Retrieving her skirt and blouse from the tiny laundry room built off the kitchen, she carried them into the bedroom, then went into the bathroom to take a shower, hoping the hot water would calm her. Like the night before, she had Con’s loaded gun with her, and she laid it on the sink, within easy reach. Then she locked the bathroom door, turned on the shower and stepped under the water.
But also like the night before, noises invaded the bathroom. This time Amy recognized the turning of the doorknob, the opening of a door, the footsteps somewhere in the trailer for what they were—products of her overtired and frightened mind.
Ignoring the sounds, she stood under the hot water and closed her eyes.
* * *
CON WALKED EVERY square inch of the woods, searching in thickets and bogs and behind every fallen tree he came across. There were dozens of hiding places, hundreds of nooks and crevices in which a wounded man could hole up and wait out the storm. Or wait to pick off his predator.
Frankie would know all the hideaways, but Con had grown up in these woods, too. And he was trained to track. Sooner or later, he’d find Frankie Bodine. It was just a matter of time. But the day was slipping away from him. How much time did he have?
He thought about Amy, back at the trailer, alone and frightened and vulnerable. Vulnerable in a way she’d never been before.
Someone wanted her dead. And now that Frankie could identify that someone, the killer would be getting desperate, reckless.
As the hours passed, Con tried to tamp down his growing sense of urgency. He couldn’t afford to get careless. He had to find Frankie before anyone else did. He had to discover what Frankie had seen last night.
For the past thirty minutes or so, Con had been following a deer track through a particularly rugged bit of terrain. The underbrush here was mainly thornbushes and blackberry vines that ate through the denim of his jeans. The area was deeply shaded by hardwoods, almost as dark as night in places, and the mosquitoes that swarmed his neck and face and darted occasionally into his eyes, were only momentarily distracted by the insect repellent he’d used earlier.
But Con was in his element. He’d walked through South American jungles far deeper and darker than this, tracking a quarry much more agile and dangerous than Frankie Bodine. The trick was to not be lulled by the monotony of the terrain or the pursuit.
Something snapped in a grove of sycamores, just off to Con’s right. He stopped dead still, listening, as the mosquitoes vectored in on the back of his neck and sweat tickled down his arms and back, stinging the myriad of scratches and cuts left by the thorns.
A lone hawk took flight, soaring from the top of a loblolly pine, and Con tracked it with his eyes, listening all the while for a whisper of sound, inhaling the faint, metallic scent of blood.
Someone else was here in the woods, close enough that he could almost smell fear. But whether it was Frankie, or someone else looking for Frankie, he couldn’t yet tell.
Con pulled his weapon and thumbed off the safety. The soft click sounded like a cannon shot in the deathly quiet of the woods. He stood waiting, ready, his patience endless as his gaze scoured the underbrush.
And then, after minutes—or hours, for all Con could tell—he heard another sound, up ahead of him and to the left. A low groan, no more than a soft animal whimper, but the sound sent a chill up Con’s backbone.
He started through the brush.
* * *
AMY CLIMED OUT of the shower, scolding herself for letting her imagination get the better of her. The doors were locked, she had a gun and the sounds she’d heard weren’t real. Still, she dried off in a hurry and secured the towel around her, then picked up the gun, unlocked the bathroom door and peered cautiously down the hallway.
The trailer’s windows were small, not letting in much light, but Amy could see well enough to tell that no one was lurking in the corridor. Just as she had the evening before, she’d let her fears produce noises that, when explored, had innocent origins.
She padded down the hallway to the bedroom to dress. As she pushed open the door, she saw someone sitting on the bed, and before she had time to even scream, her sister rose and faced her.
“Jasmine! You scared me half to death. How did you get in?”
“It wasn’t hard.” She held up a thin-bladed knife. “This place is little better than a tin can.”
Amy came slowly into the room. “What are you doing here?”
Jasmine’s expression was shuttered. Amy had no idea what her sister was thinking, but Amy realized, instantly, that wrapped in a towel, she didn’t exactly look uncompromised.
