Deadly Coincidence (Brantley Walker: Off the Books Book 4)

by Nicole Edwards

  “You believe the finger’s Dante’s?” he asked Reese.

  “No doubt about it. It’s their way of provin’ they’re serious.”

  Yeah, he figured as much, but he was hoping there was another scenario that worked here. Unfortunately, the way it played, it looked as though Dante Greenwood had been kidnapped, and whoever took him was serious about whatever it was they wanted from him.

  “So who took him and why?” he wondered aloud.

  “I figure it could be a couple of things.”

  Curious, Brantley turned his full attention to Reese.

  “Could be he’s in deep with the mob, and they’re lookin’ to make a point.”

  “The mob? Dante?” No, he just didn’t see it. “Or?”

  “Or someone’s lookin’ to maneuver the governor to their liking.”

  That was the angle Brantley was leaning toward. K and R didn’t have to have a financial motivation. Could be they were looking to get the governor to swing one way or the other on something. He figured the finger was the key here. They wanted someone to know they had Dante and that they weren’t opposed to hurting him to get what they wanted.

  However, he still couldn’t see how JJ played in all of this. It wasn’t working out in his head just yet.

  *

  “I just don’t understand why stage the scene like this,” Reese told Brantley as they moved toward the kitchen. “What does it get them? Why toss the knife in the bed with JJ? Seems sloppy to me.”

  “Sloppy or emotional,” Brantley stated. “Take your pick.”

  Yeah, Reese could see either.

  They were both quiet for a few minutes while they moved through the house, starting in the kitchen. Reese noted the coffee mug sitting on the Keurig. JJ’d said she was making coffee when someone hit her over the head. He walked over, peeked down inside the cup. Sure enough, it was full and the coffee was cold.

  “She was in here,” he said to himself as he stood in front of the machine. “Dante’s in the living room where she left him. She’s standin’ here, waitin’ for the coffee, when someone comes up behind her.”

  Reese peered over his shoulder. Behind him was the open doorway, which meant whoever hit her could’ve been anywhere in the house. The house was likely built sometime in the late fifties, early sixties, and like most from that era, it didn’t have an open floor plan. There were walls separating each room, blocking visibility from the front of the house to the back. If she wasn’t expecting them, they could’ve easily snuck up on her.

  He glanced toward the back door.

  “They couldn’t come in that way while she’s here,” he noted. “She would’ve seen them.”

  Which meant they would’ve either had to be in the house already or they came in the front door while JJ was in here. And for that to happen, Dante would’ve had to let them in. Reese didn’t really see that one playing out. Probably had something to do with the severed finger.

  Reese took a step back, stared down at the floor, imagined JJ crumpled on the tile after being knocked out cold. What had they hit her with? Something heavy? Something hard?

  He glanced around the countertops. The only thing he noticed that seemed off was a single slot in the knife block was empty, meaning whoever it was likely did use the knife from JJ’s kitchen. Was that opportunity? Or part of the plan?

  Turning his attention back to the floor, Reese saw a couple of scuff marks. He snapped a picture.

  “They dragged her out of here,” he mumbled, imagining the scene as it played out, JJ being dragged, her shoes leaving the marks.

  From the other room, he heard Trey’s voice. When Brantley responded to him, he kept his focus, figuring they could start gathering samples.

  Clicking on his phone’s video camera, Reese backed out of the room as he let the scene play out in his head. JJ said she woke up in her bed, which meant whoever knocked her out would’ve had to take her there. Where was Dante during all of this? Had they knocked him out, too? If so, they would’ve had to do it quickly, otherwise JJ would’ve been alerted to their presence.

  He continued to walk, through the dining room, down the little hallway, and into the bedroom. JJ was relatively small, so it wouldn’t have taken much to drag her, but the same couldn’t be said about lifting her up onto the bed. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been terribly difficult if she was conscious and willing, offering a little assistance. But she wouldn’t have been. She would’ve been deadweight, which would’ve made it more difficult. Whoever lifted her would’ve needed to be strong. Or they would’ve needed help.

