“Come on back, Hadley.” He stepped aside to let Hunter through. “Riley’s meeting with Chief Ainsley in the briefing room.”
He led them down a narrow hall, stopping in front of an open door.
“Come on in, Mr. Hadley.”
Nessa Ainsley stood at the front of the room beside a whiteboard. Riley Odell sat at a long table in front of her. Both women smiled when they saw Gracie trot in.
“She looks like she’d feeling better,” Nessa said, offering the white Lab a smile. “And who’ve you got here?”
“I’m Finn Jordan.” Finn stuck out a hand. “I’m a temporary crew member at Channel Ten.”
Hunter shook his head and put a hand on Finn’s shoulder.
“Finn’s an old family friend,” Hunter clarified. “He’s doing me a favor by filling in on the news crew. Gracie’s his dog.”
“How can we help you, Mr. Hadley?” Riley asked, apparently impatient with the pleasantries. “We’re in the middle of a manhunt, so I’m sure you can understand we don’t have time to-”
“I understand you gave Veronica early information on a story, and that the information was leaked,” he said, irritated by her patronizing tone. “Now Veronica is missing in action, and I’m trying to figure out what happened to her.”
The women exchanged a long look, then Nessa gestured to the chairs across from Riley.
“Why don’t you sit down and tell us what’s happened.”
“I don’t want to sit down,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “I want to know more about this Xavier Greyson character you told Veronica about. I want to know if he could be a threat to her.”
Riley sat back in her chair and sighed.
“Everything we say in this room is strictly off the record.”
Nodding his agreement, Hunter waited.
“Xavier Greyson is a threat to everyone he meets, Mr. Hadley. He’s a con man who we believe has killed at least five people that we know of, and there’s likely more victims out there.”
Hunter digested the information with growing concern.
“I told Veronica about Greyson because we were planning to release a public appeal as soon as we had a sketch available,” Riley explained. “Unfortunately, someone saw Veronica’s notes and the story was leaked to Channel Six. Now Greyson knows we’re after him, but nobody knows what he looks like.”
Moving closer, Finn cleared his throat.
“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re trying to find Veronica. This guy wouldn’t have any reason to go after her, would he?”
Riley shrugged.
“I don’t see why he would. We believe Greyson’s motive was money. He targeted Portia Hart for her money, and then eliminated anyone he thought was going to get in his way.”
“What about Julian Hart?” Hunter asked. “Could he be in danger?”
It was Vanzinger’s turn to interject.
“As Riley said, Greyson’s driving motive seems to be financial. He was after Portia’s billions, only she didn’t have that kind of money anymore.”
Vanzinger looked to Nessa, as if seeking permission to continue; she gave a slight nod.
“According to Julian Hart, Portia had lost most of her inheritance,” Vanzinger said. “He’d helped her get back on her feet financially, but we think Greyson may have killed Portia when he found out she didn’t have the kind of money he was counting on.”
“You think Greyson may still try to get that money from Portia’s brother?” Finn asked.
The room was silent for a long beat. Nessa turned to Riley.
“Would Greyson go after Julian?”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Riley admitted, “but I guess he might make one last play for that billion dollar jackpot.”
She turned to Hunter and Finn.
“From what we can tell, Xavier Greyson has tried to kill anyone who gets in his way. Julian Hart would be fair game.”
“Then we better warn him,” Nessa said, pulling out her phone.
She scrolled through her contact list and tapped on a number, then put the phone on speaker and waited. After six rings the call rolled to voice mail.
“Mr. Hart, this is Chief Ainsley in Willow Bay. I have reason to believe Xavier Greyson may be headed your way. Please return my call when you get this message. And please be careful. Greyson’s a dangerous man.”
Spinning on his heel, Hunter crossed to the door.
“We think Veronica’s driving toward Hart Cove right now to find Julian,” he said, as Finn and Gracie scrambled to follow him. “Xavier Greyson may have the same idea.”
