Pretend You're Safe

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Yes,” Blake said, his expression bleak. “It does.”

  “How?”

  “I took Christopher to a new rehab center in St. Louis.”

  Mike stared at him with blatant suspicion. He wouldn’t put it past the man to try and throw him off the trail so he could give his son time to escape.

  “When?”

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  Well, shit. Mike scowled. “What’s the name of the facility?”

  “Gateway to Sobriety.” Blake grimaced. “They promised that they have specialized care that could actually help Christopher.” He shook his head, his expression resigned. “I’ve heard the same promises before. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  Mike planted his hands on his hips, tapping his fingers against his gun. Not in a threat. Just a habit.

  “He could have left,” he pointed out.

  Blake shook his head. “I would have been alerted if he tried to leave. I made sure of that.” He shrugged. “You can check with them if you want.”

  “I will,” Mike warned, although he found it hard to believe that Blake would look so confident if he was lying. It would be an easy matter to get a warrant to determine the time Christopher had been checked into the facility and if he’d left. “Did you leave his car in St. Louis?”

  “His car?” Blake sent him a confused frown. “You mean the Jaguar?”

  “Yeah.”

  Blake shook his head. “He ran it into a ditch yesterday morning trying to get away from me. That was the last straw, as far as I was concerned.”

  Mike studied him, searching for some sign he was lying. If Christopher wasn’t driving his car, then who was?

  “Where’s the car now?”

  Blake gave a lift of his shoulder. “I called Lowe’s to bring the wrecker and pick it up. As far as I know it’s at their shop.”

  Mike swallowed a curse. Someone had deliberately played them.

  Was it a game? Did the killer enjoy proving that he was smarter than the authorities?

  Or was it something more convoluted?

  Something he wasn’t able to see?

  He was busy trying to determine how easy it would be to take the car from the local auto shop when he felt a familiar buzzing from his pocket.

  With a scowl, he yanked out his phone and pressed it to his ear.

  “O’Brien.” His frown deepened as he listened to the annoyed voice of his deputy telling him that Carol was now three hours late for work. “As far as I know she should be there. Did you call her?” he asked, grimacing as Hal reminded him that he wasn’t stupid. Of course he’d called. Several times. “She had a big date last night. She might have overslept,” Mike said, a tingle of worry snaking down his spine. “I’ll swing by her house on my way back to the office.”

  He slid the phone back in his pocket. He had more questions for Blake, but the phone call had unnerved him.

  Carol might have had a hot date, but that’d never made her late before. And if she had a hangover, she would have called to tell him she wasn’t feeling well. She’d never, ever simply not shown up for work.

  Something was wrong. He could suddenly feel it in his bones.

  “I’m not done with you or Christopher,” he warned. “Make damn sure he doesn’t try to leave the state.”

  “He’s not going anywhere.” Blake abruptly stepped toward the French doors as Mike turned to leave. “I’d prefer that you go out this way,” he said. “I don’t want my wife to be further upset.”

  Mike shrugged. It was hard to imagine that anything could upset the cold-as-ice Loreen Hamilton, but whatever.

  He was stepping onto the terrace when he glanced over his shoulder at the older man.

  “Where’s Payton?”

  Blake slowly blinked, as if it took him a minute to recall that he had a daughter, let alone what her current location might be.

  “I’m not sure,” he said with a shrug. “I think she might spend her weekends at the food pantry. Or maybe she’s giving out clothes to the poor. One of those things where she works like a dog, but doesn’t make a penny for her efforts.”

  Mike made a sound of disgust. “Maybe you should spend more time appreciating the child who isn’t in constant need of attention.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jaci couldn’t sit still when she was nervous.

  So, leaving Rylan to study the security footage over and over, she grabbed her cleaning supplies and polished the house from top to bottom.

  She’d just finished scrubbing the kitchen floor when Rylan strolled into the room, shoving his cell phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

  A pang of regret twisted her heart. Just a couple hours ago Rylan had been warm and naked lying next to her. His golden hair had been mussed from her fingers and his eyes dark with hunger.

  She wished they could go back to that time. She would have insisted they stay in bed.

  It wouldn’t have solved her problems. But it would have been a lot more fun than worrying about what was going to happen when her mother discovered her son was a psychotic killer.

  A shudder raced through her as she straightened and studied Rylan’s grim expression.

  “That was O’Brien,” he said as she sent him a quizzical glance.

  Dread lodged in the pit of her stomach. Had he arrested Christopher?

  “What does he want?”

  “He asked us to meet him at his office. He wants to go through the video from last night.”

  She frowned. Mike had spent over an hour watching the security tape earlier in the day. It seemed impossible to believe he’d missed anything.

  “Again?”

  “Yep.”

  Jaci narrowed her gaze. He’d been edgy since they’d found the locket. Now he was nearly vibrating with tension.

  “Did he say why?” she asked.

  His hands clenched at his sides. “He claimed the figure we caught on camera isn’t your brother.”