  Was there more than one? Someone to overpower Dante? Then JJ? But why wouldn’t JJ hear something if someone came in? Surely Dante would’ve shouted.

  Reese looked at the bed, the rumpled blankets, the knife that was conveniently sitting there. When he moved, the light caught on something, and he leaned in, noticed it was JJ’s cell phone. With gloved hands, he picked it up. Taking another evidence bag, he sealed it inside, tucked it in his pocket. He doubted it would give him any information, but he wasn’t willing to take any chances. There could be fingerprints.

  There was only one nightstand, and it was on the far side of the room, which meant JJ slept on the other side. However, the blood was not over there. Oddly, it was in a body-shaped design, as though it had been placed there after JJ was on the bed. What would be the reason for that?

  Without moving or touching anything, he gave the room a cursory scan. The bed was unmade, but other than that, not much was out of place, with the exception of the closet door standing open.

  He peeked inside, saw clothes had been moved aside and a small wall safe was standing open.

  “Where does JJ keep her weapon?” he called out to Brantley, who was in the living room.

  “Her safe’s in her closet,” Brantley shouted back.

  Yes, it definitely was.

  The biometric safe, which was just big enough to hold her gun and a couple boxes of ammunition, was open and empty. Meaning what? JJ had gotten her gun out? Why? Had she needed it? Or had she simply not locked it up and someone else took it?

  He searched the room for the weapon but was distracted by the sound of an engine outside the window. He slipped his finger between the slats in the blinds, peered out.

  “Did you call Travis?” he hollered.

  “No. Why?”

  “Because he’s here.”

  “What the fuck?”

  Not wanting Travis to walk in on the horror show, Reese made a beeline for the front door, Brantley and Trey beating him to it. They managed to cut Travis off at the pass, making it halfway across the yard as Travis approached.

  “Well, I guess it’s a party,” Travis said in greeting, glancing between them. “Why’re you here?”

  Trey greeted Travis with a wave as he headed to his car.

  “Where’s he off to?” Travis asked, eyes tracking Trey.

  “Get a kit from the car,” Brantley said. “Why’re you here?”

  Travis’s confusion was apparent. “I got a text from JJ. Said she had some information I might be interested in.”

  Reese felt a cold chill snake down his spine.

  “When?” Brantley asked, his tone reflecting his concern.

  “I don’t know. Half an hour ago, maybe.” Travis frowned. “What the hell’s goin’ on?”

  Reese looked at Brantley, a new scenario coming to light.

  “Where’s Kylie and the kids?” Reese immediately asked.

  Travis’s expression went stone-cold. “Why?”

  “Where are they?” Brantley demanded.

  “Someone better start fuckin’ talkin’,” Travis demanded even as he was pulling out his cell phone.

  “JJ’s not here,” Brantley told him. “Not right now, anyway. She was.” He motioned toward the house. “When all this went down. But she was unconscious from what we can tell.”

  “Unconscious? What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Real fear glittered in Travis’s eyes. “Why�
��d she text me?” he asked, his phone to his ear.

  “She didn’t. Her phone’s right here,” Reese said, pulling it out of his pocket for Travis to see.

  Reese looked at Brantley again, and he saw the same concern in his partner’s eyes.

  “Gage? Where’s Kylie and the kids?” Travis barked into the phone. “Did they go to my parents’ yet?”

  Reese stared, unable to hear the other side of the conversation, but the relief he saw on Travis’s face said the news was good.

  “Okay. Stay with them. Don’t let any of ’em outta your sight.” Travis disconnected the call, glanced from Reese to Brantley. “This is that bitch, isn’t it? Juliet Prince?”

  If it wasn’t … well, that was one hell of a coincidence. Possibly a deadly one.

  *

  “We don’t know anything at this point,” Brantley said, his tone cooling, as though he was attempting to defuse the situation. “JJ called Baz, Baz called us.”

