“Already done.” Cage spoke from over his shoulder. “I’m a cop. Used to seeing the drunks puke everywhere.”
“Thank you, dear.” Annabelle bustled around the kitchen. “Sit down at the table with us, and I’ll make everyone iced tea.”
“Annabelle, do you mind if we take it up to my room?” Nick said. “We’ve got to discuss some things of a private nature.”
She looked put out, but agreed. A few minutes later, the three of them were settled in Nick’s room. Jaymee stretched across the bed, iced tea untouched on the nightstand. Nick sat at her feet, wanting to do more than keep a safe distance. Cage hung back, leaning against the closed door, arms crossed over his chest. He tried to look professional and detached, but the darkness in his eyes gave his pain away. Nick needed to talk him soon. But right now, his primary concern was for Jaymee’s safety.
“You can’t go home,” Nick said.
Jaymee stared up at the ceiling. She’d gone from a crying jag to frightening calm. “Why?”
“We don’t know what Crystal may have told her killer. But you’ve got to be on his radar. It’s not safe.”
“Everyone knows you all left for Jackson together,” Cage said. “Sallie was talking about it at the diner. All giddy because Jaymee had taken some time off to ‘travel’ with a good man.” Cage looked at the floor.
“Doesn’t mean–” Jaymee started.
“Killer is smart, Jay,” Cage said. “And if it’s Wilcher pulling the strings, who knows how many eyes he’s got in Jackson.”
Nick thought back to Blanchard at Hannah’s House. If she were in league with Wilcher, she could have easily tipped him off. Had they misread her? He looked at Cage. “Time of death?”
“M.E. thinks probably early this morning. That’s preliminary, but he says she’s definitely been dead at least twelve hours.”
That ruled out Blanchard.
“Where am I going to go?” Jaymee sat up and took a sip of tea. The glass shook in her hand.
Here, Nick wanted to say. Close. So I can keep you safe.
Cage beat him to it. “With Mom and Dad. Already arranged. Grabbed some clothes when I was at the Court. Guest room’s ready for you.” He glared pointedly at Nick.
“What about Mutt?”
“He’s at my parents’ house. Dad says he can stay long as he doesn’t piss on his flowers or dig up the backyard.”
“Did he talk to my father about Rebecca’s cat?”
“Yep. Paul brought in backup. Reverend Gereau.”
This time, the glass didn’t shake when Jaymee drank. “That dirtball. He’s up to his ears in this. Lied to me before Sarah was born, lying for Paul now. Just like always.”
“Have they found any evidence at Crystal’s trailer?” Nick asked.
“They’re still looking,” Cage said.
“Where was she found?” Jaymee asked.
“Kitchen floor.”
Jaymee took another drink. An eerie mask of calm determination came over her face. “We’ve got to change our approach. Go after the one person who’s been in on this since Sarah’s adoption. The minion who only cares about keeping his powerful bosses safe.”
“Who are you talking about?” Nick said.
Jaymee set the glass back on the nightstand and folded her hands in her lap. “I think it’s time we paid Reverend Gereau a visit.”
She left with Cage half an hour later. He’d stow her away safely at his parents and then head back to the crime scene at Ravenna Court. Seeing her walk out the door with Cage caused Nick physical pain. But what could he say? Jaymee didn’t belong to him. Didn’t want to, either. She just needed somebody, and he happened to be hanging around. That’s why she’d kissed him.
Except her lips said differently. They’d moved over his with urgency, and even today, when she’d thought Mutt had been killed, an undercurrent of need burned through her touch. Or was it his own need? Maybe he was so desperate for a woman to want him he was transferring his own emotions.
Nick stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, trying to focus on the facts. Holden Wilcher had falsified Sarah’s adoption and probably done the same thing with Elaine Andrew’s child. Wilcher lived in the wealthiest area of Jackson, drove a Mercedes, donated to various charities. He wasn’t making that kind of bank with his flock and his television show. There were probably more kids. A lot more.
