“Four fifteen this morning,” Parker said, his lack of surprise warning Lynne that he’d already known it was her vehicle.
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“How my truck could be driving around town when I was in bed asleep.”
“You weren’t out on a call?” he asked.
She forced herself to think back. Sometimes her days ran together. Especially when she was crazy busy. It wasn’t unusual to get mixed up. “No,” she firmly denied. She’d spent the evening with Kir and then slept until her alarm went off at four forty-five. She released a shaky breath. “Someone must have stolen it.”
“Hmm.” Parker tossed the remote control on the desk and slowly pushed himself out of his chair. “I was coming to speak with you when I saw you drive past the park.”
She turned her head to send him a puzzled glance. “Why?”
“You were . . .” He deliberately paused, his lips twisting into a wry smile. “Upset when I mentioned that the drugs found in the dead women might have come from your clinic. I assumed you would be equally upset to discover your truck was filmed passing the park where a woman was being murdered.”
She licked her dry lips. “Ms. Randall was killed in the park?”
“Maybe her dead body was just dumped there,” he conceded. “Either way, it doesn’t look good to have your truck in the area.”
Despite her heavy coat and the heat in the room, Lynne was shivering. “Poor woman.”
Parker moved to perch on the corner of the desk. “What do you want me to do with the tape?”
“Excuse me?”
He nodded toward the television where the image of her tailgate was still frozen on the screen. “As far as I know I’m the only one who has seen this.”
She returned her attention to Parker’s handsome face. Was he trying to imply something? She wasn’t good at picking up subtle hints. “I’m sure it’ll just be a matter of time before the sheriff asks to see it.”
He smiled. “I could make it disappear.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I’m confident you have nothing to do with the murders, but the sheriff . . .” His words drifted away. Like a warning. After a long pause he continued. “She’s looking for someone to blame. I don’t want the killer to escape while the local law enforcement is chasing their own tails.”
She narrowed her eyes. Did she trust him? No. She was discovering that Parker Bowen was willing to use any situation for his own advantage, whether it was for his career or his personal life. She wasn’t entirely sure how he thought hiding the video of her truck could benefit him, but maybe he was one of those guys who went around gathering favors. There was a power in having people in your debt.
“Thanks, but that’s not necessary.” She offered a stiff smile. “Someone must have stolen my truck.”
He arched a brow. “And then returned it?”
Lynne froze, abruptly remembering the strange sensation when she’d first crawled into her truck. Had she subconsciously realized it’d been moved? Maybe the interior was a few degrees too warm. Or the seat not exactly in the right position.
A queasy horror clenched her stomach, but she met Parker’s gaze without flinching. She didn’t want him to realize how unnerved she was. “Yes.”
“You think the sheriff will believe you?”
“I have a witness.” It was a struggle for Lynne to form coherent words. She wasn’t afraid of the sheriff. Why would she be? She hadn’t done anything wrong. But the obscene thought that the killer had taken her truck to commit murder . . .
Parker stiffened, as if astonished by her confession. “A witness?”
“Kir Jansen spent the night in my house.”
“Ah.” Something that might have been jealousy tightened his jaw. “How fortunate for you.”
Desperately needing to be alone so she could process the latest tragedy, Lynne backed toward the door. The last thing she wanted was to reveal how close she was to full-out panic.
“Thanks for the heads-up, Parker.” She nodded toward the television. “You should probably give the footage to the sheriff.”
He stepped toward her. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Of course.”
With a meaningless smile she turned and headed out of the office and down the hallway. It wasn’t until she was climbing back into her truck that she allowed the smile to fade and the waiting fear to rush through her.
“Am I going to be okay?” she whispered.
There was no answer.
Chapter 15
Kir watched Lynne pull away, absently patting King’s head as unease whispered down his spine. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight. Not an unreasonable fear, considering two women were dead. But he couldn’t be with her 24/7, he reminded himself. Not if he intended to hunt down who was responsible.
Needing to stay busy, Kir returned to the kitchen and washed the dishes. Then, unable to resist temptation, he cleaned out the cabinets and rearranged them to make the small kitchen as functional as possible. He wasn’t trying to intrude, but he’d made a fortune organizing other people’s lives. He was an expert.
He smiled wryly, heading into the bathroom to take a quick shower. What was he going to do with his expertise if he did sell his business? He didn’t really want to start a new business. The stress had been fine when he was young, but he didn’t want to work a hundred hours a week anymore. Then again, there was no way he could lie around doing nothing. He’d rather shove a fork in his eye.
It was the sound of King scratching at the bathroom door that ignited a flash of inspiration.
He didn’t want the constant demands of creating a new company, but what about a not-for-profit charity? His organizational skills along with his contacts in the business world were a perfect combination to raise money. Starting with Lynne’s animal sanctuary.
An excitement he hadn’t even realized was missing from his life tingled through him. A new adventure. Just what he needed. And having that adventure include Dr. Lynne Gale? Well, that was a bonus.