  Travis listened intently as Brantley relayed the details of what had evidently happened last night after JJ got a phone call from the governor’s son, Dante Greenwood. Came home. Knocked out. Woke up. Lots of blood. Severed finger.

  “You said Dante called her?” Travis asked, wanting clarification.

  “Yeah. Called and asked her to meet him. She said he was freaked when she got here,” Brantley explained. “But she never got any information out of him.”

  “Was it a setup?”

  “Could be, but we’re thinkin’ more along the lines of he was runnin’ from someone,” Reese said. “He reached out to JJ for help.”

  Travis didn’t know JJ all that well, only from what little they’d worked together over the past few months in the search for Juliet Prince. He couldn’t say whether or not she’d be a go-to for getting out of a jam or not.

  Nor did he know Dante Greenwood. He knew of him, sure. Had even talked to him a few times because of the small town and the relationship the governor had with Travis’s family, but he didn’t know the guy. Of course, he’d heard a few rumors. None of them painted him in a great light, but Travis hadn’t heard anything that would lead him to believe he could do something like this.

  “We don’t know how he got involved or who we’re dealin’ with. We were tryin’ to piece it together when you showed up,” Reese said. “We’re waitin’ for the sheriff to arrive.”

  “Where’s JJ and Baz?” Travis asked, peering up at the house.

  “Baz took JJ … elsewhere.”

  Meaning Baz fled a crime scene with the witness. Not that Travis blamed him.

  “If you want, you can take a look inside, see for yourself,” Brantley said, gesturing toward the house. “At this point, we don’t know who or—”

  Brantley didn’t get to finish that sentence, because the world exploded around them, the force of the blast coming at them knocking them back.

  Travis slammed into his SUV, the impact sending him on his ass. His ears were ringing, his shoulder screaming from being jarred. It took a moment for his brain to catch up, to catalog what had happened, to tie it all together and make sense of it.

  JJ’s house had exploded, the brick, wood, and glass turned into projectiles.

  The noise seemed to go on forever, a cacophony that rang in his ears. The roar from the flames, the repetitious blare of a smoke detector, his own harsh breaths, and the shouts coming from people spilling out of their houses.

  As he got to his knees, Travis looked around, instinct having him check for anyone injured. He saw Reese crumpled on the ground a few feet away, unmoving. Brantley was on his other side, pushing to his feet but moving slowly, unsteadily.

  “You okay?” Trey asked, hurrying to his side.

  “Yeah. You?” Travis answered, his own voice sounding muffled in his head.

  “I’m fine. Brantley? You good?” Trey called out, turning toward his brother.

  Brantley nodded, then moved faster than most men Travis knew the moment he noticed Reese on the ground. The man was on his knees in a second, gently touching Reese, obviously checking for injuries.

  Travis became aware of neighbors rushing over to check on them, a couple on the phone, likely calling 911. Some on their phones being assholes and recording the destruction.

  “Sir, I’m a nurse,” a woman said as she approached. “Are you injured? Do you need medical attention?”

  Travis could only shake his head, continuing to watch the way Brantley hovered over Reese. He could see real fear on his cousin’s face.

  “Help them,” Travis told her, his words muffled inside his head like he was speaking underwater.

  Time seemed to slow as the woman marched over, knelt beside Brantley. She said something that had Brantley taking a deep breath, sitting up straighter but never taking his eyes off Reese. Travis sat there, observing the chaos. The house had been leveled. Everything around it destroyed. The bushes that lined the front charred, the little SUV in the driveway—JJ’s he assumed—smashed by debris raining down on it.

  It was a fucking mess.

  As he got his bearings, Travis discreetly took stock of the people standing around. Most of them were shoulder to shoulder, muttering to one another, likely gossiping about what had happened. There would be half a dozen rumors spreading through their small town before the day was out.

  “I’m good,” came a garbled response, drawing Travis’s attention.

  He glanced over, saw Reese sitting up, a gash on his forehead sending a river of blood trailing down his face.

