Divine Trilogy

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

  "Is he in danger?"

  She paused.

  "Jasmine?"

  "He's in a dangerous situation."

  She heard Pop sigh on the other end. "He called me a wee while ago, Jasmine, after you first talked to me."

  "Did you tell him I was looking for him?"

  "Well…I might have said something."

  She muffled a groan. "What did you tell him?"

  "Just that you were asking questions about him and were looking for him. He laughed and said he'd come find you. Why don't you head up to Maple Ridge?"

  "We're already here. He's gone."

  "Oh." There was an extended pause. "You said 'we.'"

  "My team is here at his house. Is there anywhere you can think of that Uncle Paxton would go? Another friend, perhaps? Or a relative?"

  "Paxton kept to himself the past few years. He didn't socialize much outside of his buddies on the force. Work and fishing, that's what he lived for."

  Fishing. Something twigged at the back of her brain.

  "Where'd he go fishing?"

  "All over."

  "You ever go with him?"

  Pop chuckled. "You know me and fishing rods don't agree. I'd rather buy me a salmon than spend four hours waiting on the daft fish to bite."

  "Wait!" She made a beeline for the closet and yanked open the door. "Now I remember. Uncle Paxton used to keep a tackle box and fishing rods in the closet by the back door. That's what's missing."

  "There was one thing…" Pop's voice faded.

  "What?"

  "A couple years back I was visiting Paxton, and I saw a floor plan for a building. When I asked him about it, he got all fidgety and locked it away in the wall safe."

  "Where?"

  "The bedroom wall, behind a picture."

  She strode into the bedroom, her 'com pressed to her ear. A photograph hung above the side table to the left of the bed. She yanked the picture off the wall and a small safe was revealed. Tossing the photo on the bed, she spun the dial then gave up.

  "Any idea what the combination would be, Pop?"

  "No, lass. Paxton didn't share those things with me."

  "We'll have to wait until someone can get inside."

  "Wish I could've been more helpful."

  "You have been, Pop. Sorry, but I have to go."

  "Jasmine, I—"

  "I promise, later we'll talk." She hung up before he could say another word.

  Brandon leaned against the doorframe. "A safe, huh?"

  "You know how to break into it?"

  "Not my forte."

  "Natassia!" she hollered.

  When Natassia jogged into the room, Jasi jerked her head toward the safe. "Can you open it?"

  "If it were keypad access, I could probably hack it, but this is old-school. You'll either need the combination or a safecracker."

  Moving the photograph to one side, Jasi sank down on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. "Pop has no idea where Paxton is. But he said something about floor plans."

  "Think Mole Tech is involved again?"

  "Gathmann and his company seem to be involved in everything."

  "I put out an APB on Helling," Ben said, joining them. "So far no one's seen or heard from him in two days, except you and your Pop."

  "There's a cellphone in the garbage can under the kitchen sink," Natassia said, holding up the mangled remains. "He trashed it and destroyed the SIM card. A tech might be able to retrieve some data, but I highly doubt it."

  "Matthew is sending a team to collect evidence," Ben said. "We can leave as soon as they get here."

  "Where are we supposed to go? We have no leads, no clues as to where Paxton is headed."

  Frustrated, she pounded one fist on the bed, catching the edge of the framed photograph. Glass shattered beneath her hand, and she felt a sharp stab of pain.

  Brandon rushed to her side. "Are you all right?"

  "It's just a little cut."

  "Let me see."

  She opened her hand and winced as he pulled a small sliver of glass from her palm. "Okay, that hurts a bit."

  "I bet it does. You need a bandage. I'll go check the bathroom."

  After he left, Jasi gave Natassia a wry look. "It's really only a scratch. My fault for not paying attention."

  "Blame it on the owner's poor taste in design," Natassia said, picking up the photograph from its broken frame. "It's kind of vain to hang photos of yourself in your bedroom." She was suddenly transfixed by the photo in her hand. "Jasi? Didn't you say something about fishing?"

  "Yeah. Why?"

