by Jen Talty
Rekindled
Jen Talty
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Jen Talty, Updated 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Who Dares Wins Publishing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Publishing History: First Crimson Rose Edition, 2008
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Excerpt of In Two Weeks
Also by Jen Talty
About Jen Talty
Praise for Jen Talty
“If you love stories full of questions and mysteries for you to solve than you will love Rekindled by Jen Talty.” Long and Short Reviews
“From the first word, Jen Talty grabs you and doesn't let go. On the edge of your seat sizzling romance, she is an author not to be missed. With Rekindled, she pulled me in and held me there, breathless and anticipating the next surprising twist, until the last page was turned.”
~KyAnn Waters, multi-published author
1
Assistant Police Chief Blaine Walker sat in his patrol car in a deserted parking lot on the outskirts of town. The white moon glowed through a thin layer of gray clouds. He was enjoying a bacon cheeseburger from his favorite greasy spoon when dispatch interrupted.
“Could you repeat, please?” Shane asked.
“Gunshots reported at twenty-two-fifty Route Nine. The Mead residence,” dispatch said.
“Who reported it?” Blaine asked, tossing his bacon cheeseburger to the passenger seat.
“A neighbor.”
“Five minutes from location.” Blaine slammed the microphone into the cradle. It was probably backfire from a car speeding down the road. Or perhaps Mr. Mead had resumed target practice.
Blaine flipped a switch, and the police siren screeched once. Red lights flashed across the Minnesota night sky. He peeled the car out into the deserted street. Not much happened in Thief Lake during the day, even less at night, but leave it to his ex-father-in-law to stir things up.
As he pulled into the driveway, an uneasy feeling washed over him. He stepped from his patrol car and adjusted his holster, wishing he’d worn his uniform.
It appeared the Mead mansion had every light on, sending an eerie cast of colors across the lake. A little pale-blue SUV was parked in the driveway with the door open. He walked across the gravel path and placed a hand on the hood. Still warm.
The last few days the temperatures had been on the rise, melting most of the snow, but there was still a chill in the air indicating that Jack Frost hadn’t caved to the warmth of spring.
He rested his hand on the butt of his weapon and headed toward the main house just as a bloodcurdling scream echoed from inside. Drawing his weapon, he sidestepped up the stairs and onto the porch. Faint sobs echoed in the stillness of the night.
“Daddy,” a woman’s voice cried.
Blaine carefully pushed back the main door as he gripped his weapon, finger gently over the trigger. He kept his back against the wood frame as he peered into the foyer. A woman with long, blonde hair knelt on the floor, rocking back and forth, whimpering words he couldn’t quite understand. Holding his weapon steady, he stepped into the foyer.
Rutherford Mead’s body lay sprawled out on the floor. His arms stretched wide, legs slightly bent to the right. His eyes were open but glossed over. Blood trickled out of his neck onto the wood floor.
Blaine swallowed, but focused his attention on the familiar woman hovering over the body. “Police, ma’am, back away.”
The woman gasped and scooted backward. Her hands covered her face, but Blaine knew exactly who sat in front of him. His muscles tensed as he adjusted his aim toward the floor beside her. “What are you doing here?”
“I…I…” She brushed her long, blonde hair from her angelic face. Her hair was longer than Blaine remembered. She looked up at him with fearful eyes. “Blaine, I…”
His breath hitched at the mere sight of his ex-wife. The blueness of her eyes was still prettier than any summer sky he’d ever seen. The porcelain shine of her skin glittered in the bright light.
“Kaylee,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “Put your hands in the air.”
She held her arms out to the side, dropping something to the floor. “Call for help,” she whispered. “We need to call for help.”
He now recognized the object that had fallen from her trembling hands as a portable phone. He reached with his free hand for his cell and called the dispatcher, resting the phone on his ear. With his eyes locked on Kaylee, he bent forward and felt Rutherford’s neck for a pulse. “Possible homicide. Get the medical examiner and Chief Whitcomb out here.” He snapped his phone shut.
Blaine did his best to control his raging pulse and focus on the situation and not the frightened creature sitting before him. He knew all too well that where Kaylee was concerned, things were never what they appeared to be. It had been years since he’d last seen his ex-wife. Years since anyone, including her father, had seen or heard from her. “What happened here?”
She stared at him for a moment. “I found him like this.”
“How long have you been here?” He forced his trembling muscles to hold his aim steady, but not directly on her.
“Five or ten minutes?” Her voice trembled.
“How did you get in the house?”
“The kitchen door.”
“Did he know you were coming?” Not that Blaine spoke much to his father-in-law, but last he heard, Rutherford had very little to no contact with his daughter. He’d even cut her from his will shortly after she disappeared. But now rumors had been circulating that he’d changed his will again and left everything to her, making this a very difficult situation.
