The spray from the plow covered the rented Escalade’s tracks in a white flurry of powder. If the forecast was right, heavy snow would continue to fall for the next several days. The road would likely close. If her luck held out, it would be days before anyone missed Jamie. She would be home in Seattle by midnight, tucked safely in bed beside her husband, the cop.
Jill tried to block the images from her mind, but as hard as she tried, all she could think about was Jamie growing cold in his open grave. His red blood sinking into the pristine snow blooming scarlet, like a winter rose.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The rain hammered relentlessly on the roof of the cab. The hiss of the blasting heater seemed too loud, the oppressive heat adding to her queasy desire to escape. It felt too close in here.
She handed him thirty bucks and told him to keep the change.
“You wan’ receipt?” the taxi driver asked in passable English.
“No,” Jill replied and stepped into the rainy night. The less evidence of her trip, the better. She had already left more of a paper trail than she wanted. The damp chill of the air cut her straight to the core. She pulled her coat closer.
The door squeaked on its hinges as she opened it. Entering the house, Jill could detect the lingering scent of embers smoldering in the fireplace. Cedar. A small nest of warmth on this miserable Seattle night.
Home. Safe. Relief flooded through her, the feeling so strong that her knees threatened to give way. Home, she thought again, far from the horrors of Lake Tahoe. Jamie’s broken body laid to rest under a frigid blanket of snow.
Jill pulled off her coat and hung it on the wall rack by the door. Leaving her bag on the landing, she climbed the stairs, fatigue having long since set in.
The house was quiet. The ticking of the mantel clock faded in the distance as she traversed the hall on the second floor. Molly emerged from the bedroom door, wagging her tail as she approached Jill. The dog stopped a few feet away and took a long sniff in the air. Her tail stalled midswing.
“Come here, girl,” Jill said softly, reaching out a hand toward Molly’s muzzle. The dog did not respond. After a long moment, the Lab returned to the bedroom, leaving Jill alone in the hallway.
Jill stared after her. Could Molly sense death? No, that was crazy. She needed to forget about Jamie. She needed sleep.
With tired hands, Jill stripped off her clothes, letting the garments fall heedlessly to the floor. Pulling back the sheets, she paused, looking down at Alex’s sleeping form.
His face was barely visible in the dull light of the room. He looked so young lying there. Tranquil. Innocent. For the longest time she sat on the bed, aching to touch him. She reached out toward him, fingertips suspended inches above his face before she let them drop to the cool sheets. Best not to wake him, she thought.
His chest rose and fell with his deep, even breaths. At last Jill slipped in between the sheets, giving in to her exhaustion. Lying here beside Alex made everything all right. Feeling at peace, she started to drift away.
Teetering on the soft edge of sleep, she suddenly opened her eyes. Had she forgotten anything at the cabin? What if someone found out about the affair, or her visit to Tahoe? In the darkened room, underneath the warm covers, she could picture Jamie’s body slowly disappearing under a blanket of snow.
Jill felt a hand gently shaking her shoulder. Reluctantly she pushed through the warm layers of sleep that enveloped her and allowed herself to surface. Her eyes squinted against the dull morning light seeping through the bedroom windows.
Alex perched on the edge of the bed, his hand still resting lightly on her shoulder.
“I brought you some coffee,” he said, inclining his head toward the night table.
“Thanks. What time is it?”
“Well past eight.”
“Damn,” she said, rubbing her eyes and propping herself up against her pillows.
“You got in late last night. I’m surprised you didn’t stay over in San Jose.”
Averting her eyes, she reached over to pick up her coffee.
“I’ve been away long enough. I just wanted to get home.” She took a sip from the steaming mug, wrapping her fingers around it for maximum transfer of heat.
“I’m sorry we were interrupted on Sunday.” Alex said with a serious look on his face.
“A break in the case?”
“Yes and no. We have a suspect, but we haven’t found him, or Natalie.”
