Going on about almost the exact same thing.
Nia’s light gold eyes narrowed.
That sharp mind of hers started to whirl.
Staring into Nia’s eyes, Nielson said softly, “Deb, if you don’t mind, I need to speak to my guest here.”
Deb’s spine stiffened. Even without looking at her dead-on, he could see her outright indignation. Glancing away from Nia, he dredged up a smile. “She drove a long way—recently suffered a loss. Surely you understand.”
If nothing else, he knew how to play this woman.
Deb’s mouth pinched tight, but she inclined her head.
“Oh, certainly. But we’re not done discussing this.”
Of course, they weren’t.
Just as long as she left now, before Nia Hollister got it in her mind to ask the biggest gossip in town—
“So. I’m kind of curious. Just who is it that you keep bitching about?”
Nia folded her arms across her chest and stared at Deb as the older woman started for the door.
Deb came to stop and met Nia’s gaze. “Excuse me?”
Lifting a shoulder in a negligent shrug, Nia said, “The last time I was here, you were here, too. Yelling at the man over there about something. Seems to me it’s the same sort of something. Just has me curious.”
“If you really want to know—”
“Deb.” Nielson shoved up from his desk.
She shot him a dour look over one skinny shoulder. “It’s my duty as a concerned citizen to warn people, Sheriff. As you aren’t taking your job seriously.”
Then she looked back at Nia. “We’ve got two cold-blooded killers in this town—a man by the name of Law Reilly, and his mistress, Hope Carson. They are a piece of work—murdering savages, the both of them. They killed a girl, just over a month ago. He even had the brass to leave the woman’s body on his own property and then concoct some insane story that the sheriff here believes. They also killed a deputy. But nobody is doing a damn thing about it.”
“That’s enough,” Nielson said.
“They even—”
“Enough.” Nielson came out from behind the desk and stormed over to Deb’s side. He tolerated her, because generally, she meant no harm. She was a gossip and although she needed, craved attention, as long as she got it, she was fine.
But this wasn’t just malicious—it was dangerous. And cruel.
He could see the fury glinting in Nia Hollister’s gaze and he had no idea if Deb was even aware of it.
Fury … and grief. They were a bad, bad mix.
Staring into Deb’s nearly colorless eyes, he said, “I repeat, that is enough. Not only are you overstepping, you’re coming dangerously close to what could be considered slander.”
“Oh, no, it couldn’t. I’m entitled to my opinion.”
“Not if you’re stating it as fact, which you are. And there’s no damned proof. There is actually evidence to the contrary,” Nielson snapped, shoving between Deb and Nia.
Nia’s pale brown gaze drilled into the back of his neck, but he ignored it, because right now, he needed to get this viper out of his office, before she caused any more problems. What in the hell had Law done to piss her off so bad?
“Now, if you would, can we discuss this later?”
Deb’s eyes narrowed at him, glittering with outrage. “Why won’t you listen to reason, Sheriff Nielson?”
“Because it’s not reason,” he snapped. “And I’m done discussing this. You either remove yourself, or I’ll remove you, Ms. Sparks. My patience has reached its limit.”
Without waiting to see if she would listen, he turned his back to her and listened as her solid, square, sensible shoes thudded dully on the floor. Nia Hollister stood, her pale eyes narrowed, watching him closely.
Her face, a clean, elegant oval, was unreadable.
Although there were circles under her eyes, in that moment, no emotion showed on her face.
She had one hell of a poker face, he decided.
Too good of one.
And that was what warned him. What worried him. She was keeping too much bottled up inside and after what she’d been through, that wasn’t good.
“You’ll have to excuse her,” he said, keeping his voice mild and low. “She gets excited, and very often, she gets excited about things she has no reason getting excited about.”
“She was talking about my cousin,” Nia said, her voice low and even. She had a lovely drawl, deeper than even those in Ash, slower, softer.
She came from Virginia, he remembered, Williamsburg, he thought.
When he didn’t respond, a black brow arched over her expressionless eyes. “Was she or was she not talking about my cousin?”
“She was. However, she has no idea what she’s talking about,” Nielson said.
He hoped she’d believe him.
But he suspected he was hoping for too much.
This woman had lost too much. And he had nothing to offer her.
Sometimes, when a person had nothing, even speculation and pure bullshit was better.
Nia curled her lip. “She sounded pretty damn certain to me.”
“Well, I’ve also had her in my office, on numerous occasions, and the stories have ranged from her niece kidnapping her dog, to the local kids trying to poison her cat, and about every other month, she reports seeing a serial killer van.”
Nia’s brows dropped low over her eyes. “A serial killer’s van?”
“No.” Nielson said, “A serial killer van. That’s exactly how she phrases it. According to Deb, every white work van is a serial killer van. She once reported the local phone company’s van.”
“So because she’s a routine complainer, you’re dismissing her complaints.”