Lana, Rebecca, and Crystal had all been murdered to keep Holden Wilcher’s secret. Paul Ballard hated Lana and Rebecca and worshipped Wilcher. He hated his own daughter. If he did know the truth about the pregnancy, he surely blamed Jaymee. Royce Newton also had connections to all three women, and he’d told Crystal his wife had information that could ruin him. Had he killed Crystal to silence her?
And what about L.J. Clark, Royce’s old partner and the adoption attorney for Hannah’s House? Nothing in Lana’s notes had mentioned him, but Nick had to consider him a suspect, if not a potential witness. He needed to contact the attorney.
Elaine Andrews said Lana had information that could have brought Wilcher down. Now that evidence was missing. Perhaps Royce had taken it when he killed Lana. Did Rebecca find the proof, too?
Where the hell did Reverend Penn Gereau fit into all this? Was he another accomplice or unknowingly stuck in the middle?
* * *
“Did you tell the secretary I was with you?” Adrenaline streamed through Jaymee faster than a rushing creek. She walked circles in the church lobby, hands locked behind her back, eyes on the carpeted floor. Tension knotted the muscles of her neck, making her feel dizzy.
Nick sat in one of the chairs lining the wall. “No.”
She halted for a beat, considering. “Good. I like the element of surprise.”
Unable to remain still, she resumed her circling. The scent of the beeswax candles burning in the rectory gave her an instant headache, adding to her exhaustion. She hadn’t slept. Guilt over Crystal and the others had grown into a raging need for justice. Crystal hadn’t been a great friend, but she didn’t deserve to get caught in Wilcher’s sticky web. All night, Jaymee thought about the men in her life who had wronged her and how to break them until they told the truth.
That meant going after the weakest link: Penn Gereau. Roselea’s current pastor was Paul’s submissive supporter, bowing to him at every social and political event. Cage had told Jaymee stories of Paul stepping into the middle of Gereau’s sermons, often cutting the reverend off mid-sentence. Gereau dutifully stepped aside, sitting silent on the sidelines.
Nick coughed–the short, staccato sound a reminder of his presence. With his elbows on his knees and head down, his sandy-blond hair gleamed under the soft lights. Jaymee was struck with the desire to sit beside him, take his hand, and tell him she would make this right. She’d comfort him the way he’d comforted her yesterday. But she couldn’t. She didn’t trust herself to stop at comfort.
Be
hind her, a door squeaked. Jaymee took a deep pull of the sweet air, closed her eyes, and counted to ten.
“Jaymee.” Gereau’s deep voice was layered with surprise. He stepped forward, arms half outstretched. Did he expect her to embrace him?
“Reverend.”
Gereau’s arms dropped to his sides at her icy tone. He glanced at Nick. “Mr. Samuels?”
A clock chimed somewhere behind Gereau. He cleared his throat. “What can I do for you today?”
“Nick.”
“What can I do for you?” His gaze remained on Jaymee, and the fake empathy in his eyes fueled Jaymee’s anger. How dare he? She wanted to grab his fancy lapels, jerk his face down to hers, and demand to know where her daughter was and who killed Lana and Rebecca and Crystal. She bit down hard on her lip and tasted blood.
“We should probably talk in private,” Nick said.
A minute later, they were seated in Gereau’s office. The same office Wilcher occupied during his tenure at the church.
Cluttered with Bibles and files, newspapers and mailings, Holden’s office had been a place of refuge for Jaymee and her brother. They often came here after school, and Wilcher’s secretary would give them Oreos and milk. If Wilcher had the time, he’d help with homework. Sometimes, Darren and Wilcher would pray together in the small rectory while Jaymee was left in the care of the secretary. She’d always thought Wilcher preferred Darren, just like her father. Until that winter after she turned sixteen.
“So, what did you need to talk to me about?” Gereau’s hopeful gaze lingered on Jaymee, as though he expected her to ask for his guidance.
“Lana. Rebecca. Crystal.” The words popped out of Jaymee’s mouth before she could stop them.
“Excuse me?”