The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  And wasn’t human nature an interesting thing? He looked at all the people standing in their pajamas, coats thrown over gowns and robes, slippers and tennis shoes, galoshes.

  Was it any reason they were called sirens? The noises the emergency vehicles made? Like the women of old, they called forth the curious to stand, to look, to wonder in awe.

  And he, he had caused it all.

  He took a deep breath. The chilled night air stung his nose with pine and the stronger fumes of diesel and exhaust from the emergency vehicles. He breathed deeper and on the breeze he smelled them. The lilies. Harlot’s flowers.

  A movement caught his attention and he turned. She stood from the lawn chair and nodded. So lost, so alone, so broken.

  Why? Why had she come tonight of all nights? He frowned. That one almost ruined it all. He’d pulled the harlot behind the house to finish the ceremony, to leave her with his mark, his salvation. Then he’d planned to pull her deeper into the woods behind her house and bury her. Never to be seen again. Like the others, she wasn’t meant to be found.

  He’d barely finished when the other woman had driven up.

  He sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets and watched as the law enforcement personnel tried to shield the public from the gruesome scene. Two men lifted the body.

  Death was a strange thing. Everything realigned in death, everything changed. Her body, that she had flaunted, was now no more than a shell. They put her in the bag and he shifted, moved to the side so he could watch them zip up the bag.

  “It’s just horrible. Just horrible. Things like this don’t happen here,” a little old lady said.

  Oh, my dear, but they do. Oh they do.

  He nodded, serious in his agreement with the elderly woman. Inside he smiled, fingered the bracelet in his pocket. The one he’d jerked off her. He had to keep something.

  Didn’t he?

  He blinked, wondered for the barest moment if he’d done the right thing. If he’d followed the right signs, understood the calling correctly.

  A door shutting jerked him back and things fell back into focus.

  Of course he was right. He was always right.

  He watched as the other woman was led to a police vehicle, a blue blanket around her shoulders, brown staining her hands, the knees of her khaki pants.

  He hadn’t meant to hurt her, not that one, but in the end she’d be better off. The harlot had no place near that one.

  That one was not a harlot. She was . . .

  Alone.

  Why had she come tonight?

  No answer readily came, but he knew one would. Good or bad, he would understand if there had been a reason for her to be here, to almost see him. And when he had the answer he would know what to do.

  • • •

  Jesslyn rode shotgun in the police SUV. She watched as the darkened landscape blurred outside, the headlights dancing on the wildflowers and tall vegetation on the side of the road. Sergeant Merrick didn’t say a word and for that she was thankful. The radio splattered and spit as she was used to it doing when she’d ridden with T.J. But tonight she didn’t try to decipher what they were saying, didn’t care to.

  She clutched the blanket tight in her fist and shut her mind to the reality around her.

  Headlights cut through the night and glared off the side mirror. T.J. followed in Jesslyn’s pickup. Merrick turned onto the highway and a mile later turned onto the Moonridge Estates’ drive. He pulled up behind a large pine tree in front of her house. Everything was dark. The house, the porch, the garage set out behind the trees. Maybe she should put some motion-detection lights in.

  “I should check the place out,” he said.

  As they shut their doors, her pickup rumbled up behind them and T.J. cut the engine, climbed out and tossed the keys to Jesslyn. She missed and they landed at her feet.

  “Sorry,” T.J. said.

  Jesslyn shrugged, bent down and picked them up. They all walked up the porch steps, their shoes thumping on the wood. The dark was heavy, the moon long since having set. On a sigh, she put her key in and unlocked the door.

  That was good. At least the door was locked. Like the guy would use her front door.

  She reached in and flipped on the light switch before anyone could stop her. T.J. glared at her and Merrick huffed. He was young, yet reminded her of Barney Fife. Maybe it was the eyes. She wasn’t sure. Jesslyn watched as he unclipped his gun and wondered if he’d ever fired it. What if she had a cat or a dog and the animal scared him? Would the jumpy man shoot it?

  • • •

  Aiden awoke. One minute he was asleep, the next he was wide awake.

