Pretend You’re Safe

by Alexandra Ivy

  Now, this was an office of a man who liked to think he was important.

  Cherrywood furnishings that looked hand-carved. A twelve-foot ceiling with one of those fancy medallion things in the center. Towering bookshelves stuffed with leather-bound books. And charcoal etchings that were hung on the walls.

  All expensive.

  All designed to impress.

  He gave a mental shrug. He preferred his own grubby office. At least there he could kick back in his seat and put his feet on the desk without caring about scuff marks.

  Payton pulled open the armoire doors to reveal a flat-screen monitor that was attached to a DVR.

  “This is the surveillance equipment.” She stepped aside, waving her hands in a vague motion. “I’ve never used it, so I’m not entirely sure how it works.”

  “May I?” he asked, deliberately waiting for her to answer.

  “Of course.”

  It wasn’t a direct yes, but it was good enough for a prosecutor to say he had full consent to search the tapes.

  Moving forward, he hit the button to turn on the monitor. Instantly the screen flickered, and four boxes with separate camera angles appeared.

  The main gate. The front door. The garage. And the back terrace.

  So. Daddy hadn’t been entirely honest with Payton about the number of security cameras. Why? Protection? Or the desire to know where the family was so he could slip away unnoticed?

  Leaning forward, he pressed the play button on the DVR. The monitor went black. And stayed black.

  He pressed rewind. Then fast-forward. Nothing.

  “Shit.”

  Payton pressed close to his side, her light, feminine scent a perilous distraction.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Mike straightened, his thoughts sifting through the various possibilities. “It’s been erased.”

  Payton looked confused. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” He turned to circle the room, pausing at the French doors that led onto a small, private balcony. It would be easy to move in and out of the house without being noticed from this room.

  “You know, it could be programmed to erase the previous day’s recording,” Payton said. “It’s not like we have any reason to save them unless we were robbed or something.”

  Mike resumed his slow inspection, moving to the desk that was scrupulously organized, with a small stack of files on one corner and a laptop in the center. There was a silver-framed picture of Payton and Christopher when they were young. None of his wife. Interesting.

  “This system would simply loop back to the beginning and start recording over the older video. It wouldn’t erase it completely,” he explained. “It was either turned off so it didn’t record.” He paused, glancing toward Payton, who remained beside the armoire. “Or someone deliberately destroyed evidence by wiping it clean.”

  “Why would anyone do that?”

  “The most obvious explanation is that they had something they wanted to hide.”

  She studied him with an incredulous expression. “You can’t possibly think someone in this house could be responsible for hurting Anne?”

  He held her gaze. “She lived here. And you all knew her better than anyone.”

  Her features tightened with anger. “Yes, we did. She was a part of our family. We loved her.”

  He snorted, his attention returning to the desk. “You might have loved her, Payton. But I find it impossible to believe everyone in this household felt the same way.”

  There was a telling pause. Not even Payton believed the rest of her family felt anything toward their devoted servant.

  Loreen, because she thought about nothing beyond her perfect image. Christopher, because he was a self-centered prick. And Blake Hamilton, because his world revolved around dollar signs.

  “No one in this house would have hurt Anne,” she stubbornly insisted.

  Mike moved toward a small glass case next to the desk. Inside were a dozen coins in various sizes nestled in a velvet lining. He assumed they must be rare, and no doubt worth a lot of money. Still, it seemed a weird thing to collect. If his father had left him a trust fund instead of a mountain of debt, he would have a storehouse filled with bars of gold, not tiny coins stuck beneath a glass case.

  He moved toward the bookshelves. “Have you had any unusual visitors?”

  “What do you mean unusual?” Her voice was sharp, angry.

  He turned back to face Payton, belatedly realizing that he couldn’t afford to stir her animosity. Right now she was willing to talk to him. If she clammed up, he’d be forced to get his answers through a gaggle of lawyers.

  That’s the last thing he wanted.

  “Someone you didn’t expect?” he asked, softening his tone. “Someone who didn’t usually come by the house?”

  A portion of her tension eased as she tried to think of any likely candidates.

  “Not that I can think of.” She shook her head. “Mother had to cancel her garden club because of the rain, and Father has been too busy to entertain.”

  “What about deliveries?”

  “We have deliveries almost every day.”

  Mike moved back to the French doors. From his angle he couldn’t see the front drive.

  “Do they have codes to get through the gate or do you have to buzz them in?”

  “We don’t give the codes to anyone.” There was absolute certainty in her voice. “Not after Christopher handed them out to a bunch of his buddies and they had a drunken orgy in the pool.”

  Mike rolled his eyes. He had a vague memory of the event. It was when he’d first started working at the sheriff’s office. The old sheriff had been called to the property to haul off a dozen underage kids, but Loreen Hamilton had refused to allow her precious son to be taken with the rest of them. She claimed the kids had broken in and that Christopher was in his room sleeping the whole time.

  “Where is your brother?”

  “I’m not sure.” She offered a tight smile, trying to mask her concern for Christopher. It was a familiar habit. As long as he’d known Payton, she’d been fretting over her sibling. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.”

