Harlequin Intrigue March 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Cindi Myers

  The police here in Regina, Colorado, where Selene’s car had been found by the lake, were convinced that her sister had committed suicide, even though they also hadn’t been able to find Selene’s body.

  But Rhea was sure her sister wasn’t dead. There was something inside her, that special twin connection they had always shared, that had been saying from the very beginning that Selene was alive and hurting.

  That was why she’d undertaken her own investigation once her sister’s case had become inactive because the police had run out of leads.

  Rhea dashed away the tears that had leaked from beneath eyes screwed shut.

  Her sister was alive and, if she wasn’t, her husband was responsible. She intended for the police to do something about it based on the information she had collected over the last six months. But for the truth to come out, she needed more corroborating evidence and only the police could provide the resources to accomplish that.

  She whirled, stumbled a bit on the rough rocks beneath her feet. Righting herself, she marched to her car, which she had parked on the street near where Selene’s sedan had been found. The street would have been deserted when Selene had texted her that night.

  Rhea stopped to look around, examining the scene. Along the edges of the lake, a marina spread out across the shore. Dozens of boats were parked at the docks behind a large building that held a restaurant, a marina office and a shop that sold supplies for boaters, as well as tourists, partaking in the lake’s many summer activities.

  Across the way were a few homes and in one of those homes was a witness who had seen Selene park and walk toward the lake. The older woman hadn’t thought much of it because people often stopped, even at night, to take in the splendor of the lake.

  Rhea intended to speak to her, but hopefully with the police to back her up and add their own expertise to the interrogation.

  The police.

  It all kept circling around to needing their assistance, so it was time she got going and spoke to them about Selene’s case.

  She got in her car and headed to Main Street and the Regina Police Station. As she cruised down Main Street, she was once again struck by the loveliness of the town. It was postcard-perfect, with its charming downtown filled with an eclectic mix of shops that catered to locals as well as the tourists who would visit for skiing and water sports.

  Rhea found a spot just a block shy of the police station, parked and grabbed the thick folder bulging with the information she had gathered over the many months. With it tucked under her arm, cradled as securely as a newborn baby, she walked to the police station and paused at the base of the steps.

  Like everything else about this town, the police station looked like something off a movie set. The building blended harmoniously with the other structures along Main Street. On either side of the wide steps leading to the door, spring flowers in a riot of colors cascaded over the edges of the terraced garden. Bright pink, purple and blue blossoms waved at her in welcome as a slight breeze swept across the street, still a bit cold despite it being early spring.

  The chill settled in her bones as if warning her that she might not be happy with what she found inside.

  She dragged in air through her nostrils and then expelled it with a harsh breath.

  Time to get going. She stomped up the stairs and to the reception desk.

  The sergeant at the desk did a little double take, as if seeing a ghost, and Rhea understood. She and Selene were identical twins and Selene’s case had caused quite a stir in the normally placid town. It was unlikely that the police officer hadn’t seen a photo of Selene in the station or on the news.

  “I’m Rhea Reilly. Selene’s sister. I was hoping to speak to the chief if he had a moment,” she said. She hadn’t made an appointment because she wasn’t sure of the welcome she’d get. Especially considering how poorly the meeting with the Avalon police chief had gone. What with rumors about the Blue Code, she hadn’t wanted to take any chances; the Regina police chief might not see her if word of her mission had traveled to him.

  “I’ll see if he’s available,” the officer said and gestured for her to take a seat in the reception area, but Rhea had too much nervous energy to sit. She paced as the young woman called the chief. Heard the murmurs as the officer spoke to him before rising to say, “The chief will see you, but he has only a few minutes before another meeting.”

  The young woman gestured toward the back of the building where the police chief stood at the door to his office. He was dressed in a bright blue shirt the color of the lake waters and dark blue pants. The shirt strained against a bull chest and broad midsection. A shiny gold badge pinned to the right breast of his shirt identified him as the chief while on the left breast the town’s emblem was embroidered on a patch. White, blue and gold colors on the badge-shaped patch showed the mountains in the background, skiers on a slope to the left and a swimmer in waves to the right. Tourists. The town’s lifeblood, Rhea thought. Because of that, a murder in their town was the last thing the police and town officials would want. Easier just to call it a suicide.

  The chief did a “come here” wave with his hand, but his weathered face was set in stern lines, his mouth a harsh slash that was clearly at odds with his gesture.

  Despite his less than friendly demeanor, she pushed through the barrier the desk sergeant buzzed open and marched to the chief’s office, her folder tucked tight against her.

  As she did so, she passed one man who sat handcuffed on a bench by an officer’s desk. Rough-looking with a heavily bearded face, he jumped, almost startled as she neared, and the color drained from his face. His hard eyes, dark and brooding, widened in surprise much like the desk sergeant’s before he schooled the reaction.

  Something about him sent a shiver of apprehension through her, but she tamped it down and proceeded to the chief’s office.

  “Miss Reilly,” the chief said with a dip of his head and sweep of his hand to welcome her.

