Pretend You're Safe

by Alexandra Ivy

  He shook his head, his gaze turning to Rylan, who’d moved to stand protectively at her side.

  “Thanks, but what I need is some advice.”

  “What sort of advice?” Rylan asked.

  The man paused, glancing toward the door as if debating whether or not he wanted to bolt. Then, with an obvious effort, he turned his gaze back to Rylan.

  “Anne Dixon.”

  Rylan stiffened, his hands clenching at his sides. “Do you know something about her death?”

  The older man flinched at Rylan’s sharp tone, shrinking into the cushions.

  “No.” He gave a violent shake of his head. “Not that.”

  Reaching out, Jaci grabbed Rylan’s forearm, giving it a warning squeeze. Jarrod was afraid. She didn’t know why, but she did sense that it wasn’t going to take much to make him decide he didn’t want to talk to them.

  Moving slowly enough she wouldn’t startle her guest, she settled on the sofa beside him.

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

  Jarrod nodded, then he swiveled so he could face her, ignoring Rylan, who was nearly vibrating with impatience.

  “I think you know that I lost my wife about five years ago.”

  “Yes.” She offered a genuine smile of sympathy. Jarrod’s wife had been the art teacher at the local school and one of Jaci’s greatest inspirations. It was because of the older woman that Jaci had first discovered her love for crafts. “Clara was a wonderful woman. We’ve all mourned her loss.”

  “My life was empty without her.” His dark eyes filled with tears. Jaci remained silent as she waited for him to regain command of his composure. At last he gave a small sniff. “Then I started working for your mom.”

  “You have my sympathies,” she said in dry tones. It was no secret that their relationship was more or less nonexistent.

  A faint smile curved his lips. “She can be challenging.”

  “A nice way to say ‘a pain in the neck.’”

  “Sometimes.” His tension didn’t disappear, but she sensed it was easing. “But I like working outside, so I’ve been happy there.”

  “I’m glad.” She paused. How could she turn the conversation in the direction she wanted without alarming him? “Is that how you met Anne?”

  His hands twisted together, but he gave a small nod. “Yes. She had a habit of walking in the gardens in the morning. Eventually we started chatting for a few minutes. Nothing more than the usual talk about the weather and what flowers happened to be in bloom. Still, I looked forward to seeing her every day.”

  “It’s perfectly understandable.” She smiled. “You must have been lonely.”

  He breathed out a heavy sigh. “That’s it exactly. We were both single and too old to want to be out in the dating world.”

  She leaned forward, covering his calloused hand with her own. “It’s nice you found someone you could feel comfortable with.”

  “Yes, well, I liked Anne. Very much. She might not have had a lot of education, but she read a lot, and before she took the job with your mother she’d traveled overseas with her sister. She was more than just a housekeeper.” His chin tilted, as if daring her to speak badly of the woman. “And I wanted us to see each other away from work.”

  “She didn’t agree?” Rylan asked.

  Jarrod’s gaze never wavered from Jaci. She suspected the older man was intimidated by the younger man. Understandable. Rylan was like a force of nature that threatened to flatten anything in his path.

  “Anne was afraid of what your mother might think,” he told her. “She’d been saving money so she could retire in two years. She didn’t want to risk getting fired.”

  Jaci frowned. “I know my mother can be selfish, but surely she doesn’t forbid her staff from having a personal life?”

  He flushed. He was trained in the old school that warned an employee never spoke poorly of their boss.

  “Begging your pardon, but Mrs. Hamilton could be unpredictable. What was okay one day might get you sacked the next.”

  “True.” Her jaw clenched. Loreen was the Queen of Volatility. One second she could be cooing over her children’s charming playfulness and the next she was condemning them as undisciplined brats.

  Rylan made a sound of impatience. He clearly wasn’t happy at her meandering way of gaining information.

  “So Anne refused to go out with you?” he demanded.

