“Technically, I’m implying, you’re inferring.” At Declan’s deepening scowl, Tremwith muttered, “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Your history is…checkered, isn’t it, Mr. O’Connell?”
“You make it sound like I’ve spent time in prison, which I haven’t,” he stressed. “Although eighteen years in the Royal Marines sometimes felt like it.”
“My point exactly. You were a special operative—you’ve been trained how to kill.”
Declan didn’t like where this was going. He had a suspicion the other man was merely feeling him out, not seriously considering him a suspect. Either way, he’d like to tell the bugger to go fuck himself, but that wouldn’t go over well, he knew. Plus it would upset Pelicia. As if the conversation already wasn’t. He narrowed his eyes. “I sure as hell don’t go around tossin’ bodies into the ocean or slittin’ innocent women’s throats.”
Pelicia made a choked sound. Her right hand came up to her face, fingers pressing against the bridge of her nose.
He knew she was fighting back tears, and he felt like a louse bringing up such a painful subject in such an indelicate way. He glared at Tremwith even as he murmured, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”
She shook her head, her left hand squeezing his for a moment. She massaged the bridge of her nose and then let her right hand fall to her lap. After taking a deep breath, she seemed to regain her composure. Looking at Tremwith, she said, “Declan didn’t kill Andrew, and he certainly didn’t kill Brenna.”
The constable appeared to accept that, at least for the moment. “What about your other missing guest?” He glanced down at his notepad. “Neal White?”
“Technically,” Declan responded, unable to resist throwing some of Tremwith’s snark back at him, “there’s only one missin’ guest, since you’ve already found Montkean.”
“Declan, don’t be such a smartass,” Pelicia muttered, letting go of his hand. Before he could protest the loss of her touch, she leaned into his side, clearly taking comfort from his nearness.
“Smart’s the only kind of ass I know how to be, you know that, darlin’.”
She gave a snort but otherwise ignored him. “Charlie, what are you thinking? That Neal killed Andrew and Brenna?” Her voice thickened at her friend’s name, but she held her composure.
“Until I can rule him out, yes, he’s a…person of interest.” Tremwith glanced at Declan as if to say he hadn’t ruled Declan out yet, either, then put his gaze back on Pelicia. “Has he acted suspiciously that you’ve seen?”
“No.” She shook her head. “He’s been coming here pretty much since I opened the place. He’s working on a coffee table book and comes here to photograph the islands.” She glanced up at Declan. “I can’t believe he’d hurt Brenna, let alone kill her.” She looked at Tremwith. “He seemed to really care for her.”
“Care for her in what way?”
She hesitated, no doubt not wanting to cast her friend in a negative light.
“They were shagging each other,” Declan offered.
Pelicia shot him a look.
He shrugged. “There’s no way to dress it up, darlin’. Unless you think they were in love?”
She sighed and shook her head.
Declan looked at the constable. “They were fuck buddies. Friends with benefits,” he added when Pelicia glared at him again.
“And his relationship with Montkean?”
“I wasn’t aware they had one,” she said. “Andrew was never around. I mean, I suppose they could have bumped into one another at some point, but Neal didn’t talk about Andrew at all.”
“And Andrew?” Tremwith scribbled a note on his pad.
Her brows dipped. “I don’t understand.”
“Did he talk about Neal?”
Her frown deepened. “No. Charlie, I just said, Andrew was never around.” She heaved another sigh. “I just can’t see how it could be Neal.”
“Well, we’ll be wanting to talk with him, especially since he was intimate with the first victim.” He looked at Declan again, his eyebrows slightly raised.
“And it wasn’t Declan, either.” She stood up and paced toward the fireplace, turning to stand with her back against the wall next to it. She folded her arms over her chest, looking forlorn and worried. “Declan wouldn’t have hurt Bren…” She trailed off, biting her lip.