“I’m sorry. I know how hard you’ve been pushing on this one.”
“So about Sunday …”
Jill did not flinch, but met his gaze directly. She had created the distance between them, with work, with Jamie, with the secrets she’d been keeping. Fear hovered beneath the surface of her emotions. Fear of losing Alex. Fear of her role in Jamie’s death being discovered. The world felt fragile to Jill, as if the smallest of shifts could bring everything crashing down around her.
How could she share any of it with Alex? She couldn’t. There was no way she could make him understand. Duty came first for him. He’d call the authorities in California, and everything would be exposed. Everything. No. She would involve him only if she had no other choice. Some secrets were meant to be kept.
Jill swallowed hard, and forced a crooked smile.
“Yeah, well, I knew I was marrying a cop.”
“Still, I’m not very good at balancing work and home. You were right about that and—”
Leaning forward, she silenced him with a kiss. His hand reached around to cup the back of her head, and the kiss deepened before Alex finally pulled away.
“Shit,” he said, looking at the bedside clock. “I’ve got to get going.”
“I think I’m going to work from home today,” Jill said as she eased back against the pillows.
Surprise flashed across Alex’s face.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Just tired.” She rested her hand on his, hungry for physical contact. “Any chance you’ll be home for dinner tonight?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said with a smile.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” she promised.
“I like the sound of that.”
And with a squeeze of her fingers, he was gone.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“The bastard didn’t just evaporate,” Alex growled, head tilted back as he stared at the stained, pockmarked ceiling tiles. “We must have missed something. Let’s go over it again.”
Jackson sighed, rubbing his hand across the stubble on his cheeks.
“Honeywell’s long gone. He hasn’t been to work in days. We have people watching the house, but so far, nothing. Did you get much from his computer?”
Alex laced his fingers behind his neck and shook his head.
“Like Kris said, the guy’s no dumbass. He kept his data files on a thumb drive, the kind you plug into a USB port. Probably took it with him.”
“Or maybe he threw it down a storm drain.” Jackson’s expression was grim as Alex continued.
“Either way, it’s a dead end. We found a steganography program, along with some more traditional photo-editing software.”
“Steg-a-what? What the hell is that?”
“Steganography,” Alex explained, “is a technique used to embed one message inside another. In ancient times, it was used by the Romans and the Greeks. Terrorists sometimes use this technique to exchange information. Pedophiles also use it to send pictures of their latest conquests to their network of like-minded souls.”
“Sick fucks.”
“But I’m guessing that Honeywell didn’t plan this all the way through.”
“True. It took time to empty his bank accounts,” Jackson said, inspecting Honeywell’s bank records. “He needed traveling money. But where’s he going?” Jackson’s look was pensive.
Kris Thompson burst through the door looking wide-eyed and pale. Dressed in a baggy sweater and jeans, she looked like she had spent the last two weeks cramming for e
xams. The dark circles under her eyes underscored the solemn expression on her face, making the hair prickle at the back of Alex’s neck.
“There’s a girl missing in Medford, Oregon.”
She handed Alex a copy of a police report. He skimmed the details, giving Jackson the highlights.
“Kayla Miller. Eighteen. She’s a waitress at the Brown Bear Café. She disappeared two days ago after her shift.”
“Any suspects?” Jackson asked, holding his hand out for the report. Alex handed it to him.
“Not so far. They’re looking into her ex-boyfriend. Her friends say he was an asshole. Threatened her.”
Jackson rubbed his chin, staring at the report.
“She fits the profile,” Kris said, looking grim.
Alex nodded and rubbed his eyes.
“If Honeywell was headed to California, Medford’s along the way.” Alex straightened in his chair. He plucked a sheet of paper out from amid the stack piled on the conference table. Tapping it with his index finger, he continued. “That’s where he did his certification for his mechanic’s license. We need to find out more about his life there. Who did he hang out with? What did he do in his spare time?”