  "Check it out."

  In the photo Uncle Paxton showed off four plump trout as he stood in front of a decrepit burgundy Ford pickup that was parked in front of a log cabin. Behind it was a body of water, a river or lake.

  Jasi reached for the picture and flipped it over. In faded pencil someone had scribbled something, but it was hard to make out.

  "Looks like 'W-H-O…something…K-E, Maple Ridge.' Wherever Paxton is, he's close."

  Brandon returned with a bandage.

  "I think he's at this cabin," she told him, holding up the photo.

  "I did a property search," Ben said. "The only place he owns is this one."

  "Maybe it's under someone else's name. Remember that case we worked on before Sanctuary? The guy who used a vehicle registered to his mother?"

  "You know Helling's mother's name?"

  "No, but his ex-wife's name is Betty-Ann. He could've registered it under her name and never told anyone about it."

  "But why keep a fishing cabin secret?" Natassia asked.

  Jasi shrugged. "Seems everyone's full of secrets."

  "I hate to say this, but maybe he had his own hunt club going."

  "There's something more to this. I feel it."

  "You were right," Ben interrupted. "Betty-Ann Spellman, once Helling, is the proud owner of a log cabin on Whonnock Lake. I called her, and she swears she knows nothing about it."

  Jasi flicked the photo. "Then that's where we go."

  29

  Whonnock Lake, Maple Ridge, BC

  They advanced toward the cabin on foot, their flashlights aimed at the potholed gravel road ahead. A fingernail of opalescent moon hung high in the sky, offering only the faintest of light. An intermittent breeze rustled the leaves, as if acknowledging them as they trekked onward.

  "It's up ahead," Jasi said in a low voice.

  The gravel road ended parallel to the lake's shore, the log cabin now in sight. The yard was clean and landscaped, the grass freshly mowed. A light shone in the living room window and smoke drifted up from the chimney, but inside there was no movement.

  They gathered in the bushes behind the cabin to assess the situation.

  Jasi pulled out her binoculars and swept the area. "No sign of Paxton."

  "Nice cabin," Ben said.

  "I guess it explains why his trailer was left to rot. He's living here most of the time." But why?

  "Seems strange that he wouldn't have told your father about this place," Natassia said. "What's the big deal? So he has a cabin on a lake."

  "The big deal is the money spent on it," Brandon said. "This cabin probably cost him twenty times what he paid for his trailer. Not to mention the price of the lot."

  "Nothing wrong with living in a nice place."

  "On a cop's salary?"

  "Brandon's right," Jasi said. "There's no way Paxton could've afforded a cabin like this."

  "So where'd he get the money?" Natassia asked.

  "Hawley," Jasi said. "He said he gave Paxton incentive not to expose him—hush money. And that's why Paxton couldn't tell Pop anything about this place."

  "Look," Brandon said, pointing toward the water. "There's a boathouse over there."

  It was hard to make out, but a black blob dotted the shore about twenty yards away. The barest of light twinkled from inside the boathouse.

  "You think he's in there?" she asked.

  "He could be."
<
br />   "Then we have a problem. If we storm the house and he's in the boathouse, he could take off across the lake. And if we all head for the boathouse, there's a chance he'll see us from the cabin. We have to split up."

  "Natassia and I can take the cabin," Ben said, checking the magazine of his gun.

  "We'll check out the boathouse. If we don't find anything, we'll head back to the cabin. If you two see Paxton inside, signal me and we'll come running."

  "And vice versa," Brandon added.

  With guns at their side, Jasi motioned Brandon to follow her as she made a wide sweep through the bushes toward the rear of the house. A nondescript rental car was parked a few yards away. As they passed by it, she touched the hood. "Cold. Paxton has been here a while."

  Darting between the trees, they made their way to the water's edge. The boathouse hovered over the water at the end of a short dock.

  "Wait," Brandon said, grasping her arm. "How do you want to do this?"

  She glanced over her shoulder at the cabin. From this vantage point, she could clearly see inside, which meant Paxton would be able to see them—if he was looking.

