The Third Grave

by Lisa Jackson

  At nine thirty she went down to the bedroom, took off her sling and clothes, and did the best she could at showering. Her arm was feeling better and the warm water cascading over her helped in washing off any dirt and sweat from the day. She managed to shampoo, though she did drop the plastic bottle once and swore under her breath, but still, the spray felt good, as if she were exorcising the demons that had plagued her, washing away her guilt and pain. Only a few days ago, she was exuberant about the prospect of being a mother and Sylvie Morrisette was still alive, the Duval girls’ fate a mystery.

  As the room filled with steam, she scrubbed hard against her skin, rinsed the conditioner from her hair and closed her eyes. She needed to find a way to fix things with Reed. Of course she would still work on the Duval story, but she had to work things out with her husband.

  And he needs to work things out with you.

  “Right,” she said aloud as she twisted off the spray.

  Reaching for her towel on the hook near the shower, she heard the dog bark.

  Maybe Reed was home!

  Then the bark changed to a deep, guttural growl.

  A low warning.

  She stopped short.

  What the hell?

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose in trepidation.

  Dropping the towel, she snagged her robe, her shoulder protesting. But she threw the housecoat on.

  More growling, then a hard, sharp bark.

  Oh, God.

  Footsteps.

  Human footsteps.

  Running.

  Fast. Frantically.

  What?

  Who?

  Not Reed.

  Dear God. An intruder was in the house!

  Her heart went into overdrive.

  Who was it?

  Why were they inside?

  For no good reason.

  Did they have a weapon?

  Her phone! She needed her phone . . . anxiously, silently praying, Nikki patted the pockets of her robe as if by some chance it could be there while through the mist of the bathroom her gaze scraped the counter, but of course, it wasn’t there. Nope. She’d left it on the charger downstairs.

  Crap!

  A kaleidoscope of jagged images spun through her mind, of all the times she had been at a killer’s mercy, the sheer terror of fighting for her life. Her fingers clenched in the terry cloth. For a second she remained frozen and dripping onto the bathroom tiles.

  Then the adrenaline kicked in.

  Pull it together, Gillette!

  Cinching her robe tight, she crept to the door, reached for the doorknob and twisted, realizing she hadn’t locked it. She stepped into her bedroom, crossed the hardwood on bare, damp feet.

  The footsteps were fleeing, sounding farther away as whoever it was raced down the steps in frantic, rapid succession. The dog hadn’t given up. Mikado was barking out of control, his toenails, too, clicking frantically against the steps.

  “Who’s there?” Nikki demanded, slipping through the bedroom to crack the door to check the near-dark hallway.

  Nothing.

  Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, her ears strained as she heard the scuffling downstairs.

  She steeled herself. Tried to think.

  Her phone was downstairs.

  But Reed’s gun was locked in a safe in the bedroom closet.

  Only steps away!

  It would just take a few seconds to retrieve it as whoever was in the house could be armed. Heart thudding, she turned toward the closet.

  “Yeowww!” A pained scream echoed through the house, and then the intruder snarled in a harsh whisper. “You bit me? You fuckin’ bit me?”

  More growling and barking.

  “Back the fuck off! Shit! Let go of me! I’ll kill you, you goddamned mutt!” a gravelly whispered voice warned.

  “No!” Nikki screamed, dashing into the hall.

  Too late!

  Thud!

  Mikado let out an anguished howl.

  “Mikado!” she cried, her heart wrenching. No, no, no!

  She heard the back door open.

  Nikki flew down the stairs as the door slammed.

  She slid around the corner, racing into the kitchen.

  Mikado was scrambling to his feet.

  “Oh, baby, are you okay?” She was on her knees, trying to cradle her pup, but Mikado was having none of it. Incensed, he lunged toward the door, snarling and snapping and whining, ready to go after the prowler and tear him to pieces.

  “Stop!” she ordered as he scratched furiously at the door. “No! Mikado! Not happening.” Her pulse was still in the stratosphere as she twisted the dead bolt to lock the door. The guy could come back. Get a weapon and return. Why the hell was he in here in the first place? What was he after? “You are not going out there!” she said, and while the dog whined to be let out and go after the intruder, she stood to peer through the blinds to the backyard. She was sweating, her throat tight, her mind spinning with all kinds of horrid scenarios.

  But everything appeared calm. The house now quiet. The backyard fountain was still gurgling serenely. The pathway lanterns illuminated a rock wall near the fence line and up-lighting washed a soft glow up the trunk and spreading branches of the magnolia tree. No dark figure seemed to be lurking in the shadows, and the creak of the back gate as it moved in the wind suggested he’d run out of the yard. Her heart pounding, she hurried to the front of the house and squinted through the sidelights of the front door, searching the empty street for a car speeding away. She expected to see the red glow of taillights or hear the sound of a fading engine disappearing into the night, but she heard nothing other than the rush of distant traffic and the sigh of the wind moving through the branches of the trees flanking the house.

  Turning, she spied Mikado, apparently without injury, trotting up to her. “You’re a good boy,” she said, bending down and patting his head. “Such a good, good boy.” He wiggled happily and seemed uninjured, thankfully.

