When a Secret Kills

by Lynette Eason

  Serena punched in the code to deactivate the alarm. “I’ve done all right.”

  “More than all right.” Jillian felt some of the stress of the last ten years ease as she looked around. “It’s very peaceful. Serene.”

  Her friend smiled at the pun, then frowned. “I can’t believe you carry a gun.”

  “Never let it get too far away from me. Thanks for doubling back at the airport and letting me claim it.” She paused. “I didn’t want to have to explain it to everyone.”

  Serena’s eyes changed, studying her. “You’re different,” she said.

  Jillian nodded. “Very.” She softened her gaze. “I had to change, to learn to rely only on myself if I wanted to survive.”

  “You were so young,” Serena whispered.

  That brought a sad smile to Jillian’s lips. “We’re the same age.”

  Serena frowned. “I feel older.”

  Laughing, a short, amused chuckle, Jillian shook her head. “I don’t know why.”

  “I guess because I keep picturing you as you were ten years ago. We’ve only spoken on the phone a few times in ten years. That’s made it hard to know you, to know who you are now.”

  Jillian felt tears prick the back of her eyes. “I know.”

  “So why didn’t you want to stay with your dad?”

  Grateful for the change in subject, Jillian said, “Same reason I’m not sure I want to stay with you. I don’t want to put anyone in danger.”

  “So it’s better to stay with me since I’m already a target?” Serena asked with a teasing smile as she walked toward the living area. She gestured to the couch.

  Jillian sank down onto the soft leather and sighed. “Something like that.” Then she frowned. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I shouldn’t have sent you that package.”

  “Ah yes, the package.” Serena looked away for a moment.

  It didn’t take a genius to understand. “You read it, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  Jillian studied her friend. Guilt and some other emotion clouded Serena’s eyes. “You felt you had to?”

  “Yes.”

  Serena looked relieved at Jillian’s understanding. But Jillian knew her friend. If Serena had read the information in the package, she’d had a really good reason.

  Serena ran a hand through her thick black hair, pushing strands behind her ears. “We thought there might be a clue in there to tell us who was after me and why. I’m sorry, Jill, I wouldn’t have read it if—” She bit her lip.

  “It’s all right.” Nerves made her want to fidget. “Who else knows?”

  “Just Dominic and me.”

  Relief crashed over her like giant waves. “Then Colton doesn’t know?”

  “That you and he have a daughter? No.”

  Jillian swallowed hard. “I’m going to have to tell him, aren’t I?” Serena simply looked at her and Jillian grimaced. “I think I’ve known I was going to have to do that for a while now.”

  “She’s nine?”

  “Yes. She’ll be ten on December 25th.” She couldn’t help the small smile that curved her lips. “My Christmas baby.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “With a friend. A very trusted friend.”

  “If the people after you—us—find out about her, they’ll use her.”

  Fear shivered through her. “I know. I’ve already thought about that, trust me.”

  Serena clicked on the lamp on the end table next to the sofa. “We memorized everything about Meg and deciphered your crazy clues as to how to find her if we received word of your death and then destroyed the package.”

  “Good.”

  “I figured that’s what you were doing. But you took a big chance on mailing that to me. What if it had gotten lost in the mail or worse—intercepted?”

  Jillian winced and licked her lips. “I was desperate. I’d felt like someone was watching me, following me. I figured they’d found me and I had to give myself time to come up with a plan, but I had to make sure Meg was taken care of in case I failed. So I took a chance and prayed God would deliver it to you.” She swallowed. “And that if it fell into the wrong hands, no one would be able to figure out what everything meant.”

  “Well, God got it to us, but someone knew about the package.”

  “So you said.”

  “My house was broken into more times than I like to remember. Thank goodness I had the foresight to hide that package really well.”

  Emotion clogged her throat. “Thank you, Serena.”

  Serena nodded. “Okay, enough about that. Let me show you the spare bedroom and you can freshen up, take a nap, whatever you need to do.”

  “You need to get back to work?”

  “Yes, I’m the weekend shift this week, but don’t worry, this house is now more secure than Fort Knox. Dominic had the security upgraded. Every window and door is wired. The fence outside is lined with motion lights and sensors. If someone even touches the fence, an alarm goes off. It’s not sensitive enough to sound if the wind blows hard, but if anyone tries to climb over or come through it, you’ll know.”

  Jillian swallowed hard. “I can’t believe it’s come to this,” she whispered. “I need to call my dad and warn him that I’m back, that he might become a target.” She gulped. “Everyone I love is in danger now.”

  Serena’s brow wrinkled. “I think they must be getting desperate for some reason.”

  Jillian picked up the cordless phone and dialed her father’s number. It rang four times, then went to voice mail. When his deep bass voice came over the line, Jillian’s heart shuddered. With her mother dead, her father meant even more to her than she realized. She’d missed him. He was a good father. Confused by his only child and hurt by her lack of communication, but she knew he still loved her. At the beep, she found her voice. “Hi, Dad. It’s been a long time, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m home and I need to talk to you. Um, I’ve got some pretty nasty people after me. Please be careful and watch your back. They might try to get to you to get to me.” She paused. “I love you, Dad. Call me.” She gave him her cell phone number, disconnected the call, and looked at Serena. “I didn’t tell anyone I was coming home, but they found me anyway.”

