Buried Secrets

by Irene Hannon

  And before Jessica got any more nervous.

  A bead of sweat had formed on the woman’s temple. As Lisa watched, it began to trickle down the side of her face.

  The cop visit had spooked her.

  Big time.

  She wasn’t going to want to hang around here much longer. She’d try to accelerate this process.

  In silence, Lisa prayed for inspiration and strength . . . and added a plea for mercy and forgiveness in case this was the night God planned to call her home.

  At the vibration of his cell, Mac yanked the device off his belt. Shelton’s name flashed on the screen instead of Lisa’s.

  Not what he’d hoped to see.

  Pressing the phone to his ear, he got straight to the point. “What did you find?”

  “She’s not answering the door. There are lights on in the house, though, and Tally’s in the backyard pen. It’s not like her to leave him out in a storm. He hates loud noise.”

  Mac grabbed his keys off the counter and strode toward the door. “Is her car there?”

  “I can’t tell. There aren’t any windows in the garage, and it’s shut up tight.”

  He let himself out and took off at a jog for his car. “Did you do a perimeter check?”

  “Yeah. Everything seems okay, except for Tally being outside.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Still in the driveway.”

  As he reached his car and slid behind the wheel, Mac did some fast thinking. Tally’s noise aversion was news to him, but Lisa loved that dog. She’d never leave him outside with thunder rumbling and a storm approaching.

  He was getting very bad vibes.

  After switching the phone to hands-free, he started the engine and put the car in gear. “I’m on my way. My gut says this needs to be investigated.”

  “You think this has something to do with the bones case you and the chief have been working on?”

  “I don’t know.” How could it, with Jessica Lee out of town?

  Unless she wasn’t.

  Was it possible their attempt to smoke her out had worked too well? Backfired, even?

  If so, Lisa was in danger because of him; it had been his idea to ratchet up the pressure.

  Stomach twisting, he pressed harder on the accelerator.

  “Have you had any other cases in Carson serious enough to provoke violence or revenge?”

  “No. The biggest thing we’ve had in months is the Fourth of July debacle with the underage drinkers, but I think the whole experience scared some sense into all of them. What’s your ETA?”

  “Best case, fifteen minutes.” Thank goodness he lived in Ballwin and not some closer-in suburb.

  “You want me to wait here, in the driveway?”

  He tightened his grip on the wheel as he wove through the slower-moving vehicles. Wasn’t anyone in a hurry tonight except him? “Do one more perimeter check. Leave the headlights on, but don’t use a flashlight. No reason to make yourself a target. If someone’s hanging around, I just want to distract them from whatever they’re doing inside.”

  As he issued the clipped instructions, he pulled around another car. “I’ll call you once I’m five minutes away and we can meet behind that church across the street. Pull out with your headlights on, but after you’re on the street and driving away from the house, kill them. If anything happens in the meantime, call me.”

  “Got it. You want me to call in a couple of the other officers?”

  “No. Let me get a read on the situation first in case we’re overreacting.”

  Besides, he didn’t want a bunch of unseasoned cops mucking up the situation. Lisa’s officers might be as solid as she claimed, but if things got dicey, he’d rather have reinforcements from County.

  Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.

  But as he sped through the night, he had a feeling dicey might be way too tame a word for whatever was going on at Lisa’s house.

  “Finally.”

  As the headlights from the car arced across the blinds, signaling the officer’s departure, Jessica swiped her forehead with the sleeve of her black top.

  “Sweat contains DNA, you know.” Lisa’s vision was going in and out of focus, and she gripped the handlebar tighter. But it was difficult to hang on. Her fingers were getting numb, and the steady pounding in her head had intensified.

  “Shut up.” Jessica Lee glared at her and motioned to the bike. “Start pedaling again. Faster than before.”

  Tightening her fingers on the handlebar, she took a deep breath. The only plan she’d been able to come up with to draw Jessica closer wasn’t great, but she was out of time. She had to give it a try and hope for the best.

  “I said pedal.”

  “I’m trying, but I think the . . . the mechanism . . . is shtuck.” Slurring her words and stumbling over her phrasing might help convince the woman she was in worse shape than she actually was.

  “Try again.”

  “I can’t . . . get it . . . to move.” She let one foot slip out of the strap on the pedal.

  Jessica edged closer. “Fine. We’ll use the treadmill. Get off the bike. Hurry.”

  Her limbs felt weak and clumsy, but again she exaggerated the problem, listing to the side and grabbing hold of her weight bench as she staggered across the room. Thankfully it was in the upright position. She stopped and hung her head. One of her ten-pound dumbbells was within reach.

  “Keep walking.”

  “I’m too . . . dizzy.” She blinked, trying to maintain focus, keeping tabs on Jessica out of the corner of her eye.

  The woman was close enough now to give this a shot.

  Her adrenaline surged.

  “Then we should be about done.”

  “Yeah. I think . . . we are.” Pretending to lose her balance, she dropped her right shoulder in a half stagger.

  Jessica lowered the gun.

  Now!

  Praying her strength would hold and her legs wouldn’t fold, she grabbed the dumbbell, straightened up, and swung it hard to her left.