“We’ve all been looking for you,” Jasmine said. “You didn’t come home last night.”
“There’s a lot going on here that you didn’t know,” Amy told her. “Let me get dressed. I’ll explain everything to you.”
“Oh, don’t bother.” Jasmine moved slowly toward her, and a frisson of fear crept over Amy. “I know about you and Con.”
“You do?” What exactly did she know?
“The two of you are married. You’ve been married for nine years. You’ve both played me for a fool.” Her face crumpled suddenly, and she looked like a wounded child.
“I’m sorry,” Amy whispered. “I should have told you.”
Jasmine’s head jerked up. “Yes, you should have. But that’s like you, isn’t it? Only thinking of yourself.”
“Jasmine—”
“You think you’ve won, don’t you? You think you’ve got Con all to yourself, but you don’t know him like I do. You don’t know what he’s after.”
Amy frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ll have to find out for yourself.” She stalked past Amy to the door, then paused in the hallway, glancing back at her. The knife blade gleamed in her hand. “You’re dead, Amber. You just don’t know it yet.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JASMINE’S OMINOUS WORDS hung in the air, and for a moment, Amy couldn’t move. She watched her sister rush from the trailer, slamming the door with a loud, final bang.
That spurred Amy into action. She dressed quickly, and hurried out of the trailer. What had Jasmine meant—she was a dead woman, she just didn’t know it yet? Did Jasmine know something about the night Amy disappeared? About last night?
Even as a shiver of fear raced up Amy’s spine, her mind rejected the notion that Jasmine had tried to kill her. They were sisters. She wouldn’t do such a thing. She was just upset, and at the very least, Amy owed her an explanation.
The twilight was warm. A light mist crept over the river, and where moonlight touched the surface, the water shimmered like an opal. Amy hurried across the bridge, resisting the temptation to constantly glance over her shoulder. Invisible eyes seemed to watch her from the gathering darkness, and she told herself she was a fool for venturing out.
In less than ten minutes, she was at Amberly, but Jasmine was nowhere in sight, and her car wasn’t in the driveway.
Letting herself into the house, Amy started toward the stairs, hoping her sister might be in her bedroom. But as she crossed the foyer, she heard voices coming from the parlor. Stepping to the doorway, she glanced inside.
The room seemed crowded with people. James Birdsong and Fay sat side by side on the sofa, while Mena perched on the edge of Lottie’s chair. All four expressions were almost identical masks of apprehension. A man wearing a brown uniform leaned against the fireplace, and another man stood at the window, his back to Amy.
When Amy moved into the room, they all turned to stare at her in stunned silence before Lottie jumped to her feet. She came toward Amy, her blue eyes clouded with worry. “Amber! Oh, my heavens, we’ve been so worried about you.”
Amy stared at her stepmother in confusion. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll try to explain everything to you later, but right now, I need to find Jasmine. Have you seen her?”
Lottie blinked. “Jasmine? She’s out looking for you.”
“Looking for me—”
Amy broke off abruptly as her gaze traveled over Lottie’s shoulder. The man at the window turned to face her, and she gasped. “Reece!”
He hurried across the room to her side. “Amy! Thank God you’re all right. I’ve been going out of my mind with worry.”
“I’m…fine.” Shaken, Amy glanced at the sheriff, then back up at Reece. “What are you doing here?”
His mouth tightened as he stared down at her. “Evidently, there’s a lot going on around here. I can’t believe I let you walk into this.”
“Walk into what?”
“We’ll get to all that later,” the sheriff drawled, propping a booted foot on the hearth as he stared at Amy from across the room. His voice chilled her, but it was the cold gleam of triumph in his steely blue eyes that really frightened her.
It hit Amy in a flash that he was the same sheriff who had arrested Con all those years ago.
He pulled a grimy envelope from his pocket and held it up for her to see her name written across the front.
Amy said in shock, “That’s Nona’s letter. How did you get it?”
“Coon hunter found it in the woods last night, near Frankie Bodine’s place. He brought it into my office a little while ago.”
