Blood and Bone

by Dawn Brown

  Good. He just wanted to process the paperwork and go home. Shove all thoughts of Shayne Reynolds out of his head. She hadn’t been what he was expecting. She was younger and a hell of a lot better looking, for one, and he liked her dry humor in spite of himself. For a second there, while he’d been showing her the house, he could have almost forgotten who she was, and why she was there. When she’d blushed in the bathroom, he could’ve almost believed she was interested in him. Maybe even enough to provide him with a pleasant diversion while he was stuck in this crap town.

  Oh, she was interested in him, all right. Interested in digging into his past and profiting from his mother’s and brother’s murders.

  He shoved open his office door and stopped in his tracks. “What are you doing here?”

  “God, Des, you look pissed.” Kate leaned back in the chair behind his desk.

  Just when he didn’t think things could get any worse. He glanced at his watch. Not quite eleven. Still plenty of hours left in the day for it to continue its lightning-fast descent downhill.

  “I am,” he growled. “So get out.”

  His cousin smoothed her blonde hair pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you still mad at me about Julia?”

  The mere mention of his sister’s name gave his insides a good twist. “Yes, but right now I have other things to be mad about. Get out of my chair.”

  “Fine.” She pushed against the edge of his desk and the chair rolled back on chrome casters. “What else has you so angry?”

  She stood and left his chair. He sat, dropping Shayne’s file on top of the pile of new listings in his in-box. He considered flipping through them, but what was the hurry? Ian always kept the best ones for himself. “Why do you want to know? So you can run back to Heddi? Is she expecting a report?”

  His grandmother was ill and no longer had the strength to torment her family in person. Now, she sent Kate to do her bidding instead.

  “Maybe.” Kate settled into the chair opposite his desk. “Could your mood have anything to do with your renting to that writer?”

  For a moment, he could only gape. “How could you possibly know about that?”

  “You should know by now, nothing gets past Heddi.”

  He snorted. “Especially when she has so many people who can’t wait to keep her informed.”

  Kate’s green eyes narrowed. “I take it that’s a dig at me. Julia stole more than a quarter million dollars. Did you honestly expect me to cover that up?”

  “No, but while she was working for you, I expected you to keep an eye on her. Make sure she stayed out of trouble. You know what she’s like.”

  “Yes, I do. And as long as she has you to clean up her messes, she’s going to keep making them.”

  “What should I have done?” Des snapped. “Let Heddi charge her? Send her to jail? She has problems.” That was putting it mildly. Julia was a wreck, but when an eight-year-old child watches her mother’s murder, then spends the rest of her life being raised by a woman like Heddi, what could anyone expect?

  “And she knows how to use them. She’s partying with her accomplice somewhere in the Caribbean, and you’re stuck here, working two jobs to pay the money back.”

  He gritted his teeth. “If this is what you wanted to talk about…”

  “It’s not.” Kate’s features softened and she asked almost hesitantly, “Have you heard from Julia? Is she okay?”

  “I haven’t talked to her since the night she took off.” She’d been giddy and apologetic, rambling and evasive, all at once. He’d known something was up. When Kate arrived at his door the next day, he hadn’t even been surprised. “But where Julia’s concerned, no news is good news.”

  Kate nodded, then leaned forward. “What were you doing with this Reynolds woman?”

  Des shrugged. “She needed a place to rent, I found her one.”

  “How could you have done business with her?”

  “A commission’s a commission. What do I care where it comes from?” Besides, it served her right. Now, she was stuck with that dump, while her rent went to paying his way free. He liked the irony.

  “Did you tell her anything?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I was two when they died, what could I tell her?”

  “You must have said something to her.” The sharp impatience in Kate’s tone scraped his last nerve raw.

  “Only enough to get the contract signed.” He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head.

  She pursed her lips and tapped one pink nail against the chrome armrest. “I see, and what does my father have to say about this?”