Standing, Declan went to her and pulled her into his arms, pressing her face gently against his chest. He stared at Tremwith. “Do you have all you need, Constable?”
“No. I’d like to speak to you, Mr. O’Connell. In private, if I may.”
Pelicia pulled away from Declan and looked at the constable. Her face was pale but she remained composed. “About what?”
“That’s between Mr. O’Connell and myself. For the moment.” Tremwith scooped up his hat and got to his feet. “Mr. O’Connell?” As if thinking his words may have been too abrupt, he sent a smile Pelicia’s way and a softly spoken, “Perhaps I might have that cup of tea, then?”
She glanced from one man to the other. Declan could see she wanted to stay, to find out what the two were going to discuss, but knew she realized the constable wouldn’t talk in front of her. She sighed. “Of course,” she murmured and walked out of the drawing room.
Declan turned his attention back to the constable. “What is it?”
The man’s troubled gaze met his. “I didn’t want to say this in front of Pelicia, though I know she’s not stupid and may have already pieced it together. Or will before too much longer.” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m thinking that Brenna Brown was killed by mistake. Unless she was living a secret life, no one had any major grudges against her.” He shook his head. “Whoever murdered her thought he was killing Pelicia.”
Declan drew a deep breath and held it a moment before exhaling. “Aye. I’d thought so, too.” He’d seen the look in Pelicia’s eyes that told him she felt guilt over her friend’s death. “So does Pel.”
Tremwith nodded. He turned his cap around and around in his hands. “If this Neal White returns, watch yourself.”
“He’s a bloody photographer.” Declan frowned. “You aren’t seriously considering him as a suspect?”
The constable’s heavy eyebrows rose. “And if he’s not a suspect, who does that leave?”
The man had a point. “Well, it wasn’t me.”
Tremwith gave another nod. “I didn’t really think it was, to be truthful. I just wanted to see your reaction.”
Just as Declan had thought. “My reaction is that it was unnecessary and all it did was further upset Pel.”
“I’m sorry about that.” Tremwith put his hat on, fidgeting with it until the brim was just the way he wanted it. “I’m just doing my job.”
Declan sighed. “Aye. I know.” He walked with the man to the front door and opened it, resting one hand on the doorknob. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need. And I’ll let you know if we see White.”
“Thank you.” The constable touched the brim of his hat with two fingers. “Tell Pelicia I said thanks for the tea, but I had to leave. I don’t think she’ll mind.” He gave a small smile then nodded toward the officer at the far side of the front garden. “I’ll leave Kenny here. Another lad will replace him for the overnight shift.”
Declan nodded. “Thanks.” Another set of eyes would be welcome, especially since Sully was out of the picture. For now.
Pelicia stood by the sink and stared through the window at the back garden. How had her life turned so upside down in such a short time? Declan had barreled back into her life, she’d basically gotten an offer to go back to a job in London, her best friend had been murdered in her house and another man seriously wounded, and Andrew…She shook her head.
God, some days it just didn’t pay to get out of bed.
Movement from outside caught her eye. She leaned forward and gasped to see Neal standing at the edge of the garden. Without thinking, she went to the back door and opened it. She went outside an
d walked over to him. “What are you doing out here?” she asked. Not waiting for a response, she said starkly, “Brenna’s dead. Did you know that?”
A look of what appeared to be genuine shock lit his features. “What? How…” He spread his hands. “How did it happen?”
He seemed upset, but she couldn’t shake the suspicion that Tremwith had planted. Could Neal really be a murderer? He seemed so…harmless.
“You really didn’t know?” she asked, watching him carefully.
He frowned, shaking his head. “I stayed out last night to do some after-dark shots. When I started to come in this morning I saw…at least, I thought I saw a fucking wolf in your house.” He shoved his hands into the front pocket of his khakis. “It freaked me out, and I took off. I’ve been trying to calm down ever since.”
Pelicia wanted to believe him. But somehow she thought it would take more than a wolf to make him wander around for hours trying to calm down.