“We’ve all been so worried about you,” James said, adjusting his glasses with his finger. Amy couldn’t help comparing him to Reece. Both men were lawyers, but there was a world of difference in their demeanor. James was shy, hesitant, but Reece exuded confidence. Arrogance. Maybe even a streak of cruelty. Why had Amy never noticed that about him before?
Her gaze slowly moved around the room as she wondered if one of these people—Lottie, Mena, Fay, maybe even James Birdsong had tried to kill her last night.
“We need to talk to you for a few minutes alone,” the sheriff said grimly. “If you’ll excuse us.”
James rose to his feet. “I’m her attorney. I think I should stay.”
“I’m her fiancé,” Reece said coldly. “I can handle any legal question she may have.”
James looked as if he wanted to argue, but Fay tugged on his arm. She gave Amy a killing look as she passed by her. Lottie was more reluctant to leave. “Sheriff Van Horn, what’s this all about?” she asked anxiously.
Mena said softly, “Come on, Mama. Let’s give them some privacy.”
She shepherded Lottie out of the room, and then turned, her gaze meeting Amy’s briefly before the parlor door closed between them. But a look Amy couldn’t fathom flashed in Mena’s eyes.
Reece grabbed Amy’s shoulders and turned her to face him. “Are you sure you’re okay? My God, when I heard you were missing again…”
“I’m fine,” Amy said, stepping back from his grasp. “Would you please just tell me what’s going on here?”
“It’s pretty simple.” Van Horn rested his hand on the butt of his holstered weapon. “This here letter proves I was right. Someone tried to murder you nine years ago, and I expect I had the right suspect all along.”
Amy stared at him, appalled. “You think Con did that to me? You’re wrong, Sheriff. Dead wrong.”
“Am I?” His gaze narrowed on her. Beside her, Reece took her arm. Amy suddenly wanted to shake off his hand, but she stood rigid, returning the sheriff’s cold glare. “Nearest I can figure, Frankie Bodine must have given this to you, probably sometime last night. Am I right?”
“Yes, but—”
“I drove out to Frankie’s this afternoon after I read this letter. I just came from there. Couldn’t find Frankie anywhere, but his place had been sacked pretty good and I found a lot of blood out in the woods.” Van Horn took a pouch from his pocket, and pinched tobacco between his thumb and forefinger. Then he stuffed it in his jaw. “Someone got to Frankie. Maybe someone looking for this letter, or maybe someone who figured he knew more than he was telling.”
“It wasn’t Con,” Amy said flatly, realizing suddenly how he must have felt all those years ago, trying to explain himself when no one would listen to him, least of all a thickheaded sheriff with a penchant for jumping to conclusions. “Frankie was shot last night. I saw him.”
“Did you see who did it?”
“No, but I know it wasn’t Con.”
“The way I see it,” Van Horn continued, as if Amy hadn’t spoken, “Sullivan figured out that Frankie was the one to pull you out of the river that night. He was worried Frankie might have seen something. He followed you out there last night, Frankie surprised him and the two of them scuffled. I wouldn’t be surprised if Frankie didn’t inflict some damage himself before Sullivan shot him. We found rankie’s hunting knife in the woods, and there was blood on it. Frankie always was good with a knife.”
Amy shook her head, pushing away doubts that started to burn inside her. But suddenly she had an image of Con on the bridge last night, waiting for her. The muddy boots. The high-powered rifle. And later, when he’d come home from looking for Frankie, his arm was bandaged.
She wouldn’t listen to this. She wouldn’t believe any of them. She wouldn’t betray Con by turning on him. “You’re wrong about this. About everything. Why would Con want to hurt me? He—”
“Loves you?” Reece asked softly.
Amy turned to face him. He looked down at her with a wounded gaze. “I know all about the two of you, Amy. The way it was between you back then. You wanted to hurt your father that summer so you started running around with a hoodlum.”
“How would you know?” Amy defended. “You don’t know anything about him.”
