Hidden Secrets

by Jannine Gallant

  “At least you didn’t say yet.”

  “He’s not stupid. Hopefully the police are following their own leads and narrowing in on the freak who kidnapped those women.”

  When the doorbell rang, Leo jumped up from beneath the table. The china rattled as he galloped to the door, barking.

  “Who do you think that is?” Quentin pushed back his chair and followed the dog. “Maybe Nina and Teague decided to drop by to celebrate.”

  “I should have called them—Leah and Ryan, too—and invited them all over.” Paige laid her napkin on the table as she rose to her feet. “This damn tension has been distracting me from the important things in life, like friends and family.”

  Quentin glanced over his shoulder. “My hope is we’ll get back to normal soon.” He pushed Leo out of the way and swung open the front door.

  Chris Long and an older cop stood on the doorstep. Neither smiled.

  “Happy New Year, officers. What can I do for you? If you’re looking for Paige, she’s inside.”

  “Actually, we’re looking for you.” Chris stepped across the threshold and gripped Quentin’s arm. “Quentin Radcliff, you’re under arrest for assault with intent to do bodily harm and the kidnapping of Blaze Campbell. You’ll be coming with us.”

  Paige’s chair crashed to the floor as she rounded the table. “Are you kidding me!”

  When Leo bared his teeth and growled, the older officer spoke sharply. “Control your animal.”

  Lunging forward, she grabbed her dog’s collar. “This is crazy!”

  Before Chris could snap a pair of handcuffs around his wrists, Quentin touched her cheek. “Hey, everything will be okay. Not exactly how I’d planned to end the evening, but I’ll be fine. I promise.”

  As the two cops led him away, Paige gripped the doorframe while tears ran down her cheeks. “I love you. We’ll fix this.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Quentin sat alone in a room with a table, three straight-backed chairs, and a single overhead light. Horizontal metal blinds covered the windows facing the hallway he’d passed through on the way from his holding cell. There wasn’t a mirror on the wall, so he assumed no one was observing him. Apparently, Siren Cove wasn’t as high-tech as the average police drama on TV.

  He slid deeper into the chair. Maybe he should be more concerned than he actually was after being processed and stuck in a jail cell for the night, but at the moment, mostly he was simply pissed. When he’d asked Chris about getting out on bail, the man had rolled his eyes. Obviously the cops didn’t cut you loose the minute someone showed up waving a checkbook the way they did on TV, either. He was beginning to think Hollywood should do their homework.

  Or maybe no one had tried to bail him out.

  When the door opened, two men entered the room and took seats across the table from him. Neither looked familiar, but based on the hard looks they gave him, he was pretty sure both were cops. When he’d contacted Ryan Alexander with his one phone call, his old friend had promised to use all his connections to round up a kick-ass defense team. He couldn’t help wondering what the hell was taking him so long.

  “I’m Detective Raleigh, and this is Detective Overton. We’re here from Seattle to ask you a few questions.”

  Raleigh looked like a linebacker. The chair beneath him squeaked when he moved, and his nose had probably been rearranged on his face more than once. His partner was a good-looking black man wearing an expensive suit and an impassive expression.

  “Shouldn’t I have an attorney present before I answer any questions?”

  Overton adjusted the cuff of his shirt. “That’s your right, of course, but you told the arresting officers you had nothing to hide. The sooner you answer our questions, the faster we can clear this up.”

  Raleigh crossed muscled arms over his chest, straining his jacket seams, and tilted his chair back. “Since you say you’re innocent, what do you have to lose?”

  “I am innocent. Oh, what the hell, ask away.”

  “Good decision.” Overton pulled a small recorder from his pocket and set it on the table, then stated the date, time, and occupants of the room before giving Quentin a long, measuring look. “What time did you arrive at your residence in Seattle on the night of December twenty-seventh?”

  “It was probably around eleven. You can verify the exact time with Danny, the kid who was working the gate that night.”

  “So, you don’t deny you were there.” Raleigh’s tone made it a statement, not a question.