  Next, she checked all the doors and windows and found them all locked. All secure. So how had the intruder gotten in? With a sinking feeling, she wondered if she’d forgotten to lock the back door when she’d come home. Mentally she retraced her steps, coming into the house from the garage, wearing her sling, hauling her laptop bag and the takeout sack. Hadn’t she locked the door behind her? She’d been on the phone with that pushy reporter and walked inside and . . .

  She didn’t remember.

  Once more she went through a perimeter check, making certain she was alone and that every way into the house, even the dog door, was battened down. She thought about calling Reed and picked up her phone and hesitated. It would only upset him and she was safe now. And he’d be home soon. Right?

  She decided to text and typed quickly.

  FYI—Letting you know we had an intruder. Mikado chased him out. Never caught sight of him. Nothing stolen. Everything is okay. I’m fine. House is locked. See you soon.

  She hesitated, then hit the send button and with one last glance around spied Jennings standing atop the bookcase in the den. “Come on. You too.” With the dog following, adrenaline still pumping through her veins, she headed upstairs.

  The phone rang before she reached the second floor.

  It was Reed. Of course.

  “I’m on my way!” he shouted as she answered. He sounded out of breath. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Aside from being still terrified.

  “What the hell happened?” She heard a car door open and close.

  “Just what I said. There was someone in the house. He’s gone now. Mikado scared him off.”

  “Hell.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not! Stay put.”

  “Reed, really, I’m fine. Mikado’s fine.”

  “Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “He was kicked.”

  “Fuck! Seriously?”

  “Yeah. But, really, he’s okay. I checked.”

 
; “Good. I’ll be right there.” She heard an engine spark to life, a gearshift being rammed into gear. “Stay on the line with me.”

  “I don’t need to—”

  “For God’s sake, Nikki, just stay on the damned line.”

  This time she didn’t argue. “Okay.”

  “I’ll be home in ten minutes.”

  He made it in eight.

  CHAPTER 16

  It was after midnight when the officer taking the report had left and Reed was satisfied that the house was secure, his wife was unharmed and the damned dog, who had apparently saved the day, wasn’t injured.

  “This has something to do with the investigation,” he decided, forgoing a nightcap and stripping off his clothes. They were in the master bedroom and Nikki had already slipped between the covers. Her hair was still damp, surrounding her face in ringlets, her face without any makeup, her eyes following his every move.

  God, he loved her.

  Never had he met a woman who could stir so much passion in him.

  And no one could piss him off so deeply.

  “So from now on—”

  “I know, I know, you’ve said it, like, twenty times or maybe thirty. ‘Double-check all the locks, keep my phone with me at all times and keep the dog at my side.’ Is that about it, Detective?”

  “About,” he admitted, tossing his slacks over the back of a side chair where his crumpled shirt and tie were already draped. He threw his T-shirt onto the growing pile. “Just be careful.”

  “Got it.”

  He sank onto the bed beside her and decided it was time to be totally honest. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

  She smiled and cuddled up to him. “And I don’t want to lose you.”

  “I think this has something to do with the investigation.”

  “So you’ve said.” Her head was propped against his shoulder, her hair smelling fresh and clean, her skin warm. “You’ve been asking around.”

  “Mmm.” No denial.

  “You should stop.”

  “Says you.”

  “Right.”

  “It’s my job, Reed. And look, I don’t need a lecture, okay?” She propped herself up on her elbow to stare at him, then winced from the pain and slid back to lying next to him, head back in the cradle of his arm. “I feel awful. Just awful. Guilty and sad and worried and ashamed and . . . and everything.” She blinked and let out a sigh. “But I never intended for any of this to happen. I had no idea Morrisette would jump into the river, that she’d be hit by debris that . . .” Her voice trailed off and he waited. “Okay, I should have, I know. I was trespassing, potentially messing up a crime scene and . . . and I was pregnant.” Her voice caught and she had to clear her throat. Her expression turned regretful. “But even though I’d . . . I’d miscarried before, I didn’t think, I mean, I didn’t believe I’d have to be like this hothouse flower who couldn’t do anything.”

  His arm tightened around her. Being this introspective was hard for Nikki, facing her flaws almost impossible, but then, wasn’t it for everyone?

  “You get it,” she charged, “but yeah, if I could do it all over again, I would make different choices. Better ones.”

  “And you’d listen to me.”

  “I always do, but, hey, you can’t just order me around, Reed. Even if you think it’s for my own good. Or . . . our own good.” He caught the movement of her hand touching her naked belly and he felt his own sliver of pain.

  “You haven’t been known to be willing to talk things out,” he said gently.

  “I’m trying, okay? And I’ll try harder, but I am who I am. The woman you married.”

  “I know.” And he did. He kissed her forehead. “Just try to be careful and I’ll try not to be so . . .”

  “Closed off? Distant? Self-righteous. So damned authoritative—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down. One flaw at a time, okay?” He stared into her eyes and noticed a spark of wicked amusement in their green depths. She was pulling his chain and trying to smother a smile. “You talked about your job. Don’t forget mine. I’m in charge of the investigation.”