“You think he’d be dumb enough to go back there?”
Alex shrugged.
“It’s a logical choice. His money will run out soon. He’s got to find work. Only he’s going to have to do it under the table. He needs connections. The farther away, the better.”
“Do you think he’d be dumb enough to pick up another girl?”
“He already got away with it once. Why wouldn’t he do it again?”
Jackson studied the police report on Kayla’s disappearance with narrowed eyes and pursed his lips.
“Let’s call Medford, find out if they have any more leads on Kayla.”
Jackson nodded.
“There’s more,” Kris said. “I did a property-records search. Honeywell’s uncle owned a hunting cabin in Winthrop.”
Alex and Jackson traded sharp looks.
“Let’s call the locals.”
Jackson visibly winced at the suggestion. He met Alex’s stare with a hard one of his own.
“We handle this ourselves. If he’s there, we can’t risk scaring him off.”
“I hear you, man,” Alex said, slapping Jackson’s shoulder. “But Natalie may still be alive. We’ve got to act fast.”
After coordinating with the Winthrop sheriff’s department, Alex and Jackson assembled a small team to head over the mountains. In addition to Alex and Jackson, there were two forensics technicians and their gear packed into an SUV.
“All set?” Alex asked as Jackson fell into step beside him.
“Ready as we’re going to be.” Jackson nodded and turned toward the lead forensics tech. “Got everything we need?”
“If there’s anything in that cabin, we’ll find it.”
Alex’s stomach clenched. A memory of Natalie flashed through his head. She was three years old and wedged into the stands beside Abby at a high school basketball game. Her voice could not be heard over the roaring of the crowd, but Alex caught a glimpse of her face, speckled with sticky cotton candy as she cheered him on.
Stealing a glance over at his partner, Alex could read resignation in the set of Jackson’s jaw. The news of the Winthrop cabin had fixed a scenario in his own head of a remote place where Honeywell could do what he wanted, with no one around to stop him. Climbing into the vehicle, he hoped that they were both dead wrong.
The roads were dry as they started to climb into the foothills of the Cascades. Jackson’s cell phone went off, and the opening strains of the William Tell overture blasted through the tinny speakers. Alex cast an irritated glance over at Jackson, wondering what would possess someone to choose that particular piece of music for a ringtone. The phone fell mercifully silent as Jackson pushed the Talk button.
“Yeah, what did you find?” Jackson’s voice was tense and his eyebrows furrowed as he listened intently to what was being said on the other end. “Shit. What color and type?” He glanced over at Alex, angling the cell phone away from his mouth. “What kind of shoes was Natalie wearing the day she disappeared?”
“Camouflage Converse sneakers with pink laces, size seven,” Alex replied without missing a beat. He had been through the file so many times that the details of her appearance, including what she was wearing the last day she was seen, were burned into his memory.
Jackson relayed the information, and his expression darkened. His lips formed into a tight line as he instructed the local cops not to touch anything until they arrived. Dread pooled at the pit of Alex’s stomach, and he ran a hand across his eyes.
“What have they got?”
Jackson hesitated, glancing out the car window before he answered.
“They found a shoe matching the description of Natalie’s underneath the couch in the cabin.”
“Fuck. I’m guessing no sign of either of them at the cabin?”
Jackson shook his head
“They had an early dump of snow. Given the undisturbed conditions outside of the cabin, it doesn’t look like anyone has been in or out in the past few days.”
Alex stared out the window at the bleak afternoon sky. The first clumps of snow clung to the evergreen trees as they passed. The engine growled as the SUV switched into four-wheel drive. They were still several hours away. Alex’s mind churned as he wondered what else they would find at the cabin.
“She may still be alive,” Jackson said, trying to inject optimism into his voice.
“Why the fuck would he bring her all the way to Winthrop if he had no intention of hurting her?” Alex asked.
