Deadly Deception (Deadly Trilogy)

by Alexa Grace

  Lane watched them as they unbuttoned her blouse and laid it aside as they worked. They cleansed the jagged cut on her midsection and did the same with the cut above her eyebrow. She winced with pain a few times but didn't cry out. She still wore the determined don't-screw-with-me expression she'd had in the woods before.

  He walked over to look at the Miata. It was upside down in the ditch surrounded by shards of glass, pieces of metal, and some of the contents from Frankie's purse. The smell of burning rubber from the tires mixed with automotive fluids permeated the air.

  A couple of deputies were examining the car and taking notes. He moved to the back of the Miata. The car had hit the Miata with such force that the back end of the car was folded like an accordion. The sides were crumpled when it rolled before landing in the ditch. One of the only things left intact was the roll bar, which probably saved Frankie's life. One of the officers reached in the car and retrieved Frankie's purse. Lane picked up her things from the ground and threw them into her purse.

  He overhead the EMTs talking with Frankie so he returned to the back of the ambulance. Frankie was sitting up now. A butterfly bandage covered the cut above her eyebrow and a whole series of them covered the long cut that started from her waist and ended just below her right breast.

  One of the EMTs pulled him aside. "Listen, she insists she is not going to the hospital to get a doctor to check her out. We're okay with that, but make sure she rests. If she's too active, those cuts could reopen and then she'll need some stitches."

  Right. Make Frankie rest. He had a track record for not being able to convince Frankie to do anything she didn't want to do. He glanced at her and she returned his gaze. Her nose was darkening with bruising and the areas under her eyes were swollen. She buttoned up her blouse as she headed toward his SUV. He helped her get into the car then placed her purse on the floor in the back seat. He rounded the vehicle and popped in the driver seat.

  "Baby, you've got to rest when we get home."

  "Stop babying me and start grilling me with questions."

  "What are you talking about?" Lane quirked his eyebrow questioningly.

  "You know as well as I do that the best information from a witness comes when the questions are asked immediately after the incident. So start asking me about the car that did this to me.

  "Did you see who was behind the wheel?" He hoped she could recognize the driver so he could make him pay.

  "No, he had tinted windows, but I could see his shadow and I know it was a male."

  "Describe the car."

  "It was a big car, as big as some of the used Caddies my dad used to sell at his dealership and it was black."

  "What about the front of the car? What do you remember about that?"

  She closed her eyes and concentrated. "I remember there was chrome work right in the center, but it didn't extend to the sides. The chrome work was vertical slats inside a frame of chrome that had a kind of semi-circle bottom and a horizontal line of chrome that joined the bottom at the top. It kind of looked like a smile. Does that make sense?"

  He nodded and asked, "Do you remember the night you photographed the license plate of the car David Chambers had driven to Dr. Caine's place?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you see the front of the car that night?"

  "No, I was aiming for the back of the car where I knew the license plate would be."

  "I'm asking because your description of the size of the car along with the distinctive chrome grill sounds like a Lincoln Town Car. That's the kind of car that David Chambers drives for Dr. Caine."

  Frankie paled and Lane felt her fingernails embedded in his forearm. "What?"

  "What if one of them followed me to the hospital? What if he overheard the conversation?"

  "Baby, I don't know what you're talking about." He pulled her fingers from his arm and held her hand.

  "Before the accident that wasn't an accident, I was at the hospital where Ally Black had her baby."

  "Why were you there?"

  "On Jennifer's laptop this morning, I searched her Internet history to see which websites she'd visited. There were a couple of Google searches using "Ally Black" as the search term done within days of when we think Ally disappeared. She was living with Ally at the time. Of course, she'd be concerned when she didn't return home from the hospital."

  "Did you find anything else?"

  "Yes, I also found a Google search she did for contact information for Indiana University Health. I had a hunch Ally had her baby there so after I met with Uncle Tim, I went to the hospital and talked to a Clinical Assistant named Carole who identified Jennifer's photo. She told me that Jennifer talked to her two times. The first time was the day after Ally Black gave birth. When she was told that Ally left the hospital with her father, Jennifer refused to believe it. She told Carole that neither Ally nor her mother knew who Ally's father was. It seems Jennifer visited this Clinical Assistant again last week. This time she asked Carole if a man she'd sketched was the man who said he was Ally's father. Carole confirmed the sketch was Ally's father."

  "So what are you thinking?"

  "I think the man in the sketch was someone Jennifer knew. I think it was Dr. Caine or David Chambers. If Jennifer shared her suspicions that either of them was involved with Ally's disappearance or murder and it got back to either man, then she's in more danger than I thought."

  "If the car that hit you was a Lincoln Town Car driven by Dr. Caine or David Chambers, then you're in danger, too, Frankie."

  It was seven freaking o'clock before Sheriff Tim Brennan could inspire the city police chief to get a search party out to Monroe Lake. He was frustrated and pissed. Tim bet if it was the police chief's daughter who was missing, he'd move his ass faster.

