by B. J Daniels
Realizing that she was still wearing silk pj’s, she hurriedly dressed, all the time listening for the sound of sirens. Who had killed Jet? What had he been doing on the property? She hadn’t seen his vehicle. He didn’t know the new pass code at the gate. So what had he been doing here? Her mind whirled as she remembered that someone had switched the aspirin in her medicine cabinet.
She’d been so sure that Jet had drugged her. But what if it hadn’t been him? What if—
She couldn’t bear the thought that Ethan was anywhere but Mexico City—just as he had told Jet. But then Jet could have been lying about even talking to Ethan. She certainly wouldn’t have put it past him.
Either way, the FBI was wrong. Ethan wasn’t hiding out here. If he was in the house, wouldn’t she know it? She’d searched the entire place.
Pacing, she couldn’t sit still. Where was the sheriff? Shouldn’t he be here by now? It felt as if the horror of it was just starting to sink in. Jet. Shot. Dead? If so he’d been killed right outside her window. Who had shot him in cold blood like that? Was the killer still around? Was he in the house?
When the intercom buzzed, she jumped and rushed to it to allow the sheriff’s department to enter. She waited until Flint was at the front door before she ran down the stairs. She threw open the door. He quickly stepped in. She’d known Hawk’s brother her whole life. He was like family.
“Where is the body?” Flint asked, not family right now. The county sheriff doing his job.
“In the pond. I heard a gunshot. It woke me up. Then I heard a second one and looked out...” She shuddered and the words poured out of her. “That’s when I saw Jet. I could tell something was wrong. He was staggering down the dock, holding both hands over his stomach. I could see his blue shirt was dark with what looked like blood. Then there was another shot. He jerked and fell face-first into the water at the edge of the dock. That’s when I called you.”
“Okay, I want you to stay right here, all right?” She nodded. “Have you seen or heard anyone else around the house since you called?”
“No. Nothing until you came to the gate.”
“I’ll be back. Meanwhile, Deputy Harper is going to stay with you,” the sheriff said. “Where’s the kitchen?”
“Up two floors.”
“Maybe you could make some coffee for the two of you?”
She knew the sheriff was suggesting busywork to keep her mind off what was happening outside. But she was thankful for it.
“One more thing,” Flint said. “Do you own a gun?”
Drey started at the question. “A .45 handgun. It was my father’s.”
“Do you have it here in the house?” he asked.
She felt her stomach turn. “It’s upstairs.” She’d seen it in a drawer where whoever had moved her belongings from her apartment had put it. “Do you want to see it?”
Flint shook his head. “Not now.” He turned and, opening the door, let the deputy in. She nodded at Harp since she’d also known him since she was a girl growing up here. It was one of the joys of living in a small town.
As the sheriff left, she glanced toward the pond, but she hadn’t been able to see anything but another deputy headed toward the dock.
“Did I hear Flint say something about coffee?” Harp asked.
“I have some sweet rolls, too,” she said, her mind on Flint’s question about her gun. He couldn’t think that she had anything to do with Jet’s being shot, could he? She reminded herself that as sheriff, these were the kinds of questions he had to ask everyone involved. But she wasn’t involved. She’d been in her bedroom when Jet was shot.
She led Harp up the stairs, tuning him out as he commented on the house with each level they passed. Fear had her heart pounding again. In the kitchen, she put the coffee on, pulled out the sweet rolls along with plates and silverware. She couldn’t help thinking about how she’d suspected Jet of drugging her. How else could she explain the thumb in the disposal, the mouse in her sparkling water and the feeling that she was losing her mind? But now someone had killed him here on the property? Nothing made any sense.
“I need to get something from my bedroom,” she said to Harp. He looked wary. “It’s just right upstairs. I won’t be a minute. Help yourself to coffee and rolls.” She left before he could argue since she knew the sheriff had probably told him not to let her out of his sight.
In her bedroom, she headed straight for the walk-in closet. She began to open drawers, trying to remember where she’d seen her gun. She’d thought it had been right on top, in the first drawer. She checked all of the bureau drawers before she frantically searched the rest of the closet.
A shiver sprinted up her spine. She shuddered, fear making her scalp tighten.
Her gun was gone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FLINT STOOD ON the dock looking down into the dark water for a long moment before he headed for the house. Harper let him in and escorted him toward the kitchen and dining room level. The house was everything he’d heard it was. Was Ethan Baxter hiding somewhere inside it?
Or was the FBI wrong and Baxter was thousands of miles away from here, sitting in a bar drinking a rum and cola and laughing his ass off?
His skin crawling as he climbed each level of the house, Flint had a bad feeling that Baxter was much closer to home. Which meant Hawk was right. Drey was in trouble.
She was standing at the kitchen counter holding a steaming mug of coffee in her hands as if needing the warmth. She looked even paler than she had earlier.
“Mind if I have a cup of that?” Flint asked as he joined her. He watched her hands trembling as she poured him a mug full.
“There are sweet rolls,” she said, her voice breaking. “Jet?” she asked as if unable to hold back. “Is he dead?”