“Wait, Mr. Hadley,” Riley called out. “If there’s even the slightest chance Xavier Greyson is going after Julian Hart, then you need to stay away. We just told you…he kills anyone who gets in his way.”
“Then I can’t let Veronica get in his way,” Hunter said, stepping into the hall. “I’m going after her.”
Riley continued to object, following him through the lobby and to the curb where his Audi was parked. Hunter looked back to see Finn and Gracie on the sidewalk.
“You stay and take care of Gracie,” he said to Finn. “I’ll be back.”
“Hadley, you know we can’t let you go after Greyson on your own,” Vanzinger insisted, reaching out a big hand to stop him.
But Hunter wasn’t listening. He threw off Vanzinger’s hand and hurried around to the driver’s side. As he started the engine, the passenger door opened, and Riley Odell jumped in.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I guess I’m coming with you,” she said, buckling her seatbelt.
Suddenly the backdoor flew open and Tucker Vanzinger squeezed his big frame into the backseat.
“All right,” he said, grinning at Hunter in the rearview mirror. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter Forty-Two
The darkening sky ahead reminded Veronica of her two-year stint as Channel Ten’s weather girl, when she’d often wished for rainy days or inclement weather so that she’d have something exciting to report. The end to the state’s record-breaking dry spell would be big news.
Forcing herself to concentrate on the road ahead, she blinked back tears. She would no longer be reporting on the weather or anything else. At least not for Channel Ten.
I can’t think about that right now. First, I need to make sure Julian’s okay. Then, I can decide what to do with the rest of my life.
She’d been driving for more than three hours, and she’d tried to call Julian a dozen times, growing more nervous with every call.
What if Julian already has done something stupid? What’ll I do?
Seeing the exit for Hart Cove, Veronica steered the red Jeep onto the ramp and headed east toward the coast. Based on her research, she knew that the only way to reach the tiny beach town was on a two lane highway that had seen better days.
Most of the town’s residents were wealthy northerners who used Hart Cove as their winter retreat. They didn’t want to make it easy for the average tourist to discover the secluded beaches.
A winding road led Veronica past large palatial estates set back from the road. These were the beachfront mansions that only a select few could ever afford, and elaborate fences had been constructed to keep unwanted riffraff away.
Rain began to patter against the Jeeps’ windshield as Veronica pulled up outside a sprawling, oceanfront estate. A tall wrought-iron gate blocked the path to the driveway. It was closed and locked.
Climbing down from the Jeep, Veronica studied the gate’s keypad. She press the Call button and waited, feeling the rain begin to soak into her long, dark hair. Finally she stepped back and studied the house. Was there another way in? Her eyes fell on the house number: 1001 Hart Cove Way.
Couldn’t hurt to try it. Most people use something easy to remember.
She entered 1001 on the keypad, and the gate slowly swung open.
Jumping back in the Jeep, she followed the broad driveway around to the side of the house, ending u
p in a bricked courtyard with a four-car garage on one side and a scenic path to the beach on the other.
She surveyed the house, expecting the door next to the garage to swing open at any minute, wondering if Julian would be angry that she’d showed up uninvited.
Maybe he’ll be glad someone cared enough to check on him.
Stepping onto the brick pavement, Veronica ran through the rain to the garage and peeked in a narrow window on the side of the building. A white Mercedes was parked in one of the bays.
So, he is here. At least I didn’t make the trip for nothing.
She scurried to the door beside the garage, taking shelter from the rain on the little covered porch. She assumed the door led to the kitchen, or maybe to the servant’s quarters, like in Downton Abbey.
There was a decorative window high up on door, but Veronica couldn’t see any light or hear any sound coming from within.
“Julian?” she called, raising her voice over the patter of the rain. “It’s me, Veronica. Please, let me in.”
Still no movement or sound came from within. Imagining Julian’s limp body splayed on the kitchen floor, Veronica clutched the doorknob and turned. To her surprise, the door swung open, revealing a large, dimly lit kitchen.