  Jaci jerked in surprise. She’d spent the past hours trying to reconcile herself to the thought that her half brother was not only a cold-blooded killer, but that he’d harbored some sick obsession with her.

  “I don’t understand.” She gave a slow shake of her head. “How does he know it wasn’t Christopher?”

  “Your stepfather had him committed to a rehab facility in St. Louis.”

  “Rehab? You mean for drugs?”

  Rylan nodded. “Yeah. And it’s not the first time he’s been committed.”

  She leaned against the edge of the counter. It was a lot easier to see her brother as a drug addict than a serial killer. He’d been partying since he was in junior high. In fact, he’d gotten thrown out of school for hiding beer in his locker when he was just fourteen.

  “When?” she asked.

  “Yesterday.”

  Which proved he couldn’t have been sneaking up her drive to leave behind the bloody locket.

  “But that had to be his car,” she said. “Who else in town can afford a Jaguar?”

  “Your stepfather told the sheriff that it was at the auto shop in town.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Anyone could have stolen it.”

  Jaci tapped her fingers against the side of her leg, trying to imagine the killer stealing a car so he could deliver his gruesome necklace. Why choose a vehicle that would be so easily noticed? Then, she abruptly remembered Rylan’s confusion about the killer parking so close to the house.

  He’d wanted them to catch the car on camera.

  “Someone deliberately tried to pin the crimes on Christopher.”

  “It seems so.”

  Jaci rubbed her aching temples. The killer had been so cautious until now. He hadn’t left the smallest clue. Now he was stealing expensive sports cars and making sure he was seen on security cameras?

  It didn’t make sense.

  “But why?” she demanded.

  “Another way to taunt me.” Rylan’s voice was edged with a lethal fury. “He likes to prove how smart he
is.”

  She understood his anger. If her half brother wasn’t the serial killer, then he was still out there. Waiting to strike again.

  “I didn’t want it to be Christopher,” she said. “I might not get along with my family, but I would never wish for them to go through something like that.” She was fairly sure that the humiliation of a trial, let alone the potential death sentence for her only son, would have sent Loreen Hamilton over the edge. “Still . . .” Her words trailed away as a shudder raced through her.

  Rylan moved across the kitchen, pulling her into his arms. “You want this to be over.”

  “Yes.”

  He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “No one could blame you, Jaci.”

  She heaved a rueful sigh. “Then why do I feel guilty?”

  “Because you’re a kind, gentle woman who cares about others. Even when they don’t deserve it.”

  He made her sound like a saint. A very boring saint.

  “I’m not always kind,” she protested. “Or gentle.”

  He chuckled, easily picking up on her annoyance. “True.” He lifted his head to reveal a wicked smile playing around his lips. “I have scratch marks on my back that prove you have violent tendencies when properly motivated.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. She had a vivid memory of making those scratch marks. And an equally vivid fantasy of making more of them.

  But not until they’d taken the security tapes to Mike. If there was the slightest possibility the tapes could help track down the killer, they couldn’t afford to waste any time.

  “We should go,” she said.

  His arms tightened around her. “I don’t like you leaving the house.”

  “I can’t stay locked in here forever.”

  “Why not?” He lowered his head to brush his lips over her brow. “We could order our food and have it delivered. I could work from my computer, and you could have your customers drive out here to pick up their usual orders.” He pressed a lingering kiss on her lips. “A perfect solution.”

  It did sound perfect.

  And completely unrealistic.

  “I’d give you twenty-four hours before you were pacing the floor,” she said. Rylan had a restless energy that would be stifled by being stuck in the house. “Besides, Mike is waiting for us.”

  He traced the curve of her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. “Let him wait.”

  It was a temptation. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t prefer to lock the doors and spend the next few weeks in the arms of Rylan?

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t just her life that was in danger.

  “The sooner we find the killer, the sooner we can go to the beach,” she reminded her companion.

  He arched a brow. “Blackmail?”

  She shrugged. “Incentive.”

  Rylan heaved a sigh. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Mike had been prepared for the worst when he’d gone to Carol’s tiny house. As much as he told himself not to leap to conclusions, he couldn’t help but consider the fact that his administrative assistant had failed to show up for work the morning after Jaci had received a locket.

  It could be a thousand other reasons.

  Well, maybe not a thousand, but certain three or four.

  Larry could have turned out to be Mr. Right and they were on their way to Vegas. There could have been a family emergency and she forgot to call him. She could have told one of the deputies that she was sick, and they hadn’t passed along the message.

  But he was already preparing to discover she was simply gone.

  Vanished into thin air like Anne Dixon. And Angel Harper.

  Arriving at her house, he’d found the front door unlocked and had done a quick search. She wasn’t there. And her bed hadn’t been slept in. His fear had only deepened.

  While he was checking with the local hospital to make sure she hadn’t been in an accident, he’d called in his deputies. Even Sid. He wanted all hands on deck to start searching the area for Carol.

  He was watching the last two squad cars squeal out of the lot to head toward their search area when the Jeep pulled in. With an effort, he forced himself to wait for Rylan and Jaci to jump out of the vehicle and walk toward him.

