When a Secret Kills

by Lynette Eason

  Colton suppressed a grimace. He never should have opened his mouth. He sighed and walked to the closet where she kept the recycle bin. He tossed the empty bottle in and turned back. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m not telling you, Aunt Elizabeth, but I need to talk to Uncle Frank. Will you tell him to call me as soon as he gets home? Doesn’t matter how late it is. I need to talk to him tonight.”

  Jillian walked into the den to look out. Glass windows lined the wall, providing her a view of the backyard and the lake beyond it. The beautiful sunny day with temperatures in the midnineties made her want to take a dip in the lake.

  One of the dogs zipped past the window and disappeared into the trees at the edge of the property. His twin followed closely behind. Their barks reached her ears and she paused, nerves on edge. She wondered if she’d ever be able to relax again.

  When the dogs didn’t reappear, Jillian turned from the window and picked up the remote to the large flat screen television mounted on the wall. Then she tossed it back on the coffee table.

  “Argh! I need to be doing something!” The words echoed back at her, mocking her inability to do anything or know what was going on with Colton and his uncle. No one knew she was here, right? Why not go for a walk with the dogs? Or take a swim in the lake?

  Or call her dad?

  She still didn’t know why the man hadn’t called her back, although she could probably guess. Pain darted through her. She’d stayed away, not calling, not writing, nothing. She supposed she understood his silence. Maybe after all of this was over, they could at least talk and she could explain everything. And introduce him to Meg.

  She dialed his number, and just like the last couple of times, it went to voice mail. She left another message and hung up, sadness pressing in on her. She missed her parents. Her mother especially.

  Her dad had always been too busy traveling and working for her to feel very close to him. She knew he loved her, though. She never doubted that. Now she wanted to talk to him, see him. Give him a hug and tell him she was sorry she’d stayed silent for ten years.

  A shiver slid up her spine. She was tired of being alone—and lonely. Of course she had Meg and Blake, but . . . she wanted more.

  She went to the door and whistled for the dogs, wondering if that would work for her like it had for Colton. If she couldn’t hang out with friends or family, she’d take the company of the two friendly animals.

  The dogs came from the woods, tongues lolling. One, she thought it was Ernie, yelped and stumbled to the ground. Concerned, she started out the door to go to him. Bert had stopped to see what was wrong with his buddy, then a second later, gave a matching cry, spread his legs as though trying to keep his balance, then fell next to Ernie.

  Realization and horror hit her. Someone had shot the dogs. With a suppressor because she hadn’t heard a thing. Where was Jonah?

  Whirling back into the house, she slammed the door, locked it, and leaned against it.

  Sorrow for the dogs and worry for the man who was supposed to be protecting her turned her insides to lead. Then a mixture of cold dread and sheer terror slid up her spine.

  Someone knew she was here.

  12

  Jillian reached for the cell phone in her back pocket. And came up empty. “Think. Think.” Where had she left it? On the bed in the pocket of the other pair of shorts.

  She raced to the kitchen, grabbed the cordless handset, and put it to her ear.

  The silence mocked her.

  “Okay. No dial tone. You need a plan.” The dogs had been shot. But no shots had sounded. If she hadn’t been watching out the door, she never would have known anything had happened. Jonah was supposed to be on guard, but had shown no sign that he knew what had happened to the dogs. Or that she was in trouble.

  She needed to get upstairs and get the cell phone, but if whoever was after her came inside while she was upstairs, she’d be trapped. She preferred to stay downstairs and watch the entrances while she figured out how she was going to get away.

  Her heartbeat picked up and her breaths came closer together. But her mind clicked as she forced the panic away. “Remember,” she whispered. “Remember what he taught you. You can take care of yourself, he made sure of that.” Still, she’d never had to face down someone who truly wanted to hurt her.

  To kill her.

  And she didn’t want to start now.

  She pulled the Glock 19 from her waistband and held it steady, comfortably, in her right hand. If she had to, she’d shoot. But if she could get away, she’d do that instead. She had no desire to shoot someone and have to answer a bunch of questions from the authorities, have the media involved, be held for questioning at the police station where he could get to her . . .

  A shudder ripped through her. No way. Running, escaping, was her only option.

  But which way to go?

  She needed to know where he was.

  So she waited, gun ready.

  The minutes ticked by.

  What was he doing?

  Her nerves screamed at her to do something.

  She checked the windows at the back again. No, he wouldn’t expose himself that way. He’d come through the front.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Jillian glanced back at the large wall of windows. Then again, he could be playing sniper. She had to find a way out other than the back door.

  The garage area?

  A window? An extra door?

  She bit her lip and silently screamed at herself for her lapse. Her carelessness. One of the first things she’d been taught to do when entering a new place was to find an escape route. At least one. Two if she could.

  All of Blake’s teaching, the hours she’d spent learning, and already she’d failed one of the first lessons.

  Jillian drew in a deep breath. Steady, be steady. It won’t happen again.

  If she lived through today it wouldn’t. Right now, she had to survive. She had no doubt the person outside had no intention of letting her live.

  But she had to.

  Meg’s sweet face flashed before her eyes. Oh please, Lord, let me live . . .

