The Secret Heiress

by Terri Reed

  Paladin’s eyebrow shot up. “That depends on what you’d like to know.”

  Caroline frowned. “For starters, if the family is so wealthy, why is the estate in such disrepair?”

  “That my dear, is a discussion you should have with your uncle. He manages the estate as well as the other real estate property owned by the Maddox trust.”

  Don had already figured this out while working on Samuel’s huge personal portfolio. What wasn’t clear was where Samuel had received the initial money for his own investing. Capital siphoned from his father’s estate? A very good reason for wanting to get rid of his niece.

  EIGHT

  Paladin rose. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have a client coming in soon and need to prepare. You understand, of course.”

  “Of course,” Don echoed, not getting a clear read on the man.

  Caroline rose. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Paladin.”

  “My pleasure, Ms. Tully.”

  They left the law firm and headed back toward the rental car. The niggling feeling of observation trickled down Don’s spine again. He pulled Caroline up short and searched for the cause of his unease. Frustration pounded at his temple when he couldn’t find the source. He hurried Caroline to the car.

  “We’ve one more stop before returning to the house,” Don informed her as he snapped his seat belt in place.

  “Where?”

  “The sheriff’s department.”

  He drove the few blocks to the other side of town and parked in the front of the brick building. The American flag and Mississippi state flag flew side by side from the pole in front of the main double doors. Inside the station house, the walls had been spruced up with fresh paint. Christmas decorations hung from the front desk as Don and Caroline stepped forward.

  A man wearing a tan uniform like Sheriff Gantz’s glanced up. “Help you, folks?”

  “We’d like to see Sheriff Gantz,” Don said. “This is Caroline Tully, Elijah Maddox’s granddaughter.”

  The desk sergeant’s eyes grew round. “Well, now. Doesn’t that beat all? I’d heard a rumor the Maddox’s secret heiress was in town, and now here you are in the flesh. I’ll let the sheriff know you’re here.”

  Small-town news traveled fast. They didn’t have to wait long before Sheriff Gantz strode toward them.

  He shook Don’s hand and nodded a greeting to Caroline. “Let’s talk in my office.”

  They followed him to a corner office. The windows overlooked the front walk. Only one chair faced the desk. Caroline sat while the sheriff rounded his desk and took a seat in his captain’s chair. Don stood next to Caroline and placed a protective hand on her shoulder.

  “I trust all is well and there haven’t been any more incidents?” Sheriff Gantz said.

  “No, no more intruders,” Don answered. “We just came from Dr. Reese’s office.”

  Gantz nodded. “I’ve had a talk with Doc Reese, as well. He’s concerned about the slow progress Elijah is making. I suggested he pay his patient a visit soon.”

  “While we appreciate that, we plan to get a second opinion.”

  “That’s a wise decision,” the sheriff said. “Though I’m a bit confused why you’re here.”

  “We’re hoping you could help us find someone,” Don explained. “Isabella Maddox wrote in her diary about a man named Johnny. We don’t have a last name.”

  “That’s a common name.” The sheriff looked at Caroline. “Do you think this Johnny is your father?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “There were two men in her life at the time of her death. One appears to have been my father, while the other…the other one frightened her. Maybe even threatened her. But she mentions only a name—Johnny—once, and it’s not clear which man she means.”

  “I’ll ask around, see if anyone can remember someone by the moniker of Johnny associated with Isabella.”

  Don shook the sheriff’s hand. “We appreciate it, sir.”

  On the way back to the mansion, the sky opened up again and torrential rain pounded the rental car. Don flipped on the wipers to full blast. A few cars passed going toward town. Through the rearview mirror, the road behind them was clear.

  “I don’t like this weather,” Caroline commented. “Give me a few feet of snow any day over this much rain.”

  “Spoken like a true New Englander.”

  A truck sat parked on the side of the road up ahead. The same model that had come at them the first day they’d arrived. Don tensed, but kept his speed even as they passed by the vehicle.

  Don couldn’t make out the driver’s face beneath the brim of a ball cap and sunglasses. Caution seeped through Don’s system. It was the same truck with the missing plates. The truck pulled out behind them and roared closer.

  “Call 911,” Don said, tossing his phone into her lap.

  Caroline scooped up the cell phone and punched in the numbers. A moment later, she was talking to an emergency operator.

  The narrow, unfamiliar road was slick from rain and visibility limited. Don could just make out a side road coming up on the right.

  “Hang on,” Don said, as the speedometer inched higher.

  The car hurtled forward. Don cranked the steering wheel and tapped the brake, intending to skid into the turn.

  There was a second of tension in the pedal before it depressed all the way to the floor.

  Brake failure!

  Alarms flared inside Don. He stomped down on the emergency brake. Nothing. The car careened out of control.

  Caroline screamed. The cell phone went flying, smacking against the dashboard and disappearing beneath the seat.

  The back tires spun on the pavement, fighting for traction in the downpour, and lost. The rear fishtailed, and then whipped into a tailspin. Don yanked the steering wheel into the momentum of the spin until the back end and the front were lined up. He fought to straighten the steering wheel. The car shot off the road and bounced down an embankment, rumbled across underbrush before coming to a shuddering stop.