  Jaci sent Rylan a warning frown before returning her attention to Jarrod. She offered the older man an encouraging smile.

  “What did Anne say?”

  Jarrod hunched his shoulder. “She wanted to keep our relationship a secret. At least until she managed to retire.”

  Jaci gave a slow nod. His story seemed believable. No older woman would want to risk being fired when she was just a couple years away from retirement. Still, Jaci couldn’t help but wonder if Jarrod was telling her the full story.

  Clearly Rylan was just as skeptical. “Bullshit,” he growled.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rylan was acutely aware of Jaci’s disapproving glare. She’d just managed to soothe Jarrod Walker into confessing his relationship with Anne Dixon and now she no doubt feared Rylan was about to terrify the poor man into full retreat.

  But while Rylan appreciated her delicacy, the time for pussyfooting around had come to an end.

  This man had been in a relationship with Anne. Which meant that he was either the killer, or he was their best hope of learning who the killer might be.

  Folding his arms over his chest, he studied the older man’s lined face. He’d known Jarrod Walker most of his life. The handyman had worked at the local foundry until it’d closed. Then he’d made a living by mowing yards and taking on small construction projects. At least until he’d started to work for the Hamiltons.

  As far as Rylan knew, the man had never been in trouble.

  But until he was certain Jarrod wasn’t a danger to Jaci, he had no intention of lowering his guard.

  “It’s true. I didn’t like keeping our relationship a secret, but if that was the only way I could be with her, then I didn’t have any choice but to accept her wishes.”

  Rylan studied the defensive jut of Jarrod’s chin. “Where did you meet?”

  Jarrod shrugged. “She would enter the gardens for her morning walk and then circle back to slip through the side gate,” he said. “I would be waiting for her in the woods.”

  Rylan tried to visualize Anne darting out a small gate, and then slipping through the woods all alone.

  He hadn’t spent much time at the Hamilton house, but he knew the surrounding area was secluded. Anne had no doubt been hidden from the house as well as the nearby driveway. A perfect opportunity for her to be snatched.

  His mind turned to envisioning how it could have happened.

  Had a killer been lurking in the shadows, waiting for her? Or had he simply been in the right place at the right time and seized the opportunity?

  Or . . . had the killer been the man who was seated on Jaci’s sofa, staring at him with frightened eyes?

  “How often did you meet?” he demanded.

  Jarrod hesitated before answering. “Most days. We spent half an hour or so walking along the trails that crisscross through the trees just outside the estate.” He cleared his throat. “Or if it was cold we’d meet in the old caretaker’s place.” Rylan’s lips twitched. The older man was embarrassed to admit he’d taken the housekeeper into the abandoned house for sex. Jarrod turned his head toward Jaci. “I know it wasn’t entirely proper to sneak away during work hours, but we always made up the time later.”

  “We understand.” Jaci patted his hand. “How long had you been together?”

  He thought for a moment. “Almost a year.”

  Rylan’s brows snapped together. He’d assumed that this was a recent development. The fact that Jarrod and Anne had been lovers for almost a year changed their association from a casual tryst to a relationship.

  And whe
n you were in a relationship, you did things a hell of a lot different than if you were hooking up for a quickie in the caretaker’s house.

  “Why didn’t you come forward when Anne was missing?”

  Jarrod paled, his guilt etched on his face. “At first I thought she was avoiding me. Then when I realized no one could find her, I went to Sid.”

  Deputy Sid was Jarrod’s youngest brother’s son.

  “Why not Sheriff O’Brien?” Jaci asked.

  “I was still trying to keep our relationship a secret. I didn’t want Anne to lose her job.” Jarrod looked distressed, a film of sweat coating his forehead. “I never dreamed she was in danger. I just don’t understand.”

  Rylan might have had sympathy toward the older man if his decision to keep Anne’s disappearance a secret hadn’t put every woman in the area in danger.

  “What did Sid tell you?” he asked.

