When the Smoke Clears (Deadly Reunions)

by Lynette Eason

  She lifted a brow and even offered a slight smile. “I’m in one piece. You?”

  “For now.” When his boss got through with him, he might need a whole roll of duct tape to put the pieces back together. But he couldn’t get out of that garage without endangering himself. His boss would understand.

  He hoped.

  “Did they get whoever was shooting at us?” Alexia asked.

  “No.” He couldn’t help that the word came out clipped, hard, angry, frustrated. Which was fine. It was how he felt about the fact that the shooter got away.

  Surprise lit her eyes. “I would have thought he would have been easy to pin down in the garage.”

  Hunter shook his head. “I don’t understand it. We had him right there. And he got away clean.” He rubbed his jaw with his good hand. The brief thought that he ought to get the wounded shoulder looked at crossed his mind.

  “How? Did he leave the weapon?”

  “No. There wasn’t a trace of him.”

  “But . . .” She trailed off, her brow furrowed.

  Hunter shook his head. “I know. We’ll get him, though. He’s going to mess up eventually.”

  Frustration stamped itself on her pretty face. “Eventually? Before or after he hurts someone else?” She gestured toward his arm. “You need to get that taken care of.”

  He understood what she was saying. Unfortunately, he couldn’t offer her any reassurance. However, he could try to pull some strings in a few areas. “Come on. Let’s do everything we’ve got to do here. Then we’re going to do some digging into some things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like your family members who have grudges against you.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  As Hunter walked with her to the area where she would give her statement, he used his phone to email his contact at SLED, the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division, and asked for an update on Dominic and Greg Allen, Alexia’s brother and father.

  And then he might get someone to look at his arm.

  It hurt.

  28

  Thursday, 2:02 p.m.

  The senator closed the drawer to his desk, sat in his leather chair, and shut his eyes. He longed for a good night’s sleep again, but felt quite sure that such a blessing was not in his immediate future.

  He looked at the gun collection on the wall. A collection he’d taken pride in for a long time. Like the 1894 Colt Bisley. Or the .44 caliber Wild Bill Hickok “Dead Man’s Hand” 1851 “Aces & Eights” Black Powder Revolver. His antique revolvers—all thirty-four of them. He’d invested a small fortune in the guns and now wished he could get rid of every single one.

  Instead, he was stuck looking at them every day. A reminder of his skeleton in the closet. The one Jillian seemed determined to unveil. The one Frank Hoffman was just as equally determined to keep buried.

  Then again, maybe God had decided it was time for Frank to fail. That it was time for the senator to reap what he’d sown.

  Frank shuddered. “Stop it. Paranoia will only get you in trouble.”

  And he’d been able to skirt the edges of trouble all his life, never getting caught, never being blamed for the mischief he caused. Only this time, it wasn’t mischief. This was serious stuff.

  Frank sat up and blinked. This situation wasn’t his fault. It was Jillian’s. If only she’d accepted the social boundaries and knew her place, none of this would be happening.

  Yes indeed, he thought as his anger grew. If Jillian had just stayed on her side of town, everything would be fine.

  Only she hadn’t and now she was taunting him, mocking him. Threatening him.

  No one threatened the senator.

  It was time to get a little more involved. If the people he paid good money to couldn’t resolve this problem, then he would have to take matters into his own hands.

  Hands that he’d managed to keep fairly clean.

  Hunter clicked the mouse and the screen lit up with the information he was looking for. His arm throbbed, but he ignored it. He had more important things to worry about. Like crimes reported graduation night ten years ago. Out of the twenty-three, Hunter was interested in four of them.

  A breaking and entering.

  An armed robbery at a convenience store.

  The murder of a homeless man.

  And a shot reported in one of the nicest neighborhoods in town. When the police arrived, they could find nothing amiss. They’d even gone door to door, questioning the residents. Nothing.

  Could Jillian have seen one of those? Been a part of one? But why run? Why not report it? Unless she’d been the one to instigate it or was involved in it somehow.

  But he didn’t get that from Alexia’s story. Jillian had been scared. Terrified, as Alexia put it. Seen something she shouldn’t have seen.

  He studied the details of each crime. Nothing stood out to him. Except maybe the shooting. But nothing had been found at the time ten years ago. And nothing of that nature, in that neighborhood, had been reported since.

  Hunter glanced at his phone, wishing his contact would get back to him about Dominic or Greg Allen. He frowned, wondering what was taking so long. Usually Brian was much faster than this. How hard could it be to locate someone? Unless they were dead or in the CIA, Brian could find anyone.

  Dead.

  The possibility had occurred to him. But if they were dead, he was back at square one looking for other suspects. And Alexia wasn’t on the list. His list anyway.

  Katie’s? Well, that was probably another story.

  As though thinking about her conjured her up, Katie stepped into the office.

  Hunter waved her over with his good arm. “Hey, I want to run something by you.”

  Katie pulled up a chair and settled next to him. “What are you doing?”

  “Going over everything with this case. Will you be my sounding board?”

  “Sure. I’ve got some news, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Mrs. Wickham just died.”

