Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1

by Lisa Phillips

  “Andra.”

  She kept struggling.

  “Andra, stop.”

  “They—” She choked.

  “I know. Calm down.” He dipped his head so he could see her face. Her eyes were on the row of photos tacked to the wall across from them. She sucked in another breath and coughed. What sounded like a moan came from her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut.

  “I’m going to let go of you now.” He released her and she stepped back, her body still shifting.

  “You’re not going to put handcuffs on her?”

  John looked at Palmer, who blanched the same color as the paper in his hands.

  “She’s going into custody, right? You should put cuffs on her. I know she’s just a woman but she’s a dangerous fugitive.”

  “Palmer—”

  He took down another paper. “Everyone’s waiting for justice, Sheriff. Aren’t you going to take her into custody?”

  “Did she murder Betty?”

  “She’s a murderer. You see this, right?” He shook the papers in front of him. “An assassin. No one was expecting this. But it proves it, doesn’t it? She has to be the one who killed Betty. Who else would have done it?”

  “Palmer.”

  Did he really think they were going to have this conversation in front of a room full of people? Or that he was going to talk John into arresting her?

  “What’s more important right now is the breach of Ms. Caleri’s confidentiality.”

  It didn’t feel like that, though. John’s chest hurt like something was tearing. An assassin? It was hardly believable the woman who’d served Aaron and Pat lemonade could be a cold blooded killer.

  “I’m just sayin’.”

  John clenched his jaw. “I know what you’re saying, Palmer.”

  “I need to go.” Andra’s voice was small and full of pain.

  John turned and saw the brokenness in her eyes. He wanted to reach out, but he had to stay impartial. Professional.

  “I need to go.”

  Hurt warred with determination on her face. Then her chin lifted, resigned to whatever was going to happen. She was going to face it with grace.

  John stared at her. She’d really thought she could hide this from them all, forever? Was she hoping for more mercy? Not likely. Eventually mercy ran out and consequences stepped in.

  “You can’t leave.” John kept his eyes on her while Palmer moved down the wall. “You have to stay here and face this. No more hiding up in your cabin.”

  Her eyes widened.

  The door flung open and slammed against the wall. The mayor pushed through people, shoving everyone out of the way to get to John and Andra. “Where is she?” The minute he saw Andra, Samuel Collins stopped. “You killed her.” His voice was a whisper. “You killed my wife.”

  Andra flinched like she’d been struck. “I didn’t kill Betty.”

  “Don’t you say her name,” the mayor screamed. “You don’t get to say her name!”

  John moved to the mayor. “Samuel, let’s take a minute and sit.” He took hold of the mayor’s bicep to lead him away.

  The muscle flexed and he shook John’s grip away. John reached for him again but the mayor shook him off. His elbow swung back and slammed John in the face. John blinked and the mayor had Andra.

  “Samuel.” John’s voice boomed as he blinked away the blurry vision. His forehead was pounding. “Let her go, now.”

  The mayor swung her around and Andra cried out. “You should arrest her!”

  “That’s not how this works.” John took a breath. “Let her go. This isn’t a show. And you don’t make the rules.”

  He wanted to reach out a hand and have Andra take it, to pull her away from these people and guard her from their accusations. But they were right, weren’t they? An assassin. How easy it must have been for Andra to slip that knife into Betty Collins. She probably figured one more kill wouldn’t matter. No one would know enough about her to accuse her and she’d be able to go back to her cabin, safe in the knowledge that she got away with it.

  The door opened again and more people filed in, talking. Someone gasped.

  Andra struggled to move but the mayor held onto her.

  “Samuel, let her go.”

  “So you can arrest her, right?”

  John wasn’t going to lie. It was looking like she did it, but it wasn’t conclusive. Everything on these walls concerned what happened more than a decade ago. Before Andra had arrived here.

  “Let her go.”

  Palmer set down his stack of papers. One wall was clear. He strode over and stood at a right angle to John, between him and where the mayor held Andra. “Give her to me, Collins. I’ll take her from here.”

  John didn’t let it grate him too much that the man obeyed Palmer instead. The two of them might be wearing the same uniform but it was one sheriff’s office. They were a team.

  Until Palmer pulled out his handcuffs.

  “Hold up.” John took Andra, pulling her to a chair. He motioned her to sit. She didn’t. He wouldn’t either. It was a vulnerable position that reminded him entirely too much of being at Alphonz’s mercy.

  The crowd was still there. John made eye contact with as many of them as he could in a sweep. “It’s time for you folks to leave.”

  No one moved.

  John put his arm out, ushered Terrence and the other guy toward the crowd and then bodily moved all of them to the door until they funneled out. He shut the door and locked it. “Get all these papers down, Palmer. Now.”

  Andra stood with her fingers linked in front of her. Arms straight and tight to her sides. Her face registered only shock as she took in the contents of her file. Her gaze hit the photos again and she winced, pausing on the image of a man. Were those her victims? John didn’t know what to say. His stomach churned, full of coffee and not much else.

  Palmer and the mayor shared a look—what was that about?—then the deputy sauntered to the nearest paper-covered wall and resumed taking down the contents of Andra’s file.

