Gwen was worried, too. She was also angry. Furious would be a better adjective.
She’d been putting in long hours these past two weeks, doing her best to keep her current clients happy while marketing her services to her neighbors here in her hometown. It was hard to keep a smile on her face when she was training Beth Ann and trying to pull in new clients knowing that her name was being printed in the papers connecting her to the murder investigation.
It was bad enough that Harlan was still holding a small grudge against her after Beth Ann told him that she was quitting. He’d been a bit appeased when she’d presented him with the idea of Mindy Lipton taking over, but it was more than apparent he was still offended that she’d left him after so many years. Gwen tried to rectify the situation by buying Harlan and his wife dinner at the diner, but she still had a long road ahead to smooth over the perceived slight.
Regardless, Harlan and his wife had joined in with the rest of the townsfolk to express their concern over the latest developments and the graffiti on her barn.
“I’m not giving this psychopath the satisfaction of watching a grown-ass woman hide out at her father’s house because she’s too scared to live at her own damned house.”
Gwen thought back to when Mitch had shown up at her new offices with Agent Thorne. She could have cut the tension with a knife, but she’d wanted to cut someone else after they’d explained the latest development.
A few days after her property had been vandalized, Charlene Winston went on the six o’clock news to let her viewers know that the serial killer had reached out to her personally. Apparently, he wanted his story told to the public at large.
To say that newspaper sales had skyrocketed was an understatement.
Mitch and Agent Thorne had both been in agreement that Charlene Winston was being conned by someone seeking attention. Their theory was that Gwen’s return had somehow piqued the killer’s interest since her family had become involved, and he was becoming frustrated that he couldn’t reach out to her directly. It wasn’t that she wasn’t accessible, but rather that she was constantly in someone’s presence that had the killer seeking other avenues to communicate with her.
“Agent Thorne has assigned a couple of agents to watch over me,” Gwen said matter-of-factly, nodding toward the vehicle that had parked farther down the gravel driveway toward the road. “I couldn’t be safer if you were in my hip pocket.”
“Deputy Wallace thought he was safe because of his uniform, but we all know how that turned out.” Lance used his work boot against the wooden planks to rock his chair back and forth. He was talking about the officer who’d been murdered out near Noah’s place after his return to town. The consensus was the killer returned to Noah’s property once Sophia Morton’s body had been found inside one of the walls, not expecting to find one of the deputies at the bottom of the drive. “Bottom line? No one is safe if this scumbag was willing to kill a police officer at the drop of a hat.”
Such a warning had both of them scanning the darkness that surrounded the house. Their training was hard to ignore. The crickets weren’t that talkative tonight, but they weren’t completely silent, either.
There was an ominous air hanging over the shadows, but not in a way that indicated an immediate threat. The sensation was that of waking up underneath a warm blanket, yet having the impression of being stifled in a way that made it hard to breathe.
This wasn’t the Blyth Lake she remembered from her childhood. It had been stolen from all of them by a serial killer who wanted their attention.
“Agent Thorne’s profiler doesn’t seem to believe I fit this unsub’s victimology.” Grace always wondered if the feds actually used those words and spoke in such a distinct language. Turns out they did. “And technically nothing has happened since the graffiti was left on my barn.”
“Technically?” Lance’s steady sway had steadily increased with his irritation. “The guy is sending love notes to Charlene Winston, trying to rationalize the vandalism to your property as a way of welcoming you home. He mentioned you by name, sis. I don’t think you can say nothing else has happened when it’s plain as day that you are in his sights.”
“Mitch’s contact is looking over the information to see if she concurs with—”
“Fuck Mitch’s contact,” Lance blurted out, slamming the chair forward as his boots hit the porch. “She’s not here on the ground, Gwen. We are sitting right here next to you, and I’ve been one of the hunted before. I understand when the advantage rests with the other side. None of us believe it’s safe for you to move into that place where there’s no—”
“The security firm all of you are currently utilizing for your own homes has already outfitted my house with a state of the art system.” Gwen wasn’t allowing her baby brother to railroad her with a guilt trip. “I’m not going to get into debate about the huge differences between the Navy and Marines, because we’ll both end up on the ground with Dad playing referee. The point I’m trying to make is I’ve had self-defense training, I’m more than capable of taking care of myself against a determined adversary, and I won’t hesitate to shoot a perp if I’m in fear for my life.”
Lance leaned his head down and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, but his obvious frustration wasn’t going to change her mind.
“I didn’t return home to hide away in my childhood bedroom, as if I were afraid of the dark.”
“Your Barbie dolls had high hopes, you know. There’s a party at the dream house tonight. Ken’s going to be there with GI Joe.”
Gwen covered her mouth with her hand to prevent him from witnessing her smile.
Lance always did this, and she’d always end up forgetting why they were even arguing in the first place. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen quite so easily this time.
“What’s going on with you and Schaeffer?” Lance asked after having called somewhat of a truce with his humor. She didn’t doubt they would revisit the subject, but she’d learned how to stand her ground long ago. “He doesn’t seem like your type.”