  Fingers wrapped around the weapon, she closed her eyes, forced herself to calm—and to listen. Just listen.

  She turned slowly, silently, in a complete circle.

  And still heard nothing.

  Time passed but seemed to stand still.

  On quiet feet, Jillian walked to the door that led to the garage, wishing she had the cell phone. Colton had said the nearest neighbor was about a quarter of a mile away. She could make that on foot easily and do it fast too. She just had to make sure she wasn’t followed.

  Or ambushed on her way out of the house.

  Where is he? What is he doing? What is he waiting for?

  Her fingers curved around the knob that would lead her to the garage.

  Before she opened the door, she took a good look around.

  Nothing that she could see from her position at the side of the door. Slowly, she twisted the knob. The door opened in one smooth movement and, tense, expectant, she stepped into the muggy heat trapped in the enclosed space. The garage door was down, but the flick of her finger on the button would raise it.

  And make noise the intruder would hear. No, she couldn’t open it until the last minute. Her eyes took in the details of the garage. The attic steps had been partially pulled down. Interesting. Why? No time to dwell on that. She kept looking.

  No cars.

  But there was a motorcycle.

  Where were the keys?

  Heart pounding, Jillian checked the ignition.

  Empty.

  Were they hanging up somewhere? Or had the owner taken the key with him? Or her?

  Her blood hummed through her veins as she listened again. Where was he? Would he try to get in the house or just wait for her to come out?

  Indecision warred inside her.

  Look for the keys to the bike? Or find a place to hide?

  “Wait a minute,” she whi
spered.

  Jillian whirled to look back into the kitchen. There. By the phone. Hanging on a row of hooks. A few single keys and a group of keys on a chain. She stepped back inside the house and bolted for the keys.

  A creaking sound from above made her breath catch in her throat.

  Soft footfalls, almost nonexistent, reached her ears. He was in the house.

  How? She’d set the alarm. She risked a glance at the keypad by the kitchen door. It blinked green.

  Sheer terror shot through her. Frank had known she was here all along. The intruder knew the code. A code he’d gotten from Frank Hoffman.

  Or had Colton set her up?

  Fury with herself zinged up her spine. She’d been insane to trust him. To let her past feelings for him scramble her brain.

  Another part of her shouted he wouldn’t do that.

  She wasn’t sure which part to believe.

  She reached out with shaking fingers and took all of the keys from the hook.

  Another creak. He was searching the upstairs? Or headed her way? How had he gotten in up there without setting the alarm off?

  Jillian pictured the winding stairs from the deck off the double doors upstairs and knew how he’d gotten in. She just didn’t understand why the alarm hadn’t gone off.

  Jillian’s gaze bounced between the front door, the garage door, and the stairs. If she went for the front door and he appeared at the top of the stairs, he would have a perfect view to pick her off just like he’d done with the dogs. She headed back toward the still-open garage door, eyes on the staircase.

  The footsteps came closer. Hit the top step.

  Breaths coming in fast pants, Jillian slipped through the garage door and shut it behind her. She had very little time now to figure out what to do.

  She jammed a key into the ignition of the motorcycle.

  Wrong one.

  Tossing it to the floor, she tried the next, then the next. She glanced up and froze as a shadow passed by the window of the kitchen door.

  It wouldn’t be long before he figured out where she was. He could now see the entire downstairs. And the fact that she wasn’t there.

  Breath hitching, she knew she had to hide.

  Now.

  But where?

  Colton checked the time on the dash clock again. 12:45. It had been almost thirty-five minutes since he’d left his uncle’s house with no answers, and he’d been away from Jillian long enough to make him nervous.

  He chided his jumpiness. She was fine. No one knew she was there.

  The pep talk didn’t help.

  He couldn’t help it, he just didn’t want to leave her too long. No telling what kind of trouble she could come up with on her own. He punched the speed-dial number for the lake house.

  And listened to the phone ring.

  He frowned, hung up, and tried again. Once more, the voice mail picked up. He tried her cell phone. Still nothing.

  Why didn’t she answer?

  “Come on, Jillian. What are you doing that you can’t answer the phone?”

  Jillian waited, nearly strangling with the need to gasp. She pulled in a slow, silent breath. Be still. Be quiet.

  And wait.

  The intruder opened the door and stepped into the garage. He just stood there, the door open, eyes glittering in the holes of the ski mask. Green eyes, she noted. She had a clear view of him from her position in the attic.

  Soon, he would look up.

  Oh God, please don’t let this get me killed.

  The gun pressed against her lower back. A comforting weight. A weight that gave her courage. Maybe it was a false courage, but it was too late to change the plan now. If she had to shoot him, she would. But she didn’t want to. She needed him alive and able to talk.

  Although, deciding to take him on by herself was probably the dumbest thing she’d ever done.

  But she’d had no choice. No way to run, no plan of escape. No rescue in sight.

  Breathing another prayer, she waited.

  His eyes finally lifted. She wondered if he could see her hunched in the dark of the attic, the stairs gripped in one hand, the other ready to reach for her weapon.