“No.” Nielson shook his head. “I don’t dismiss complaints. But her suppositions don’t hold any water. What she was ranting about has been investigated, completely and fully. The man she’s accusing has a rock-solid alibi. Trust me, Ms. Hollister, if you really want me to find who took your cousin from you, then don’t make me waste my time on Deb Sparks. There’s nothing there.”
“So you’re saying you investigated both of them … inside and out.”
“Yes.” Nielson met her gaze and held it.
She looked away before he did, but in his gut, he knew it wasn’t because she was ready to concede a damn thing.
She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck, moving to stare out the window.
Nielson wondered what it was about that window that drew the attention of his visitors so much. Almost every single person ended up in just that spot, staring outside.
“Do you have anything?” Nia murmured. “Know anything?”
“No. I’m afraid not,” he said quietly. “We’re still pursuing all avenues.”
He wished he could tell her something.
As hard as it was to do this job, it was even harder to look into those unusual, pale golden eyes and keep saying no.
“All avenues,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, sad.
Then she turned around and glared at him. “Shove it up your ass, Sheriff,” she bit off. “I don’t want to hear the standard line again. I’ve heard it enough. What I want to hear is what you’re doing.”
“Now, Ms. Hollister. You’re a bright woman and I imagine you’ve probably been doing some research … you know I’m not going to go sharing details of this case with you.”
She sneered at him. “What case? You don’t have jackshit. Fuck it,” she muttered, shoving away from the wall. “I’m starting to think you couldn’t find your dick in the dark without a flashlight and a road map.”
He winced as the door slammed shut behind her.
She’d just take a drive out there.
That was all.
Okay, so she had placed a couple of phone calls to figure out just where this Law Reilly lived, since his phone number and his address were unlisted and she wasn’t about to go asking around town.
She wasn’t getting to
o over-the-line obsessive. Besides, what was over the line when her cousin was dead, anyway?
If she didn’t kill anybody, she figured she was within the lines.
She came to the drive and had to double-check the directions to make sure she was at the right place. It was one long drive, too.
A person couldn’t even see the house from the road all that well, not until after that first little dip and bend.
Then the land opened up and what a house.
She hated to admit it, but her heart gave a little skip. Then a sigh. Wistful envy burned through her for the briefest moment, quickly chased away by the rush of rage.
She’d been busting her ass for the past few years and still couldn’t do much more than an apartment halfway between Chesapeake and Williamsburg. At least not anything that suited her. And some guy who might have something to do with Joely dying had a place like this? Fuck that.
According to that woman in town, this bastard knew something about how she’d died … might even have killed her.
Nausea churned in her gut and if she’d had anything for breakfast other than tea, she might have puked.
Oh, fuck.
What if this guy had killed her? What if she was being stupid enough to go out here …
Stop it, Nia.
It wasn’t like she was unequipped to take care of herself. She sometimes found herself in very dangerous circumstances.
And it wasn’t like she hadn’t come out here prepared for that possibility.
Pulling up in front of the house, she kicked a leg over the bike, taking a few minutes to study the endless expanse of brick and sparkling glass.
Shit.
If Joely’s killer lived inside there, it just added one more question to the list she had for her Maker.
Psychotic murderers shouldn’t be able to live in places like that.
They belonged in shadowy, smelly hellholes.
Period.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
LAW HEARD THE ENGINE.
Vaguely.
But he tuned it out.
He was on a roll—the story was coming solid and strong. It hadn’t come like this in … weeks. Probably longer. Hope was somewhere working on whatever she was doing to make his life easier.
It wasn’t Lena, because she’d call first. It wasn’t Ezra, because he was with Lena and Lena would make him call first.
So, basically, it wasn’t anybody important.
That was all the information he needed to tune the world out as the story unfolded before him.
It was tricky, trying to talk the story free, instead of type it.
The damn voice-to-text software was a pain in the ass, even though he knew he needed to get used to it.
Still, today, for once, it was coming easier and he wasn’t about to stop. At least not until the low, throaty rumble of a motor drew closer, closer … closer.
A chill raced down his spine.
He tried to ignore it.
But as he went to talk out the next passage—it had just been in his head—the words froze in his throat and he found himself staring out the window.
He couldn’t see anything then.
Not a damn thing.
But still … he stared, waited, listened as the engine abruptly cut off.
Forty-five seconds later, there was a knock on the door.
Scowling, he saved and finagled the laptop off to the side, scowling at the cast that still immobilized his right forearm from just below the elbow. He shoved up out of the chair and was already halfway to the door when Hope appeared in the hallway.
“I got it,” he said.
She arched a brow at him.
“I’m supposed to be doing this sort of thing,” she reminded him.
He ignored her.
He needed to answer that door. In his gut, he knew it.
With a feeling that was a weird mix of both dread and jubilation, he turned the doorknob.
The door opened to reveal an Amazon. That was his very first thought.
His second thought was that he didn’t know how in the hell she’d ended up on his property, but he wanted to so he could send whoever a thank-you card.
Her eyes … Shit. Her eyes.
They were the palest shade of gold he’d ever seen, paler than whiskey, but just as potent, just as strong. Mysterious and beautiful.