  The truck chasing behind them overshot the turn and roared away in a spray of mud from the shoulder.

  Don threw the gearshift into Park and turned to Caroline. “You okay?”

  She shook her head. Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated, her complexion pale. With a squawk, she fumbled with the door handle. The door popped open. She leaned out and threw up. Don’s gut clenched with empathy. He reached over to gently rub her back until she sat upright.

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she closed her eyes and leaned against the seat. “That was horrible.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  The back window exploded in a cacophony of noise and flying glass.

  Someone was shooting at them!

  Reacting instantly, Don grabbed Caroline and forced her down to the floorboard. His mind ran the scenario. If they remained in the car, they were sitting ducks. All someone had to do was walk up to the car and blast away until they both were riddled with holes. He couldn’t count on help arriving in time. He needed to act. Keeping low, he yanked the gearshift into Drive, twisted the steering wheel and stomped on the gas. The sedan spun in a whirl of velocity. Don held the wheel steady until the nose of the car faced the road. The tires spun but the car didn’t move forward.

  Frustration pounded in Don’s ears. They’d have to take a stand. He powered down the side window and cut the engine. “Stay down.”

  “I’m not going anywhere!”

  He yanked his weapon from his holster and flung his door open. Using the panel as cover, he climbed out. He racked the slide to chamber a round. The sound of metal grating on metal was barely audible above the tinging of rain pelting the car. Sighting down the
barrel of his Glock, he searched for his target.

  Movement. There. In the tree line about fifty yards away on the other side of the main road, a man darted behind the trunk of a tree. An easy shot.

  Steadying his hand, Don aimed, his finger touching the trigger and waited. He had to line this up just right to get an injury that would stop the man from running—and shooting—but wouldn’t be so serious that he’d be unable to answer questions.

  “Come on, come on,” he muttered, impatient for the man to show himself again.

  The blast of a rifle echoed in the air a split second before the thud of a bullet hit the door panel. The door bounced on its hinge. Don absorbed the impact and squeezed the trigger. His aim was true. A shout of pain burst from their assailant. The guy went down.

  Caroline lifted her head. “I heard a scream.”

  “Yeah.”

  Don waited. He wasn’t going to break cover until he was sure the guy was alone.

  After several heartbeats, he said, “Caroline, crawl over here.”

  She scrambled across the driver’s seat and crouched beside him.

  “We’re going over there,” Don said. “I need you to stay right behind me.”

  She nodded.

  In a low crouch, Don and Caroline left the safety of the car and made their way through the marshy grass toward the trees and the downed assassin.

  A scrawny man lay at the base of a tree. Beneath his ball cap, his hawklike features stretched tight in obvious pain. Fear-filled eyes stared at Don. A crimson stain spread out from a wound in the guy’s shoulder. Damage assessment quickly assured Don the bullet went clean through. No vital organs hit, just as he’d planned.

  Don kicked aside the .22 long rifle, more appropriate for small-game hunting than a professional sniper’s tool.

  Which this guy clearly wasn’t.

  “You recognize him?” Don asked Caroline.

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve never seen him before.”

  Not the man she’d seen hanging around her apartment and shop. Were the two incidents even related?

  Bending close to the man lying on the ground, Don said, “Who hired you?”

  “I’m not saying nothing until I have a lawyer,” the guy ground out between clenched teeth. His gaze, defiant and fearful, darted between Don and Caroline.

  “That line may work with the police, but I’m not the police,” Don said as he raised his Glock and pressed it against the man’s temple. Beside him, Caroline sucked in a gasp. “I’m going to ask you again, if you don’t answer I’ll put another bullet in you. Who hired you?”

  The man blinked, fresh fear bubbling in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Don chambered a round. The sound filled the air like a death knell.

  “Don!”

  He ignored Caroline’s shocked gasp and concentrated on the man before him.

  “Please.” The man held up a hand as if to ward off a blow. “I really don’t know. I never saw him.”

  “How did he contact you?”

  “I got a call asking if I wanted to make a big wad of dough. The money, instructions and a plane ticket to Boston came in the mail.”

  “What were the instructions?”

  “To get rid of Caroline Maddox.”

  Caroline shifted, drawing the man’s gaze. “You rigged my apartment door with explosives?”

  The guy had the good grace to looked ashamed. “Yeah.” His expression darkened. “But it didn’t work the way the internet said it would.”

  Great. Just what the world needed, a psycho killer with downloadable bomb-making instructions.

  “Your second bomb worked better.”

  “Huh? Second bomb?” The man squinted in what seemed like real confusion.

  “The one that felled the oak at the Maddox estate.”

  “Wasn’t me.”

  “You didn’t break in and try to strangle Caroline?”

  The guy shook his head. “Naw. Didn’t think of that.”

  A siren wailed. Don knew he only had a few more seconds alone with the man to get whatever information he could. “How do you contact the man who hired you?”

  “I don’t. He or she contacts me.”