  “Well, well, Jillian Carter,” he rasped. “It seems this is my lucky day.”

  She remained silent.

  He stepped closer. “You know you can’t stay holed up there forever. There’s no other way out. Now,” his voice hardened, “why don’t you make this easy on both of us and just come down?”

  “Why do you want me dead?” She knew why, but she needed to keep him talking. And moving.

  He took one more step.

  Come on, she thought, two more steps.

  “I don’t. But my boss does.”

  “Frank Hoffman,” she spat.

  “Names don’t really matter at this point, do they?” He lifted his gun. She still didn’t think he could see her very well in the dark, but if he started shooting, he probably wouldn’t miss.

  “Names matter. I’ve already told my story to people who believe me. If I wind up dead, the investigation will still continue.”

  He paused, then took another step. “That’s a shame then. It looks like my job won’t end with you after all. I suppose you’ve talked to Serena and Alexia.”

  Jillian shuddered at the emptiness staring back at her. She refused to acknowledge his last statement. “If you want me, then come get me.”

  A low growl of frustration sounded in his throat. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  He stepped forward and she shoved the stairs with a mighty push. They rumbled on the track and slid like a greased pig through a child’s hands at the county fair. The ski mask hid his expression, but she saw his eyes widen in shock as the bottom step clipped him on the forehead.

  He went down with a thud, his gun skittering across the concrete floor, coming to a stop under the front wheel of the motorcycle.

  Without stopping to think, Jillian scrambled down the steps, heart thudding, blood humming, adrenaline rushing so hard, it almost made her dizzy.

  At the bottom of the attic stairs, she jumped over the prone body and backed away from him, putting distance between them. She had the brief thought to stop and pull his mask off, but saw his arm move, heard him groan a curse.

  She had to move fast. At the garage door, she hit the button and heard the mechanical door start to crank open. She turned to see the man clasping his head, struggling to his feet.

  Hurry! Her mind screamed the word.

  Shoving the last key into the ignition, she turned it and cranked the machine.

  He came at her.

  She lifted one foot and slammed it into his stomach.

  He gave a cry and stumbled back, going to his knees, clasping his head.

  Jillian gunned the motor and backed out of the garage with a screech of tires.

  Her intruder managed to move fast, get his gun, and lift it to take aim.

  Colton hung up the phone and slapped a hand against the wheel. Why wouldn’t she answer?

  Had she gone outside? The lure of the water might have been too tempting to her. She’d always been a swimmer.

  But he’d told her to stay inside. The Jillian he’d known as a teenager would have done as he’d said. This ten-years-later Jillian?

  A bad feeling started to grow in his gut and he pressed the gas pedal a little harder as he hit the number one more time.

  She still didn’t pick up.

  His jaw hardened. This day just was not going the way he’d planned. Just a minute more and he’d be at the drive. He pressed the gas and started to pray.

  13

  The motorcycle came out of nowhere. Colton jerked the wheel to the right and the truck bounced along the edge of the drive, gravel sputtering as his tires spun. Gaining control and getting back onto the drive, fear settled in his stomach as he realized the crazy driver was Jillian.

  What was she doing?

  He braked and did a three-point turn, gunning the gas to catch up to her. As
he came to the end of the drive, he saw her parked at the end, standing there waiting for him. Colton slammed on the brakes once again and the truck jerked to a stop.

  Jillian reached for the passenger door even as he leaned over to throw it open for her. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

  “No! You are!”

  “What?”

  “Coming back to make sure he finished the job?” She swung a fist at him.

  He ducked and grabbed it as it missed him by millimeters. “Jillian! Stop it! What’s gotten into you?”

  “He’s there!”

  “Who?”

  “The guy who’s trying to kill me. And he knew the code to the alarm!” Her breaths came in pants and the fear in her eyes hadn’t lessened. “He let himself in as easy as if I’d just left the door open.”

  Colton tried to piece together what she was saying. “You think I had something to do with that?”

  “Who else? After all, this lake house idea was your Plan B, remember? Well, I’m going back to Plan A!”

  “Stop it!”

  But she continued. “I’m better off taking care of myself rather than relying on a traitor.”

  Fury spurted. He snagged her arm. “Calm down. I didn’t have anything to do with that. Where’s Jonah?”

  She jerked away from him. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.” She bit her lip. “I’m worried about him.”

  Concern filled him. “All right. Stay here and let me take care of this.”

  She gripped his arm, her face softening a fraction. “I need to warn you, I think he killed the dogs.”

  He blanched. “Killed the—” Sorrow lanced through him and he swallowed hard.

  Colton grabbed his cell phone and punched speed-dial number two as he whipped the truck back toward the house. When Hunter answered, Colton spit out their location. “I need backup at the lake house now! Someone attacked Jillian and she said he’s still there.”

  “I’ll have Columbia PD get out there. I’m on the way.”

  Colton felt conflicted. He wanted to get to the house and see if he could catch the guy, but he didn’t want to take Jillian back into the danger she’d just escaped from. Danger she thought he’d brought down on her. More sorrow hit him as he realized it would take time for her to trust him when she thought his uncle was a killer. He’d have to prove himself to her.