  John looked at the mayor. “You should head home. I’ll update you later as to the status of my investigation into your wife’s murder.”

  “I want this woman arrested.”

  Sometimes we don’t get what we want.

  John didn’t think that would go down well. He needed a statement from Andra first. And then he had to speak with Justice Simmons about the evidence. There wasn’t enough for an arrest warrant, not yet. But he did need to interview her.

  The door shut behind the mayor.

  John motioned Andra to the door. “Let’s go.”

  “You’re really arresting me.” She sounded resigned.

  “We’re going to talk at my office. I’m not handcuffing you and I’m not reading you your rights.”

  “But you think I killed Betty Collins.”

  “Because you did.” Palmer’s voice drifted over even though he was facing away from them, which meant John caught the slice of pain that flashed on Andra’s face.

  She held his gaze with her big brown eyes and whispered, “I didn’t kill her.”

  Could he trust that? Maybe she knew exactly what those eyes looked like when she looked up at him. He could almost imagine falling into them so deep he didn’t know what was coming until it was too late. She was mesmerizing. Why hadn’t he seen that? He’d just assumed quiet little Andra Caleri wasn’t capable of hurting anyone, when the reality was so far from what he’d figured it was astounding.

  He turned away. “Walk with me.”

  **

  Andra forced her gaze up to the shoulder seam of John’s sheriff shirt. He opened the door of the Meeting House and stepped aside. The crowd he’d removed from inside was congregated around the door, standing in the bright sunlight. Andra squinted, hating that she was forced to show weakness even if it was only from something as innocuous as the light outside.

  John’s hand settled on the small of her back and she flinched. The lady closest to her squealed
and jumped back. Andra glared at her and the people around the lady came to her aid, staring wide-eyed at Andra.

  Like she was going to hurt any of them.

  Like she’d ever killed anyone because she felt something at all for them—anger, obsession, hurt, pleasure. None of those emotions had any connection to the things she’d done.

  Not after the first time.

  It had only been about doing a job. One she did for the sake of owning her own life and never for the money—which hadn’t been that good.

  John opened the sheriff’s office door. Andra looked back. All their eyes were on her still—white-hot blades of hatred she could imagine flying from their gazes to her, their poisoned arrows sinking into her flesh. She didn’t blame them. Those were the choices she had made.

  It wasn’t lost on Andra she could have been a waitress, or a librarian or a teacher. Whatever she could have chosen, for some reason at eighteen she hadn’t gone that direction. Instead she’d been pulled into a world she never imagined existed and then made the decision to stay there. For five years.

  Sixteen kills.

  The first had been a crime of passion done in the heat of the moment. Kill or be killed. Then Sheila became part of her life and there were eight more jobs that made her name.

  Enough the CIA found her and offered her a contract. Seven more for the U.S. government took her to the finale, the pinnacle of a career which left her pregnant with a dead husband.

  Flying to Washington and offering the government all the knowledge she’d amassed hadn’t been hard at all. Not even with the accusations, the recriminations and the distrust they showed her until she proved her information was worth what she was asking for. Never mind that she’d already been working for them for a year. It still hadn’t been hard, not compared to everything she’d already done. Killing hadn’t gotten easier each time she did it. That was a lie.

  Andra took one look at the open door to the jail cell and swallowed. John pulled a chair over from the other desk—Palmer’s—and said, “Sit.”

  Andra settled. Was she supposed to talk first? What was he thinking? Was he regretting spending time with her now he knew who she really was?

  John folded his arms, his mouth pressed closed like he was saying everything he needed to say just by looking at her. Was she supposed to read his mind?

  He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Took a breath.

  For crying out loud. “I told you I didn’t kill Betty Collins. I wasn’t lying.”

  “I need proof what you’re saying is true, otherwise I’m never going to get the town to believe you didn’t do it.”

  “Why do you think I kept the past to myself?”

  Nadia Marie knew enough. She could vouch for Andra, although not enough to provide her with a solid alibi. They hadn’t been together the night of Betty Collins’ death, since Nadia had been caught up with Bolton at the time.

  “I’m beginning to understand that.”

  He wasn’t going to give her anything? Not even a simple, “I can see you’re not that person anymore”? She’d thought it was obvious she was different now. Everything about her was different.

  What was she supposed to say? The truth was, if she had killed Betty then John wouldn’t have had to clean up such a big mess. But Andra didn’t think saying that was going to help. Knives weren’t her style, not after the first time.

  She held his gaze with her own. “I haven’t killed anyone in a decade.”

  Not since she’d given birth. It wasn’t much as far as recompense for what she’d done. But it had been a turning point.

  John gave her a look. Guess that didn’t help, either. He would think differently if he’d been here for any length of time. There were plenty of instances she’d figured murder would be justified, given the people who lived in this town. It was like they wanted to make her angry. But Andra didn’t kill because the person made her mad, otherwise she probably would have killed Harriet Fenton a long time ago.

  “What am I supposed to do now?”

  Andra linked her fingers on her lap, squeezing until her body quit shaking. “You mean, now that I’ve been tried and convicted in the court of public opinion?”