  She sat in the chair across from him as he took a spot behind his desk. Like everything else about the town, the desktop and nearby bookcase were neat as a pin. So neat they almost looked staged, but then again, she remembered this chief being quite orderly and controlled. Compassionate even in the days after Selene’s disappearance.

  “What can I do for you today?” he said, as he laced his fingers together and leaned his thick forearms on the edge of his desk in a slightly friendlier posture.

  The folder sat in her lap, heavy against her thighs. She shifted her hands across the smooth surface of it and said, “I really appreciate all that you’ve done for my family, Chief Robinson.”

  He dipped his head and his attitude softened a bit more. “Thank you. I know it was a difficult time for you. Rhea, right?”

  She nodded. “Yes, Rhea. It was a difficult time and, again, I appreciate all that you did. What I’m hoping is that you’ll reopen the case. I have new information—”

  Chief Robinson held up his hands to stop her. “Miss Reilly, this isn’t Murder, She Wrote. I’m sure you think you’ve unearthed some ‘new evidence,’” he said, using air quotes for emphasis. “But we did a thorough investigation.”

  Anger built inside her at his dismissiveness, but she battled it back, certain it wouldn’t help. “I know you did, but I’ve gotten more information—”

  “Let me guess. From social media,” he said with a rough laugh and wag of his buzz-cut head of salt-and-pepper hair.

  She couldn’t deny it. “Some of it. All I’m asking is that you let me show you what I’ve collected. Let me explain why I think...” She hesitated. The chief would never believe that Selene was still alive, but at a minimum she hoped that he would reopen the investigation and either find Selene or her killer.

  At her silence, Chief Robinson leaned toward her again, compassion replacing his earlier disbelief. “Look, Miss Reilly. Rhea. I know this must still
be difficult for you, but we have limited resources to...expend on this case.”

  She was certain he had really wanted to say “waste on this case” but she pressed on.

  “Please, Chief Robinson. All I’m asking is that you look at this,” she said and held up the bloated folder for him to see.

  The chief stood. “I’m sorry. I have another meeting in a few minutes and have to prepare for it.”

  She’d been dismissed. Again, just like at the Avalon Police Department in her sister’s hometown. But she didn’t intend to give up.

  “I’ll be staying at the Regina Inn for a few days. Just in case you change your mind. And if not, rest assured I’ll be reaching out to people in town to complete my investigation.”

  With that she shot out of her chair and escaped his office, her veiled threat hanging in the air. She was sure the chief would be less than pleased with her playing detective on his home turf. It would draw too much attention to the fact that not all was as perfect as it seemed.

  She rushed through the pen of police officers and clerks, past the reception area and out the door, nearly running into an officer as he walked up the steps to the station.

  “So sorry, miss,” the officer said and caught her as she stumbled and dropped the folder. The rubber band around the folder snapped, and papers spilled out. She bent to collect them before the breeze swept them away.

  * * *

  DETECTIVE JACKSON WHITAKER kneeled to pick up the thick folder the young woman had dropped and round up loose papers. But, as he handed them to her and met her gaze, he felt gobsmacked.

  Selene Davis. Her beautiful face was indelibly etched into his brain since he had been the one to find Selene’s abandoned car by the lake.

  Only Selene was dead, which meant this had to be her twin sister.

  But before he could say anything, Selene’s sister snatched the folder and papers from his hands and stomped off.

  Whoa, so not happy, he thought and walked into the office, wondering what had set off the young woman. As he entered, he said to the desk sergeant, “That was—”

  “Rhea Reilly. She wanted to speak to the chief,” Desk Sergeant Millie Rodriguez answered and jerked her head in the direction of the chief’s office.

  Speaking of the chief, he stood at the door to his office, his features a picture of upset. His lips were set in a tight line, and his beefy arms crossed against his thick chest. With a sharp wave of his hand, the chief summoned Jackson to come over.

  Certain that he knew just what this meeting would be about, Jackson hurried to the chief’s office but didn’t take a seat. He stood before the desk, hands jammed into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited for the older man to sit. Once he had, the chief looked up at him and said, “That was Rhea Reilly.”

  Jackson nodded. “I gathered as much. She’s a dead ringer for her sister. Twins if I remember correctly.”

  “You do. Rhea has been doing her own investigating and wants us to reopen her sister’s case,” Chief Robinson said and laid his muscled forearms on the edge of his desk.

  Jackson considered the request, but only for a second. “It’s hard for people to accept that someone they knew and loved would kill themselves. I imagine it’s even harder for a twin.”

  The chief’s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement, creating a deep furrow across his broad forehead, and Jackson quickly explained, “That twin connection some people claim they have.”

  “You believe that?” the chief asked, leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers before his lips, scrutinizing Jackson as if he was a bug under a microscope.

  Considering what he had seen of Selene’s sister and her anger, she clearly believed something contrary to what their report had said. Because of that, Jackson shrugged. “Stranger things have been known to happen.”