  Mike didn’t press for a location. Instead he concentrated on who had been in and out of the Hamilton house over the past weeks.

  “Has he had any visitors since he came home?”

  “No.” She absently closed the doors and leaned against the edge of the armoire. “I don’t think he kept in contact with his old friends.”

  “What about his college buddies?” Mike asked. “Have any of them been hanging around?”

  “There hasn’t been anyone.”

  “Don’t say another word, Payton.” Loreen’s shrill voice cut through the air as she stepped into the office, her expression hard with warning as she turned toward Mike. “Our lawyer is on his way.”

  Any hope of getting information that could help track down Anne’s killer was squashed.

  Lawyers were the kiss of death to an active investigation.

  With an effort he managed a polite smile. “And what about Mr. Hamilton and Christopher?”

  “I left messages on their phones.” Loreen sniffed, moving to stand at rigid attention next to Payton. “I’m sure they’ll be here as quickly as they can.”

  Mike moved to take a seat behind the desk, silently assuring the older woman he wasn’t leaving until he had his answers. He smiled as she stiffened in outrage.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jaci moved through the morning in a fog of shock.

  What kind of sick person could kill poor Anne Dixon and then dump her like trash in the road? It just didn’t seem real.

  More like a horrible dream that wouldn’t end.

  At Rylan’s urging Elmer had packed a bag and climbed into his vehicle, to spend some time with Rylan’s aunt in a small town fifty miles away. Then, after collecting a few of his own belongings, he’d led Jaci to her Jeep so she could ma
ke her deliveries despite the fact she was several hours late.

  He’d even insisted they stop for lunch before returning to her house.

  Now she busied herself in the kitchen. Usually a few hours of cooking could soothe her raw nerves. Today, however, she barely noticed as she dusted a board with flour and pulled out the culture she used for her sourdough bread. It was a mixture of flour and water that had been started by her grandmother fifty years before. It was a perfect combination of wild yeast and bacteria that gave her bread its distinctive taste.

  Efficiently kneading the dough, she covered it with a damp cloth to rise as Rylan strolled into the kitchen, Riff and Raff on his heels.

  She watched as he slid his cell phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

  “Your partner?” she asked as she used her apron to wipe the flour from her hands.

  He shook his head. “I already spoke to Griff. That was a contact in the governor’s office. I’m having them light a fire under the medical examiner to make sure Anne’s autopsy is a priority, as well as the Jane Doe who was found in the floodwaters.”

  Jaci willed herself not to flinch. Rylan might logically understand her need to know whatever evidence he discovered, but his natural urge to protect her was a powerful force. Any hint she was recoiling from the truth and he would eagerly use it as an excuse to lock her out of the information loop.

  “Do you think the woman was from this area?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Not really, but I’m hoping we can make a connection between her and Angel Harper. Something that will tie them to the killer.”

  Two women dead. No, wait. Three women.

  “Anne was murdered, wasn’t she?” Her stomach clenched at the memory of the woman lying in the muddy road. “Just like those other two women.”

  “I think it’s possible.”

  Jaci shuddered. She hadn’t known Anne well, but she was certain her mother wouldn’t have hired a woman who liked to go to wild parties, or hang out in bars.

  “Why her?”

  “That I can’t explain.” Rylan moved to lean his hip against the counter. In the soft glow of the kitchen light his pale hair shimmered like silk, emphasizing the fascinating hints of gold in his eyes. “On the surface she doesn’t seem to have anything in common with the other women. At least not with Angel. She was twice her age. She had a steady job. She seemed to come from a loving family.”

  Jaci absently tugged off her apron and tossed it on the table. “I know. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  He considered for a long time. “Was Anne any relation to Teresa Graham?”

  “I don’t think so.” Jaci had known Teresa Graham well enough to recognize her when her grandmother took her to church, but she couldn’t remember ever having an actual conversation with the woman. “If I remember right, Teresa wasn’t from this area. She moved here with her husband when he retired from the military. I think he died only a couple years later and she had to start babysitting to make ends meet.”

  He nodded. “Did she ever babysit you?”

  “No.” She wrinkled her nose. “My grandmother didn’t like her.”

  Rylan looked surprised. Amy Patterson had been a woman with a warm and generous heart. It was rare for her not to try and see the best in people.

  “Did she say why?”

  “She never said anything to me, but I overheard her telling Grandpa that Ms. Graham was too fond of the bottle.” Jaci’s lips twisted. “She also said that she was a danger to the children who were placed in her care. I think she wanted to do something, but she wasn’t sure who she should talk to about her fears.”

  He nodded. “I heard the same rumors. Do you know any of the kids she did babysit?”

  She gave a lift of her hands. In the small area there had been no day-care centers. Which meant parents had to use family, teenagers, or Teresa Graham.

  “Most of my friends.” She tried to think of her classmates who’d actually complained about the older woman. “Sid was a regular. And I know Andrew went a few times before he refused to go back. He never told me why. And I remember Nelson getting in trouble for posting her picture online and claiming she was one of the FBI’s Most Wanted.” Her lips twitched. “Of course, he did that to our principal and the preacher who told him that he was going to hell if he didn’t sit still in church.”