  Jarrod’s gaze lowered to where Jaci’s slender fingers covered his work-worn hand.

  “Sid said there was a good chance something bad happened to her.” Jarrod hesitated, clearly reluctant to confess the truth. “He was worried I might be implicated.”

  Rylan narrowed his gaze. He’d known that the Walkers were a tight-knit clan. They would always put family first.

  But Sid was also a lawman. He should have hauled his uncle to the police station as soon as the man had come to him with his concerns about Anne.

  “Did he warn you to keep quiet about your relationship with Anne?” Rylan demanded.

  Jarrod kept his head lowered, his shoulders pulled up to his ears.

  “Not in so many words,” the older man said. “He just pointed out that I might be a suspect. So I kept my mouth shut.”

  Rylan wondered what O’Brien was going to think about having a deputy on his staff who withheld vital information in an investigation.

  It probably wasn’t going to be good.

  He waited for Jarrod to continue. When the man remained silent, he asked the obvious question.

  “So why are you talking now?”

  Jarrod lifted his head, his expression hardening with determination. “When I heard she’d been found dead I knew I had to do something.”

  Rylan felt a burst of frustration. There was an old saying about better late than never.

  But it didn’t feel better.

  “So you came to me?”

  Jarrod gave an eager nod. “Your father said you knew all about the latest tech stuff. And that you had friends who went all the way to the White House.”

  Christ. He was going to sit his father down when this was all over and have a serious talk. He’d clearly convinced people in town that Rylan was some sort of James Bond on steroids.

  He gave a lift of his hands. “What do you think I can do?”

  “You and your people can figure out who killed Anne.” Jarrod leaned forward, his eyes filled with desperate hope. “Then I won’t be arrested.”

  “You’re not going to be arrested,” Rylan told him.

  “How can you be so sure? I’m the most obvious suspect.” With a sudden burst of nerves, Jarrod surged to his feet, his face flushing with fear. “I should go.”

  “Wait, Jarrod.” Rylan moved to block the older man’s path to the door. “I can help.”

  The older man’s breath was coming in a short, staccato rhythm. He was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.

  “You can?”

  “Yes.” Careful not to spook the man, Rylan reached to grab his shoulders, firmly pushing him toward the sofa. “Why don’t you sit back down?”

  Jaci smoothly rose to her feet. “I’ll make some coffee,” she offered, heading toward the kitchen.

  Smart woman. She must have sensed that Jarrod would speak more freely about his intimate connection with Anne if she was out of the room.

  Waiting until she had disappeared into the kitchen, he returned his attention to Jarrod.

  “Tell me what you know about Anne. Had she been worried about anything?”

  Jarrod thought for a moment. “She did mention there’d been tension in the house since Christopher returned from college.”

  Rylan arched his brows. Had the family known that Christopher wasn’t attending college? Or had they discovered the truth after he’d returned home? Rylan suspected that would cause a little friction with Papa Hamilton.

  “Did she know why?”

  Jarrod shook his head. “No, but I heard them arguing in the garage the morning Anne disappeared.”

  “Could you hear what they were saying?”

  Jarrod’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall the argument. “The only thing I heard was something about an alley and hope.”

  Rylan blinked. “Alley and hope?”

  “That’s all I heard,” Jarrod said, watching in confusion as Rylan pulled his phone out of his pocket and wrote a quick text to Griff. “What are you doing?”

  Rylan allowed a wry smile to touch his lips. “Sending the words to one of my special contacts.”

  “Ah.” Jarrod once again looked hopeful. As if expecting Rylan to conjure some mystery official who could solve everything.

  “Did Anne speak about anything else out of the ordinary?” Rylan returned to his questioning.

  “Nope.”

  “No enemies?” Rylan pressed. “No one threatening her?”

  The man gave an emphatic shake of his head. “I swear she didn’t seem troubled at all.”

  Rylan processed his words. If Jarrod was telling the truth, then Anne didn’t have an enemy who might have wanted her dead. And she hadn’t been worried about a stalker.