After finishing his shower, Kir dressed and bundled himself into his leather coat and boots. Then he clicked a leash on King’s collar and took him for a walk around the yard to check for signs of any unwelcomed intruders during the night. Once he was assured that there were no fresh tracks that would reveal an intruder, he took a jog around the block. If anyone was keeping an eye on Lynne’s house, he wanted them to have a good look at the massive dog.
Returning King to the house, he headed to his SUV. The sullen clouds hung low enough to brush the treetops as he drove through town. It was almost nine, but the streets were oddly empty. Or maybe they just felt empty after the hustle and bustle of Boston.
Driving in the city was a gladiator sport, not a solo activity.
It was a relief not to battle traffic, but it did make his SUV stand out. He crawled over the icy roads at a snail’s pace, then parked two blocks away from the church. He didn’t want to be spotted and spook the pastor before he was ready to confront him.
After heading directly to the small parsonage, he circled around it, peeking into the windows. Empty. Next he strolled up the scooped pathway to the church. The back door was locked. He glanced around, making sure no one was driving past before he rounded the edge of the brick building. It was quite likely that Pastor Bradshaw was busy with one of his charities around town, but he was going to make sure before he left.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he walked past the first window. No one was in the storage area. He moved on, his boots crunching against the frozen layer of ice that covered the snow. Evoking his memory of the interior, he realized he must be passing the bathrooms. The next window had to be Bradshaw’s office.
Kir slowed his pace, coming to a halt at the edge of the window to peer inside. He smiled. Even through the frosty glass he could make out the shape of the pastor seated at his desk.
&
nbsp; Not giving the man time to escape, Kir hurried to the front of the church. Tugging on the heavy wooden door, he was surprised to discover it was tightly locked. With a shrug, he returned to the back of the building and with one sharp shove of his shoulder had the lock broken. He should feel bad, he acknowledged, silently moving through the cluttered storage area. But wasn’t there some saying about one door closing and another one being opened?
He was just taking it from a spiritual level to a literal one.
Reaching the office, Kir cautiously peered around the edge of the open door. Inside Pastor Bradshaw was still seated at his desk, his head bowed as tears streamed down his face. His fingers were absently shredding the flowers that had spilled from an overturned vase.
Kir froze. The man looked pathetic as he hunched forward, his shoulders drooping. Or terrifying, he silently acknowledged. This could be the regret of a man who’d just murdered two women.
It was a timely reminder as Kir moved to stand in the doorway. He needed to be on full alert. If this man was responsible, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.
Remaining in the doorway in case he needed a quick exit, Kir leaned against the jamb. “Am I interrupting?”
Bradshaw jerked his head up, clearly caught off guard. “You,” he muttered, shoving himself to his feet. “How did you get in here?”
Kir shrugged. “Despite being the son of a sheriff, or more likely because of it, I developed several unsavory habits when I was young,” he admitted. “One of them was breaking into old buildings to spray graffiti.”
“This is a church.”
“Doesn’t that mean the doors should always be open?”
The pastor flushed, as if Kir had managed to strike a nerve. “The church is open on Tuesdays and Thursdays as well as Wednesday nights for our prayer meeting. I prefer not to be interrupted when I’m working on my sermons.”
Kir glanced toward the desk where the flower petals were spread over piles of paper. “Is that what you’re doing?”
The man’s flush darkened, this time with embarrassment. “I’ve tried to be patient with you, Mr. Jansen—”
“Kir.”
“Kir.” Bradshaw’s jaw tightened. “I understand you’re grieving the loss of your father.”
“I am.”
“Still, I can’t allow you to break into the church,” he continued, moving to stand directly in front of the desk. As if he could hide the evidence of the mutilated flowers. “It’s against the law.”
“Maybe, but I’m not the only sinner in this room, am I?”
Bradshaw shifted from foot to foot. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. The casual attire emphasized the fact he wasn’t just a preacher, but a young man in his prime.
“We’re all sinners.”
“So true.” Kir nodded toward the petals on the desks. “Beautiful flowers. What happened to them?”
Bradshaw took a jerky step forward. “This is your last warning to leave before I call the authorities.”
Kir ignored the implied threat. He wasn’t afraid the man was going to call the sheriff. Not yet. “What does a bouquet like that—delivered on a Sunday morning—cost?” he demanded. “A hundred bucks a week? That’s quite an indulgence for a small church.”
The pastor hesitated. Was he going to try and deny he’d ordered them? Then, as if realizing Kir had seen the delivery truck, he tried to look defiant. “I believe it’s my duty to support the local businesses.”
Kir snorted. “Especially if the owner happens to be a beautiful woman?”
“That had nothing to do with it.”
“Then why cancel your standing order now that Randi’s dead?”
Bradshaw paled, his hands clenching at his side. His intense reaction assured Kir that his suspicions were right. There was something going on between the preacher and Randi Decker.
“I assume the shop will be closing,” Bradshaw tried to bluster. “She was the owner.”