They stared into his, revealing nothing.
Her skin was the color of coffee and cream, warm and smooth and delicious.
The leather jacket she wore seemed too damn warm for the weather they were having, but it suited her. Just like the plain black T-shirt suited her, just like the worn and faded jeans suited her.
He imagined black silk would suit her every bit as well. Black silk, pearls, red lipstick on that lush mouth. Or even nothing at all. Lust punched through him with a force that damn near leveled him.
She lifted a black brow at him.
Those lush lips parted and she said, “Are you Reilly? Law Reilly?”
Oh, shit. She was here looking for him.
Maybe fate had decided to smile on him.
He stepped aside and gestured her inside. “I am. And what can I do for you, Ms.…?”
“Nia. Call me Nia.” The thick black fringe of her lashes swept down, shielding her eyes. A faint smile curled her lips up as she sauntered inside, her hips swaying from side to side. He turned and admired the view as he shut the door.
“You’ve got a gorgeous house.”
You’ve got a gorgeous ass, he thought. But he kept those words behind his teeth—barely. Nia. He liked that.
She shot him a look over her shoulder.
There was a strange look in her eyes, a mix of something. It bordered on satisfaction and contempt. With a smug grin curling her lips, she turned around and faced him from in the middle of the hallway.
“So. You’re Law Reilly.”
Somewhere in the back of his head, a siren started to wail.
He really, really needed to listen to it.
But he was still so caught up in staring at her … it wasn’t until she had that gun pointed at his head that he fully realized there was a problem.
But then she smirked at him, and that served as a very, very efficient wake-up call.
Aw, hell.
He almost gaped at her, but he had enough self-control—barely—to keep from staring at the gun in her hand like some slack-jawed yokel. Instead, he started ticking through his options and measuring the escape routes.
Hope had retreated to the kitchen and she was enough of a loner that unless she sensed a problem, she wasn’t coming out here.
Good.
One less victim.
This woman held the gun in a firm grasp, but there was something about her white-knuckled grip that told him she wasn’t used to handling weapons. Especially loaded ones. And he’d bet his busted right arm and his left arm that gun was loaded—she was looking for blood.
Still, she wasn’t comfortable with the weapon—one thing he had going for him.
He needed every last advantage he could get, considering the fact that his right arm was all but useless and his best friend was just a few yards away.
Yeah, Hope was a loner, but if she did meander out here, it would give this woman another target.
“Yeah. I’m Reilly,” he said, keeping his voice low and steady, even though he wanted to yell. “What can I do for you?”
That lush, pretty mouth of hers curled in a sneer.
“What can you do for me? How’s this for starts? Bring my cousin back—that woman you killed? I want her back.”
That woman you killed—
Staring into her pale, grief-stricken golden eyes, something in his heart turned to ash.
Inexplicably, misery rolled through him. He’d been dealing with this shit for weeks. Yeah, some people believed he had something to do with raping and killing a woman. Not a lot, but even one person thinking he could do that was too much.
; He’d thought he was getting used to it—thought he could handle it.
What in the hell should it matter what this sleek, sexy stranger thought?
It shouldn’t. Shouldn’t matter, not one damn bit, but it did.
“I didn’t kill your cousin,” he said quietly. “I’ve never raised my hand to a woman in my life.”
She glared at him again, and even though she was standing there with a gun on him, even though she thought he was a murdering psychotic, he still found himself drawn to her—found himself wanting to cradle her face in his hands and see if he couldn’t soften the hard, angry line of her mouth. Then he wanted to pull her close and hold her, ease the grief he saw in her eyes.
“Yeah, like you’re going to say anything different.” The gun in her hand started to tremble.
People didn’t realize the strain it was to hold a firearm steady, especially for more than a few seconds.
“I wasn’t in town when she died.” He thought he heard a board creaking and he wanted to look, see if it was Hope, but he didn’t dare—couldn’t risk drawing attention to her. “I was at a funeral for a friend of mine. There was no way I could have killed her.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. Also heard about your girlfriend—some sick shit the two of you got going between you. Is that how the two of you get your rocks off?” Her voice broke as she stared at him.
Law could see the desperation in her eyes and it clawed at his heart.
She didn’t really think he did it, he realized. She just wanted to—maybe even needed to. Needed some sort of closure. And because she needed that, she needed to believe he had done it.
“Look,” he said softly, edging a step closer. He heard something from the hall—a soft, shaky gasp.
Fuck. It was Hope. He saw her from the corner of his eye. She had her back pressed to the wall and she had a phone in her hand.
Holding out a hand, he said, “Just put the gun down and we can talk. I can prove I wasn’t here and you can talk to my friend—you decide then if you really think she’s the sort of person who’d kill anybody.”
“Get the fuck back.”
Then she glanced past him. Her eyes widened and he swore. She’d just caught sight of Hope’s reflection in the mirror behind Law.
She shifted, taking two long strides and placing herself where she could see Law and Hope. “Put the damn phone down,” she snarled at Hope.
If You See Her Page 18