  “What about Payton or Christopher?”

  Jaci lifted her brows. Was he kidding? Her pampered siblings would never, ever have been left with anyone who didn’t warrant the Hamilton stamp of approval.

  “They would have stayed with Anne most of the time.” She rolled her eyes. “Except during the summer when Mother took them to Europe to give them polish.”

  His lips twitched. Could he sense her opinion of her siblings’ “polish”? Then his grim expression returned.

  “What do you know about the housekeeper?”

  “Not much.” She didn’t have to tell Rylan that her mother had invited her manicurist to her home more often than she’d invited her oldest daughter. “I think she lived in Quincy until she started to work for my mother.” Jaci racked her memory for the few times that she’d seen Anne around town. “I don’t think I ever saw her with Teresa Graham.”

  Rylan lifted a hand to shove his fingers through his hair. “There’s nothing that links them together except . . .”

  She studied him in confusion as his words trailed away. “Except what?” Realization hit her like a sledgehammer. There was one thing that linked them. “Oh my God.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “The lockets.”

  He paused, then gave a slow nod. “Yes.”

  Jaci stepped back, flopping on the edge of a nearby chair. The lockets had always been the same. Small, cheap, fake gold, and holding a lock of hair with a bloody ribbon.

  Blood and hair that came from the victims.

  She rubbed her fingers against her jeans, horror surging through her.

  Being afraid that the lockets were linked to something terrible was considerably different from personally knowing the woman who’d been murdered. Now her vision narrowed and her heart slammed painfully against her ribs.

  “The one I found must have had Anne’s blood on it,” she choked out. “God.” The room tilted on its axis. “I’m going to be sick.”

  There was a blur of movement, then she felt the heat of Rylan’s hand on her nape. With a gentle insistence he pushed her head down, not stopping until her nose was touching her knee.

  “Breathe.” He squatted down in front of her, pressing his cheek against hers. “I’ve got you, Jaci.”

  She struggled to suck in a deep breath, clinging to the feel of his fingers at her nape and the rough brush of whiskers against her jaw. He was solid. Real. The only thing tangible as the world spun around her.

  She released a small sob. “This is so hideous.”

  “We’re going to find who is doing this and put an end to it,” he growled into her ear. “I swear.”

  She lifted her head, studying the smoldering determination that burned in his eyes.

  “What if we don’t? What if he kills again?”

  “Jaci.”

  Whatever he was going to say was cut short as Riff and Raff suddenly bolted from the mudroom to charge through the kitchen and into the living room.

  Jaci stiffened, her fingers digging into Rylan’s shoulders. “Someone’s here.”

  He slowly straightened, nodding toward her cell phone on the table. “Check your security camera.”

  Her hands shook as she grabbed her phone and touched the app that was connected to her new system. Instantly she had a view of the front yard. She frowned, not recognizing the old black truck that had pulled behind her Jeep.

  It wasn’t until an older man with silver hair and a lined face headed toward the door that she realized who it was.

  “It’s Jarrod Walker.”

  Rylan’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Do you know why he’d be here?”

  She watched as
Jarrod climbed onto the porch. He was wearing a pair of taupe coveralls and rubber boots. Reaching the door, he hesitated, almost as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to be there.

  “I suppose he must be wanting to talk about mowing my yard this summer.”

  “Come with me.” Rylan reached for her hand, tugging her out of her chair and into the living room. Then arranging her next to the end of the sofa, he went to the coat closet and pulled out the shotgun. He returned to her side, placing the loaded gun in her hand. “Don’t hesitate to shoot if you feel threatened,” he commanded.

  “Don’t worry.” She was spooked enough not to argue. Not that there was a chance in hell that she could hit the broad side of a barn. Not when her hands were shaking.

  But it should make someone think twice about attacking her.

  Moving toward the door, Rylan cracked it an inch. “Hello, Jarrod. Can I help you?”

  Jaci could hear the older man’s rasping sigh of relief. “Thank God, you’re here.”

  Rylan pulled the door open another inch, his back rigid with tension.

  “You’re looking for me?”

  “Yeah.” There was an awkward pause before Jarrod was clearing his throat. “I’ve listened to your dad talking about you since you moved to California, and he said that you were some sort of supercop.”

  Jaci swallowed a nervous laugh as Rylan heaved a loud sigh.

  “My father.” Rylan shook his head. “He has a lot to answer for.”

  “I need your help,” Jarrod said.

  “We can speak on the porch.”

  Rylan started forward. At the same time Jaci carefully set the shotgun in a corner before she moved across the room and tugged the door wide enough that she could smile at her visitor.

  “Come in, Jarrod.” She ignored Rylan’s fierce glare, pushing open the screen door and motioning her visitor inside.

  She’d known Jarrod Walker her entire life, and while she understood they had to be careful, the older man had been in and out of this house on dozens of occasions since her return to Heron. He could have hurt her any time with no one being wiser. Besides, he could hardly overpower the both of them.

  She led him to the sofa and urged him to take a seat. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.