  He wanted to be out on the hunt. Carol was like family to him. The thought of staying in his office while everyone else was searching for her was making his gut twist into painful knots.

  It was only the knowledge that they didn’t have any clue where she might be hidden that kept him from leaping in his truck. What was the point in dashing around like a madman?

  It made far more sense to devote his energies to discovering who was responsible for taking her.

  That was the only way they were going to be able to bring her home safely. God willing, let it be safely.

  Rylan stopped next to him, a laptop in his hands. “What’s going on?”

  “Let’s go inside,” he said, aware that several locals had already noticed the unusual activity around the courthouse and were gathering on the corner to watch him with curious gazes.

  Rylan glanced toward the small crowd. “Good idea.”

  The three of them entered Mike’s office and he firmly closed the door behind them.

  “Carol is missing,” he told them, instantly regretting his blunt confession when Jaci swayed in shock.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed, leaning against Rylan as the man wrapped his arm protectively around her shoulders. “Do you think she was taken by the killer?”

  Mike moved to lean against the edge of the desk. He was tired, frustrated, and acutely afraid for his friend. It all combined to make it difficult to think clearly.

  “I’m trying not to jump to conclusions,” he told Jaci.

  She visibly shivered. “We should be looking for her.”

  “I have everyone I could call in trying to find her.”

  “How long has she been missing?” Rylan demanded.

  “She didn’t show up for her shift this morning,” Mike said, glancing toward the wall clock. One o’clock. Damn. The day was slipping away. “She should have been here by eight.”

  Rylan’s expression was grim. “I’m assuming you checked her house.”

  Mike glared in his direction. “You assume right.”

  “When was the last time her family saw her?”

  “She lives alone. She doesn’t have any children and her mother is in the local nursing home. She’s suffered from Alzheimer’s for years.”

  Rylan easily realized what the lack of relatives would mean. “So no one would notice if she was taken?”

  “Exactly.” Mike grimaced. “She went to Quincy with her current boyfriend last night. I called him as soon as I realized she was missing. He says he brought her home around midnight.”

  “Do you believe him?” Rylan asked.

  Mike had grilled Larry until the man had broken down in tears. It wasn’t that he’d suspected the man as Jaci’s stalker. A quick background check had revealed that he’d been living in Tennessee until two years ago. But he knew it would be a mistake to simply assume that Carol’s disappearance was connected to the serial killer.

  After all, bad things happened to women all the time. And usually it could be blamed on the man in their lives.

  He had to eliminate the most obvious person first.

  “He claims he has a credit card receipt from a quickie mart in West Quincy,” Mike said. “He stopped on his way home to buy a pack of cigarettes. I sent Hal to check the video, but for now I’m going to assume he’s telling the truth.”

  Rylan moved to set the laptop he was holding on the desk. Almost as if sensing that Mike needed a minute to regain the leash on his temper.

  The truth was that Mike was furious with himself.

  He’d known there was a killer in the area, but he hadn’t insisted that Carol stay with him until the danger had passed. Hell, he hadn’t even considered the fact that she might be a target.

  Now she was gone and he had no on
e to blame but himself.

  He sucked in a deep, steadying breath. The only way to help her was to keep his shit together and concentrate on figuring out who the hell was responsible.

  “Was there any sign of struggle at her house?” Rylan asked as he moved back to stand next to Jaci.

  “No, but when I got there the front door was unlocked and the lights in the kitchen were on.”

  Jaci bit her bottom lip. “Can you use her cell phone to track her?”

  Mike shook his head. That’d been his first thought. Until he’d caught sight of the bag carelessly tossed on the table.

  “I found her phone and her purse in the kitchen.”

  “It sounds like someone was waiting when she got home,” Rylan said.

  “Yeah.” Mike had done a sweep of her small yard, finding a set of footprints that went from the side of the house to the front porch. “It would have been easy to stay hidden in the bushes and follow her through the door. Or even for him to have popped the lock and waited inside.”

  Jaci made a sound of distress. Her face was pale, her body rigid as she anxiously clenched and unclenched her hands.

  “What can we do?”

  Understanding her need to help, Mike moved to take a seat at his desk, flipping open the laptop.

  “I want to look at the video. There has to be a clue to who is responsible.”

  “Let me,” Rylan said, crossing to stand at Mike’s side. He reached down to tap on the keyboard, bringing up the video.

  “If it wasn’t Christopher at my house last night, how did someone get his car?” Jaci asked.

  Mike leaned toward the computer screen. The man was average height. Average weight. Wearing average clothing.

  Average, average, average. It could be anyone, dammit.

  “Someone obviously stole it from Lowe’s lot. It was parked near the back alley,” he answered in distracted tones. “It would have been easy to take it for a few hours and return it without anyone knowing.”

  “Was it hot-wired?” Rylan demanded. “That’s not as easy as they make it look on TV. Someone would have to know what he was doing.”

  Mike gave a short, humorless laugh. “The keys were left under the front seat.”

  Rylan muttered a low curse. “Of course they were.”