Mountain Secrets

by Elizabeth Goddard

  The man offered her a warm smile. “Afternoon, ma’am. It seems there’s been a gas leak at one of the homes under construction. We’re advising all nearby homeowners to vacate their premises until we can be sure there is no danger.”

  Though she remained calm on the surface, a hurricane of suspicion raged through her. “What construction?” Isabel managed to hide her fear by squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. A posture she had practiced in the mirror for hours. The way she dressed and how she carried herself were pieces of the professional image she’d taught herself to project so no one would ever guess her dark past.

  “Up the road. I’m with the county. This is just a precaution.” There was something genuine about that smile, but she wasn’t about to be taken in. Charm was an inch deep. What if this man had come to rob this place, thinking it was going to be empty, and now he was trying to get rid of her? She had a responsibility to the Wilsons.

  There might be construction up the road. She had no idea. Silver Strike was booming and people were willing to pay for building even in the winter. She knew there were other houses around here. The area was actually considered to be a subdivision, though each property was at least five acres. She angled her head to look past him. His van seemed somewhat official, though there was no logo on it.

  He ran his hands through his dark hair and flashed blue eyes at her.

  Trust your gut, Izzy.

  She wasn’t about to be dazzled by his good looks or his blue eyes. That always led to heartache. It had taken her seven long years to rebuild her life after falling for the charming petty criminal Nick Solomon when she was a teenager. Trusting a man on any level was never a good idea.

  “You said it was just a precaution.” She read his name tag, which was visible beneath his open coat and zip-front sweatshirt. “I’ll take my chances, Mel.” She lifted her hand toward the door to close it. “I have work to do.”

  “Work?” Now his voice sounded suspicious. He put his foot between the door and the frame.

  The aggression of his move set off alarm bells for her. “Yes. I work for a property management company. I have to get the house ready for clients.” She was pretty sure there was no gas leak. Her priority needed to be with her job. Mary Helms, the owner of Sun and Ski Property Management, had taken a chance on her in the first place. Though she’d turned her life around and over to God, Isabel had a criminal record that made employment tricky.

  “Please, I think you need to leave the house...just for a short time. What is your name?”

  “Isabel...” She stopped. It was none of his business who she was. She lifted her head to meet his gaze. The tone to his voice had been almost desperate. Though there was nothing plastic about his expression or the pleading look in his eyes, she was pretty sure he was up to something. He was probably just a very good actor—that was why she had doubts. Most men were good at pretending to care. “Thank you, sir, for the warning, and have a good day.” She pushed the door into its frame so he had to step out of the way.

  Hands shaking, heart racing, Isabel pressed against the wall by the door and took in a prayer-filled breath. What if that man meant to rob this place? She just didn’t buy the gas-leak story.

  I can do all things through Christ Jesus who strengthens me.

  She peered through the window by the door, watching the man’s van pull out of the driveway. She didn’t like being here alone.

  Tension coiled tight in her chest. What should she do? She hurried to the entryway table where she’d left her purse and phone. The Wilsons didn’t have a landline. What if she was totally wrong? Other than her gut feeling, she really didn’t have any evidence the man was up to something. It would not be good for Sun and Ski’s reputation to have police swarming a client’s property for no reason.

  She clicked open her purse and felt for her phone. Maybe the smart thing to do would be to call her boss first.

  She stepped back into the living room and stared at her phone, prepared to dial Mary’s number. She hit the first number.

  An arm wrapped around her waist and a knife pressed against her neck.

  “So you and your partner are trying to horn in on my good fortune.”

  Her heart raged in her chest as her body stiffened against the prospect of having her throat slit.

  The man pressed his cheek against her ear. The voice was not that of the man in the van.

  Isabel jammed her elbow hard into the man’s stomach. He grunted and loosened his grip on her. She twisted free of his hold and hurried toward the kitchen. She had only a few seconds’ head start while the man recovered from the blow. Stepping into the large pantry of the kitchen, she slipped behind a shelf of canned goods, hoping the darkness would hide her from view. She knew the layout of the house well enough. This was probably the best hiding place on the main floor.

  She’d lost her phone in the struggle. Closing her eyes, she listened to the raging of her own heartbeat, praying that the man with the knife only glanced into the dark pantry. If he left to search elsewhere, she could make a run for the door and get to her car. But she wondered if the man who had come to the door was in on this home invasion. Even if she made it to her car, she might have to deal with Mel. Her life now depended on all those what-ifs.

  Isabel drew a prayer-filled breath and pressed deeper into the pantry.

  * * *

  Midway down the long driveway, Jason hit the brakes and listened to the engine hum. The smart thing would be to return to his hiding place and wait for the two thieves, the man and the woman who called herself Isabel, to emerge from the house, then do his job—get the photos the Bureau had hired him to take.

  His job was to be invisible. If the smugglers knew they were being watched, the investigation would fall apart. In order to get to the mastermind, they had to let the petty criminals do the thefts and not involve local cops making low-level arrests.