“We’re just friends,” Gwen replied automatically, having said the same statement quite a few times to each of her brothers over the last two weeks. “Besides, he’s younger than me.”
Gwen realized her mistake the second she’d made it, but it was too late to backtrack now. Besides, she shouldn’t have to make excuses. She was a grown woman, and she was free to do as she pleased. It was one of the reasons she’d originally stayed away from home, but that decision had ultimately backfired on her.
“I might have struggled with math back in elementary school, but I’m relatively sure two years difference means squat at our age.” Lance lifted his right eyebrow in the same manner that Mitch did when she said something he didn’t quite agree with. Damn it. Why hadn’t she been given that trait? “Oh, wait. I get it. You’re like one of those cougars, trolling around for those younger men.”
“Mom must have dropped you on your head when you were a baby.”
“I think it was Mitch, but he won’t admit it.”
“What does it matter if I’m friends with Chad, anyway?” Gwen never could understand why there was a double standard when it came to women being friends with men. “He’s a great sounding board, doesn’t judge me the way you’re doing now, and he’s worked twelve-hour days to make sure my house is habitable for tomorrow. Oh, and the free corn mash whiskey is a major bonus. I’m pretty sure his grandpa added molasses after he distilled it.”
Gwen did her best to appear nonchalant in her description of a man she was falling for a little more each and every day. It hadn’t been her intention, though the underlying physical attraction had been there from day one.
It was hard to stay immune to the casual glances, infectious smiles, and charming winks.
The thing of it was…she was relatively sure those small gestures were part of his everyday personality. He wasn’t coming on to her. He was just being who he was…a decent man and better friend.
She’d slowly become more attracted to him with each passing evening they spent together. How could something so innocent in the beginning burn on so steadily and actually grow into an inferno that she had no chance of extinguishing?
“Oh, shit,” Lance muttered as he recognized her weakness. He’d taken in more than she would have liked, and now she had to do damage control. “You—”
“Chad has been in need of a friend, too,” Gwen began to explain, not giving Lance time to say anything that would have her taking him out of that chair and begging to say uncle. “It’s not what you think. Anyway, can you believe that Irish’s sister was one of the victims in the lake?”
Lance fell quiet, telling her that he was debating on which discussion to continue. The town was abuzz again after reading about the letters being sent to Charlene Winston and finding out the identity of another young girl who’d lost her life too soon. It was all anyone ever talked about at the diner, The Cavern, and the hair salon.
“Irish hasn’t been by the bar since Mitch and Agent Thorne notified him.” Lance proved that he had a heart, not that she ever doubted it. “I was thinking of taking the truck in for an oil change just to check on him. We didn’t get off to the greatest of starts.”
Gwen didn’t want to bring Chad into the conversation again, but it wasn’t like she could separate the two friends. Irish had even joined her and Chad for a beer a couple of nights ago.
“I saw Irish on Tuesday.” Gwen brushed away some of her hair that was getting in her eyes. She needed a trim on her bangs, but she couldn’t bring herself to make an appointment. The forty-five minute opening for a cut and style would be spent evading one question after another about the Kendalls’ involvement in the investigation. “He basically has the same story as Reese. The last place his sister had been seen was at Annie’s Diner.”
“I don’t understand why the police never made the connection. Had someone connected the dots, maybe this scumbag would have been behind bars instead of still terrorizing our small town.”
“The problem was that other sightings put her in New York City months after, though they couldn’t be confirmed.” Gwen thought back to her talk with Irish. “You know, he never stopped looking for her. He even hired a private detective, who was the sole reason why Irish had come to town to check out what happened to her here.”
“And what?” Lance asked, not being privy to this part of the story. “Irish decided to give up his life in the city and move here? That sounds like the plot to some terrible B-rated movie.”
“It’s the truth. The day he arrived was the day of old man Delaney’s funeral,” Gwen recounted as she recalled Irish’s story. “Everyone in town was talking about how the garage was for sale, and he said he took it as a sign that he should stay and get his hands dirty.”
Lance once again lifted his eyebrow in that irritating manner.
“I know it sounds hokey, but think about it from Irish’s standpoint.” Gwen wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to keep what body heat she could. She couldn’t stay out here much longer. “We were born into a big family. Irish wasn’t. Think about how we reacted to Mom’s death. It brought us all home, didn’t it?”
Lance didn’t dispute her analogy, and it also caused him to be silent. That was quite a feat and one she would take advantage of while she could.
“The moving company will be at the house around eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” Gwen said, faking a yawn and stretching her arms above her head. She immediately regretted the action as the tentacles of cold air immediately broke through the small holes in her sweater. “Will you and Brynn be there to help?”
“Dad would kick our asses if we weren’t,” Lance muttered, rubbing his eyes again. “Is lover boy going to be there?”
“I’m going to take the high road and pretend that you didn’t just say that.”