  “You said they’d found you in California.”

  “They did.” Sorrow pierced her as she remembered the explosion outside the restaurant, the death of a good man—and the raging terror as she realized her worst nightmare had come true.

  But that story could wait. She’d kept Serena long enough. She stood and grabbed her suitcase and backpack. “Show me which room is mine and I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “You’re not in my hair.” Serena led her into a beautiful room done in tasteful antiques.

  “You’ve always wanted your own house to decorate. You’ve done a wonderful job. This room is gorgeous and peaceful. Something I really need right now.” She gave her friend a quick hug. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

  “Of course. I’d be hurt if you didn’t.” Serena motioned to the door to the right. “Bathroom is there, closet is on the other side.”

  “Got it.”

  Serena hesitated at the door. “So, what’s next?”

  Jillian dropped to the bed. “I don’t know—I really don’t.”

  Serena nodded. “We’ll figure it out. I have a date with Dominic after work so it’ll be a late night. We’re going to the evening worship service, then to dinner.”

  Jillian shrugged. “I don’t sleep much these days. I’ll probably be up when you get back.”

  Up and planning her next move.

  4

  Senator Frank Hoffman hung up the phone and leaned back in his leather chair as nausea swirled in the pit of his gut. He picked up the 1894 Colt Bisley from the desk and continued cleaning. As much as he loved shooting the old guns, cleaning them had become like therapy to him, helping him relax, get his thoughts in order. So he cleaned.

  He rubbed the cloth over and over,
in every crease and crevice. Then he attached a cleaning patch to the patch holder and ran the holder up the barrel of the gun. Mindlessly, he repeated the action, switching out the dirty pads for clean, while his thoughts taunted him.

  Jillian was still alive and a professional assassin was dead. And not only was Jillian still alive, so were Alexia Allen and Serena Hopkins. How was this possible? How hard was it to get rid of three women? Three women who could ruin him. Or was it more than that by now? The longer they lived, the more the odds increased that Jillian would tell what she saw that night. If she hadn’t already.

  No. If she had talked, he’d be in custody. He had to get rid of her immediately.

  Frank finished cleaning the weapon and turned to settle it back into place on the wall behind him. He turned back to his desk, his thoughts on his career and the certain knowledge that, if Jillian Carter didn’t disappear soon, he would have no career to think about. Just visualizing such a thing struck terror into his heart. He’d worked so hard on keeping everything above reproach. His image, his private life, his physical health, his family appearances . . .

  Everything. And now, in the length it would take Jillian to tell what she saw that night, he could lose it all.

  Frank broke out into a cold sweat and looked at the calendar. Three months until election day. Campaigning was hot and fierce between the candidates, and Frank had no intention of losing—or going to jail.

  Appearances. He had to keep up appearances.

  And get rid of Jillian.

  A curse slipped out.

  “What was that?”

  Frank jerked as his wife, Elizabeth, stepped into the room. Beautifully made up, she exuded poise and class. Exactly what he’d been looking for when he’d gone searching for a wife. The perfect political partner, one to inspire confidence in the voters; if such a woman would marry him, he must be worthy of their trust and their votes. “Sorry, I was just thinking about the debate coming up.”

  She arched a delicate eyebrow. “Well, if you plan to use that kind of language, you can pretty much kiss your career goodbye.”

  He rolled his eyes and stuffed down his impatience. “I think I can handle it.”

  Her shuttered eyes gave him a cool appraisal. “Be sure you do.”

  “Is there something you wanted?” He couldn’t help the impatience in his tone.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Carmen will be home next weekend. I do hope we can at least have one family dinner while she’s here.”

  Carmen. His daughter. His troubled daughter who seemed to be trying to make something of her life. Finally. “Of course. Friday night?”

  Elizabeth gave him a slightly warmer look. “Perfect. Here or out somewhere?”

  “Let’s go out.” Being seen in public as a family was always good for a few votes. As long as Carmen behaved herself.

  “Wonderful. I’ll tell Carmen.” She turned toward the door, then looked back at him over her shoulder. “You seem more stressed than usual, Frank, is everything all right?”

  Frank forced a smile. “Everything’s fine. Where are you headed?”

  “Girls’ night out.”

  “Right. Well, enjoy yourself.”

  “I plan to. Don’t wait up.”

  And then she was gone, her light perfume lingering behind. He smiled. He’d brought that particular scent back on his last trip to Paris. She’d loved it and seemed genuinely happy with his gift.

  Current problems intruded on his pleasant memories and he frowned once again.

  Rising from the black leather chair, he paced his home office. He thought he’d had the best people that could be bought on this. But they’d failed to take care of the problem. Time after time, they’d failed. Maybe it was time to take matters into his own hands.

  Literally.