  No part of that plan made the tightness in his chest subside. He prided himself on being able to tell friend from foe. Discerning motives in people was part of what made him a good PI. Still, he was uncertain about the woman in the house. Yes, she’d given him the brush-off, but something about her had been so vulnerable, afraid even. Was she telling the truth about being the hired help or just trying to get rid of him so she and her partner could finish the job? Or maybe she’d been brought in on this against her will.

  He had to know for sure.

  He killed the engine and slipped out of the van, dashing toward the side of the house and pressing along the wall. The van would only be visible from upstairs north-facing windows, not from the downstairs. He crouched down beneath the window by the door and peered inside. Pieces of a shattered vase lay on the floor by the foyer table. A woman’s purse was flung against the wall. Signs of a struggle?

  He didn’t want anyone to die here today.

  Jason steeled himself and opened the door. He slipped into the dark house. Still determined not to blow this operation but to get the woman out of danger, he padded noiselessly through the foyer.

  The silence on the main floor was eerie. The contents of a purse lay scattered across the ornate tile. Turning in a slow circle, he stepped over the shards from the broken vase. He scanned the main floor and then his gaze traveled up to the mezzanine and the second floor, where a creaking noise had come from.

  He climbed stealthily up the stairs, his heart drumming in his ears. Once he made it to the second floor, the polished floorboards of the interior balcony didn’t creak when he placed his foot on them. He hurried down the hallway, checking each room, bathroom, den, first bedroom. All empty.

  Back at the mezzanine, Jason pressed against the wall and listened.

  Down below, noise rose up from what was probably the kitchen. Isabel darted past his field of vision and disappeared through a door on the other side of the house. He sprinted to the top of the stairs.

 
A man burst out from where Isabel had come. The same tall thin man who had entered the house earlier—he glanced from side to side and then darted in the opposite direction of Isabel. He must not have seen where Isabel had gone. Jason caught the glint of a knife in the man’s hand. Okay, so maybe she was in danger.

  He rushed down the stairs, keeping his step light so as not to draw attention to himself. He ran across the black-and-white tile of the open entryway toward the door where Isabel had gone.

  Even before he opened the door, he smelled chlorine. The humid air of the pool room assaulted him as he stepped across the threshold. As on a game show, there were four doors to choose from. Which one had she gone through?

  He tiptoed on the tile and eased open the first door. Storage. When he opened the second door, he found a bedroom. Much more promising. He checked the closet and the bathroom first, then stood beside the bed. Before he could lean over to check underneath, a hard object slammed against his shin, sending a wave of pain through his calf muscle.

  With pain shooting up his leg, he knelt to pull the culprit out from underneath the bed.

  TWO

  Isabel knew it was predictable to hide under the bed, but she’d been in a hurry. She’d grabbed a hairbrush from the vanity before slipping under the bed frame. If she was to save herself from the man with the knife, she knew she had to attack before he found her. She was no match for him physically, but she could outsmart him.

  The man groaned in pain when she hit his shin with the brush. She crawled to the other side of the bed and rolled out. Just as she got to her feet, he grabbed her from behind.

  She angled her body to get away and lifted her foot to kick his calf.

  “Calm down, calm down. I’m not the bad guy here.”

  It was Mel’s smooth voice. So he’d come back. She had no idea what Mr. Knife had meant by the partner comment. Mel and Mr. Knife were probably robbing the place together.

  “Be quiet.” He placed a hand over her mouth. “He’ll find us.”

  Probably a trick to get her to stop resisting. She twisted her torso and dug her fingernails into his forearm.

  Still he cupped her mouth, his other arm wrapped around her waist, and held her tight against his chest. But he didn’t hurt her or pull a weapon on her. She tried to twist free. He dragged her across the floor.

  “Look, this place is not safe. I’ll take you back to town.” He guided her through the door and stepped into the pool room even as she continued to try to get away from him. He took his hand off her mouth.

  “I have my own car.” Like she wanted to go anywhere with this thief. She’d had enough of falling for the bad boy to last a lifetime.

  She pulled free of him with so much force that she fell headlong into the pool. Cold water enveloped her. Strong arms grabbed the back of her collar and pulled her to the surface.

  “Now for sure he’s heard us,” said Mel.

  She gasped for air and reached for the edge of the pool. Mel let go of her and ran toward a door. He returned with a large towel, which he tossed toward her.

  “You can’t go outside like that. You’ll freeze,” he said. “Do these people have clothes here?”

  The concern for her physical well-being gave her pause. But if he wasn’t a thief, what was he doing here? She pulled herself to her feet as water dripped off her. “I can’t wear a client’s clothes.” She picked up the towel.

  He grabbed her at the elbow. “You’re going to have to.”

  She was not keen on going anywhere with this man, but it felt like she was on a runaway train trying to stop it by dragging her feet.

  Glancing around nervously, he led her through a door back out into the living room.

  Her heart sank when she saw the broken vase and the mess in the entryway. Everything in this house was probably valuable. She spotted the contents of her purse on the floor, but not her phone. It must have been kicked out of view in the struggle with Mr. Knife.