  Hunter winced. He figured it would happen but had prayed the woman would live long enough to at least be able to tell them who attacked her and her husband. He would have to tell Alexia.

  He focused on something he could make a difference in. “We’ve got a dead body in Hannah Allen’s house.”

  “And a suspect with bloody hands.”

  Hunter shot her a look. “She didn’t do it, Katie.”

  Katie rolled her eyes and shrugged. “I think she had reason to.”

  “Why? Because the guy was living in her mother’s house and she was jealous?”

  Katie lifted a brow. “Was she?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, I think so, and I also think you’re attracted to her and are blinded by your hormones.”

  He blinked. Felt anger stir. “And I think you’ve held a grudge so long against a woman you never met that you’re grasping at any opportunity to stick it to her. Accusing her of murder without any solid evidence? How can you justify that?”

  Katie bolted to her feet and planted her hands on her hips. Outrage spit from her gray eyes. “No solid evidence! We walked in while she still had his blood on her hands. You found that box with Wickham’s blood on it and the knife inside it. My house burned to the ground and she doesn’t have an alibi, but her necklace is at the scene. Your car blew up just minutes after she rode in it. What more do you need?”

  “More than that.” He kept his tone even. “Her story checks out. She couldn’t have hidden that knife. There was no time. And how do you know she doesn’t have an alibi?”

  “I asked her where she was. She says at home. Alone. With no one but a couple of pets to verify she was there. I need more than that. Sorry.”

  He had to admit when she laid it all out like that, the trail led right to Alexia. However—he blinked. Trail.

  “There was no blood trail to her room,” he said.

  “What?”

  Excitement filled him. “There
was no blood trail. From the basement, all the way up to her room and under the bed. Not a spot of blood. If she’d killed Devin and raced upstairs to hide the knife, she would have left evidence behind.”

  Katie frowned and for the first time, doubt flickered.

  “Then how did the knife get in the box under her bed?”

  Hunter ran a hand over his jaw as he considered her question. A question he’d already asked himself a dozen times. “I don’t know. I just know she didn’t put it there.” He clicked his pen. “She has a theory, though.”

  “Of course she does.”

  “She says the killer had the box in his hand when she saw him run from the basement. He took it, put the knife in there, intending to frame her.”

  “And you just happened upon him putting the box back in her mother’s house.”

  He nodded. “Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

  “Yep.”

  “But not impossible.”

  She shot him a sad look. “She’s gotten to you. You’ve fallen for that little-miss-innocent routine too. Well, she tried that back in high school and look where that got everyone in her family. She turned her own brother in to the cops and she burned her house down. Not to mention the fact that her sister committed suicide because she couldn’t live with the way she looked after the fire.”

  Hunter held up a hand to stop her. “Look, I knew Alexia back in high school too.” He felt a flush creep up the back of his neck. “Trust me, I watched her my entire senior year, wishing I had the guts to tell her to dump Devin and take a look at me. But I didn’t. And then when she finally did dump him, I couldn’t get her to give me the time of day.”

  Katie’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding. You had a thing for her back in high school?”

  Hunter rolled his eyes at her shock. “Look, I’m only telling you that to make my point. She’s not like you’re making her out to be. She wouldn’t do the things you’re accusing her of. She was a gentle soul in high school. And a wounded one.”

  “Which makes her all the more likely to commit a crime as an adult.”

  Hunter stopped and raised a brow. “You just made that up.”

  “Yes, I did, but I still think she knows more than she’s letting on.”

  His phone rang, saving him the trouble of arguing with his partner any more. “Hello?”

  “Hey Hunter, Brian here.”

  Now maybe they’d get somewhere. “What you got for me?”

  “Okay, I’ve got nothing on Dominic Allen.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. My guess is he’s either living on the streets, dead and his body never found, or he’s unofficially changed his name. Could really be anything. His trail ran out about eight years ago. He was arrested for drugs at the age of seventeen here in Columbia. Never served a day.”

  “What?” Now that was news. “What happened?”

  “Dunno. Charges were dropped.”

  “Weird.” Hunter thought. “Who was his arresting officer?”

  “Cop by the name of Marcus Porter.”

  Hunter wrote the name down. “What about Greg Allen?”

  “Now he was a challenge. I managed to trace him for a couple of years after he left Columbia. He was working under the name Greg Adams. Then he got into a fight with a guy in a bar. Killed the guy with a broken beer bottle. Slashed his throat. Was found guilty of manslaughter and served about nine years. He got out three months ago and was employed at a gas station. His last known address—Winthrop, Washington.”

  Shock rippled. “Washington?”

  “Yeah. That mean something to you?”

  “It might.” Might mean more to Alexia than him, though. “What’s his most recent address?”

  Brian gave it to him. “Do you know how many Greg, Gregory, et cetera, Allens there are in the country?”

  “Not a clue. You sure this is our guy?”

  “I’m sure. He finally confessed his real name to his cell mate. The cell mate told a guard and the information filtered up to be put into the system. It just took me awhile to follow the trail.”

  “Good job. I appreciate it.”