  Though Jessica tried to shield herself from the blow, the dumbbell connected with her gun arm. As she howled in pain, the Beretta flew out of her hand and slid across the hardwood floor.

  Face contorted, cradling her arm, Jessica rushed toward it.

  Lisa tackled her at the knees.

  The woman went down hard—and with another wail of pain.

  Still, she tried to writhe out of Lisa’s grasp.

  But Lisa didn’t let go.

  She needed to get to the gun first and subdue the woman.

  And along the way, she needed to make certain there was clear evidence of Jessica’s presence in this room—in case things went south. No way was the woman getting away with another murder.

  Dragging herself up the woman’s body, she clawed at her cheek, drawing blood.

  Jessica shrieked and tried to protect herself with one arm. The other one appeared to be useless. But she had a powerful kick, and it was connecting solidly with Lisa’s legs.

  Strength fading fast, she managed to yank off the woman’s baseball cap. As they grappled on the floor, she wrapped her fist around a length of hair and yanked. Hard. The woman’s head snapped back, and she twisted, trying to free herself.

  By the time Jessica wrenched free, Lisa was fairly certain she’d tugged out enough hair follicles to give the crime scene technicians plenty to find.

  As the other woman scrambled after the gun, Lisa grabbed her ankle and yanked. Jessica fell on her injured arm with a moan.

  Somehow Lisa managed to crawl past her and reach the gun first. But her fingers refused to close around the grip. As she fumbled with the Beretta, waves of blackness washed over her, and the world began to fade.

  Behind her, she heard Jessica moving again.

  Toward her.

  She tried to press the magazine release button. If her fingers wouldn’t let her use the gun, maybe she could pull out the bullets and render it more difficult to fire—
especially if Jessica’s right arm wasn’t functional.

  Since there was no sensation in her fingers, she pressed everywhere on the handle, hoping to hit the button.

  If the magazine released, however, she couldn’t tell.

  And she was out of time.

  Jessica was behind her, left hand stretching toward the Beretta.

  Palming the compact gun, Lisa held it as tight as she could.

  Then, rolling away, she twisted around. Jessica was already crawling toward her, supporting herself on her usable arm. That left her with no arm to defend herself.

  Hand extended, Lisa rotated toward her, aiming the side of the gun at her head.

  The metal connected with her temple. Hard.

  Jessica’s lashes fluttered, and she fell sideways.

  But she didn’t pass out. Though her eyes were unfocused, they were open. Meaning she could mount another attack.

  Except there’d be no need.

  Because the edges of Lisa’s consciousness were blurring. The dark vortex of insulin shock was sucking her down, down, down. In seconds, she was going to pass out.

  Her gaze strayed to the cabinet on the far wall. There were glucose pills in there. And hard candy. Either could save her life.

  Yet they might as well be a continent away.

  As the last glimmers of awareness faded, as her eyelids flickered closed, three emotions swept over her in quick succession.

  Peace in the knowledge that, no matter what, God was with her.

  Regret that she and Mac would never have a chance to explore the shining future she’d envisioned.

  And satisfaction that Jessica Lee would at last be brought to justice.

  26

  Mac killed his headlights as he approached Lisa’s driveway, cut his speed, and bypassed her house to pull into the church parking lot. The Carson cruiser was on the far side of the steepled building, and Craig Shelton slid out of the car when he braked.

  The wind had picked up during his drive, the gusts bending the tops of the trees that lined the rural road. Shouldering the door open, he kept a firm grip on the handle as the wind tried to rip it from his fingers. Sporadic drops of rain were beginning to splatter the pavement, and a slash of lightning was quickly followed by a loud boom of thunder.

  This storm was about to hit.

  As he joined the other man, a mournful wail keened in the distance.

  “Tally.” Craig peered into the darkness. “He is one unhappy dog.”

  A serious red flag. Lisa loved that dog. No way would she abandon him in a storm like this—if she could help it.

  “Anything else happen since we talked?”

  “The neighbors on the right pulled in. They must have been out for the evening. The light’s still on in the same room at the chief’s house. If you walk forward a few feet, you can get a glimpse of it through the trees.”

  Mac did as the man suggested. A glimmer was barely visible through the dense, midsummer foliage. “Any idea what room that is?”

  “Her home gym. She hosted a department Christmas party last year, and I saw it on my way to the bathroom.”

  “Any other lights on in the house?”

  “The kitchen’s lit up.”

  “Could you see inside?”

  “No. All the blinds are shut tight.”

  “Okay. Let’s leave the cars here. I want to take a look around. I assume you tested the back door when you did your perimeter check?”

  “Yeah. It’s locked.”

  “While I do some scouting, see if the neighbors happen to have a key. She might have left one with them for emergencies. If they don’t come through, I’ll find another way in.”

  Like breaking a window.

  Lisa might be miffed if it turned out he’d overreacted, but he was willing to risk her ire. In fact, he’d welcome it. Incurring her annoyance would mean everything was okay.

  That she was okay.

  “Where do you want to meet?” Craig rested his hand on his holster.

  “Driveway side of her house in ten. Keep your phone handy.”

  “Roger.” The man took off at a fast jog for the neighbor’s house while Mac headed for Lisa’s.