  "Chances are he feels safe," she said. "No one knows about this house, so he may not be watching for an ambush."

  "Then we walk the plank?" Brandon said wryly.

  She chuckled. "Just don't fall off. Ready?"

  "Let's do this."

  Ducking low, they hurried along the dock. When they reached the boathouse, they crouched low on one side of the door.

  Jasi slowly raised her head and peeked into the small window. An oil lamp sat on a wooden table, its flame flickering and illuminating the interior enough to make out a speedboat. A couple of raincoats hung on the wall, one larger than the other.

  She looked at Brandon and shook her head. No Paxton.

  Something clanged within.

  Alert, she signaled Brandon to move to the other side of the doorway. With careful movements, she reached out and tested the doorknob. It was unlocked. Opening the door an inch, she peered inside.

  "Me first," she mouthed.

  She eased the door open and crept inside, with Brandon right behind her.

  No Paxton.

  "There's nowhere to hide here," Brandon said.

  Jasi looked around her, knowing he was right. There was nowhere a man could hide. Not here. The speedboat was small, no cabin below.

  "Check this out," she said.

  A gray tarp had been spread out on the floor in one corner. On a table beside it were rolls of duct tape, a knife and a pair of scissors. Next to these were six hefty bricks.

  "There's only one reason for this kind of setup," Brandon said.

  Jasi stared at him, her eyes wide. "Paxton plans to kill someone and dump the body in the lake."

  "You think he's gone after Hawley and that's why he's not here?"

  "How? The rental car is still here."

  She glanced out the window. "Ben and Natassia are in position. I want you to join them."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Make sure he can't escape by boat."

  He hesitated, but she gave him a nudge. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

  Once the door closed behind him, she jumped in the speedboat and pulled the key from the ignition, tossing it in the water.

  What if Paxton has a spare?

  Her eyes caught sight of the knife. She didn't know much about boats, but she was sure it wouldn't get too far if she dismantled the control panel.

  Minutes later, she stood back to examine her handiwork. No one's going anywhere in this thing. Time to join the others.

  Rushing toward the cabin, she saw figures moving inside. She headed up the steps to the front deck and knocked on the glass door.

  Brandon opened it. "He's not here. We've search both floors."

  "Damn."

  "Brandon told us about the kill kit in the boathouse," Natassia said. "Maybe he went after his victim."

  "But how? His car is at his house and the rental car is—" She cursed. "The truck."

  "What truck?"

  "The Ford from the photo in his bedroom. He must have kept it here."

  "Now what?" Brandon asked.

  "You and I'll stay here and search for anything that might indicate who Paxton's target is." She looked at Ben. "You and Natassia take the SUV and head to that gas station we passed. Paxton would've driven by it on his way out, and he might have stopped to fill up."

  Ben gave a nod. "If they have security cameras, we'll check them out. Maybe he left us a clue."

  She stood in the doorway and watched Ben and Natassia head toward the road. "Call me if you find anything!"

  "Will do," Natassia said.

  When they were out of sight, Jasi turned to Brandon. "Do you think Paxton's going after Hawley?"

  "Maybe—if he doesn't know Hawley's in custody."

  "When he discovers that, he'll come back here."

  "Unless Hawley's not the one he's after."

  Lazarus is dead, and that's all over the news. Hawley already took care of Gathmann. Who else is left?

  "Paxton's only connection to this case is Becket Hawley," she said. "He didn't know any of the other investors, and he'd have no reason to go after them."

  "Could Paxton be planning a jailbreak? Maybe his plan is to get Hawley out, bring him here, dispose of him so the guy can't talk."

  "He's not that foolish. Every officer on the force is looking for him. He'd never get inside the police station, and there's no way in hell he'd make it out with Hawley." She released a sigh. "But maybe he's that desperate."

  "I'll take the upstairs. With any luck we'll find some answers."

  Jasi roamed around the lower level of the cabin. The décor was expensive. Hawley must have paid Paxton a substantial sum. Every object was in its place, a perfect feng-shui atmosphere.