  “I doubt he even knows. Ian isn’t as well-informed as you and Heddi.”

  “I’m not surprised. Where is he? I need to speak to him.”

  “I haven’t seen him today.”

  “Of course you haven’t. Honest to God, I don’t know how this place stays in business. I’ve never seen a workplace so disorganized.”

  Why won’t you go away? “We do all right.”

  “You could do better. Look at the way you’re dressed. And when’s the last time you had a haircut?”

  He sat up, dropped his hands down and gripped the arms of his chair. “Kate, I’m about ten seconds away from physically removing you from my office.”

  She continued as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “How does anything get done when no one knows where the manager is? Though we can all guess, can’t we? He’s probably off with one of his women.”

  “He’s not all bad. He helped me get my real estate license and gave me a job here. Not everyone would have done that.” The theory being Des could make more than he could designing web pages and pay back faster the money Julia had stolen. An excellent plan except Des was a terrible real estate agent, probably because he hated every waking moment of it.

  “Don’t kid yourself.” Kate’s voice was thick with derision. “He helped you because it helps him. With you working here, he has more free time to bang whichever bimbo he’s got on the side.”

  “Don’t hold back, Kate. Tell me what you really think.”

  She glared at him for a long moment, then stood. “Look, do yourself a favor. Stay away from that writer. Talking to her makes Heddi uneasy.”

  And an uneasy Heddi was as pleasant as an uneasy grizzly bear.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “If you see my father, tell him I’m looking for him.”

  Des nodded. “I’ll pass the message along.”

  Kate left his office, closing the door behind her. Once she was gone, he slumped down in the chair and closed his eyes. A steady throb beat behind his eyes. Rehashing his issues with his sister on the heels of renting a house to Shayne Reynolds had left him antsy and restless.

  He made a quick mental calculation, subtracting his meager commission from what he owed. Who was he kidding? He’d be facing retirement before he paid all the money back.

  A sick smothering settled over him, something akin to a panic attack. He needed to finish up and get the hell out of there. Out of this office. Out of this town. Before he lost his fucking mind.

  Shayne peered up at the clapboard house. A ripple of unease raced along her spine. Complete with peeling paint, broken windows and a front door hanging drunkenly from one hinge, the house looked haunted. And certainly abandoned.

  What was she doing here? She should be out buying linens and groceries, not visiting a twenty-five-year-old crime scene. Yet when she’d seen the sign for River Road, she couldn’t stop herself.

  There were only six houses on the road, with acres of forest between them. Gwen and Robert Anderson’s hadn’t been hard to find. Sheer neglect made the forgotten building stand out.

  She wasn’t sure who owned the property now, but she’d make a point of finding out. Then come back with her camera and permission. While clearly no one was living there, she was likely still trespassing. She should probably get back in her car and head out to the highwa
y. Instead, she started for the house.

  Just a quick look around, then she’d go.

  Birds tittered in the forest canopy and a slight wind stirred the humid air before dropping off. The mossy smells of earth and old leaves tickled her nose. Above her, dark clouds had eclipsed the sunny blue sky, and thunder rumbled low and distant.

  Good, maybe a storm would finally break the heat wave.

  Again the wind picked up, whispering through the leaves like a thousand tiny voices. She looked up at the empty house, which had seen so much violence and death. A shiver slid over her skin.

  As she mounted the porch, the spongy, rotted wood bowed a little beneath her weight. With her luck, she’d fall right through. Carefully, she eased forward, sliding her sneakers over the mossy planks until she reached the door. After shouldering the flimsy screen door aside, she turned the knob. Locked. Damn. She moved to the large picture window and tried to peer inside.

  The wood under her feet groaned ominously as she squinted to see through the grime covering the glass like a brown film. She couldn’t see anything, the dirt too thick. Maybe if she checked around back. After all, she couldn’t be the first person to try and get in. No doubt the house had been a huge draw for morbid teenagers over the past twenty-five years.

