Good question. Rylan took time to consider his answer. “Andrew Porter, for one.” He tried to recall seeing anyone passing by when he was working. He couldn’t remember anyone. “Potentially the people who rented the Johnson place.”
Mike gave a sharp laugh. “Trust me. They haven’t been noticing anything.”
Rylan arched a brow. How could the man be certain the neighbors weren’t spying on Jaci?
“You talked to them?”
“I did better than that. I raided the house.” The sheriff shrugged at Rylan’s surprise. “Meth.”
“Christ.” He made a sound of disgust. It wasn’t bad enough that there was a serial killer on the loose? Now there was a meth lab only a mile from Jaci’s front door? Maybe he should reconsider the idea of hauling her onto the nearest plane. “That would explain why they shot at me.”
Mike shook his head. “It wasn’t them.”
“You’re sure?”
“Unless they were smart enough to dump the shotgun. Which is doubtful. The drug task force did a thorough search of the property. They didn’t find any guns.”
An icy tingle inched down Rylan’s spine. If it hadn’t been a warning shot from the tweakers, then there truly was someone out there who wanted to kill him.
“So someone was lurking along the road waiting for me to pass.”
Mike nodded. “Probably the same person who watched you put in the cameras.”
Rylan’s gaze jerked toward the heavy line of trees on the opposite side of the road. Had it been yesterday morning when he’d thought he’d seen someone creeping through the early morning shadows?
Damn. He should have insisted that Jaci stop so he could check it out.
His jaw tightened, his hands clenching at his sides. How many opportunities to expose the killer had he let slip through his fingers?
“Whatever game he’s playing, he’s not going to quit now,” Rylan warned.
“He’ll quit once I have his sorry ass in jail.” The sheriff offered a tight smile before he was walking toward his truck.
Rylan’s gaze remained locked on the trees, his thoughts dark as the skies opened up and the drenching rain returned with a vengeance.
He’d been wrong. So wrong.
For years he’d assumed the lockets were the key to his pleasure.
His routine had never altered.
He chose his sacrifice.
Usually a woman like Angel. Not in looks. Physical features didn’t matter. The only important thing was that they were women who had clearly been created to purge his anger. They were a vessel to accept the evil that lived in all of them.
Once he was cleansed, the sacrifice was placed in his cellar so he could harvest what he needed to create the gift for a woman who was worthy of his adoration. Then he would wait until darkness to dispose of the body. He took extreme measures to ensure that he didn’t attract unwanted attention.
But now . . . the flood had busted through his rigid routine with the same devastating force that it’d busted through the levee. The old rules had been washed away.
Watching from the shadows, he’d seen the Jeep approaching, briefly disappointed. He’d intended to use Anne’s body to taunt Rylan Cooper. The bastard had no right to intrude into his game. No right to treat Jaci as if she belonged to him.
But then Jaci had stepped out of her vehicle and the sight of her face had been glorious.
He’d orgasmed on the spot.
Each change to his game only intensified the pleasure.
Moving deeper into the shadows, he disappeared as Jaci jumped into her vehicle and drove away.
He might not have wanted to alter the rules of his game, but the changes had amped up his excitement.
What came next was going to be epic.
Chapter Eighteen
Most people assumed that the worst part of being a sheriff was dealing with angry drunks or the mothers who screeched at him when he arrested their precious child.
The truth, as far as Mike O’Brien was concerned, was that the worst part of his job was notifying the next of kin.
It wasn’t something he had to do that often, thank God. But it was always awful when it happened. And it was even worse when he had to tell someone that their loved one had been deliberately killed.
Death came to them all. Old age, disease, or accident. It was a fact of life.
But murder was unacceptable.
Finally leaving Anne’s sister quietly sobbing in Quincy, he traveled back across the swollen river and straight to the Hamilton estate.
He felt tense, edgy. As if his skin was too tight for his body.
There was a killer out there. Hunting women and tormenting Jaci. Hell, he’d even taken a shot at Rylan Cooper.
And he was going to strike again. Soon.
Mike could feel it in his bones.
Driving up the winding road that led to the huge house on the hill, Mike was forced to halt at the gate. Pressing the button on the intercom, he waited for the barrier to swing open. Then, continuing up the driveway, he pulled his truck to a halt in the circle drive. Stepping out of his vehicle, he hesitated in front of the wide terrace.
The rain was in a momentary lull but the clouds remained low and sullen, making it look as if it was dusk rather than midday.
Mike allowed his gaze to scan the house before he was moving toward the garage and then the gardens.
Had Anne walked away from this estate and simply disappeared? Had she been strolling in the gardens and been snatched by some mysterious intruder?
Or had she seen something she wasn’t supposed to see and never made it out of the nearby house alive?
Questions that he intended to have answered before this day was over.
Retracing his steps, he’d reached the terrace when the front door was opened to reveal Loreen Hamilton. The older woman was dressed in a dark, tailored pantsuit that emphasized the slender lines of her body and the pale ivory of her skin. Her red hair was styled and her makeup perfect.