  What woke him?

  He listened. There. A thump.

  Great. Just his luck. The house with the non-used alarm would get broken into the night he decided to stay there.

  On a curse, he looked at the nightstand and realized there was no phone. And his was downstairs inside his briefcase.

  Hell.

  It wasn’t as if he even had a weapon. Though the iron, artwork lamp appeared heavy. He reached out and lifted it. Yeah, that would work.

  Wishing now he’d stayed at the hotel, he pulled on his dark pants. Quickly, Aiden jerked the plug free and hefted the lamp, wrapping the cord around its thin base.

  A lamp. A damn lamp. Didn’t even have a phone in this room.

  Maybe he could make it to the master bedroom. Surely there was a phone in there. Though with his luck, the owner had some phone quirk and there wouldn’t be one. He’d rather call the cops who dealt with this than put some burglar in a coma and then get sued by the grieving family. Life in America. Only here would alarms be installed and not used.

  If he met his absent landlord, he had a thing or two to discuss with her.

  He eased the door open and slid into the hall. The master suite was only a couple doors down the hall. He just needed to get to that room.

  • • •

  Jesslyn rubbed her forehead and watched as Barney checked downstairs.

  Glancing at T.J., she said, “I’m going upstairs and I’d rather Merrick not check out my room.” She looked at her hands, saw they trembled and fisted them. “I have to take a shower.”

  T.J.’s ice-blue eyes filled with tears and she nodded. For a moment, they just stared at each other, then T.J. slung an arm around her shoulders and they started up the steps. Neither said a word. And Jesslyn wasn’t about to start thinking about things now. On the landing, she passed the light switch, thumped it on and turned to go into her room.

  Shadows moved in front of the window.

  Fear trickled through her.

  A man stood holding something in one hand and a lamp in the other.

  She was shoved to the side and heard T.J. yell. “Police! Drop it! Drop it now! Put the weapon down!”

  Jesslyn realized her friend had drawn her gun and aimed it as steady as you please at the intruder. Maybe she should get one.

  “Merrick!” T.J. shouted, back over her shoulder. “I said, drop it, you sonofabitch!”

  Lights from the hallway cast a long line into the room. She reached over and flicked on the lights in the room.

  The man held a phone in one hand and a lamp in the other.

  He was clearly shocked, his dark blue eyes wide. “Don’t shoot.”

  Jesslyn stayed back against the wall. How had he gotten in? And why didn’t he have a shirt on? Or shoes for that matter?

  “Put the weapon down!” T.J. yelled again.

  Merrick sidled into the room, his gun drawn.

  The man put the lamp on the bed, kept his hands palms out, though her cordless was still in the other.

  Something was very wrong with this picture.

  “Now put the phone down,” Merrick ordered.

  The dark-haired stranger shook his head and dropped the phone onto the bed.

  “Kneel on the floor with your hands behind your head,” T.J. said, moving closer, her gun still aimed on him.

  Aiden looke
d at the tiny woman with the gun. She appeared no more than twelve, but the gun looked real enough.

  Definitely should have stayed at the hotel.

  As he eased down onto his knees, he said, “I think there’s been some mistake.”

  Slowly, so as not to startle the police officers, he placed his hands on his head.

  The two moved in and cold metal clinked as they cuffed his right wrist. They lowered it and he looked at the woman standing straight against the wall, pale and frowning.

  His other arm was jerked down and the cuffs clicked into place.

  “You are making a mistake,” he tried again.

  “Uh-huh,” the fairy-like policewoman said. The guy cop hauled him to his feet. The hardwood floors were cold.

  “Shoeless, shirtless criminals. What next?” the woman against the wall asked.

  Everyone stopped.

  He looked at her and their eyes met. Something in him focused, sharpened as he studied her. She stood straight, clutching a blue blanket around her short frame. Or maybe she just seemed short. And why did he even give a damn? Her eyes were dark, almost black in her colorless face. Light brown brows, the color of her hair, furrowed as she frowned.

  Could this be his landlord, or come to think of it, would that be landlady?