Flint glanced toward his deputy, who had just picked up what he knew must be at least his third sweet roll. “Harp, would you go help outside?”
The deputy looked from him to Drey and back again. He then considered the sweet roll in his hand. He’d taken only one large bite out of it.
“You can take that with you.”
Harp nodded quickly and left. Flint waited until he heard the deputy exit the house before he turned to Drey. “We didn’t find a body.”
All the color drained from her face, making her look as if she might faint. “What?”
“I need you to tell me again what you saw.”
She was shaking her head, her brown eyes wide and filled with terror. “His body had to be there. He was shot. He was holding his stomach. The blood. I saw him get shot again. He fell into the water. He wasn’t moving. He...” She looked up, tears welling.
“Drey?” She was visibly trembling. “I think you’d better sit down.”
She didn’t argue as he helped her to a chair at the huge table. She hugged her coffee mug to her.
“Is it possible he wasn’t so badly wounded that he could have gotten out of the water?” he asked as he took a chair facing her.
She shook her head. “No.” But then she seemed to change her mind. “I don’t know. I suppose...” She met his gaze. “Flint, I saw him get shot. I’d heard two shots before that. He was bleeding, holding his stomach...”
“Drey, there was no blood on the dock. If he’d been bleeding... If he’d been shot what you believe to be a third time, there should have been blood. Lots of blood on the dock.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. “What are you saying?”
“There is no sign of a murder on the dock or anywhere around it. Jet Baxter has a red sports car registered to him. Is that what he was driving the last time you saw him?”
She nodded.
“It doesn’t appear to be on the property, but we’re still looking. Do you have any reason to believe he was here this morning? Did you let him in the gate?”
“No, I changed the co
de. He wouldn’t...” She faltered. “He wouldn’t know how to get in.” She put down her coffee mug and covered her face for a moment. “I don’t understand. I saw him.” When she looked up at him again, tears welled in her eyes. She hurriedly wiped at them.
Flint’s cell phone rang. He checked it, glad to see it was the call he’d been expecting. “Yes?” he said into the phone. “I see.” His gaze returned to Drey as he hung up. “That was Undersheriff Mark Ramirez. I sent him into town to check the hotel where Jet has been staying. He talked to Jet. He’s fine, Drey. He swears he wasn’t anywhere near your property this morning. In fact, there was a woman with him who confirmed that he hadn’t been anywhere since last night.”
She looked shell-shocked. “He’s lying. Whoever is with him...” She suddenly buried her face in her hands again. “I saw it. I didn’t dream it. He was shot. He fell into the pond...”
“Drey, I don’t like you being here alone,” Flint said. “Maybe you could stay with Lillie for a while until your husband returns.”
* * *
DREY COULDN’T BELIEVE THIS. She wasn’t going crazy. She’d seen it. She’d heard the gunshots. She hadn’t imagined or dreamed any of it.
She wiped her face. She’d felt so much better this morning. Her head had been clear. She’d been wide-awake. What was going on?
“Jet has been lying since the day he showed up here. I don’t know how he did it this morning. But I know what I saw.” She pushed back her chair but didn’t rise. “I’m not going anywhere.” Was that what Jet wanted? To get her out of the house?
“I know Lillie would love to have you stay there,” Flint was saying.
She managed a smile. “I know I’m welcome there, but this is my home now. I’m sorry that I involved you in this.”
“Drey—”
“I don’t know what Jet is up to, but I’m going to find out.”
That didn’t make the sheriff look any happier.
“Is there anyone I can call for you? Maybe your local doctor. He could prescribe something if you aren’t sleeping well or—”
She let out a bitter laugh. “All I have done is sleep.” Flint thought she was losing her mind. But maybe that was Jet’s plan. The drugging. The thumb. The mouse in the water bottle. And now making her think that she’d witnessed a murder.
“I thought you might want to talk to someone.”
“I’m going to be fine,” she told him as she got to her feet, although a little unsteadily. “I just hate that I got you out here this morning for nothing.”
He rose slowly. She could tell he didn’t like leaving her alone here. But she wasn’t alone, right? Ethan was somewhere hidden in this house. Or in Mexico City. And there was the FBI out there somewhere. But if that was the case, wouldn’t they have seen what she saw at the pond?
“Before you go,” she said, realizing there was something she needed to know. “Hawk mentioned that Ethan is being investigated by the FBI. If that’s true, wouldn’t Ethan know it? Wouldn’t he have told me?”
The sheriff looked at the floor for a moment. “As a matter of course, law enforcement agencies don’t notify you when you are being investigated for criminal activity.”
Her stomach dropped. Criminal activity? “So it’s true? What happens now?”
Flint shook his head. “The feds may not act for months while they’re getting evidence together to make an arrest. Or they may not be able to get enough evidence and drop it.”
She shook her head. “I’m just supposed to wait to see what happens, then.”
“I know it doesn’t seem...fair. But they don’t inform you of what’s going on or they risk the possibility that the suspect will attempt to interfere with witnesses or other evidence. Often the person under investigation, though, either suspects or someone tells him.”
“You think Ethan knows, and that’s why he’s not here right now.”