“I…loved her, you know?” Neal’s eyes held a sheen of moisture. “Oh, not the ever-after kind of love—I wasn’t looking to marry her or anything like that. But she…” He broke off. His chin trembled as he fought for composure. “She was a good sort.”
“Yes, she was.”
“How did she die?”
“She was murdered. In my kitchen.” Pelicia walked slowly toward the back door, and Neal followed, though at a slower pace. When she was even with the door, she glanced over her shoulder. Declan and Tremwith stood by the opened front door. The constable had his hat on, so it looked like he was getting ready to leave. Turning back to Neal, she said, “Had Brenna come to see you? Is that why she was here?”
“God, I don’t know.” He heaved a trembling sigh. “If she was here for me, she must have been trying to surprise me. I wasn’t expecting her.”
She glanced over her shoulder again. Then, meeting Neal’s gaze, she murmured, “Constable Tremwith will want to talk to you.”
Neal shook his head and backed up a few steps. “No.”
She frowned. “Neal, he’s investigating Brenna’s murder. You have to talk to him. Tell him what you know. It might help him find out who did this to her.”
“I can’t tell him anything that would help.” When Pelicia made a disgusted sound in her throat and turned toward the house, he grabbed her upper right arm in a rough grip. “Where’re you going?”
She gazed at him in disbelief. His eyes, normally full of light, were dark, flinty with resolve. His fingers dug into her arm. “Neal, let go of me.” When he tightened his grip, she said, “You’re hurting me.” Her heart lurched in fear. If he had already killed, what would stop him from killing her now? Even with Declan’s newfound abilities, he was too far away to do anything.
Something flickered in Neal’s eyes. His grip tightened even more, dragging a cry of pain from her. He cursed, his gaze going over her shoulder. Then he let go of her and turned, running through the back garden of the house next door before disappearing around the corner to be lost from sight.
The back door opened behind her. She turned to see Declan, his face hard with anger. Tremwith was right behind him.
“Pelicia?” Declan strode up to her. “I heard you yell. What happened?” Before she could respond, his nostrils flared. “Fuck! He was here. The bastard who attacked you—that damned sniper. He was just here. Did you see him?”
She stared at him wide-eyed. “It…was Neal.”
“And you just stood here talkin’ to him instead of callin’ for one of us?”
“Which way did he go?” Tremwith asked. When Pelicia pointed a shaky finger in the direction Neal had fled, the constable turned his head and spoke into the radio on his shoulder, recalling the police unit back to the scene. He shot a look at both of them and with a terse, “Stay here,” he pulled his gun and started off in search of the suspect.
Declan stalked to the edge of the garden and then turned back to her. “Jaysus, Pelicia. What the hell were you thinkin’?”
“I…” She shrugged. She hadn’t been thinking, not until she was already outside with him and he’d started acting so strangely. By then it had been too late.
“Well, what did he have to say? Where’s he been? What’s he been doin’?”
“He said he came back this morning and saw, well, you. When you were in wolf form, I mean. He said the wolf scared him so much that he ran and has been trying to calm down ever since.” She bit the inside of her lip when Declan shot her a glance.
“And you bought that?” His voice echoed his look of disbelief.
“Declan, I just cannot believe he’s a murderer.” Pelicia crossed her arms, knowing her posture was defensive and not caring. She’d known she’d been stupid to go out into the garden with Neal—she didn’t need Declan pointing it out to her. “I mean, I know you’ve recognized the scent—and I trust you on this—but I’ve known the man for two years. He just doesn’t seem…” She shook her head. “And why kill Brenna, for God’s sake? He said he loved her.”
“You’re talkin’ as if you think Brenna was killed deliberately, when I know that you know in all probability she was killed by mistake.” He sighed and walked back to her, cupping her elbows in his broad palms. “You have to know that, Pel,” he said, his voice soft, the hands on her arms warm and strong. “Whoever did it thought it was you.”