  The chief continued to stare at him, as if sizing him up. “You know you’re my choice to replace me when I retire next year.”

  Jackson nodded. “I do, and I appreciate your confidence in me. I promise that you’ll be leaving the department in good hands.”

  “I think so. Maybe it’s time I turn over some of the more difficult tasks to you, so that you acclimate to that position.”

  Jackson wasn’t above hard work. His years in the military and on the police force had been filled with long days. Tough days, like the day he’d finally had to close Selene’s case as a suicide. It had bothered him then because, much like Rhea, it had been hard for him to understand how a beautiful and vibrant woman with so much to live for could just walk into the lake and end her life.

  “Whatever you need me to do, Chief,” he said with a dip of his head to confirm his acceptance of any task his boss assigned to him.

  “I want you to look at Rhea Reilly’s information and then tell her she’s barking up the wrong tree.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rhea had barely finished unpacking her things when the knock came at the door.

  She hurried there and threw it open, expecting to find room service with the extra blanket she’d requested. That earlier chill hadn’t left her, not that a blanket would end it, but it had been worth a try.

  It wasn’t room service. It was six-plus feet of lethal male, dressed in police blues, with a white Stetson held in hands that he shifted uneasily on the brim. He had shortly cropped sandy-brown hair that screamed former military and eyes the gray of lake waters on a dreary day. He clenched and unclenched his chiseled jaw as he stood there, obviously hesitant, before he finally said, “You should be more careful and check to see who it is before you open the door.”

  Anger ignited instantly at his chastisement. “I was expecting room service. Not the police.”

  He tipped his head, seemingly sorry, but he didn’t strike her as the type to apologize. Not willingly anyway. And it occurred to her then that he was the officer she’d run into outside the police station. The one who’d helped her pick up her papers and whom she hadn’t thanked.

  “Rhea Reilly,” she said and held out her hand. “I’m sorry I was so rude before. I was upset.”

  “I understand. Detective Jackson Whitaker. Jax to my friends.” A ghost of a smile danced across full lips, and he enveloped her hand with his big calloused one.

  His touch roused a mix of emotions. Surprising comfort. Unwelcome electricity and heat.

  “We’re not friends...yet,” she said as he continued holding her hand, longer than expected. Longer than necessary. She withdrew her hand from his and wrapped her arms around herself. “And I doubt that you can possibly understand.”

  That slight dip of his head came again, as if accepting her statement, and he motioned inside her room with his Stetson. “Do you mind if I come in?”

  She both did and didn’t mind. Something about his presence was unnerving, but if he was here, maybe it meant that the chief had reconsidered her request.

  “Please,” she said and waved him in.

  He entered and, as he did so, his gaze swept the room, assessing. Observant. A cop’s eyes taking in the scene and immediately focusing on the thick folder sitting on a small bistro table beside French doors to a balcony facing the lake. The lake was a constant reminder of why she was here.

  “May I?” he said and pointed toward the folder.

  “Is that why you’re here? Did Chief Robinson change his mind?”

  * * *

  JAX HATED TO burst her bubble so quickly, but he also didn’t believe in lying. “The chief asked that I review your information.”

  Rhea narrowed her eyes, a bright almost electric blue that popped against creamy-white skin and dark, almost seal-black hair. “He just wants to shut me up, doesn’t he?”

  “Whatever he may want, I promise you that I’ll be objective when I look at your information,” he said and meant it.

  Rhea focused her eyes even more pointed
ly and then suddenly popped them open, as if surprised. “Detective Whitaker. You were the officer who found Selene’s car.”

  He nodded. “I was. I also secured the scene and took part in the investigation afterward.”

  “And you agreed with the conclusion that Selene killed herself,” Rhea pressed and laced her fingers together before her. An assortment of silver and gold rings decorated her slender fingers while a mix of bracelets danced on her delicate wrist.

  With a quick, negligent lift of his shoulders, he said, “The evidence we had available indicated that, Rhea. I know that’s a hard thing to accept—”

  “Selene would not do that. She was too full of life to just throw it away,” she said and shook her head, sending the shoulder-length locks of that dark hair shifting against the fine line of her jaw.

  Jackson couldn’t argue that it had seemed unlikely at first to him, as well. That her disappearance was likely foul play at her home prompted him to ask, “Why didn’t you go to the Avalon police with your information?”

  Rhea looked away and worried her lower lip and in that instant he knew. “You went to them and they didn’t believe you, did they?”

  She shook her head again, a softer almost defeated motion, and as she glanced his way, her gaze held the sheen of tears. Damn, but he couldn’t handle tears. They were his kryptonite. He held his hands up and said, “I’m sorry, Rhea. But you have to understand that we’re both small towns with limited resources.”

  “And what’s one missing woman, right? Do you have any idea how many women go missing every year? How many women deal with domestic abuse every day? End up dead because no one believes them?” she said, her voice husky with suppressed tears and anger.

  He nodded and juggled his Stetson in his hands. “I do. My sister...” He hesitated, the reality all too real for him still. “She was lucky. She got out.”