  He lifted them, palms up, and stared at them. Smooth and white. Yet even now, ten years later, he could almost see the blood dripping from them. Blood he’d never actually touched but caused to flow nevertheless. He still couldn’t believe he’d become a murderer. Never would he have envisioned himself capable of killing someone.

  But he had, hadn’t he? That night was such a blur. It had happened so fast. And it hadn’t been premeditated, he reassured himself. It had been an act of fury, of uncontrollable rage. And the determination to let nothing get in the way of his plans. But it hadn’t been premeditated.

  He snorted. Like a jury would care about that now.

  He continued to stare at his hands, then drew in a deep breath, curled his fingers into fists, and determined that, yes, he could kill Jillian with his bare hands as long as it meant he kept his secret. But hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. That’s what the help was for.

  He picked up the phone and waited for the familiar voice to come on the line. “You need to get it done tonight.”

  Nine-year-old Meg stomped across the field to the red barn that held her best friend. Texas Two Step was a brown-and-white paint horse who had become Meg’s favorite confidant. She pushed open the door and walked to the second stall on the left. The horse nickered and shoved his nose over the stall door.

  Meg reached in to rub his silky nose and feed him the apple she’d snitched from the kitchen table. While the horse eagerly crunched his sweet treat, Meg talked. “Mom left yesterday, Two Step. She said she had to go ‘take care of some unfinished business.’”

  She wiggled her fingers around the phrase like she’d seen done on television when quoting someone. “And she wouldn’t take me with her.” She frowned. “And now Uncle Blake’s leaving. I know it’s cuz he’s worried about Mom.” Meg sighed and Two Step nudged her hand. “Don’t have any more apples, boy. Sorry.”

  Meg rubbed Two Step’s nose again just the way he liked. “I’ve got to come up with a plan to figure out what Mom and Uncle Blake are up to and what’s so important they couldn’t take me with ’em.”

  “Meg? Are you out here?”

  She jumped and Two Step tossed his head at the sudden movement. She clicked her tongue to settle him down and said, “Sorry, boy. Gotta go. I’ll come see you after school.”

  Meg left the barn to find Grandma Jo almost to the door, hands on her hips. “Child, if you don’t quit running off, you’re going to add a whole new layer of gray to my head.”

  Meg did her best to look appropriately sorry. “I just wanted to tell Two Step good morning.”

  Grandma Jo sighed and shook her head. “Well, at least I usually know where to find you. Come on.” She placed a hand on Meg’s shoulder. “One day your sneakin’ off is going to get you in trouble.”

  “Me? In trouble?” Meg practiced her angelic look and Grandma Jo laughed just like she knew she would.

  “Get in the house and get your backpack, little girl. It’s time for you to get to school.”

  School. Who cared about school when she had important things to think about?

  Like finding out a way to go join her mom—wherever that was.

  5

  A knock on the door jolted Jillian from her light doze. She glanced at the clock and frowned as she realized her father still hadn’t called her back. Swinging her feet to the floor, she reached for the gun she never left far from her fingers. Approaching the front door, she kept herself to the side and looked out the window.

  Colton. Here to deliver the large suitcase that sat at his feet. Her stomach flipped a few times as memories rushed in. Sliding the gun into her waistband at the small of her back, she pulled her shirttail over it to hide it and let out a slow breath. She gathered her nerves, and opened the door. “Hi.”

  He stepped inside and set the suitcase in front of her. “We need to talk.”

  She shut the door. “Everything all right?”

  “Not really. I had to tie up some loose ends on a couple of cases and delegate a few more so I can focus on . . . other things for now.”

  Meaning her?

  The vague thought that she should be more cautious about being alone with the nephew of Frank Hoffma
n flitted through her mind. The Colton she’d once known would never have had anything to do with something like that. But what about now? Ten years was a long time. He could be anyone by now. And Frank Hoffman was family to him.

  “Jillian?”

  The reassuring weight of her gun rested against her back. “Sorry. Come on in.”

  Colton swept past her and into the foyer. She nodded him toward the living area. “Might as well get comfortable.” Although she didn’t think she’d ever feel comfortable in his presence again. How would he react when she told him about Meg?

  Angry? Hurt? Definitely.

  Demand to see her? Very possibly.

  Which was why she couldn’t tell him anything just yet.

  Colton seated himself on the edge of the couch and she could see the tension in his jaw.

  “You want something to drink?”

  “No.”

  So he wasn’t going to make this easy on her. Well, what had she expected? She didn’t blame him. Jillian took a seat across from him on the love seat with the coffee table between them. She needed a buffer right now.

  He clasped his hands in front of him. “Serena said you’re an investigative reporter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you here for a story?”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “You just accused my uncle, a prominent citizen of this state and a well-known politician, of murder.” He smirked and the cold look of disgust in his eyes hurt her to the core. Before she could protest, he said, “That would make a pretty sensational piece if you were to come out with something like that. You would become a household name overnight.”

  Jillian closed her eyes and counted to five. Then ten. When she opened them, she said, “If I wanted to be a household name, I could have been one years ago. I don’t care about name recognition. I care about getting my life back! I care about exposing a liar and a murderer. I care about the truth!”