“Julian? Are you in here?”
The gentle rush of air from the vent in the ceiling was the only sound she heard. Leaving the door slightly open, she moved further into the room, noticing a set of keys had been dropped on the massive kitchen island that dominated the room.
Crossing to the door leading into the hall, she stuck her head through. The house was dark. All the blinds were closed, and no lights were on. She hesitated, feeling her heart begin to thump a panicked beat in her chest.
I never should have come here alone. He could already be dead. Maybe he’s upstairs in the bedroom, or in the bathroom like his sister.
Veronica heard a faint drip, drip, drip behind her. She spun around, certain that Julian would be standing there, but the kitchen was empty. The dripping continued, and Veronica followed the sound to a large upright freezer.
It was the kind of deluxe appliance her mother always talked about buying but never did, and a dark puddle was growing underneath it, fed by the incessant drip drip drip of more liquid from within.
“What is this?” Veronica whispered as she bent to touch the puddle, then recoiled at the cold, viscous texture. “Is that…blood?”
Jerking on the freezer’s handle, Veronica wrenched the door open. At first she couldn’t register what she was seeing. A man’s body had been shoved in the freezer; his face was hidden, but she recognized Julian Hart’s khaki pants and long-sleeved shirt.
She reached out a trembling hand to touch his arm. It was frozen stiff and as she watched a spattering of ice crystals fell from his shirt. She looked down to see a puddle of congealing blood on the bottom of the freezer.
“Julian, no, oh my god, no!” Veronica sobbed out the words, backing away. “Why…why did you do this?”
The irrational thought that maybe Julian was still alive, that he couldn’t have been in there very long, took hold. She forced herself to once again reach out. She tugged on his rigid, unyielding arm, using the cuff of his sleeve to pull his arm toward her.
The skin on his hand and wrist was as white as snow, and Veronica felt tears fall down her cheek as she held his hand, not knowing what else she could do. She’d arrived too late.
There was no point in sending an ambulance, but she’d have to call 911 anyway. The police would need to investigate. Something terrible had happened in this house, and a man was dead.
Pushing the unwieldy arm back in place, Veronica frowned.
Didn’t Julian have a birthmark on his wrist?
She thought back to Saturday night. The night she’d had a drink with Julian in the Riverview Hotel bar. He’d lifted his right hand to take a drink, and she’d seen the heart shaped mark.
Staring at the man in the freezer, Veronica backed away. She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes.
If that’s not Julian, then who is it?
“What’s wrong, Veronica?”
She screamed as a deep voice broke the silence. Julian was standing in the kitchen doorway.
“You don’t…you aren’t…”
Her mind reeled, trying to make sense of what was happening.
“No, I’m not dead, and I’m not in the freezer,” he said, his voice silky smooth. “I’m also not Julian Hart.”
An ugly smirk spread across his face.
“Julian didn’t have a birthmark, of course, but I didn’t think anyone would notice that I did, not with my long sleeves.”
He pushed back his sleeve to reveal the heart beneath it.
“The sleeves were also handy in covering up some very inconvenient scratches,” he said, holding up his arm. “Portia Hart was a real fighter.”
Veronica gaped at the man who stood before her. Gone was the shy, unsure expression. A victorious sneer rested in its place.
“You’re not…Julian,” she whispered in shock.
“No, that’s the real Julian.” He pointed to the freezer. “Poor guy’s been in there since Friday. I needed him out of the way while I disposed of Portia.”
Veronica swallowed hard and inched backward. The pieces were beginning to fall into place. She’d fallen for this man’s evil con, and now she was in terrible danger.
The man chuckled, removing his glasses and brushing his floppy bangs back out of his eyes. He pointed to a snapshot under a magnet on the refrigerator door. In the photo Portia Hart stood next to a young man that looked remarkably like the man in front of her.
“Of course, with my new haircut and glasses I was sure I could fool anyone. Anyone that hadn’t met him, that is.”