  That meant her death had come without warning.

  And that she hadn’t given Jarrod any clue who might be responsible for killing her.

  Dammit.

  “Were you supposed to meet her the morning she disappeared?” he asked. The man had to know something that could help them.

  “Yeah. I was headed in that direction when I noticed all the cars at the café. I decided to stop in and see what was going on. They were talking about the body found.” He gave a sad shake of his head. “I should never have done it.”

  “Done what?”

  “Stayed so long,” he said. “I was sitting there drinking coffee and listening to the gossip. It made me late to my meeting with Anne.” Disgust was thick in his voice.

  Rylan was beginning to understand the man’s reluctance to go to the sheriff. It wasn’t just a fear of being branded a killer. But an overwhelming sense of shame that he might be responsible for her death.

  After all, if he hadn’t been late to the meeting, Anne might still be alive.

  Any suspicion that this man was somehow involved in the killings was swiftly fading.

  “Anne wasn’t there when you arrived?” he asked.

  “No. I waited around, but when she didn’t show I just thought she was mad because I was late.” He twisted his hands together. “She was a woman who liked things to be in an orderly way. I always caught the edge of her tongue if I was late.”

  Rylan squatted down until he was face-to-face with Jarrod. The man was battling through a toxic combination of grief and guilt. Two emotions that typically clouded a person’s mind.

  And right now, Rylan needed him thinking clearly.

  “This is important, Jarrod.” He held the man’s teary gaze. “I want you to tell me everything you can remember after you left the café.”

  Jarrod gave a slow nod, his shoulders squaring. Perhaps he was belatedly realizing that he might hold the key to finding who killed Anne.

  “Okay.” He took a deep breath, taking a moment to shuffle through his memories. “I drove to our meeting place. I didn’t stop anywhere after I left the café.”

  “Where do you park?”

  “If I’m working I just slip through the gate ahead of Anne,” he said. “On the days I’m not at work I leave my truck at the lumberyard. I’m there enough that no one would think it was weird to see it parked there.”

&
nbsp; Rylan felt a stab of surprise. Clearly the man had given some thought to keeping his affair secret.

  “Then you walk to the caretaker’s house?”

  “It’s not really a house,” Jarrod said, wrinkling his nose. “More of a large storage shed the previous gardener converted into a place to sleep and keep his things.”

  “Can you see it from the road?”

  “No.” He sounded certain. “The place is surrounded by trees. Unless you knew it was there you could easily walk right past it. That’s one of the reasons we met there.”

  Rylan drummed his fingers on the side of his thigh. If the place was that concealed, then it made it unlikely the stalker simply caught sight of Anne and took advantage of the situation.

  “Does the land belong to the Hamiltons?”

  “I think so.” Jarrod shrugged. “But they never use it.”

  Rylan turned the conversation back to the day Anne disappeared.

  “So you parked your truck and walked to the shed.”

  Jarrod nodded. “It was raining, so I assumed that’s where Anne would be waiting for me.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “No.” His denial came without hesitation. “I’m always careful to keep out of sight of the main house.”

  “You didn’t hear any voices? Or a car taking off?”

  “Nothing,” Jarrod insisted.

  Rylan silently reminded himself that the older man would have been distracted by the morning gossip of a dead woman being found in Frank Johnson’s field, as well as the knowledge he was late.

  It was possible he might have missed someone leaving the area.

  “And there was no indication of a struggle inside the shed?” he asked.

  “No. I would have been concerned right away if I’d seen something.”

  Rylan forced himself to pause. His questions were getting him nowhere.

  Which meant he wasn’t asking them the right way.

  A good interviewer understood that everyone looked at the world a different way. A mother would look around the room and instinctively search for any exits a child could slip through, any sharp items that might be lying around, and any choking hazards. A cop would instinctively check for weapons, or places where a perp could be hiding.