“And how much do you really know about him?” Reece’s voice hardened. “He’s been lying to you, Amy. He’s deceived you ever since you came back here.”
A chill shivered up her backbone, but Amy refused to give in to it. She crossed her arms, glaring up at Reece. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about this.” He pulled a document from his pocket and handed it to her.
She glanced at the paper doubtfully. “What is this?”
“It’s a copy of a court order presuming death. Your death, Amy. Con’s had you declared legally dead.”
You’re dead, Amber. You just don’t know it yet.
Amy gasped. Fear shot through her heart like an arrow. “I don’t believe you. Why would he do—?”
“Because he wants something you’ve got,” Reece said. “And the only way he can get it is for you to be dead.”
A tiny bubble of hysteria rose inside her. “What are you talking about? What does he want?”
Reece paused. “He wants Amberly. Evidently, Jasmine has been receptive to his offer. They’ve signed a contract.”
Amy gazed at the paper in her hand, trying to find something in the legal wording that would contradict Reece’s claim. But the writing blurred before her eyes. Why hadn’t Con told her?
She lifted trembling fingers to her lips. “He wouldn’t do this. Not behind my back. He would have told me.” When Reece remained silent, Amy cried, “Why didn’t anyone else tell me, then?”
Reece shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t know. Once the judge signed the order, all Con had to do was run an ad—a tiny ad—in a local newspaper, so that any interested party could come forward to object to the granting of the final order. It’s a pretty forthright procedure.”
Like a strobe, another image flashed through Amy’s mind. Con, in Mena’s office yesterday. Mena had been so embarrassed and flustered to see Amy. It made sense now, if she knew what Con was up to. If she was a party to it somehow.
“Why?” she whispered, almost to herself.
Reece moved toward her, staring down at her urgently. “Don’t you understand? Amberly is symbolic to him. Think about it, Amy. He thought he’d killed you nine years ago. Imagine how he must have been haunted by your memory. What better way to exorcise your ghost than to destroy the place he most associated with you?”
This place has always evoked strong feelings.
Con’s own words came back to taunt her.
As if sensing her vulnerability, Reece said
, “You were almost run off the road the other day, Amy. You could have been killed. Who do you think was in that truck?”
Amy gasped. “How did you know about that?”
Something flashed in Reece’s eyes. A look of regret that he had to be the one to tell her. “The sheriff must have mentioned it to me.”
“He didn’t know. I never reported it.”
“Lottie or one of the twins, then.” Reece dismissed her question impatiently. “What does it matter? The point is, you can’t trust Sullivan.”
Amy didn’t think she could trust anyone. A black suspicion took form inside her. How had Reece known about that truck?
She looked up at him. “How did you find out about all of this? How long have you been here?”
“I just got here this morning. When I found out you were missing—”
Amy cut him off with a look. “You’ve had a private investigator down here, haven’t you? After I asked you not to.”
“I couldn’t let you come down here alone. My God, Amy, think about it. You disappeared that night without a trace. No one knew what happened to you. For all I knew, you could be walking into a dangerous situation.”
“For all you knew,” she said slowly. “And you knew a lot, didn’t you, Reece? You knew the truth about my past, even before I did.”
“You’re not making any sense. I know you’re frightened—”
“I’m making perfect sense,” Amy said coldly. “You had me investigated months ago, didn’t you? You knew I was Amber Tremain.”
Guilt flickered in his eyes before he had time to conceal it. He reached for her, but Amy jerked away from him. “You set this all up, didn’t you? The woman who approached me in the restaurant—that was your doing. There’s no such thing as coincidence.”
His jaw set in an angry line. “What was I supposed to do? Marry you without knowing what I might be getting?” As if realizing he’d said too much, he looked at her in supplication. “Please try to understand.”
“Oh, I do understand,” Amy told him. “You knew I was about to back out from our wedding. You thought if my past started coming back to haunt me, I’d rush to you for protection. I’d go through with the marriage, and you’d not only get me, but half of Amberly.”
Her Secret Past Page 17