  “Why would I deny it? I already told Chief Stackhouse and Officer Long I was at my townhouse that evening. Anyway, you could easily confirm my presence. I was in Seattle for a couple of days last week, dealing with an employee problem.”

  “You didn’t go up there to see Ms. Campbell?” Overton didn’t so much as blink.

  “No, I didn’t. Blaze had mentioned she intended to stop by my place to look for an earring she’d lost back when we were dating. I took the phone call from her when I was having a beer down at Castaways on Wednesday. I told her where I kept my spare key. You can verify the conversation with the bartender. He probably overheard me, along with a few other patrons who were nearby.”

  “So, it was purely a coincidence that you drove up to Seattle when you knew she’d be in your home?” Raleigh’s tone was infused with disbelief as he leaned back, lifting the chair legs off the floor.

  “Not a coincidence. My manager at The Zephyr called me about a situation she couldn’t handle. An employee was claiming sexual harassment, so I drove up there to straighten out the problem. I filed a report with the police. You can check—”

  “Was anyone with you on Thursday evening? Did you speak to anyone when you arrived?” Overton interrupted.

  Quentin stared at the man for a moment before answering. “I was alone. The only person I spoke to, as I’ve told you, was Danny when I came through the gate. Oh, I also took a call from Blaze’s friend, Jazmin Washington. Blaze was late meeting her at a club, and she wondered if she was still at my townhouse.”

  “Are you certain Ms. Campbell wasn’t there when you arrived?” The chair creaked ominously as Raleigh dropped the legs to the floor with a thump. “Maybe you two argued? I understand she turned up in Siren Cove more than once after you left Seattle. Maybe you were sick of her bothering you? Could be she was causing conflict between you and your new girlfriend.”

  “That’s an interesting theory. A complete load of crap, but interesting. Can I ask you something?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Quentin turned to face the well-dressed member of the team. Instinct told him he was the more dangerous of the two. “Officer Long said I was charged with assault and kidnapping. Why would you believe I injured Blaze if you haven’t found her yet?” Sweat dampened his palms as he held the man’s gaze. “If you found her, she would have told you I had nothing to do with her disappearance. If she was—”

  “Dead?” The detective’s voice hardened. “If we found her lifeless body, why weren’t you charged with murder? Is that your question?”

  “Yes.” He balled his hands at his sides. “Look, Blaze and I broke up after Thanksgiving, but I still care about what happens to her. Knowing she’s missing, and that it’s probably my fault—”

  “Your fault?” Raleigh slammed his muscled forearms down on the table. “What the hell did you do to her?”

  “I didn’t do anything, but if the asshole who took Clea was trying to throw the cops off his track, he damn well succeeded. You people are wasting time talking to me when you should be looking for the person who’s responsible.”

  “Let’s talk about Clea Merrick,” Overton said in a cool tone. “Seems like spending time with you isn’t exactly healthy, Mr. Radcliff.”

  “I’ve told the local cops everything I know about that night. Repeating myself doesn’t seem very productive.”

  Before Overton could respond, the door swung open, and a man with salt and pe
pper hair cut short above narrowed gray eyes entered. He looked vaguely familiar. An image of this man standing on the steps of a court house, talking to the press about the high-profile case he’d just won, flashed through Quentin’s brain. Ryan had come through for him, after all.

  “My client won’t be answering any further questions.” The attorney pulled a business card from the pocket of his pale gray suit and dropped it on the table. “This interview is over.”

  Irritation flickered through Overton’s eyes, along with resignation. “Your client agreed to speak to us.”

  “Without his attorney present? You should know better than that. I’ve spoken to a judge about a bail hearing, and even that was a challenge.” His lips clamped tightly together. “Since today’s a holiday, the earliest court date I could get was tomorrow. Sorry about that, Quentin. The timing for this arrest was poor. Probably intentional on the part of the police so they could keep you locked up an extra day.”

  Overton’s brows drew together. “I resent the implication. We couldn’t charge him until we got the DNA test results back.”