“Cut the crap, Bradshaw.” Kir narrowed his gaze, resisting the urge to move forward and tower over the man. He didn’t doubt he could beat Bradshaw in a fistfight, but he had no way of knowing if the man had a weapon. He needed to make sure he could get out of the church in a hurry. “Why did you lie to me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You pretended you barely knew Randi Decker, and now I discover she was meeting you every Sunday.”
The man scowled. “We didn’t meet.”
“Are you claiming that Randi didn’t make a flower delivery to your church every Sunday? That’s a pretty easy thing to check out.”
“Yeah, she dropped off flowers, but that was it.” He pursed his lips. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
His accusation echoed a small voice in the back of his mind. Bradshaw had a point. Kir wasn’t a cop, or a Fed, or a private eye. He was a glorified handyman who was grasping at any straw in the hopes he could figure out who had taunted his father and was now threatening Lynne.
But he wasn’t going to stop. Not until he had the truth.
He was nothing if not stubborn.
“Why did you lie?” He repeated his earlier question.
Bradshaw licked his lips. “This is bordering on harassment.”
“If you think this is harassment, just imagine what’s going to happen when the sheriff discovers your secret.”
Kir tossed the words out in the hopes of striking a nerve. They were a direct hit. This time the pastor didn’t pale. He went snow white with fear.
“What secret?”
Kir’s lips twisted. He hoped this man never played poker. His emotions were etched on his face. Unless he was a lot more clever than he pretended to be. “Your obsession with Randi Decker.”
“Obsession?” Bradshaw managed a strained laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Were you having an affair with her?”
“She’s a—” His words broke off. “She was a married woman.”
There was a pain in his voice that sounded genuine. Of course, he’d seemed genuine when he was pretending Randi was barely more than a random stranger. “When has that ever been a barrier?” Kir asked. “I know a lot of men who prefer women who are committed to a husband and family. It keeps them from being too demanding.”
With a sharp motion, the pastor turned to pace across his cramped office. “I wasn’t having an affair with Randi.”
“But you wanted to?”
“You can’t prove that.”
“I don’t have to. I just have to call the sheriff and share my suspicion with her. She can dig for the truth.”
The threat hung in the air. Like tossing a hand grenade that landed without exploding—there was no predicting whether it was going to combust or be a dud. Not even Kir knew if he would follow through. The sheriff didn’t seem to be overly pleased that he was lingering in town. She would be even less pleased if she suspected he was interfering in her investigation.
Whirling around, the pastor glared at him. “Why are you so determined to destroy me? I’ve done nothing but try and comfort you during your time of mourning.”
“There’s a killer out there,” Kir said with a simple honesty. “He has to be stopped.”
“It has nothing to do with me.”
“Then why did you lie?”
Frustration and something that might have been panic twisted the man’s features. “I can’t risk being involved.”
“Involved with what?”
“I just want to tend to my flock without scandal.” Bradshaw glanced toward the framed photograph on the wall. It was a picture of him in front of a large, glass and steel building with a wide smile on his face. It looked like one of those megachurches that catered to the wealthy suburbs of Boston.
Why would he leave such a plush position to come to Pike? There was only one explanation. “Like the scandal you had at your previous church?” Kir asked.
Bradshaw swayed. Was he going to pass out? At last he reached to gra
b the corner of a filing cabinet, visibly trying to regain command of his composure. “How did you know?”
“I have a lot of friends in a lot of places.” It wasn’t a lie. He did have a lot of friends in a lot of places.
The man made a weird sound. Something between a sob and a curse. “I didn’t know that the person I was chatting with online was underage,” he finally snapped. “She told me she was twenty-one. I might have many faults, but I have no interest in young girls.”
Well, well, well. The good pastor really did have a secret. One that presumably ruined his promising career. “That’s an easy claim to make,” Kir drawled.
The man jutted his chin. “The police searched through every chat we shared and even subpoenaed my phone to make sure I hadn’t contacted her outside the dating site. They cleared me of any wrongdoing.” A raw anger darkened his eyes. “If the investigation hadn’t become public, I would never have been asked to leave.”
Did he believe him? Kir mentally shrugged. Right now he was more interested in what happened after he came to Pike. “Is that why you were determined to choose an older woman like Randi Decker?”
Bradshaw resumed his pacing, his expression distracted. Was he trying to decide how to get rid of his unwanted guest? Maybe plotting murder?
Eventually he came to a halt directly in front of Kir. “If I tell you, will you promise to leave me alone?”
“Of course,” Kir lied without hesitation.
Bradshaw hesitated, then, seeming to accept that Kir wasn’t leaving until he confessed his real relationship with Randi, he conceded defeat. “Being a man of God comes with an enormous responsibility. I’m expected to lead by example, and to be above the weakness of the flesh. It’s not always easy.”
“People don’t expect perfection.”
Bradshaw’s laugh was shrill. “Obviously you haven’t attended church in Pike. Everyone knows everyone and they all gossip with each other. The slightest misstep and I will find myself unemployed.”
That was true enough. Gossip was the only thing in Pike that moved at lightning speed. That didn’t, however, explain Bradshaw’s connection to the dead woman.
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