  The rain intensified, dampening the earth, and he dodged a muddy patch—praying that the worst outcome this night would be a bad case of mud on the face.

  This was all wrong.

  Jessica blinked, trying to clear her vision. She attempted to lift her right arm, but it hung limp at her side. Moisture slid down her cheek, and when she swiped at it, her left hand came away crimson.

  There was blood on the floor too.

  Her blood.

  Because as far as she could tell, the police chief wasn’t bleeding.

  But she wasn’t moving, either. Meaning that part of her plan had worked.

  The rest . . . not so much.

  Still, she could fix this. Jessica Lee was a problem solver extraordinaire.

  Mouth set, she struggled to stand. But the room tilted, and her legs collapsed as a wave of nausea swept over her.

  Closing her eyes, she willed the bile to subside. Strained to clear the fuzziness from her brain. But no matter how hard she tried to get her body under control, vomit continued to claw at her throat and she couldn’t organize her thoughts.

  Her heart began to pound. Harder than it had the night Alena started this whole thing with her stupid stunt. That had been a mess—but this was a catastrophe. Back then, she’d had help. And she hadn’t been hurt. Could she drive the car with one arm, even if she managed to get to it with the ground spongy as a trampoline beneath her?

  Yet what choice did she have? Staying here wasn’t an option. Nor could she leave any evidence of her visit.

  She surveyed the room, swallowing past her queasiness, trying to focus. She had to clean up the blood that had dripped on the floor. She had to retrieve her gun, wherever it had skidded across the floor. She had to find some paper towels and floor cleaner.

  The list of things to be done made her head hurt—and her arm was throbbing too.

  Tears pricked her eyes.

  Hand shaking, she dashed them away.

  She hadn’t come this far to end up a failure, like her father. She was Jessica Lee, vice president of one of the most prestigious PR firms in the country. She’d worked hard. Masterfully played the corporate game. Dispatched every obstacle that threatened her plan. Her smarts, grit, and drive had destined her for greatness.

  Until Lisa Grant began poking into things better left alone.

  She glowered at the motionless, prone form a few feet away. Once again, the woman had complicated things.

  But she’d paid the price.

  When Jessica Lee developed a plan, it didn’t fail—and tonight wasn’t going to change that record.

  Resolve spurring her on, she struggled to her feet and staggered toward the kitchen in search of cleaning supplies.

  “The neighbors had a key for the back door.” Craig held it up as he joined Mac at the side of the house.

  “That will make things easier. Here’s how I want to play this. Go back to your car and pull in here again. I want all the attention focused on the front of the house. Bang on the door, call out—but stay off to the side.”

  “You think someone in there has a weapon?” A hint of anxiety ran through the officer’s voice as his hand moved to his holster.

  “I don’t know—but let’s not take any chances. I’ll let myself in the back. Keep up the diversion until I flip the light in the exercise room on and off. Then join me through the back door. Got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll wait here until you pull in. The minute you start banging, I’ll go in. Hurry.”

  The man took instructions well. He didn’t just jog down the drive; he sprinted.

  Nevertheless, it felt like an eon passed before the lights of his car appeared through the trees on the long, curving drive.

  The instant they did, Mac circled to the back of the house, his Sig
Sauer at the ready, as it had been since he’d begun his trek up the driveway. The rain was coming down steady now, but so far the deluge had held off. The lightning and thunder, however, were intensifying.

  As he let himself through the gate, Tally’s whimper beseeched through the darkness.

  Thank goodness the dog didn’t bark.

  He moved to the back door. Fitted the key in the lock as quietly as he could. Waited.

  A car door slammed, and ten seconds later Craig began banging on the door.

  His cue.

  Twisting the key, he eased the door open a crack. The kitchen light was still on, but the room was deserted.

  Finger poised on the trigger, he stepped across the threshold and shut the door behind him.

  From inside, Craig’s banging was wall-shaking. It would cover the noise of his movements—but also those of anyone else.

  He crossed the kitchen, pistol aimed at the doorway to the hall . . . but no one appeared.

  The small foyer and living room were dark. Too bad he didn’t have the night-vision goggles that had saved his life on more than one occasion as a SEAL.

  But the rooms didn’t offer any sizeable hiding places, and they appeared to be deserted. The activity seemed to be centered in the exercise room, which provided the only light spilling into the hall.

  Staying close to the wall, he covered the short distance to the doorway.

  From inside, he could hear movement—and an odd sound. Like . . . someone using a spray bottle?

  Furrowing his brow, he stole a look around the side of the door frame—and froze at the tableau.

  Jessica Lee was on her knees, scrubbing blood off the hardwood floor, a gun lying within snatching distance.

  And Lisa was crumpled on the floor, on her stomach, still as death.

  No!

  In the couple of seconds it took for him to complete his sweep, Jessica lifted her head. Blood had dripped down her face, past her glazed eyes. Her mascara was smeared, giving her a ghoulish appearance. And one arm hung limp.

  Lisa hadn’t gone down without a fight.

  As his sudden appearance registered, Jessica scrambled for the Beretta.

  But he was faster—and in better shape.