  When Brian hung up, Hunter looked at Katie and filled her in on the conversation. Then he asked, “Have you found anything on Jillian Carter yet?”

  She frowned. “No. And that’s kind of weird. I know she took off the night of graduation. I trailed her to a hotel about a hundred miles away where she used a credit card. Then the trail ends. It’s like she dropped off the face of the earth.”

  Hunter blew out a frustrated sigh and looked at Katie. “Something happened ten years ago in this city. Something that Jillian Carter witnessed. Something that had to do with Alexia and Serena. I’m finding it really interesting that as soon as Alexia comes back to town, she’s a target.” He thought it through and said, “And the man in her mother’s basement was stabbed in the throat.”

  “Not exactly a beer bottle,” Katie said, “but yeah, I can see why you’d want to look at Greg Allen.”

  “A grudging admission, but I’ll take it.”

  Katie wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes.

  He shook his head, unable to put everything together. It would help if he had all the pieces. “I’ve got an errand to run. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Alexia sighed as she pulled the brush through her hair. Everything in her wished she hadn’t agreed to be at the reunion committee meeting tonight. Then again, she wondered if she might find out some more information about Devin and his parents.

  Sadness filled her as she thought of the small family. Her initial attraction to Devin had died a quick death back in high school, but she’d always liked his parents well enough. Especially his mother. And the woman had seemed to take a liking to Alexia. Maybe because she hoped Alexia would be the daughter she’d never have.

  Who knew?

  Regardless, their deaths impacted her in a way she hadn’t expected.

  Tossing the brush onto the dresser, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door. And pulled up short.

  An unmarked cop car sat in front of her house.

  She walked to the curb and he rolled the window down.

  “Hello, Alexia.”

  “Chad? What are you doing here?”

  He smiled and flashed a dimple. Her heart lurched. He looked a lot like Hunter when he did that. “I’m keeping you safe.”

  “By following me wherever I go?”

  Chad shrugged. “With all of the crazy stuff that’s happened over the last few days, Hunter asked for a few volunteers to keep an eye on you. I’m off duty today so I volunteered.”

  Alexia didn’t know whether to be touched—or creeped out. “Oh. Um . . . thanks.”

  “I’m on duty until ten.”

  “And after ten?”

  “Jackson Mann will be here.”

  She stared at Chad. “But . . . why? Why would they volunteer to do that?”

  His lips thinned. “Because Hunter asked. And when Hunter asks for something, he always gets it.”

  Chad’s jealousy made her shudder. “Chad—”

  He held up a hand and his features lightened. “Look, it gives me something to do other than sit at home pondering whether or not I’m going to go to my favorite bar and toss a few back. I can’t drink if I’m doing this.” He flashed her a weak grin. “You’re doing me a favor.”

  What could she say to that?

  The ten-minute drive to the meeting passed without incident. Still, she couldn’t keep from looking in her rearview mirror the entire drive to see if someone other than Chad was behind her.

  She pulled into her old neighborhood, drove past her mother’s house, and pulled up to the curb in front of Avery Tabor’s home. Chad parked behind her. Three cars were in the drive. Two others were parked on the curb like hers.

  And that’s when the nerves hit her. What would these people think of her? Would they just remember the girl accused of setting fire to her family home, or would they be willing to
know who she was today?

  She had a feeling she might be in for a rough night. All of a sudden she wanted some comfort. Someone to tell her it was going to be all right.

  God? Are you there, God?

  Never mind then. She could do this herself.

  Lifting her chin, Alexia stared at the well-lit house. She had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide. They could take her as she was or she’d leave.

  A longing for Hunter pierced her in spite of her silent reassurances. She wanted him by her side. She wanted the security he represented to her. And that made her even more determined. She’d gone this long without a man in her life, she sure didn’t need one now.

  But I want one.

  Climbing from the vehicle, Alexia did a scan of the area, checking for anything that made her feel uncomfortable, uneasy. She had to admit Chad’s presence eased her nerves quite a bit.

  When nothing jumped out at her, she walked up to the front door, took a deep breath, and rang the bell.

  Footsteps sounded and within seconds the door swung open to reveal a little girl in a pink sundress. Blond curls tumbled around her shoulders and a shy smile hovered on her lips.

  Alexia felt her heart melt. “Hello. I’m Alexia. Who are you?”

  “I’m Mary Ellen. I’m seven. My brother, Bradley, is nine. He’s with my daddy doing a ‘guy thing.’” Alexia choked back a laugh when the little girl wiggled her fingers as though putting quotation marks around the last two words. Then she shrugged. “Whatever that means.”

  The smile widened into a grin and Alexia could see the child was missing her two front teeth.

  “Very nice to meet you, Mary Ellen. I’m here for the committee meeting with your Aunt Lori.”

  Mary Ellen stepped back. “Come on in. Everyone’s in the den.”

  Alexia followed the little girl through the foyer, down a short hall, and into a nice-sized den already filled with chattering people. Most of whom she recognized. Chairs made a circle within the space. Toys lined the shelves near the fireplace. Little army men surrounded a fort made out of popsicle sticks.