  “You ought to get away from that house, before you get hurt.”

  Shayne whirled around at the sound of a male voice, her heart leaping into her throat.

  The man stood about five feet from the bottom of the porch steps, between her and her car. The bill of his stained baseball cap cast a shadow over most of his face, except for the affable grin lifting his grisly cheeks. His smile seemed much less friendly, though, when combined with the rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “Dangerous place to be for a woman alone,” he said.

  Funny, she hadn’t thought so until now.

  Chapter Three

  “Men who murder their families do so for a number of reasons, from frustrations with family life, to psychosis, to a sense of entitlement, but in almost all scenarios the act of killing boils down to a need for control. In Robert Anderson’s case, it was assumed he feared his young wife would leave him, taking their two-year-old son with her.”

  —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds

  Shayne’s pulse thudded in her ears. She slid her hands into the rear pockets of her jeans so the strange man wouldn’t see them shake. “I didn’t hear you come up Mr.—”

  “Folks just call me Tic,” he told her cheerfully as he reached up and adjusted his cap. His chilly blue gaze traveled up her body, lingering on her chest before meeting her eyes. “I was out doing a little hunting when I spotted you.”

  Normally, such blatant ogling would have merely annoyed her, but right then the man’s behavior left her feeling vulnerable, isolated. Despite his pleasant grin and amiable tone, there was something vaguely threatening about Tic—besides the gun.

  Her mind flashed to her midnight caller from the night before. You come to Dark Water, you won’t leave. Could this be the man who’d called, and was he here to make good on his threat? His voice didn’t sound as deep as the one on her phone, but she’d been half-asleep at the time…and if he’d been trying to disguise it…he could be the same person. But why? Who was he?

  “I see,” she said, wanting to keep their interaction as superficial as possible. She started down the steps, every muscle in her body tense, ready to bolt if he started to reach for his gun.

  “You’re that writer.” His smile remained fixed in place but didn’t quite reach the arctic gaze tracking her every step. Brown stubble covered his weathered cheeks, and despite the lines at the corners of his eyes, there was an odd agelessness about him. He might have been forty, he might have been sixty, she couldn’t say for sure.

  “I am.” She kept walking, making a wide circle around him in an attempt to keep her distance while she edged closer to her car.

  He turned with her. “I thought so.”

  His nose was crooked, with a pronounced bump on the bridge. He’d no doubt broken it—more than once probably. Huge arms emerged from the frayed edges where the sleeves had been cut at the shoulders of his denim shirt. He looked like a brawler. His muscles weren’t sculpted like a man who spent hours in a gym, but thick and solid. His arms belonged to a man who had lived his life doing a lot of heavy lifting. In complete contrast to his shoulders and arms, his rounded belly draped over the waistband of his stained khakis.

  “You like to write about killers?” His jovial voice sent a chill through her. In her line of work, she’d met a number of dangerous men, and she didn’t doubt for a moment this guy could go toe-to-toe with any of them.

  Shayne didn’t bother to answer his question as she eased around him. She wouldn’t be drawn into whatever game Tic was playing. Careful to keep her eyes on him, she backed toward her car.

  Tic’s smile broadened as if he found her behavior amusing. Not that she blamed him. After all, he didn’t need to wait for her to turn around to blow a hole through her.

  “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Reynolds,” he called as she opened the car door. He knew her name, and she doubted this encounter was accidental. Had he been following her?

  She slid behind the wheel, slammed the door closed and pressed the button for the power locks. The clunk of the bolts sliding into place eased a little of the tension gripping her. She let out a slow breath and started the car.

  As she pulled away from the house, she glanced at the grinning man in the rearview mirror. A shiver rippled along her skin. Why did she feel like he was letting her go—at least for now?