He had a sudden memory of his own mother, who’d died two years ago. She’d never had fancy pantsuits or had time to go to the hairdresser. Certainly she didn’t wear makeup unless it was to cover a bruise left by her jackass of a husband.
By the time she was fifty she’d looked at least twenty years older, and tired by a life that had been a constant struggle.
He squashed the faint spurt of envy at the thought that Loreen had spent her life pampered by money, while his own mother had never had a dime.
There was a petulant look of discontent on Loreen’s face that assured him wealth didn’t equal happiness.
Forcing his feet forward, Mike removed his hat and offered a small dip of his head.
“Mrs. Hamilton,” he murmured.
Her lips thinned. “If you’re here to collect for the orphan fund, I already sent a check.”
“Thank you for your generosity, but that’s not why I’m here.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Can I come in?”
Loreen stepped forward, as if she could physically prevent him from entering.
“Now is not a good time.”
He narrowed his gaze. “You need to make it a good time.”
A brittle anger tightened her delicate features. “I don’t care for your tone, Sheriff.”
His lips twisted. Loreen Hamilton was accustomed to giving orders. In truth, she was a bully who used her power and position to get her way.
There was the sound of shoes clicking against marble. Then Payton appeared to stand beside her mother.
Mike clenched his teeth.
Unlike her mother, Payton didn’t need the fancy clothes and coats of makeup to be stunning. Even with her hair pulled into a ponytail and her face scrubbed clean, she was strikingly beautiful.
And what was she wearing? It looked like some sort of workout outfit. Stretchy pants and a tight top that made his mouth go dry.
Flicking a guarded glance toward Mike, the younger woman reached out to touch her mother�
�s arm.
“Mother, let me deal with this.”
Mike cleared his throat. “Actually, I need to speak with the entire family.”
Loreen sent him a sharp glare. “Why?”
“Mother, please.” Payton pasted a faux smile on her lips as she tugged the reluctant Loreen away from the door. “Come in, Sheriff.”
He stepped over the threshold, ignoring the older woman’s pointed glance at his boots. A woman was dead. Loreen Hamilton could deal with a little mud on her floors.
Perhaps sensing he wasn’t leaving until he’d had his say, the woman turned to stiffly usher him across the foyer and into a room with a fancy desk and matching chairs with spindly legs. There was a wall filled with framed pictures of Loreen being honored by various charities for her generous donations. And one of her in her glory days being crowned as queen of some beauty pageant.
“There’s no need to use the formal salon. We can speak in here,” Loreen told him.
Mike didn’t miss the barb. He was being told he wasn’t worthy of a visit to the formal salon. Still, he allowed the insult to roll off his shoulders as he wandered across the tiled floor to study the large framed prints stacked on a table next to the window.
He flipped through the dozen black-and-white photos.
They looked as if they’d been taken during the mammoth snowstorm that had fallen in late December. The pristine layer of snow added a stark beauty to the pictures. As did the golden-haired woman featured in different locations around the grounds.
There was one of Payton in a white fur coat on the front terrace. Another of her turned away as she walked up the long driveway. And several of her in a provocative red dress, posed in the garden.
He frowned, oddly disturbed by the photos. On one level they were simply beautiful pictures of a beautiful woman in a beautiful setting.
On another level there was a strange intensity to each shot. As if the photographer was stripping Payton bare and leaving her exposed to the world.
“What are these?” he asked.
Loreen moved to stand next to the desk, her elegant movements clearly rehearsed.
“I hired Nelson Bradley to do a series of photographs of our estate.” An expression of pride touched Loreen’s pale face. “The house is going to be a feature story in Midwest Décor.”
Mike curled his lips. That explained why the photos were so disturbing. Nelson enjoyed seeking out the most dark and bleak settings.
Still, these were more haunting than creepy.
He lifted his head. “This isn’t his usual style.”
“No.” It was Loreen who answered, still preening at the thought of her upcoming fifteen minutes of fame. “These are quite magnificent.”
His gaze shifted to Payton, who was tensely standing next to the door.
“You look cold in the garden shots.”
She managed a small smile. “I was freezing. Nelson had me posing for hours.”
“Why not take pictures inside?”
“He said artificial light destroys the truth of his subject.” Payton gave a small shrug. “Whatever that means.”
“He’s an artist.” Loreen sent them both a glare, her limited patience at an end. “Now can we get to the point of your visit?”
Mike folded his arms over his chest, his legs spread as he turned his attention to the older woman.
“I’m sorry to be the one to bring bad news, but Anne Dixon was found dead this morning.”
He heard Payton’s pained gasp, but his gaze remained locked on Loreen’s expression. Was that relief that rippled over her face?
“Anne?” The older woman took a moment to gather her thoughts. Clearly she’d been worried he’d come there for another reason. But what? “I don’t understand,” she continued. “What happened? A heart attack?”
“We haven’t determined cause of death,” he smoothly answered.
She frowned, as if surprised by his words. “What else could it be?”
Payton stepped forward, her eyes filled with tears she was trying to blink back.
“Where was she?”