Flint didn’t answer. “You might want to hire a criminal defense lawyer.”
“Me? But they’re not investigating me.” She felt her eyes widen. “You mean because Ethan and I are now married?”
He nodded. “I’m sorry, Drey.”
“How long would an investigation like this have been going on?” she asked, fear making her voice tight.
“I don’t know. I suspect for some time now.” He met her gaze again.
“That doesn’t mean that Ethan knew about it, right?”
“Right.” It didn’t mean that Ethan had known about it when they’d met eight months ago.
“Drey—”
“I’m fine,” she said and tried to give him a reassuring smile. Ethan had known he was being investigated. But for how long? Maybe he really had gone to Mexico City on business. Or maybe he’d made a run for it and had left her holding the bag—just as Hawk had suspected.
Or maybe the FBI was right and Ethan was hiding somewhere in this house.
She picked up her mug and took a sip of coffee. It instantly curdled in her stomach.
What was she going to do now? She had no idea.
* * *
AFTER THE SHERIFF LEFT, Drey went back to her bedroom. She tore the closet apart looking for the gun and then searched the entire bedroom, including Ethan’s walk-in closet and bathroom.
The gun wasn’t there. But it had been. Which meant Jet must have taken it. Or Ethan. Or whoever had fired those shots this morning. Whoever had wanted her to think she was losing her mind. What was more, they now had the sheriff thinking the same thing.
For a moment she stood in the middle of the master suite, breathing hard. She knew what she’d heard, what she’d seen. She wasn’t sure how Jet had done it, but she wasn’t losing her mind. She stood trembling from fear, weak from tearing the bedroom apart looking for the gun. Now what?
It kept coming back to Ethan. She couldn’t bear the thought that he really was hiding in this house in some secret space—like the one that held the bar in their bedroom. That was so ridiculous. She and Jet had searched it. Right. Jet. He’d searched his half of each level. He’d lied about so much. Why would she trust him to not have lied about that?
Drey began the search, taking each floor until she reached the staff quarters and the parking garage. No Ethan. But she’d found an extensive wine cellar and storage areas she hadn’t known about on the garage level—and made a few discoveries that surprised her. She’d found all their unopened wedding gifts stacked in one of the areas. When, she wondered, though, had Ethan planned to open them? Or did he ever?
Not that she felt like opening them. Right now, her marriage felt like a sham. Until she heard from him... If she ever did.
As she searched, it felt as if the house was watching her digging for its secrets and was silently amused that she hadn’t found them. If anything, she hated the house more. Hated the massive cold, sterile rooms as well as the echo of her footfalls. But she hadn’t found any secret passages or rooms. That didn’t mean that they didn’t exist, though, she told herself. Still, she couldn’t imagine a man like Ethan holed up somewhere in a secret room in this house for any length of time.
Ultimately, as her search concluded, she’d found no sign of Ethan.
But like the gun, he’d been here.
Tired and sweaty, she made her way back up the stairs and had just reached the kitchen when the intercom at the gate buzzed, making her jump. She tried to settle her racing pulse as she stepped to the control panel on the wall, telling herself it had better not be Jet.
“Yes?” she asked into the intercom.
“Delivery, madam.”
Madam? “Can you just leave it in the large container next to the mailbox?”
“No can do. Need a signature on this one.”
She stepped to the balcony, leaning out for a better view of the road. Catching sight of a familiar delivery vehicle, she went back to the intercom. “Com
e on up.”
After opening the gate, Drey hurried downstairs to the front door, reaching it only moments before the deliveryman roared up. She hugged herself as she watched the driver leap out with a clipboard and package about a foot square and a good eight inches deep.
All his attention was on the house as he held out the clipboard and attached pen for her to sign. “This is some house.”
“My husband designed it.” She signed.
“Huh.” He said as he handed her the package.
The weight surprised her. For its size, the box was quite heavy. She’d expected it to be addressed to Ethan, but she saw that it was to Dierdre Baxter. Her first package in her married name. She couldn’t read the return address. It appeared to be smudged. Something from Ethan?
She wanted to ask the driver if he knew where the package had originated because there was no return address, but he’d already bounded back into his truck and was quickly gone.
Drey watched him tear down the road. The sun was low in the sky. She felt as if she’d lost another day. Soon the sun would dip behind the mountains to the west, the air would cool and she would be facing another night alone here.
For a moment she almost weakened and called Lillie to ask if she could stay there. Sheer stubbornness wouldn’t let her do that. Jet was trying to either make her believe she was crazy—or run her out of this house. She told herself that Ethan would be back in a few days. She would tell him about the FBI investigation—if he didn’t already know. He would reassure her that it was nothing.
She shivered, though, as she took the box inside the house. It was heavy and she was tired enough that she put it into the elevator. For a moment, she considered riding up. After the day she’d had, the thought of climbing all the stairs again felt almost overwhelming.
But she couldn’t chance that the electricity might go off again and this time the backup generator for it might not work. She’d be trapped in that small space for who knew how long. She couldn’t imagine anything worse. No one would know. It could be days, even longer, before someone found her.