  “What DNA results?” Quentin asked. “Don’t I have a right to know what’s going on since I’m the one stuck in a jail cell?”

  “Your attorney will be privy to all the evidence soon enough,” Raleigh answered. “He’s got a damn ringer on his team. Perfect.”

  Quentin glanced at the business card still lying on the table. Vincent Gatti. Hadn’t this man defended some mob boss? Not that he intended to complain about the lawyer’s morals if he got positive results.

  “I’ve already taken a look at the so-called evidence. They found blood at your townhouse, Mr. Radcliff. The search warrant was issued on pretty flimsy grounds, and I can probably get anything they found thrown out in court.”

  “Whose blood?” A hollow roar filled Quentin’s head. “I didn’t notice any blood when I was there.”

  “Blaze Campbell’s blood. That was the DNA evidence they were waiting for,” Gatti answered. “Dirt from a plant covered the stain. I might argue my client isn’t stupid. If he’d intended to cover up evidence of a crime, he would have done a better job.”

  Quentin rose to his feet on shaky legs. “How much blood?”

  As both cops stood, Raleigh let out a snort. “More than you get scraping your knee, that’s for sure. There was blood, all right, and plenty of it.”

  * * *

  Paige left the police station so angry she wanted to scream. Despite pleas and badgering on her part, no one would let her see Quentin. As the shadows on the sidewalk lengthened, she kicked a tuft of grass growing up through a crack. If Chris Long had shown his face while she was arguing with the woman behind the front counter, she probably would have slugged him.

  “This bites!” Her words carried on the breeze. A pair of pre-teen boys strolling in the opposite direction elbowed each other and grinned. Maybe shouting out her frustration wasn’t the best idea. Instead, she needed to do something proactive.

  Something other than cry. Paige sniffed hard and dug in her purse for a tissue. Her fingers closed around folded papers. Jerking them out, she glanced down and stopped walking. The inventory sheets. If she could tie one of the Stillwater brothers to a crime, even if it was an old crime, maybe the cops would consider someone other than Quentin as a prime suspect in the current one.

  Once a predator, always a predator, was the way she saw it. And if Chris pulled his head out of his ass long enough to take a good look, maybe he’d see it that way, too.

  With determination in her stride, she hurried toward her shop. Thank God, she’d decided to close Old Things for the holiday. Putting on a cheerful face for customers would have been far beyond her acting ability.

  When she reached the store, she unlocked the door and held it open as Leo came bounding outside. “Okay, we’ll take a quick trip out back to go pee, but that’s it for now.”

  While the dog sniffed the bushes near the stairs leading to the beach, Paige crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the cold and stared out across the water at the Sirens as the sun set into a bank of fog. Darkness shrouded the cove. She’d been looking forward to a day spent alone with Quentin and had hoped they could hash out some sort of compromise for their future. Instead, she’d been left with this God-awful fear and uncertainty. Sometimes life flat-out sucked.

  “Come on, boy. Let’s go inside.” With the dog following behind her, she crossed the parking lot to the back door and unlocked it. Entering the store, she flipped on lights before removing the inventory sheets she’d returned to her purse. Flattening them on her work bench, she discarded all but the page with purchases she’d made at Zeb’s farm and read through each listing. Nothing she hadn’t already turned over to the cops looked promising as a weapon.

  “Damn. What am I missing?”

  Sleeping Beauty might have fallen victim to a spinning wheel, but since this wasn’t a fairytale, Paige lined through that entry on her list. She also crossed off a set of needlepoint cushions. A three-legged stool could have potential as a blunt object if someone swung it by one leg. Taking the list with her, she headed into the shop to find the stool. When she reached the row of small household items, she let out a sigh. Short and squat, with a patchwork cushion to pad it, the footrest was far more likely to mess up someone’s hair than kill them.

  “There has to be something . . .” She checked off a decorator hatbox, then let her pen hover over the entry for a butter churn. Turning, she walked down the aisle and stopped in front of an oak churn banded in iron. “I’m a complete idiot.”