“But why?” She searched his gaze, bewilderment swirling through her. “Why would someone be after me?”
“Because of me. With Sully’s attack, I think it’s Ryder’s cousin, back for another try. And since you’re important to me, that makes you a target, too.” He looked up to see Constable Tremwith pushing his way back through the short hedgerow on the edge of Pelicia’s property. “What is it?” Declan asked, tensing.
The police constable shook his head. “I lost him.” He was breathing heavily. “I’m going to meet up with the unit, but we’ll leave a man stationed out front, as before.” He paused and stared at Declan, no doubt reading the tension that rode him. The constable looked from Declan to Pelicia and back again. “Perhaps we’d best post a man here in the back garden as well.”
Pelicia opened her mouth to voice an instinctive protest—she valued her privacy and to have the police mucking about wasn’t going to do anything for her reputation, either—but then she reminded herself that her friend and one of her lodgers were dead. There was no question that a police presence was necessary. “Yes, I think perhaps you should.”
Chapter 17
He waited until the cops had cleared out and then made his way closer to the Nola. Twice as he lay in his sniper’s camouflage in the tall grasses policemen had walked past him, one no more than a half-meter away. But he was patient and knew how to remain absolutely still. He’d had years of training—and experience—and could blend into his surroundings.
Hitching up his trousers, he hunkered down behind a bush at the corner of the house across the street and assessed the situation. One uniformed bobby out front in his vehicle and, as he watched, another peered around the corner of the house from the back garden. So, two constables standing guard. As if they could stop him.
He snorted. Two country policemen, with no experience dealing with someone like him…Hell. It was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel.
By removing that fop Andrew, he’d already ensured that O’Connell and Pelicia would be alone in the house. Now all he had to do was take care of these two coppers—loaned out from the mainland contingent—and he could put his final plan in motion.
He pushed back the surge of anger he felt over Brenna. Yet another thing in his life that had gone wrong and, as far as he was concerned, it was O’Connell’s fault. The bastard would pay dearly for everything, including that.
Looking down, he double-checked the contents of his backpack one more time. Satisfied that he had everything, he shoved his arms through the straps and settled the pack onto his back.
He started to rise to his feet and then stopped, his attention caught by a low, skulkin
g shadow at the edge of the front garden. It looked like a big dog. When it moved away from the house, crossing into a patch of sunlight, he caught his breath.
It was that bloody wolf again.
He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Pelicia that he’d seen a wolf before. From the scuttlebutt in town he’d discovered that her other guest, the man who’d turned out to be a policeman from London, had been attacked by the thing.
That was fine by him—one more person out of the way. And it had saved him the trouble.
But it still made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. There was something…unnatural about the animal. He’d heed his instincts and wait until the thing was gone.
Three houses down the street, the wolf paused, looking back toward the Nola. Looking, it seemed, straight at him. He held himself still, hardly breathing.
He could face down an enemy without breaking a sweat, could site a human target through his sniper’s scope and pull the trigger without flinching. But this thing made him pause, made the perspiration break out along his spine, under his arms.
Finally the animal turned away and trotted off.
He watched it until it was swallowed by the tall grasses where the road ended. Then he turned his sights back onto the bed and breakfast.
Now came the fun part. Reaching up, he messed his hair. He unzipped his jacket. Pulling out his knife, he ripped through the facing, then ripped the zipper partway. He replaced the knife in the scabbard at the small of his back. “Show time.”
Pasting a panicked expression on his face, he ran up to the police car.
The copper saw him coming and rolled down the window about an inch. “What is it, sir?”
“Oh, God. Ohgodohgod.” He panted, laying it on thick. “I just saw…” He trailed off and gagged. “Oh, God. You have to come. I think she’s dead.”
Alarm spread over the constable’s face. He pushed open the door. Before the man could step out, he yanked his knife free and sliced across the policeman’s throat.
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