  “We could work together.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “We have before.”

  “Not by my choice.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “Okay, well, here’s the deal,” he said with a sigh. “First and foremost, you be careful. I don’t want to lose you. Ever.” He gave her another squeeze and she snuggled closer, her skin so warm and inviting he had trouble concentrating, but he forced himself. “And secondly, you talk to me about what you’re doing. You can’t be doing anything that could compromise the police investigation.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know this.”

  “I’m serious. Nikki, someone broke into our house.”

  “Well, I think I didn’t lock the door.”

  “I know, so you said, but whoever it was, it wasn’t a social call. So—”

  “I get it. I’ll be careful. I’ll check with you—” She turned her face to his and kissed him, her lips warm and supple, her body so tight and close.

  “Wait,” he forced out against his own body’s desires, the heat that was flowing in his blood. “You’re still healing.”

  “I know, but the doctor said everything was okay, whenever I felt like it we could, you know . . .” Her breath played against his chest. “There are things we could do . . .”

  “Nikki, please, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Hurt me, Reed,” she whispered, breathing against his abdomen. “Please . . . hurt me. Or—wait.” She paused and looked up at him from beneath the covers, green eyes peering up through the tousle of red-blond curls. “I’ve got a better idea.”

  Again her breath was playing havoc with his mind. “Do you?” he managed to get out.

  “Um-hmm. Let me hurt you.” Still gazing up at him, she smiled mischievously. “Let me hurt you real good.”

  The woman was impossible to resist.

  * * *

  At least she and Reed were talking again, in the same book, so to speak, if not exactly on the same page. They’d woken up later than usual, and Reed had run through the shower and shaved, dressed hurriedly and said to Nikki, who was still in the bed, “Just promise me that you won’t do anything crazy,” as he’d stuffed his keys and wallet into his pockets.

  “No craziness,” she’d said with mock sincerity as she’d raised her arm as if taking an oath and Jennings had hopped onto Reed’s recently vacated pillow to curl up.

  “I’m serious. Be safe. Keep everything locked and let me know when you go out.”

  “Aye, aye, captain.”

  “I said, I’m serious!”

  “And I’m Nikki Gillette, glad to meet you.”

  “Ugh. So corny, Nik. And so old school.”

  “I know. But just try to lighten up, okay?”

  “Lighten up? Last night—”

  “Is over. Okay? Besides, I’ve got this guy”—she motioned to the dog bed, where Mikado raised his head and yawned, showing his teeth—“to protect me.”

  “God save us,” Reed said, glancing at the pup, who thumped his tail against the side of his bed. “And who knows why the intruder came in. Was it about the investigation? Or something else? Random because the door was left unlocked, a burglar in the neighborhood, or something else?”

  She leaned forward. “You tell me. You’re the detective.”

  “And you’re impossible.” He glanced at the bedside clock and swore under his breath. “Call and text me if you decide to go out.”

  “Um-hmm.” She listened to him hurry down the hallway, his feet clicking down the stairs, and she let out a long sigh. At least some of the tension—well, most of it—had dissipated. “I’ll be careful,” she whispered to the cat, and Jennings opened one suspicious eye as if doubting anything she said this morning.

  * * *

  When Reed walked into the office, he noticed things had changed. Delacroix had taken over M
orrisette’s desk and was sitting in the desk chair, leaning forward, her eyes glued to her computer screen as she used the mouse to scroll through images. Any reticence she’d felt about moving her things into the office had dissipated and she was working at the computer, a Diet Coke can unopened but sweating on a corner of the desk, a cup of pens and pencils, her cell phone and a few papers collected in a mesh basket.

  The only personal items were a Loyola University cap turned upside down on the desk, her keys and small wallet tucked inside. She’d slung a lightweight jacket over the back of her chair and was wearing tight jeans and a black T-shirt.

  “Hey,” she said, not looking up from the monitor as he settled into his own chair and it creaked from his weight.

  He asked, “What’s up?”

  “What’s up with you?” Still her gaze was fastened to the screen as the noise from the hallway, the buzz of conversation punctuated with laughter and the jangle of cell phones filtered in, colliding with the rush of air being pumped through the ducts from the air conditioner. “I heard there was a break-in at your place last night.”

  “That’s right.”

  “No one hurt? Nothing taken?” She finally glanced over her shoulder.

  “No.”

  “Your wife okay?”

  “Yes.” He hoped so.

  “She’s been through a lot lately.”

  Amen to that. “Seems to be pretty commonplace with Nikki.”

  “Yeah, I heard she gets herself into trouble,” she said, one eyebrow arching over the rim of her glasses.

  “Occasionally.”

  “How do you do that?” she asked, finally settling back in her chair and giving him her full attention.

  “Do what?”

  “Work with a reporter who’s always butting into your cases?”

  He wanted to argue but saw no point. He was going to be working with this woman now, so they’d better clear the air and set some ground rules about privacy.

  “It’s a work in progress,” he admitted, “but we handle it.” Like hell.