  She emptied the drawers in the kitchen. She looked behind every cupboard door. Nothing.

  Hawley had said Paxton had a secret, something big.

  "I found something," Brandon called.

  She left the kitchen and headed toward the stairs. Brandon stood by the loft railing, a leather box in his hand.

  "Paxton's gun box," she guessed.

  "Yeah, except it's empty. But come see what else I found."

  She ran upstairs and followed him into Paxton's lavish bedroom.

  "In here," he said, leading her into the bathroom. He opened the cupboard beneath the sink. "What do you see?"

  "Toilet paper, cleaners—" She froze. "Sanitary pads?"

  "And check the laundry basket."

  She did as he suggested. "Bras and panties?"

  "Size thirty-two B."

  She cocked her head and gave him a wry look. "And you know this just from looking at this bra."

  "I saw the tags."

  "What is Paxton doing with women's clothing?"

  "Maybe he's into it. Wearing it, I mean."

  She grimaced. "No, I can't see that."

  "You don't want to."

  "Of course not. But seriously, there's no way on earth Sergeant Paxton Helling would be caught dead in women's clothing. He's too much of a manly man."

  "Perhaps he has a girlfriend?"

  "I think Pop would've known about that."

  "A stripper, then."

  She shrugged. "Why would she leave her clothes here? Whoever this mystery woman is, she's in for a rude awakening when she discovers what he's done."

  They searched the remainder of the upper floor but found no clues as to Paxton's whereabouts and nothing further to identify the woman he was seeing.

  "I'm going back to the boathouse," Jasi said. "I saw a jacket that looked too small to belong to him. Maybe it's hers. I'll check the pockets."

  "Okay, I'll go through the box of files I found in his closet. Most look like income tax information, but maybe there's something there."

  She hurried downstairs and went outside via the sliding door. Running toward the boathouse, she went over everyt
hing they knew about Paxton. He'd been married once, no kids. Divorced his wife, Betty-Ann, a few years after Jasi's mother had been killed. He and Pop would get together for cards or a hockey game. Other than his involvement with Hawley, he'd seemed to be a great cop.

  What could he be hiding?

  The question ate at her, twisting at her insides.

  In the boathouse, she removed the smaller jacket from the wall hook. It was pale yellow and decorated with daisies—a child's jacket.

  She shoved a hand into one of the pockets. "Hmm…what's this?"

  She stared in surprise at the small plastic toy in her hand. It was a figurine of a young girl, one she recognized. Years ago, Pop had bought her a dollhouse, complete with furnishings and a happy family of five. She loved that dollhouse and played with it every day. And then one day, she lost a piece. The girl.

  Now here it was in her hand.

  But what does it mean?

  Paxton had sometimes played with her when she was little. She couldn't recall him showing any interest in the dollhouse.

  Paxton, Pop, Mom. Her pulse quickened. What if Paxton and my mother—no! There's no way they had an affair? Pop would've known, and he never would've remained friends.

  Her stomach churned and bile rose in her throat.

  What if Pop had found out they were having an affair? What would he do?

  With a shake of her head, she exited the boathouse. As she strode down the dock, thoughts raced through her mind. She needed to clear her head.

  A picnic table sat in the grass close to the bushes. She made a beeline for it.

  "You just couldn't mind your own business," a voice said behind her.

  30

  She turned slowly. Paxton Helling, the man she'd called "Uncle" for most of her life, had a handgun trained on her chest.

  "Uncle Paxton, put the gun down."

  "Shut up! Let me think."

  She inhaled deeply. "What are you doing? You know this is wrong. You don't want to hurt me."

  He shone a light on the ground ahead of her. "Raise your hands and keep walking."

  "Where?"

  "There's a path behind the table. It leads into the woods."

  She mentally cursed herself for holstering her gun. She couldn't grab it now. He'd shoot her before her fingers touched the strap.

  "My partner's in the cabin. He'll come looking for me."