  “Where are the clothes?”

  “Can’t we just call the police?” She still didn’t know what this guy’s game was.

  “That’s a bad idea.”

  Her steps faltered. “Why?” What if this was a trap? He’d pretend to be helping her and then what? Kill her so he and Mr. Knife could finish the job they’d come to do?

  “Trust me. We don’t want the police here.”

  Isabel felt that familiar tightening in her stomach. Trust him? She didn’t even know him, and so far almost everything he did made her suspicious.

  He grabbed her elbow and led her up the stairs. “Which room?”

  Noise rose up from a side room on the main floor. She hurried toward the master suite. Glancing over the balcony as they slipped behind the door, she caught a glimpse of movement down below. Mr. Knife was still looking for her on the main floor.

  Mel searched the huge room. “That closet is the size of my apartment. Change in there. I’ll keep watch.”

  She slipped into the closet and slid the door shut. How was she going to explain wearing a client’s clothes to her boss? She grabbed the least expensive-looking shirt and pants she could find. As if that would make a difference. Even telling the truth about what had gone on would sound crazy, like she was trying to cover up her strange actions with a fantastic story. Because of her history with the law, she had a fear of not being believed.

  Though her brain ached over what might happen, she knew she needed to focus on the now. Getting away from Mr. Knife and maybe even Mel. For sure, he wasn’t some concerned official from the county. What was his game?

  She buttoned up the shirt and then grabbed a sweater to put over it. Actually, this closet was bigger than her apartment. Her boss had been kind enough to rent her the studio apartment above the Sun and Ski office. She changed quickly and grabbed a pair of boots. Victoria Wilson was half a size bigger than she, but the boots would keep out the cold. Not sure what to do with her wet clothes, she put them on a hanger to dry. Another crazy action she’d have to explain. She looked around for a coat but couldn’t find one.

  Mel knocked on the door. “Hurry.”

  She slid the closet door open. Mel peered through the slightly ajar bedroom door out into the hallway.

  He glanced in her direction, his expression tense. “He’s upstairs. Is there another way out of here besides down the stairs and through the front door?”

  She still didn’t know what to think of this man. Friend or foe? “I suppose we could leave by way of the balcony.” She pointed. Through the sliding glass doors, she saw that the snowfall had increased. The lazy flakes that had fallen out of the sky when she drove up here had turned into slashing swords.

  Mel shut and locked the bedroom door. He stepped across the room and slid the balcony door open, signaling for her to follow. She hesitated.

  The doorknob wiggled and then there was a thump against it.

  Her heart seized up as she looked from Mel to the door.

  “Come on, Isabel.”

  She had told him her name when she answered the door. But when he spoke it, something sparked inside her. Warm feelings aside, she still didn’t know what Mel was up to. Why didn’t he want to call the police?

  A body thudded against the door again. And then she heard clicking noises. Mr. Knife was picking the lock.

  Mel was the one without the knife. Maybe her odds were better with him. She darted through the open sliding glass door. Snow stung her skin. The cold hit her with full force, but the heavy wool sweater cut out much of it. Her wet hair seemed to freeze instantly, turning into hard straw-like strands.

  “I’ll lower you down. Hurry,” he said.

  She darted to the edge of the balcony and slipped through the wide railing. He grabbed her hands. His grip was like iron. He held on and eased her down.

  The ground below her loomed closer. She looked up into Mel’s blu
e eyes.

  His expression was strained, face tight, teeth showing from the exertion. His body hung off the edge of the balcony at a dangerous angle. He strained. “I’m going to have to let you go.”

  She nodded. She fell through space, landing hard, her knees buckling. Mel slipped off the balcony and dropped to the ground with the grace of an Olympic gymnast. He grabbed her hand. They ran, feet pounding the fresh fallen snow.

  She glanced over her shoulder just as she rounded the corner. Mr. Knife had come to the edge of the outdoor balcony. If he chose not to follow them and went back down the stairs and out the front door, it would buy them time.

  As Mel pulled her around the house toward the driveway where his van was parked, she had the gut-wrenching sensation that her life was about to switch into a retread of seven years ago. Here she was again, blindly following a man who might be a criminal.

  Oh Lord, please protect me.

  She’d been barely seventeen when Nick Solomon decided to rob a convenience store at gunpoint. He’d kissed her in the car and told her he was going inside for a bag of chips. When he slid into the passenger seat clearly agitated and commanded her to drive, she’d done what he asked. All because she’d loved and trusted him.

  They hurried toward the van. Mel kicked the front tires. “Slashed.” His forehead furled. “When did he find time to do that?”

  She studied him for just a moment. Maybe Mel was telling the truth. Maybe he was the good guy. She wanted to believe that. She had a feeling she was staking her life on it.

  “My car looks okay.” She spoke between breaths and took off running toward her car. She jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. Because she’d thought she would be alone at the Wilsons’, she had no reason to take her keys with her.

  Mel got into the passenger seat.

  She clicked into Reverse and hit the gas, then spun around and pointed the car toward the snowy road.