  “What?”

  “Hey, man, I don’t know if the boss is a man or woman. Whoever my contact is used one of those voice sensitizers like they use in the movies.”

  A voice-altering synthesizer could be operated remotely from a computer anywhere in the world. “How did you get paid?”

  “I haven’t yet, cuz I haven’t done the job.”

  The squeal of tires announced the sheriff’s arrival. Don picked up the rifle and headed back toward the road with Caroline at his side.

  “Hey, you can’t just leave me here to die!”

  “You’ll live,” Don muttered. Behind bars.

  They may have neutralized one player, but the person behind the threat to Caroline was still out there. Don would protect her with his life.

  And not because it was his job.

  The next morning after breakfast, Don escorted Caroline to the kitchen in search of Mary. Abigail and the twins were sequestered in the parlor and Samuel had driven to work.

  Caroline found Mary in the pantry, gathering items from the shelves.

  “Good morning,” Caroline said from the doorway and reached for the sack of flour the older woman held.

  Mary gave them a tentative nod and relinquished her burden. “Morning.”

  “I was hoping I could help you. Maybe learn some of your fabulous recipes.”

  Wariness flooded Mary’s face. “Mrs. Maddox wouldn’t approve.”

  Caroline had thought Elijah was the one who ruled the house with an iron fist. But apparently Aunt Abigail had control issues as well. Interesting. “I need something to keep me busy.”

  Mary’s gaze dropped. A slight smile curved her lips.

  “You’re more than welcome to help out and learn.”

  Don drew Caroline aside. “Don’t leave the kitchen until I return. I’m going to find Horace and use his satellite phone to arrange for a doctor from Jackson to drive out here and examine Elijah.”

  Grateful to him for so many reasons, she leaned in to place a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

  He gave her a slight smile and left. Caroline shoved away the tiny bite of disappointment that he hadn’t turned his head and captured her lips again. With a sigh, she turned her attention to Mary.

  After Mary explained the evening’s menu, she set Caroline up at the counter. Using a paring knife, Caroline chopped carrots for tonight’s stew. She felt relieved, knowing that the man who’d tried to kill her was locked up securely in jail. She’d slept well last night. But she knew the reprieve was only temporary. The person who really wanted her dead was still out there.

  When she’d left her room this morning she’d half expected to find Don camped out in front of her door. Her disappointment only lasted a moment, because the door across the hall had opened a second later as if he’d been waiting for her to come out. Seeing him had given her a jolt of pleasure that lasted all through breakfast.

  “You can put those carrots right on into the pot,” Mary instructed, gesturing toward the stove.

  Caroline carried the cutting board full of chopped pieces to the stove and dumped the carrots into the boiling broth. Tantalizing aromas of sage, cumin and beef rose with the steam. Even though lunch was several hours away and breakfast had been filling, Caroline’s mouth watered. She’d carefully monitored every item being used in the kitchen and hadn’t found anything to suggest the food was being tainted in any way.

  Mary gestured to the flour sitting on the counter. “We’ll make some biscuits to g
o with the stew.”

  “Yum.” Caroline had never met a carb she didn’t like.

  Buttermilk, real butter, flour, eggs and water all mixed together to make thick dough. Caroline kneaded the mixture with her hands while Mary washed dishes at the sink.

  “Mary, do you remember anyone by the name of Johnny in Isabella’s life?”

  The sharp sound of shattering glass drew a cry from Caroline. Memories flooded her, panic flared. Had someone taken another shot at her?

  Her heart kicked. Her stomach clenched. She whipped around expecting to find a threat. Instead, a shaking Mary stared at the broken pieces of a dish in the sink.

  Breathing out a sigh of relief, Caroline crossed to the older woman. “Mary? Have you hurt yourself?”

  She took a shuddering breath. Her frightened, wide-eyed gaze ripped at Caroline. “Where did you hear that name?”

  Anticipation sent little alert signals through Caroline’s veins. Her pulse raced. “Isabella talked about a man named Johnny in her diary. Who was he?”

  Mary shook her head, her gaze dropped back to the sink. After a silent beat, Caroline pressed, “Please, if you know something tell me.”

  “Only your mother ever called him that,” Mary whispered.

  “Who? Who was he?”

  “There are some things best left alone, child.”

  Caroline gripped the older woman’s hand. “Not in this instance. This Johnny person may by my mother’s murderer.”

  Mary gasped. Her tear-filled eyes pleaded with Caroline as if willing her to understand. Her work-strengthened grip tightened painfully, her desperation clear. “No. No, he wasn’t. He loved Isabella. And she loved him.”

  “Tell me. I need to know.”

  “Dennis Jonathan Finch was my son,” Mary stated. “Your father.”

  Heart racing, Caroline stared at the older woman. Her grandmother. She hardly dared to believe it. “Are you sure?”

  More tears filled Mary’s eyes. “Yes. You’re my grandchild.”

  Needing to sit, Caroline led Mary to the block table and cane-back chairs in the corner of the kitchen. “Why didn’t you tell me this when I first arrived?”