  “Ms. Black?” he asked.

  “Shut up,” Fairycop snapped.

  The woman against the wall shook her head. She wasn’t Ms. Black? Then who the hell was she? And what in the hell were all these people doing here?

  At least he’d managed to call nine-one-one before the melee burst into the room. Sirens wailed from outside. And the radios the cops carried sputtered.

  Aiden closed his eyes and waited to wake up. This had to be some bizarre dream brought on by stress. It had better damn well be.

  “Come on,” the man said. Everyone filed out of the room and down the stairs.

  Another cop came in the front door, a dark nylon jacket embossed with Chief.

  “Did you call for backup?” the woman cop asked the other one.

  “No, thought you did.”

  Aiden said, “I did.”

  The new “backup” also had the word Chief on his ball cap. He looked past Aiden to the woman wrapped in the blanket.

  “You okay, Ms. Black?” he asked her.

  Ms. Black? Aiden whipped back around and glared at the owner. Ms. Black? It was the owner and she’d done nothing to help him? Anger, held in check, pumped hot and fast through him.

  The woman nodded and looked to him. Their eyes met and again everything stopped. Then she blinked and everything moved.

  “Yes, I’m okay, Chief.”

  The chief turned whisky-colored eyes on him. Aiden didn’t move, didn’t blink, but returned the stare, noticing he was a few inches taller than the man. “Would you mind telling your officers to take these cuffs off? Or am I under arrest? And if I am, I’d dearly love to know why.”

  The fox eyes narrowed on him. “Not till I have some answers.”

  Aiden turned back to Ms. Black. “You going to help me out here?”

  Confusion flared on her face as her eyes narrowed. She shook her head. “Why the hell would I do that? I want to know what you’re doing here as much as everyone else.”

  The woman had a twang as wide as Texas. Then her words registered. She had no idea what he was doing here?

  Aiden sighed and swallowed his anger. He really did not need this. He looked at the chief. “And your questions would be . . .”

  “Who are you and what are you doing here?” Chief asked.

  “Aiden Kinncaid, owner of the new Highland Hotel and I was attempting to sleep before I was awoken and realized someone was in the house. Then I, being the good citizen that I am, called the magic number to bring the boys in blue running. Is it my lucky night or do you arrest everyone that calls nine-one-one?”

  “Who did you say again?”

  “Kinncaid.” He turned back to Ms. Black and gave her a look he knew sent board members running, opponents scurrying, and enemies hiding. “Aiden Kinncaid.” Silence hung in the air. Her expression didn’t change. Didn’t she have a clue as to whom she rented her own damn house to? “CEO of Kinncaid Enterprises, we’re reopening the old Sharlaton.” He faced the Chief.

  “Oh my God,” a woman drawled. “Oh, my God.” A small strangled laugh rumbled out of her.

  “Figure it out yet, blondie?” he asked her.

  Her eyes widened.

  Timothy Kerrin strode through the front door and into the melee. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Thank God.

  “Timothy, I love this town of yours. This house, the owner,” he added with a narrowed look at Ms. Black. “Truly, I do,” he quipped, not caring if the sarcasm was rude or not. “I’m arrested, in case you can’t see. Though they’ve yet to tell me why.” He turned and showed his friend the cuffs. “Mind telling your local law enforcement what exactly it is I’m doing here.”

  Tim frowned, looked from him to Ms. Black to the cops. “Uh—uhmm . . .”

  “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry,” Ms. Black said, though somewhat vaguely.

  “For?” the chief asked.

  “He’s renting the house.”

  “What?” three cops asked.

  “He’s my renter. I think.” She looked from him to Tim, a question in her eyes.

  “You think?” the little female cop asked.

  “Yeah, I think that was the renter’s name.” She shook her head as if trying to figure something out.

  “Yes, he’s the renter,” Timothy said, coming into the living area where everyone was. “He came in a day early and I gave him your spare key you leave with me,” he apparently explained to Ms. Black.