“Then you’re…Xavier Greyson?”
His face tightened, and the amused smile faltered.
“That’s who I used to be. But none of that matters now that you’ve made it so very easy for me to tie up the loose ends.”
His hands tightened into fists as he moved closer, and Veronica prepared to run. If he got his hands on her she’d end up like Portia Hart. He’d make it look as though she killed herself. Pain knifed through her at the thought of her mother’s grief.
“From now on, I’m Julian Hart, a man so broken up over his sister’s death that he has to jet off to a secluded island to heal.”
Knowing it might be her only chance, Veronica jerked the freezer door wide open, smashing it into Xavier’s face and leaving it swinging between them as she bolted toward the door.
With frightening speed, Xavier grabbed for her, but she dodged his hand and ran toward the beach. She didn’t look back as a bolt of lightning flashed over the water, lighting up the sky.
Chapter Forty-Three
Tucker Vanzinger’s legs were painfully cramped by the time the Audi skidded to a stop in front of the wrought-iron gate. He looked up at the house number to verify they were in fact outside 1001 Hart Cove Way, and then pushed himself out of the car, carefully unfolding his long legs and stretching to revive his circulation.
“I don’t see Veronica’s Jeep.” Hunter looked through the fence toward the house. “Maybe she’s already come and gone.”
“Well, we’re here now.” Vanzinger was reluctant to get back in the car even though it had started to rain. “And we need to check on Julian Hart. We’ve gotta make sure he’s okay and warn him about Xavier Greyson.”
Hunter opened the trunk of his car and pulled out an umbrella. He popped it open and handed it to Riley.
“I’m not the Wicked Witch of the West, you know. I won’t melt,” she protested, but held the umbrella over her head anyway.
He reached back in and pulled out a raincoat.
“Aren’t you a boy scout,” Vanzinger grumbled, holding up a big hand to block the rain from his eyes.
“No, I just keep an eye on the weather forecast,” Hunter said with a half-smile. “It’s part of the job.”
“Well, I’ve got something that may come in even more handy if we do run into trouble.” Vanzinger rested his hand on his belt, reassuring himself that his Glock was safely in his holster. “Although the place looks deserted to me.”
Hunter took out his phone and began thumbing in a text message. After a few seconds Vanzinger heard the Ding of a reply.
“Ms. Lee says Veronica’s phone is showing she’s here.” Hunter looked back at the house. “The address matches what she’s seeing.”
Pushing the buzzer on the gate’s keypad, Riley paced back and forth, her hands clenched tightly around the handle of the umbrella.
“We can’t go in there without a warrant,” Riley said in a low voice, as if someone might be listening. “That would be illegal.”
She looked up at Vanzinger. When he didn’t argue, she huffed.
“And we’re both outside of our districts. If we do go in, we could even be arrested.”
Vanzinger rolled his eyes and put his hands on Riley’s shoulders, ducking down to stand with her under the umbrella. He felt inordinately happy when she didn’t pull away.
“Listen, we’re not gonna get arrested, but we need to make sure Veronica and Julian are okay in there.”
He stared down into Riley’s dark, guarded eyes, allowing himself to remember how different it had been before he’d ruined everything.
“Wait, Hunter, where are you going?”
Shrugging off Vanzinger’s hands, Riley chased after Hunter, who was striding along the gate, looking for an opening. Spotting a low hanging tree, Hunter swung his legs up and balanced on a branch, staring over the fence.
“I don’t see anything from here,” he called down to Riley. “I’m going over. You guys wait in the car.”
“Hell, no, I’m not waiting in the car,” Vanzinger boomed. “I didn’t drive three hours out here to wait around in a car.”
But Hunter had already disappeared. Vanzinger looked over at Riley, who shrugged and nodded.
“Okay, I’m in,” she said, laying down the umbrella and scurrying over to the tree. “Give me a boost.”
Her Last Summer: A Veronica Lee Thriller Page 24