  “You’re going to have to give me something.”

  “Like a killer? Because someone needs to take the fall for Betty’s murder and clearly it’s going to be me. Unless I can do your job for you, that is.”

  John straightened in his chair. “You want me to arrest you and let you get flown off to serve a life sentence?”

  “Of course not.” Andra stood. “You think I’m going to let you arrest me?” She smirked. “I’d like to see you try. I’ll be gone so fast you won’t even know until you come looking.”

  “You’re standing here right now.”

  Andra folded her arms. “You have no warrant. I might be a killer, but I’m not stupid.”

  Nadia Marie rushed in the door and put both hands out in front of her. “Don’t say anything. I’m your lawyer.”

  Chapter 16

  Princess Leia stood in the doorway. Just without the circles of braided hair. John sighed. “And you are?”

  She narrowed her brown eyes at him. “Nadia Marie.”

  The alibi. Right.

  Andra didn’t seem surprised at the intrusion. “Cariña, you are not my lawyer.”

  “Well, you need one.” She planted her hand on one hip and her short jacket flared. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you get thrown to the wolves.”

  Palmer strode in with a mish-mash pile of papers. He dumped it all on John’s desk. “I’m out. Need anything?”

  “Nothing I can think of.” His stomach rumbled.

  Palmer smirked. “I’ll grab two specials for you and Pat and bring them back over.”

  “Thanks. That would be great.”

  John checked his watch. How much longer was Pat going to be out riding his bike?

  John waited until Palmer left and then glanced at the two women. Why the look? It seemed something unsaid was being passed between them. Because of Palmer?

  “Something you ladies want to share?”

  Nadia Marie’s spine snapped straight and her face flashed with guilt.

  It was Andra who said, “No.”

  If they didn’t want to share he could hardly pry it out of them. John pulled out his notepad and looked at Nadia. “Where were you at around nine-thirty, Saturday night?”

  If she’d been with Andra close enough to the time of the murder, John could calculate how far from the body she was and how much time it would take to get from one place to the other. It could potentially prove Andra couldn’t have had time to do it.

  Nadia Marie reacted immediately. “Busy.”

  John waited but she didn’t elaborate. “Maybe I should get your fingerprints also, since we’re all here.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I was talking with someone.”

  “And this person can verify your whereabouts?”

  Nadia Marie pouted. “I was with Bolton Farrera, taking their team flag. You’ll have to ask him.”

  “You’re team C as well?”

  She nodded.

  “Where did you go after you spoke with him?”

  “To meet up with Andra. She was already at Hal’s radio station when I got there around nine-fifty.”

  John sighed. That meant Andra had been close enough to town to have time to kill Betty between when he saw her in Dan’s barn and when she met up with Nadia. It also meant she could be the woman the two young guys who found Betty had seen running away. In the right direction to make it not look good for Andra at all, if she’d been heading to Hal’s in time to meet Nadia.

  John stood, motioning to Dotty’s chair. He pulled out a fingerprint kit and worked through both of them, getting full sets of prints. He’d have to load them onto his computer and compare the images with the latent partial he’d taken from the knife handle in order to try and confirm or disprove their involvement.


  He sat back down, locking his gaze on Andra. “I take it Nadia knows about your past?”

  She nodded.

  “Actually, it’s Nadia-Marie. As in, Nadia-Marie Carleigh.”

  “Okay then, Ms. Carleigh.”

  She smirked. “To answer your question, yes. I know about Andra’s career. Not the gory details, just the highlights.”

  He turned back to Andra. “How do you get into that? What makes a young woman become an assassin?” She didn’t speak, so John added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  Only her mouth moved. She didn’t react in any other way. “Maybe I do mind.”

  “This is a murder investigation. And right now you’re the chief suspect.”

  “She didn’t do it,” Nadia Marie said. “She’s innocent.”

  That was debatable. Andra must have seen it on his face because she turned to her friend. “He doesn’t believe that. He believes what everyone else does, that I’m a stone cold killer.”

  Nadia Marie looked like she was about to cry. “That’s not true.”

  “I know, Cariña,” Andra said. “And the fact you believe that counts for everything.”

  The other woman shot up. “I have to go.” She dashed from the sheriff’s office, almost colliding with Palmer coming back.

  The deputy set a cardboard take-out container on John’s desk and smirked at Andra. “Killers don’t get meals.”

  “They actually do, Palmer.”

  The deputy’s lip curled. He sat in the waiting area and took out a burger from his own box. “Did she confess yet?” He took a huge bite. Grilled onion and mushrooms spilled out, landing in the box he was holding under his chin like a bib.

  Andra sat completely still, like she was made of marble. Did nothing faze her? The only time he’d seen a reaction was with Nadia Marie. They must be close. He’d guess Nadia had simply worn down Andra’s defenses. Was that the key to getting through to her? John decided to file it away for later use—if he could figure out this mess.

  “Well, did she?”

  “No, Palmer. We’re still talking.” He glanced at her and she gave him a slight nod. “Andra was about to tell me how she got into that career.”

  “Who cares? Once a killer, always a killer.”