  “She tried to kill us,” Travis said, speaking to himself.

  This had to be Juliet Prince. Based on what he knew of her, she was crazy enough to blow up a house and anyone in it. Which meant she was the one who had texted him, lured him. Probably had intended for the house to blow up with him inside of it.

  Was she doing it? Was she playing them like puppets? Looking at it rationally, it wasn’t difficult to put the pieces together. Probably wouldn’t take much for her to find out who Travis was associated with. She would likely recognize Brantley and Reese since they’d been on the news after Kate’s rescue. The task force had gotten some press lately. She could easily tie the team to the governor.

  Had he not given her enough credit? Here he’d thought they were dealing with a vengeful woman, but this… This spoke to something else entirely.

  Travis shook his head, managed to get to his feet as the sirens grew nearer, flashing lights already blanketing the houses as an ambulance pulled up.

  “Fuck,” he groaned, pulling out his phone.

  Wouldn’t take long for Gage to get wind of what had happened, and he needed to call them to let them know he was all right before they came looking for him.

  “Please tell me you’re not involved in whatever just happened,” Gage said without so much as a hello.

  Evidently he already knew.

  “I’m fine,” he assured him. “Brantley and Reese and Trey are fine. That bitch blew up Jessica James’s house.”

  There was a brief pause, then, “You know for a fact it was her?”

  “You’ve got a better explanation?” he snapped defensively.

  “Faulty gas line,” Gage growled softly.

  “Deadly fuckin’ coincidence if that’s the case, Gage,” he bit out.

  “Quit makin’ this into—”

  Before Gage could rip him a new one, Travis heard rustling on the phone.

  “Come home, Trav,” Kylie insisted, her tone heated but not as angry as Gage’s. “Let Brantley and Reese deal with their stuff. JJ shouldn’t be callin’ you over there.” Her tone cooled, held a wealth of concern. “You promised you’d let them handle this.”

  He didn’t bother to tell his wife that it wasn’t JJ who’d texted him. Nor did he tell her the house he was at had blown up, because it didn’t sound to him like she knew. More than likely, Gage had gotten one of those automated text updates from the sheriff’s department regarding the fire. Later they would see the aftermath on the nightly n
ews. At that point, he would earn a bit of sympathy.

  “I’ll be home in a minute,” he promised.

  “Okay. Hurry, please. It’d be nice if we could have lunch together today.”

  Travis promised again, then disconnected the call. When he turned back, Brantley and Trey were standing beside him.

  “Where’s Reese?” he asked, scanning the area.

  “With the EMTs,” Brantley said, his tone level but hard. “Probably needs stitches, but he’s refusin’ treatment.”

  Of course he was.

  “You all right?” Trey asked, giving him a once-over.

  “Fine.” Travis massaged his shoulder. “Nothin’ some ibuprofen won’t fix.”

  “Was it rigged to blow? Or did someone set it off?” Brantley asked, all three of them peering up at what was left of the house.

  Damn good question.

  “I’m leanin’ toward rigged,” Travis replied. “She thought we’d all be inside that house. Otherwise, she would’ve waited until we were.”

  “She?” Trey questioned.

  “Juliet Prince.”

  “Right now, there’s nothin’ to say this was her,” Brantley said firmly. “I believe in followin’ the evidence, and right now, I don’t have anything to say she’s involved.”

  Travis didn’t bother telling him he had nothing at all since his crime scene was still burning.

  “What would she have to gain by kidnappin’ Dante Greenwood?” Trey asked, sounding sincerely perplexed by the notion. “It just doesn’t fit.”

  Travis sighed, hating that the man made sense.

  “Charlie just got here,” Trey said. “Lemme go fill her in on what’s goin’ on. I’ll check on Reese, too.”

  Travis noticed the concern in Brantley’s gaze as he glanced over at the ambulance on scene.

  “He’s tough,” Travis told him.

  Brantley turned back. “I know it.”