“You don’t think…” Her jaw dropped open as her eyes widened. “Oh God, you do.”
“Let’s step outside.” Blaine holstered his gun and nodded toward the porch.
He laced his fingers around her arm. She twitched, jerking away. Her eyes met his with a combination of fear and confusion. Blackness smudged her pale, stricken face.
“To my car.” He took her elbow, just like he would any other suspect or witness. “Sit down, Kaylee.” He pulled open the door and helped her in. He stood with his back to her, trying to collect his thoughts. Living in a small town made every case he worked on harder, because he knew everyone on a personal level.
Investigating the death of his ex-wife’s father was about as personal as things could get.
Rarely at a loss for words, he let out a breath and focused on the gray, smoke-like puff that formed in the air. The last time he had been unable to utter a single word was the last time he saw her. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Kaylee.”
He took a blanket out of his trunk and covered her shaking body.
“He left the kitchen door open for me.” The blanket curled under her fingers. “Dad never left doors open or lights on unless he knew someone was coming.”
“You entered via the kitchen? Then did what?” he questioned, knowing he shouldn’t.
Their past relationship really put a damper on him being able to control this case.
“I was nervous, so I got a glass of water, and then I called for him. When I got no answer, I left the kitchen, heading for his office.”
“Did you go anywhere else in the house?
“I went from the kitchen to where I found him.” Kaylee had curled the blanket up to her chin, her head down.
She was crying, and he wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her it was all going to be okay.
But it wasn’t okay, and not just because her father was dead.
He looked up at the big, white house with the dark-green shutters. With every light on, the house gleamed like a scene straight from The Exorcist.
The sound of gravel crunching under large tires caught his attention. His boss’s pickup, followed by an ambulance and the medical examiner’s car, pulled in. Blaine knelt beside Kaylee, placing his hand on her knee. The moment he touched her, a single spark ignited in his veins, spreading warmth through his body. He yanked his hand away. He had a job to do. Lingering in the past had nothing to do with the present situation, no matter how pretty the past looked.
“I need you to stay right here.” A soft scent of strawberries and vanilla filled his nostrils. He leaned across her to grab his keys. The familiar smell reeled in his head like a song you couldn’t stop humming. “Where are the keys to your car?”
“In my purse, in the kitchen.” Pressure on his bicep stilled him. “Someone killed my father.”
“We don’t know what happened, but I’ll find out.” A sudden, sharp pain ripped through Blaine’s heart. A murder had occurred on his watch. To make matters worse, he had one possible witness and one possible suspect—his ex-wife. All in all, not a good night.
He nodded to Police Chief Dave Whitcomb as they made their way up to the house. While the door didn’t appear damaged, his instincts told him foul play had been involved. However, with her so close, and the gut-wrenching emotions she sparked, his instincts couldn’t be trusted.
When he entered the foyer, he stepped around Rutherford’s body to see things from a different perspective, while he put on a pair of latex gloves. At first glance, it looked like he might have fallen down the curved staircase. Blood pooled under his head, which could be consistent with a fall, but something didn’t feel right.
“Why is it you always have to get me out of bed when you’ve got the night shift?” Dave rubbed his unshaven face, looking around the foyer. “I won’t even mention the uniform issue.”
“I never wear it, and you don’t have a problem with it.” Blaine removed the lens cap from the police-issue camera, flipped on the flash, and photographed the body while Dave made some measurements and scribbled them on a pad. “Besides, have I even seen you in one?”
“Keep taking pictures,” Dave said.
“Something’s off here.” Blaine looked from the staircase to the body. He pointed to the base of the neck, before snapping a picture of an open wound oozing blood.
“That looks like a bullet graze,” Dave said, moving to the side, letting the ME in to asses the body.
“I know what it looks like,” Blaine muttered. Ten years ago, his life had changed forever when Kaylee had run off to Europe, cutting all ties to Thief Lake, including those to her father. “Someone reported gunshots, which is what brought me here in the first place.”
“You see that?” Dave asked the ME.
The ME gently pushed up Rutherford’s shirt. “A bullet hole.”
Blaine swallowed and then took a few more pictures. Anyone who might benefit from a death usually looked guilty in the eyes of the public. If Rutherford changed his will, then Kaylee Mead stood to inherit one hefty sum.
“Let’s take a look around,” Dave said.
“Her purse should be in the kitchen.” Blaine followed him down the hall and into the kitchen. Aside from all the lights being on, everything looked normal. “She says she came in through that door, got a drink, and then went looking for him.”
“How long?”