  Shayne set her fork down on the edge of the plate, her stomach mildly stretched, and leaned back against the cushioned booth. She must have been hungrier than she realized. With thoughts still flitting to her odd run-in with Tic and the nervous churning the man caused in her belly, she hadn’t been sure she’d be able to eat at all. But between the restaurant’s savory air and the sound of rain pelting the window next to her as the sky outside darkened, a coziness wrapped around her, easing some of the tension from her shoulders.

  The newspaper she’d read through dinner had proved to be a welcome distraction also. Reading at the table, her mother would be appalled. Shayne smiled to herself and took a sip of her iced tea.

  She set the glass down and lifted her cell phone to check if she’d somehow missed a call. Nope. Nothing so far. She blew out a slow sigh and set the cell back down. A phone at the table, even worse manners than reading, but she’d already left two messages for Robert Anderson and didn’t want to risk missing his call. Though, why he’d ask her to call him about the envelope, then refuse to call her back, she couldn’t understand. Gaze fixed on the silent phone, she tapped her blunt fingernail on the tabletop.

  “I recognized you from across the room and had to come over and introduce myself.”

  Shayne looked up at the middle-aged man standing beside her table. Tic’s affable grin flashed in her head and a faint shiver slithered over her skin. You and everyone else, apparently.

  “That’s not necessary.” She glanced around the bistro, in search of her waitress. Time to get the bill.

  The man next to her let out a chuckle that sounded a little forced. “I’m sorry, but it is. I’m Ian Grey.”

  Oops. Gwendolyn’s brother, not a deranged stalker. Heat flooded her cheeks. “Of course, Mr. Grey. I’m sorry if I appeared standoffish. I had a strange experience earlier today. Please sit down.”

  “Call me Ian.” He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat. His thin lips split into a blinding smile, made brighter by the darkness of his bronze tan. “It’s a pleasure to meet you face-to-face at last.”

  Sure it is. After he’d ignored her repeated attempts to contact him, he came off less than sincere. Still, at least he hadn’t threatened to sue her…yet. “Your family’s been very clear about their feelings regarding my book. Does running into you here have anything to do with your nephew?”


  His smile dimmed. He reached up and smoothed his thinning, silver-blond hair. “My nephew?”

  “Des. He rented me a house today.”

  “I’m surprised he was willing to help you at all.” A chill crept into his voice, his smarmy charm evaporating. He clearly didn’t like the idea of her speaking to Des. Was he merely protective, or was his nephew the weak link in their family’s closed ranks?

  Somehow she didn’t think so. “Me too. But he was very clear he wouldn’t change his mind about participating.”

  “I see.” Ian nodded slowly, his irritation fading. “Which house are you renting?”

  “It was a fishing cabin, owned by a widow.” She shrugged.

  “Ah, the Matheson place.”

  The waitress finally emerged from wherever she’d been and sauntered to the table.

  “Ally, you look lovely tonight,” Ian said, his gaze moving appreciatively up and down the young girl’s slight frame.

  Disgust curdled Shayne’s insides. The waitress had to be at least eighteen to serve alcohol, but that was of little comfort while watching some creepy letch check her out.

  Ally giggled, but her expression hardened when she turned her attention to Shayne. “Will there be anything else?”

  “Coffee please, Ally,” Ian said.

  The girl nodded at him and sashayed to the kitchen. Ally would probably spit in hers.

  “I must admit,” Shayne said, dragging Ian’s gaze away from Ally’s swaying backside, “I’m surprised you’re speaking to me now.”

  Ian chuckled and leaned closer so his hands, flat on the tabletop, slid past the midway point, his fingertips less than an inch away from hers. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you anything I say to you is strictly off the record.”

  Shayne bristled, shifted back and rested her hands in her lap. “If I were interviewing you, you’d know it.”

  “Of course, I didn’t mean anything, but you must understand, my sister’s behavior during both her marriages was extremely embarrassing for my family. With Gwen dead, what good can come from making those details public? Details that could hurt her surviving children.”