He held up his hand. “I have a few questions.”
Loreen’s earlier tension returned. “What sort of questions?”
He hooked his thumbs in his belt buckle. He’d found that acting like just another good ol’ boy helped encourage people to talk to him.
“Just trying to determine a time line for Anne’s movements, ma’am.”
Predictably, Loreen wasn’t impressed. Instead her eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“Is Mr. Hamilton here?”
“No. Of course not.” She waved an impatient hand. “He’s at his office in St. Louis. He will take the commuter flight home this afternoon.”
Did she really believe her husband was in St. Louis? Or was she covering for him?
Now wasn’t the time to press.
“What about Christopher?” he asked.
Loreen jerked. Almost as if she’d been slapped. “I’m calling our lawyer.”
He met her aggressive glare with a bland smile. He’d hoped the family would cooperate, but it didn’t matter.
He was getting answers. The easy way. Or the hard way.
“That’s fine, Mrs. Hamilton. While you’re calling your lawyer, would you also call your husband and son? They need to return home as soon as possible.”
With a scathing glare, Loreen crossed the room, her heels clicking an angry tattoo against the floor.
“I warned you he was trouble,” she said to her daughter as she disappeared through the door.
Mike arched his brows. “I’m trouble?”
Payton heaved a sigh, dismissing her mother with a shake of her head. “Please tell me what happened to Anne.”
Mike tried not to notice the tears gathered in her eyes, or the wounded air of grief that shrouded her. It wasn’t his duty to tug Payton in his arms and offer her comfort.
It’d never been his duty, despite his wild fantasies.
And besides, right now everyone was a suspect in the death of Anne Dixon. Especially anyone with the last name of Hamilton.
He nodded his head toward the chairs set beside the bookshelf.
“Sit down, Payton.”
She shook her head. “Please, just tell me what happened to Anne.”
He swallowed a sigh. The one thing he’d learned when he was dating Payton was that she was as stubborn as a mule.
“As I said, we don’t have a cause of death.”
“How did you find her?”
There was no easy way to say it. “She was dumped on the gravel road that runs in front of Elmer Cooper’s farm.”
Payton wrapped her arms around her slender waist, her face ashen in the muted light.
“Dumped? What does that mean?”
“Someone drove her to that particular spot and laid her dead body across the road.”
She hissed, shock darkening her eyes. Mike watched as she apparently struggled to absorb the fact that the woman who’d been a part of her life since the day she was born was not only dead, but that she’d been found in the middle of a gravel road.
“You’re sure someone took her there?”
Mike was caught off guard by the question. “What are you asking?”
She licked her lips. Not nerves. At least he didn’t think so. More of a reaction to her intense emotions.
“I’ve heard about how people having strokes can sometimes wander off. Maybe she stumbled into the road and was hit by a car.”
He shook his head. He didn’t intend to give out details. The more information he could keep secret about Anne’s murder, the better. But Payton would have information about the housekeeper that would be vital to discovering who was responsible for her death.
“She’s been dead at least twelve hours. I would guess even longer.”
“So it wasn’t an accident?” She pressed her fingers to her lips, the tears trickling down her cheeks. “Oh God, her sister.”
Mi
ke held up his hand. “I’ve already been to see her.”
“She must be devastated.”
He grimaced. “It’s never easy.”
Payton gave a shaky nod, her body visibly trembling. Once again Mike was forced to battle back his instinctive urge to pull her into his arms.
“I need to invite her to the house. I would like to help with the funeral arrangements. And of course, she’ll want to get Anne’s things—”
“Not yet,” he interrupted. “I don’t want anyone in or out of Anne’s room. Not until I tell you it’s okay.”
Her lips parted to protest his sharp command, only to snap shut at his grim expression.
With an effort, she wiped her cheeks and squared her shoulders. “What do you want from me?” she asked.
“I need to speak with your family about Anne.”
“Why?”
He chose his words with care. “I need to know what they remember of the past weeks. If Anne said anything unusual. Or if she had any visitors.”
She studied him for a long minute. “That’s all?”
He shrugged. “I want to see the security video from the morning Anne disappeared.”
She wrinkled her brow. “I think I can get it for you.”
He hid his smile of satisfaction. He wanted his hands on the video before the damned lawyer arrived demanding warrants.
“Now?”
She gave a brisk nod, looking relieved to have something to do to distract her from her grief.
Leading him out of the room, she headed toward the back of the house. They walked without speaking, the silence emphasizing the emptiness of the grand house. Did Payton ever feel as if she was lost among the acres of marble and gilt?
He shook away the ridiculous thought as she halted at a small table that was set beside a pair of double wooden doors. Lifting a large crystal vase, she grabbed the key that had been hidden beneath it.
Mike watched as she turned to unlock one of the doors. Did Blake Hamilton leave the key there to be used by his family? Or had Payton discovered the hiding place by accident?
He was betting on the latter.
Pushing open the door, Payton headed across the Oriental rug toward the heavy armoire that was set near the massive desk. Mike slowly wandered in behind her, his lips pursing in a silent whistle.
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