  She chuckled, a low husky sound that whispered at him, but it caught on what sounded like a sob. Again she shook her head before meeting his gaze. Her gaze was direct and unapologetic regardless of her words. “This might be really funny any other night. Oh, God. I am really sorry for all this.” She waved a hand at the group and shrugged.

  Aiden noticed there were brown stains and smudges on her fingers. He waited patiently, then cleared his throat. “If you’ll be so damned kind as to remove the cuffs, I can get my wallet with my I.D.” The words were bit out, but he’d really had enough for one night.

  The chief nodded and Aiden felt the cuffs loosen. Feeling a twitch in his jaw, he didn’t say another word. Instead, he took the stairs two at a time and came back with his wallet, pulling his shirt on. He handed it over to the chief.

  The cop raised his eyes and handed the I.D. back to Aiden. “Vacationing?”

  Aiden smiled, and he knew it held no amusement. “In a manner of speaking.”

  The chief closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them again, he said, “Merrick, Stephens, outside, now.”

  Aiden noticed the woman, Stephens, went to Ms. Black and gave her a hug, whispering something in her ear. Ms. Black nodded and the blankness shifted from her eyes. Pain, hot and raw, shone in the depths.

  The chief held his hand out. “I’m Garrison. Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Kinncaid. It’s been a bad night here and we’re looking for a man.”

  Well that narrowed things down. Aiden looked at the offered hand for a couple of seconds before shaking it.

  “I take it that man’s not me?” He shoved his wallet and hands in his pockets, watching as the other officers filed out the door. Tim walked over to Ms. Black and wrapped her in a hug. The woman laid her head on Tim’s chest for a moment, then pushed him away. How close of friends were these two anyway?

  “Don’t really know. Where were you about midnight?”

  The question jerked his attention back to the man in front of him. “Here asleep. Why?”

  Garrison’s eyes narrowed. Then Ms. Black spoke. “It wasn’t him.”

  The men turned to her. She pointed at Aiden. “He’s too . . . too tall.”

  “You’re sure?” Garrison asked.

  Ms. Black
nodded. “Yes. And Mr. Kinncaid’s not even wearing shoes.”

  Garrison gave him one last look then said to Tim, “You staying tonight, Kerrin?”

  Tim nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

  What the hell was going on?

  Garrison nodded. “There’ll be someone outside, just to keep an eye out. Probably Sergeant Merrick, or maybe I can talk Stephens into staying. Ms. Black, I’ll be back by in the morning.”

  Aiden crossed his arms over his chest. Ms. Black looked like a strong wind could blow her over. She needed some rest from the looks of things, not that he should care, given the night’s events.

  “I’ll call first,” Garrison added to Ms. Black. The chief walked out, closing the door behind him.

  No one spoke as they listened to the footsteps on the front porch, and a car driving away.

  Aiden rubbed his hands over his face. God, what a night.

  “Mr. Kinncaid?”

  He turned to Ms. Black.

  “I really am sorry. I’m—I’m—” She huffed out a breath. “Don’t worry about the first week’s rent.”

  He waved a hand. “I don’t want to talk about this now.” He studied her. “I want to know what the hell is going on.”

  One brow rose. “Well, excuse me.”

  “Do you always rent to people without getting their names?”

  “No, I made an exception with you.” She rubbed her forehead and he noticed again how pale she seemed.

  “Should you sit down or something? You don’t look so good.”

  A ghost of a smile flitted at one corner of her mouth. “Figures. Good-looking. But the compliments and arrogance are such a hinder.” She took a deep breath and blew it out.

  Aiden cocked a brow and crossed his arms. “I really should try implementing your welcoming technique at my hotels. Alarm guest, arrest guest, and insult guest. Do you have many return renters?”

  Her expression didn’t change. Then a thin, condescending smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “It’s a special technique only reserved for certain visitors.”

  Aiden stared at her and continued to stare. Her eyes narrowed and she walked up to him and poked a finger in his chest, tilting her head back to look at him. “Look, I said I was sorry. I can’t help what happened tonight, so get the stick out of your ass and go back to bed or something ’cause I’m really, really,” her voice cracked, “not in the mood to placate you.”