  Leo wandered over to lean against her leg as she removed the top and pulled out the dasher. Turning the long stick upright, she examined the round disk at the bottom. She’d glued the cracked edge back together, and the repair was nearly invisible.

  Talking to Chris wasn’t something she wanted to do, not after watching him escort Quentin into the back of his patrol car. But she might have to swallow her anger and ask him to test the dasher for traces of blood. Clenching her fist around the handle, she carried it through the shop to the storage room and pulled out her phone.

  When the bells over the front door jingled, Leo growled. Damn it, she’d forgotten to re-lock the door when she’d let the dog out earlier. Apparently, someone didn’t care that the sign in the window clearly stated her business was closed.

  “I’m sorry but we’re closed,” she called out. When no one answered and the bells didn’t ring again, she laid down the dasher, pushed her phone into her pocket, and headed into the shop. Her footsteps slowed. “Hello, is anyone here?”

  An echoing silence rang in her ears before a quiet curse and the scrape of a shoe against wooden floorboards made her scalp prickle. Leo lunged forward as the lights went out, plunging the room into blackness. She let out a yelp and grabbed a handful of the dog’s fur.

  Leo pulled from her grip and shot away, his bark deep and furious. Disoriented in the dark, Paige held her hands out in front of her face and staggered toward the rear door, only to slam up against a solid body. She screamed and kept screaming until an arm clamped across her neck.

  Leo leaped against her attacker, and they both went down hard.

  “God dammed, mother fu—”

  Leo let out a loud yelp as Paige scrambled to her feet and ran. Shoving open the back door, she raced across the parking lot to the beach stairs and hurried down them. Heart pounding, she gripped the railing in the dark. Footsteps slapped the pavement above her. She was halfway to the bottom when barking erupted, followed by a shout and a whimper.

  Reaching the beach, Paige pulled out her phone and dialed nine-one-one while she ran. When the operator answered, she gasped out each word. “An intruder entered my store and attacked me.”

  “Ma’am, where are you. Is this person still a threat?”

  “I ran down the stairs behind Old Things, and I’m on the beach now. My dog slowed him down.” Sobs choked her. “That freak hurt my dog. I can’t hear him anymore, but the wa
ves are crashing pretty hard.”

  “I’m sending help now. Try to find somewhere safe to hide until the police get there, and stay quiet.”

  Paige ran harder, a stitch in her side making breathing difficult. When she reached an area with large boulders beneath the cliff, she struggled up through the softer sand and crawled behind one of them. In the direction of the stairs, a light flashed and bobbed.

  A whimper slipped out as she clutched her cell.

  “Ma’am, did you find someplace safe?”

  “I’m hiding in the rocks by the cliff,” she whispered. “He has a flashlight, and he’s looking for me.”

  In the distance, a siren wailed. Moments later, headlights glowed through the fog. Doors slammed, and voices shouted. Twenty yards away near the water’s edge, the flashlight snapped off. Feet pounded the sand up the beach. Paige waited until the sound faded before grabbing hold of a rock to pull herself upright on trembling legs.

  “He ran off, and the police are here now.”

  “If you’re certain you’re safe, go identify yourself to the officers,” the dispatcher said.

  “Thank you for your help.” She hung up and shoved her phone in her pocket, then hurried back down the beach as flashlights bobbed on the staircase. When a beam hit her in the eyes, she raised her hand to shield them. “I’m Paige Shephard. The intruder ran north up the beach.”

  “I’ll stay with her,” a familiar voice answered.

  Two figures took off at a dead sprint, while a third stopped beside her and lowered the beam. “Are you okay, Paige?”

  “Chris?”

  “Yeah. I was off-duty and driving into town when I heard the call on the scanner. I hauled ass over here. What happened?”

  “Oh, God, I think he hurt my dog. I have to go check on him.” She ran toward the stairs while Chris kept pace beside her.

  “He was lying at the edge of the parking lot when we arrived. We nearly tripped over him, but he was definitely still conscious since he growled at us.”