Jackson fell silent, leaving Alex to dwell on his own morbid thoughts. What would he say to Natalie’s parents, to Abby, if he confirmed his current suspicions? He promised them he would find their daughter. What if she was dead? The painful thoughts clouded his mind. Pushing them firmly aside, he focused instead on Honeywell and how goddamned satisfying it would be to bring the bastard in.
Speeding through downtown Winthrop in a blur, Alex caught sight of the old western-style storefronts capped in snow. They traveled north east of the village until they reached Old Cabin Road. The eight miles of road between Winthrop and the cabin didn’t look remote on the map, but as the valley fell away in the truck’s rearview mirror, Alex sensed the isolation as the trees closed in around them.
Red and blue lights flashed up ahead, their glare reflecting off of the glistening snow. The SUV slowed. The local police had bottlenecked the road leading into the cabin. Presenting their badges, they pulled around the barricade, making the final turn onto Bear Fight Road.
The chunky wheels of the SUV fought to grip the icy path. Rocks jutted up through the crusty snow. The last nerve-racking mile of the journey cemented Alex’s conviction that Jerry Honeywell chose this isolated location for one reason only: so that no one would hear Natalie’s screams. He prayed he was wrong, but his every instinct told him otherwise.
Alex stepped out of the car and into snow that came up to his knees. Introductions were made between the local police officers and the Seattle contingent quickly. In their snow parkas and brown hats, the Winthrop officers looked like carbon copies of each other. Finally one of the officers led them inside.
The cabin was small and dark, with a main room that dominated the open space. One corner contained an ancient stove and refrigerator that showed no signs of having been used in years. A threadbare couch was shoved against the back wall of the living space. The bare floorboards squeaked with every step the officers took toward it. Alex crouched down to examine the faded orange fabric, frayed and dusty. His eyes watered, reacting to the musty smell in the air. Dust, mold—whatever it was—triggered his allergies. He blinked a few times and fought back a sneeze.
“Where exactly did you find the shoe?” he asked the police officer.
“Right there under the couch, shoved back about six inches. Probably didn’t see it before
he left.”
Careful not to touch the surface of the couch, he looked underneath to see if there was any small piece of evidence that may have been moved when they fished out Natalie’s shoe. Aside from the deep trail the shoe had carved in the generous coating of dust, the area was clear. The forensics technician set his case on the floor and opened it, preparing to look for evidence.
“Did you find anything else?” Alex asked, glancing up.
“No, but we didn’t look really hard, either,” the Winthrop officer explained. “Didn’t want to disturb the scene. You know, just in case,” he finished awkwardly, glancing away.
Alex nodded, moving his eyes around the cabin slowly, searching for all the places evidence might be hiding. He squatted by an area near the couch. Small, dark spots looked like they had seeped their way into the exposed wooden planks of the floor. Could be blood. Gesturing toward the area, Alex caught the forensics tech’s eyes, his meaning acknowledged with a terse nod.
“Check the warrant. Let’s make sure we do everything right.”
Dropping his head low between his shoulders for a moment, Alex stood slowly. With a deep sigh he looked at the Winthrop officer. The man was older, a gold wedding band adorning his left hand. Underneath a dark, bushy mustache, his mouth was set in a grim line. Alex wondered if he had children of his own. Judging the man to be in his late forties, Alex figured that if he had kids, they might be around Natalie’s age.
“Do you have dogs?” he asked at last.
All eyes turned to focus on Alex, and the silence that followed the question was leaden with the words that no one wanted to speak. Finally the officer nodded.
“There are a lot of hunters in the area. I’ll make some calls.”
“We need to search the woods,” Alex said. With heavy steps, he crossed the room to stand in front of the water-stained kitchen sink. His jaw tightened as he glanced at the worn couch before turning toward the dirt-streaked window. His gaze drifted up the hill, settling on the dense line of trees that curved around the back of the cabin and climbed high toward the ridge.
Deadly Lies Page 11