  Tim sat in his car and watched a uniformed deputy go house-to-house, showing occupants a picture of Jennifer. He still couldn't fully grasp that his daughter was missing. Yes, he'd been worried about her living on campus a couple of hours away from home. But never in his worst nightmare would he have thought she'd become a missing person.

  His attention went back to the deputy who was to be in a lengthy conversation with the home owner. At first, he thought there might be some information the deputy was gleaning about Jennifer. But then he heard laughter and realized they were not talking about his missing daughter.

  Furious, he got out of the car and slammed the door so hard he was surprised the window glass didn't break. He pulled Jennifer's photo and his badge out of his pocket and started the process of going house-to-house on the opposite side of the road. At the fifth house he visited, no one was home. The house had a wide view of Monroe Lake. He walked through the backyard of the house to a wooden boat ramp. Standing on the ramp, he looked across the glistening lake and thought. If this were a missing person in his county and the last ping on the cell tower was near a lake, one of his first orders would be to get scuba divers into the lake. He jerked his cell phone out of his pocket to call his county scuba diving team leader, Blake Stone. Fuck protocol. He didn't care whose jurisdiction it was. He was going to find his daughter. If there was something in that lake that would lead him to Jennifer, he had to find it. He prayed to God it wouldn't be her body.

  David Chambers sat in the shade of a huge oak tree in the black Lincoln Town Car, five houses up from where Lane and Frankie lived. He'd been there at least an hour and was getting more tense by the minute. He'd checked the front of the car and the damage wasn't as bad as he thought it would be considering what he'd done. To the average person, it looked like he'd been in a fender-bender. No big deal.

  That bitch, Frankie Henderson, had to be dead. Hell, her car spun three or four times before it flipped. Being hit like he rammed her in a tiny car with a convertible top like that, there was little chance she made it out alive. But he had to make sure. That's why he was watching the house.

  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He hadn't told Dr. Caine about what he'd overheard in the hospital nor had he to
ld him about ramming Frankie's car. The wimp-ass doctor would probably tell him not to hurt his precious Frankie Henderson. Like he'd listen to that advice, especially after he'd overheard that Frankie was related to Jennifer Brennan. Shit. And now she also knew that Jennifer suspected the man Ally Black left with was not her father. What was the deal about the sketch? Whose likeness did she sketch? He was willing to bet it was him.

  It was highly unlikely Frankie and Lane Henderson had come to the Forever Home Adoption Agency by chance. Hell, the likelihood of it being a coincidence was as likely as him becoming the next pope. That bitch, Frankie was looking for her cousin, Jennifer Brennan.

  A car appeared down the street moving in his direction. It was a black Cadillac Escalade like the one he knew Lane Henderson drove. The SUV drew closer then turned into the Henderson's driveway. David eased the car up the road closer to the house so he could see better. Lane got out of the driver's side, walked around the vehicle, and opened the passenger door to help Frankie Henderson out of the car. Damn! He slammed his hands down on the steering wheel. How the hell did she survive?! Now what was he going to do? He had to get rid of the bitch before his world exploded around him. He'd find a way, too. Nothing stood in his way in the past when he needed to take care of a problem and nothing would this time. She'd better enjoy her final hours alive because if he had anything to do with it, they'd be her last.

  Lane led Frankie upstairs, his large hand protectively rested against the small of her back. But instead of heading toward his room where he wanted her to take a nap, she headed for the shower in her suite.

  "Frankie, are you sure a shower is a good idea?"

  "I feel disgusting. I'm sweaty and dirtier than I want to think about. I'm taking a shower." Lane stood in her bathroom as she tore off her bloodstained white blouse and pitched it toward a waste basket. She pulled off her jeans and threw them in the laundry basket. Wearing only her bra and panties, she put her hands on her hips and said, "Are you just going to stand there and watch or can you give me some privacy? I know I must look like crap."

  "Baby, you look beautiful to me no matter what."

  "That's sweet of you to say, but I would really like to be alone for a while."

  Making no move to leave, Lane turned on the shower and watched as steam filled the room. He looked down at the butterfly bandages that ran up her mid-section. "I forgot about these bandages. They're going to get wet. "I'll go downstairs and look in the first aid kit," said Lane as he slowly closed the door. He was worried about her, and hesitant to leave her in the shower alone. He raced down the stairs taking the steps two at a time. He went into the kitchen where he kept the first aid kit. He grabbed it and ran back upstairs. When he got to the closed bathroom door, he knocked.

  "Frankie, are you okay?"

  "Yes."

  "Can I come in?"

  "Can I stop you?" she asked sarcastically.

  He took that as a "yes" and pushed the bathroom door open. Then he stood at the shower door watching Frankie's silhouette in the etched glass. "You're so hot, Frankie. Want me to join you?" he teased.

  "What part of 'I want to be alone' do you not understand?"