“Said five to ten minutes. I heard her scream as I came to the door.” The first thing Blaine noted was that indeed her purse was on the kitchen table. He looked inside, gently pushing a few items around until he found her keys. He scanned the room and looked for anything that could take the blame off Kaylee. She was a lot of things, but not a cold-blooded murderer. “Damn.”
“What is it?” Dave asked.
“A bullet.” Blaine knelt down next to the kitchen table. “Give me a bag.” First he took a picture while Dave sketched the dimensions on his pad. Then, using a pocketknife, Blaine dug the bullet out of the table and shoved it in the evidence bag.
“Doesn’t look like there was any kind of struggle,“ Dave commented.
“That’s puzzling, isn’t it?” Blaine said. “And no blood between the kitchen and foyer.”
“Maybe he was having a conversation with someone he thought he could trust, like his daughter?”
Blaine froze and gripped the chair. The overwhelming desire to protect and defend Kaylee bubbled in his bloodstream. Regardless of the rift between father and daughter, and Kaylee’s inability to think beyond herself, she couldn’t kill someone.
Blaine circled the kitchen table. There had to be a clue. Something that would tell him Kaylee had just stumbled into a bad situation. Anything that could tell him who did this, and why.
No scuff marks on the floor. Nothing out of place. Everything seemed as it should be. Her father believed everything had its place, so Blaine wasn’t surprised to see clear and clean countertops. Not a single dish left out. He quickly glanced into the dishwasher. “Kaylee said she had a glass of water. We’ll need to dust all these dishes for prints.”
“Jonesy and Mac will be here shortly to takeover,” Dave commented. “You can’t question her.”
“I know.” Blaine stuffed the camera in the bag as they made their way back to the foyer. “I’ll take her to the station and get someone else to take the official statement.”
“We have to treat her as a suspect.” Dave raised his brow.
“I was first on the scene. Nothing we can do about that. You need to take over here. Call ahead and have someone waiting for us. I won’t say five words on the way there.” Not talking to her would be a tall order, but it was best. For both of them.
“Don’t screw up.” Dave shook his head. “So, what do you make of your ex-wife’s timely return?”
Blaine cringed. “I’d say it’s untimely.”
Dave stopped at the front door and turned. “I’m going to search her car.” He lowered his chin. “If I find a gun, or anything that gives me cause, I’m going to arrest her.”
“I get it.” Blaine ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. No way would he let her out of his sight. If she didn’t kill her father, someone else did, and that someone might have seen her.
And since he was probably going to be forced to stay in the background on this one, he’d make sure he’d stay up close and personal with her.
‘Untimely’ didn’t begin to describe his ex-wife’s return.
Kaylee’s heart pounded against her ribs, reminding her of what a mess her life had turned out to be. Bad luck seemed to follow her wherever she went. Now her father was dead. Murdered. And she was to blame.
She’d come back to town for one reason and one reason only. To get help and money from her father so she’d be able to keep hiding. Keep running. Now she was stuck in a town she’d never wanted to see again and dealing with the man who’d been the reason she’d left in the first place.
Seeing Blaine only made things more difficult. He did things to her insides, rendering her utterly useless. Nothing new there. She silently cursed herself. Blaine shouldn’t have any effect on her, not after what he’d done.
She glanced at her childhood home where Blaine was leaning against the wood railing on the front porch, looking exactly the way she remembered him. The same way he haunted her dreams. His straigh
t, black hair still rebel-long, and his skin the color of raw gold. She could smell his faint, musky aftershave lotion as it lingered in the car.
She pulled the blanket up to her chin and shivered, but not from the frigid air. One week ago, she’d collected all her belongings and slipped away into the night. Chicago had been the promise of a new beginning, but once again, she’d made a horrendous mistake.
Blaine tossed a bag over his shoulder and made his way toward the car. He didn’t wear a police uniform, but somehow that didn’t surprise her.
“I’m sorry that took so long,” he said as he ducked his head, seating himself in the driver’s seat.
“We were going to try to patch things up and put the past behind us,” she tried to explain. But that wasn’t the whole truth. Her father had found out about whom she’d been dealing with and knew she was in trouble. Big trouble. He’d offered to help, but only if she returned home. Only if she did things his way. She’d never liked his way much.
“I need you to come to the station and make a statement,” Blaine said. “Might be a good idea to call a lawyer.”
“I didn’t kill my father.” She folded her arms across her chest and stared out the window at the side mirror. She watched her father’s home disappear into the night. Just like everything else in her life, coming home had been a huge mistake. When she turned to glance at Blaine’s strong profile, she noticed the tension in his face matched the white knuckles gripping the steering wheel.
“Save it for the officer doing the questioning. But for the record, we’ll be asking you not to leave the area. Also, you can’t stay at your father’s home until we’ve had a chance to go through it, top to bottom.”