Gwen debated adding on to that warning, saying once again that she and Chad were just friends. Protesting too much would get the wrong result, so she stood from the chair and began to walk to the front door. A quick glance down the driveway told her that one of the agents Thorne had assigned was still awake and in position.
They had to be bored as shit.
“You could do worse,” Lance offered up with a shrug, still not willing to give this subject a break. “You could be friends with Wylie Tilmadge’s son. Last I heard, Shelby was saying he had proof of his father’s abduction.”
“Wylie had a son named Shelby?”
Okay, that bit of news had Gwen turning before she opened the screened door. Wylie had been a conspiracy theorist who used to live on the outskirts of town, claiming that the government had been taken over by aliens. There had even been an article published in one of the local newspapers about his accounts of his own abduction.
“We’ve been gone a long time, sis.” Lance finally stood, following her lead. He veered down the stairs before turning and walking backward toward his beat-up old truck. “Blyth Lake isn’t the same town we left.”
“No, it isn’t,” Gwen whispered, more to herself seeing as Lance was already opening the door on his F-150. “I wonder if it ever was.”
There was no denying that their childhood home had been plagued with an evil unlike anything these residents had ever seen before. Gwen and her brothers had been in the pits of hell, but this was different.
This was personal, and they weren’t going to take it lying down.
Chapter Thirteen
“Heads up!”
Chad caught the can of beer Noah had tossed him at chest height from about two feet in front of him, but he didn’t immediately pop the tab. He took the time to wipe the sweat from his brow with the rag he’d stuffed in his back pocket. The temperature was perfect for this type of physical activity, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t working up a sheen of sweat from moving heavy furniture all morning.
It seemed as if the wood pieces weren’t made of two-inch thick American hardwood, Gwen wasn’t interested in owning it. She must go through a gallon of Murphy’s Oil Soap every month. The oak two-door armoire he and Noah had just moved had to weigh at least four hundred pounds…and that was with the drawers pulled out.
Chad finally clicked the tab three times to settle the bubbles inside the can. The last two weeks working around this house had been interesting and downright vexing in unexpected ways.
Gwen wasn’t anything like the young girl who’d left Blyth Lake for the Navy. She challenged him in a way no one else did, listened intently when he needed a sounding board, and shared with him stories of her own tribulations. An underlying level of trust had formed in a way that he hadn’t expected, even though he’d done his best to maintain a modicum of distance. She’d drawn him in by sharing her confidence.
There was only one problem.
He now wanted more.
“Did you see this morning’s paper?” Gwen had come up behind Chad and then slid around him to sit on the bare mattress he and Noah had just set on the cross-members they’d brought up with the drawers for the armoire. “Charlene Winston received another letter.”
“I saw it earlier.” Chad was well aware that everyone in town knew that Gwen had been spending most of her evenings at his house, though no one had said anything about their friendship to his face—not even her brothers. Chad wanted to keep it that way, so he walked over to the far wall to use as leverage while slowly pulling the tab on the beer can to ease the pressure as he opened it. “I’ll swing by the garage to see how Irish is holding up. He wasn’t answering my phone calls this morning.”
The letter had gone in depth with regards to how the killer had saved Nora McCleary from an unhappy life. It had included details about her crying at one of the tables at the diner and how she’d poured her heart out to Annie Osburn—the owner and operator of the diner, who now happened to be retired.
Agent Thorne had been paying the older woman a lot of visits in the past two weeks, because almost every detail the killer revealed about his victims inc
luded the popular hotspot. There were other places mentioned, such as The Cavern and the lake where swimmers gathered in the summer.
It seemed that the killer had easily blended in and gone unnoticed when the town’s inhabitants had traded stories of their daily lives in Blyth Lake. No one could remember a single common person at each of those locations on the days mentioned…other than those neighbors and friends who couldn’t possibly be the killer.
It was as if he was invisible.
There was no doubt that Blyth Lake was home to this sick and twisted psychopath. Once again, everyone began to look at everyone else with distrust.
“Agent Thorne is pulling his agents from my detail as of this morning.”
“Why the fuck would he do that?” Noah blurted out, resting against the windowsill as he took the brunt of the latest news. “Gwen, I don’t think—”
“You have a bad habit of doing that,” Lance said, suddenly appearing in the doorway with a smile which slowly faded when no one laughed at his jab. “What’s wrong now?”
“Gwen just shared with us that Thorne is pulling her protective detail.”
The two brothers began talking loud enough that it drew the others from wherever they were in the house. In under twenty seconds, everyone had gathered in the master bedroom and were talking over one another in their need to have their professional opinions heard.
The only silent ones were Chad and Gwen.
He met her gaze and gave her a small smile of support, though it wouldn’t curb her reaction one bit. Her blue eyes began to darken in frustration. There she stood with a 9mm Beretta on her side, and probably four other firearms between the lot of them.
Chad figured the killer didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell if that psychopath tried anything with Gwen.
She understood deep down that every single family member in this room loved her and felt the need to protect her. Yet she wouldn’t allow them to dictate her actions.
Unlocking Shadows (Keys to Love, Book Four) Page 11