  He leaned against the shower door as he opened the first aid kit. "Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

  "Both."

  "The good news is we have a well-stocked first aid kit. The bad news is there are no butterfly bandages. I'll run down to the drug store and get them. When I get back we can play doctor."

  "Just go. Get out of my hair for a while."

  "I'm not going anywhere until you get out of the shower. People fall in showers all the time and you were in a major accident today. You may think you're fine, but you're not super-human, Frankie. You need to rest."

  Frankie sighed and turned off the water. She grabbed the fluffy white towel Lane offered and wrapped it around her body. She got another towel to dry her hair, and then slipped into her terrycloth robe. She looked at Lane, "Okay, I'm out of the shower. You can go now."

  He kissed her forehead and closed the bathroom door behind him. In a few moments, motor of Lane's SUV revved up, then he back out of the driveway.

  She wiped the steam from the mirror and gazed at her reflection. There was a strip of bluish green bruising across her nose and swelling beneath each of her eyes. It could have been worse, Frankie thought. She could have lost her life when that car flipped so a little bruising, swelling and cuts were nothing.

  Frankie used a wide-tooth comb to rake through her hair, and then she brushed her teeth. Walking into her bedroom, she pulled a white knit tank and a pair of purple cotton pajama shorts out of a dresser drawer and slipped them on. She pulled down the comforter on her bed and fluffed the pillows. Suddenly a nap sounded very, very good. She lay down on the bed and rested her head against the pillows.

  The front door of the house had a distinctive squeak when opened. She heard that sound and opened her eyes. Someone was in the house. She'd heard the motor of Lane's SUV as he left for the drug store. Frankie heard the faint sound of footsteps in the foyer as if someone were trying to be especially quiet. She reached for her bedside table drawer and quietly pulled it open to get her Glock. But it wasn't there. Then she remembered she'd left it in her purse that was still in Lane's car.

  Frankie heard the footsteps again, this time on the steps of the staircase. Someone was headed upstairs. She looked into the drawer again for her stun gun, pepper spray, or knife. Anything! Then she remembered she'd put these things in her backpack the last time they did surveillance. Damn it. Why didn't she put something back in the drawer?

  She listened to the sound of footsteps in the hallway as the intruder headed for Lane's room. Lane's bedroom door opened, and then a second later, it closed. The footsteps were now coming toward her room. She froze. Time had run out to do anything but pretend she was asleep until she could make a move. She closed her eyes. She hadn't turned on a lamp so the only light came from the bathroom. The footsteps drew closer and closer, until in the slits of her eyes she could see David Chambers standing in her doorframe holding a revolver in his hand.

  Still pretending to be asleep, peeking through the slits of her eyes, she watched him cross the room to the end of her bed. As he slowly moved to the side of the bed and moved closer to her, she mentally prepared to fight. A couple more steps and she'd make her move.

  David was so close she could hear him breathing, when she quickly kicked her long leg and sent the gun flying to the other side of the room. Surprised, he staggered backward. She jumped to her feet to kick him again, but he grabbed her left arm. Swiftly, she brought her right fist down and delivered a hard blow to the bridge of his nose. He howled as blood sprayed all over her and the wall. She didn't stop. She spun and kicked but missed his groin. He pushed her away, crashing her against the wall. He raced toward her and tried to get a grip on her throat, but she fisted her hand, brought up her arm and slammed her fist into a cluster of nerves she knew resided in the side of his neck. He dropped his hands and looked confused. She then brought her fist up and smashed into the same area of his neck again. He staggered back, got his balance and headed for her again. This time she tightened her fist and hammered his ear and watched as he slumped to the floor, slipping into unconsciousness.

  She was breathing hard, her adrenalin at full speed. She dove across the bed and found his gun lying on the floor on the other side. She got to her feet and pointed the gun at him. He lay motionless on the floor, clearly unconscious.

  David Chambers was here to kill her. Now she was certain he was driving the black car that rammed her Miata. He was undoubtedly sent here to finish the job by Dr. Eric Caine, who was his employer and directed his every move. She nudged at David's leg to ensure he was still unconscious, and then she searched his pockets and found his car keys. She grabbed her Reeboks out of the closet and ran down the stairs. In the coat closet in the foyer, she grabbed her backpack, flung open the front door and ran.

  She didn't stop running
until she got to the Lincoln Town Car. She dived inside, locked the doors and turned the ignition. She put David's gun, her shoes, and backpack on the passenger seat. The good doctor was about to get an uninvited visitor.

  Three policemen and Tim Brennan stood in a huddle discussing the results of their house search for Jennifer. Not one had a thing to add to the discussion. They'd found no one who had seen Jennifer, nor was she in any of the homes that the residents freely agreed to have them search.

  Frustrated, Tim walked back to his car to call Blake Stone to see when his county's scuba diver team would arrive, and to tell him he'd made reservations for them in the same hotel where he was staying. They'd start out early the next morning to search the lake.