The Alvarez & Pescoli Series

by Lisa Jackson

  “I go by Kacey.”

  “Kacey, then.”

  Clarissa said, “She’s Maribelle Collins’s daughter with Dad.”

  Thane lifted a shoulder. “You said so on your message.”

  “Well, there’s more.” Clarissa pinned Kacey under her sharp gaze again. “She’s got some screwball theory that Dad, who, it turns out, was a sperm donor in med school, has a bunch of ‘kids’ ”—she made air quotes with those long, red-tipped fingers—“and they’re being knocked off in some diabolical scheme. Why she, Acacia, felt compelled to bring this to us is the big mystery and why we’re all here.”

  “Is that so?” Thane said, an amused twist to his thin lips. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, his hair still wet from melting snow, he didn’t bother hiding the fact that he found the situation either ludicrous, funny, or a bit of both.

  “Essentially, yes,” Kacey said. “The pictures on the table are of women I think were fathered by Gerald. They’re all recently dead, probably murdered.”

  “I know this one!” Thane suddenly said, pointing out Shelly Bonaventure. “I saw her in a film years ago.”

  “You and one other person,” Clarissa snarked.

  Thane frowned. “I thought she committed suicide.”

  “That’s the official version,” Kacey said.

  “So is the official version untrue?” Judd asked. “Is that what the police are saying?”

  “Not the L.A. police, but the local sheriff’s department, and these women”—she indicated the pictures of Elle Alexander and Jocelyn Wallis—“are from around here. Jocelyn and Shelly were born in Helena, and I’m double-checking about Elle.”

  “Just because people resemble each other doesn’t mean they’re related,” Cam said.

  “Have the police connected the deaths? Are they considered homicides?” Judd wanted to know.

  Robert agreed. “I doubt it. If the police had put this all together the way she has, then they would be here instead of her.” His eyes never left Kacey’s face, and she felt it, the hatred burning there. Somehow she’d stepped her foot into waters he’d claimed as his, and Robert Lindley didn’t like it.

  Nor did anyone, it seemed.

  The discussion heated up, with every one of Gerald’s kids expressing skepticism about Kacey and her theory. They were, for the most part, suspicious, expecting her to make demands, she supposed. While Clarissa was hostile and Cameron biting in his comments, Judd was solemn, the one who, though distrustful, listened while she spoke, his questions pointed, but without the same harsh judgment as his sister or Robert Lindley.

  Thane didn’t say a lot, was probably the most welcoming as he quietly observed the sometimes volatile exchanges. Sometimes a smile would tug at a corner of his mouth, but beneath his laid-back, I-don’t-give-a-damn exterior, there was a restlessness to him. He, too, doubted her.

  Robert continued to vent. “This is a ridiculous idea,” he said, impaling her with his cold gaze. “How would anyone know if these women were Gerald’s? Without DNA testing, or some kind of private information leaked from the clinic, how would a killer even know who to choose?”

  “More to the point, why?” Judd asked.

  Gerald took the floor again. “The clinic’s been closed for years. Who knows where the records went?” Though his children listened to him, they all had their opinions about Kacey and what she’d brought to them.

  None of them liked it.

  She felt their resentment coming off in waves, and for a few minutes even she doubted her own theory.

  “What have the police got to say about this?” Cameron asked her, and she felt every eye in the room turn her way.

  “They’re investigating. That’s all I know.”

  “So, they’ll show up here, too!” Clarissa made a disparaging sound. “Just what we need. Now that the patents have expired, we’ve got competition crawling up our backs, and what we don’t need is some bad publicity, any reason for our clients to take their business elsewhere!”

  “This has nothing to do with business,” Gerald said. “It’s personal.”

  “Tell that to the Internet and the blogs and the local newspaper. This is a publicity nightmare.”

  “I thought all publicity was good, that there was no bad press,” Cameron said.

  “Yeah, well, you’re a moron.” Clarissa didn’t back down for an instant. A businesswoman with a master’s from Stanford, firstborn in a family of male siblings, she was definitely tough.

  Colt straightened in his chair. Rather than come to his twin’s defense, he turned the conversation back to the women who had died. “Are there any other victims?”

  “I think so,” Kacey said but couldn’t back it up.

  Judd put in, “The first order of business is the DNA tests. We can sit here all day and argue theory, but until we can prove that these women”—he thumped a finger on the table, next to the photographs—“are actually Dad’s biological offspring, then all other conversation is moot.”

  “Judd’s got a point,” Colt agreed.

  The rest of his siblings weren’t so inclined to agree and were vocal about the fact that they thought Kacey had come to stir up trouble, make a claim on the estate, or both.

  “So what was the point of coming here? To check us out? Or warn us . . . or accuse us?” Cameron asked. “I don’t get it.”

  “There’s nothing to get,” Clarissa said with a scowl. “She knows about the company.”

  “That’s not it,” Kacey said clearly. “I felt you all should know that someone may be killing off people with a genetic link to you.”

  “And who would that be? Who would go to the trouble of finding Gerald’s supposed sperm-bank babies and then killing them off in apparent accidents?” Clarissa said as she slid her laptop into its case. “That’s nuts. Makes you sound like you should check yourself into the nearest psycho ward.”

  “Hold on,” Gerald said. “Let’s not get nasty.”

  “Does Clarissa know another way?” Cameron asked. “If so, I’ve never seen it.”

  “Enough!” Judd cut in, his anxiety finally showing. “We don’t need to insult each other.” He turned in his chair so he could watch Kacey’s expression. “So, you wanted to forewarn us.”

  Her stomach knotting still tighter, she brought her temper under control. “I did want to meet you, too. I was curious about the father I’d never known, and since I grew up an only child, the idea of siblings fascinated me.”

  Clarissa shook her head, as if she had much more important things to deal with and Kacey was wasting her time.

  Colt and Judd were quiet, listening.

  Cam looked bored, and Robert’s jaw was so tense, the bone showed white beneath his skin. Gerald, too, was feeling the pressure, putting up a good, patient front, but one fist was clenched on the table and his lips were flat over his teeth.

  Kacey said, “The reason I found out about you all is because there were so many women who looked like me in and around Grizzly Falls. I never met anyone who resembled me remotely when I lived in Seattle, but I move here and it’s like they’re everywhere. Two ... three ... four. It’s really out of the norm. I wouldn’t have even thought about Shelly Bonaventure. Even though I’ve seen her face, noted that we resembled each other, she lived in L.A. Just a quirky little coincidence, right? That’s how I saw it, even when people made comments. But the others . . .” She looked at the photographs on the table. “They were what motivated me.” She explained about being mistaken for Jocelyn Wallis in the ER and how Shelly Bonaventure was her doppelgänger, and how worried she became when they started dying. Intuitively Kacey left out the part about her house being bugged, or that she felt she’d been followed. Already some of them thought she wasn’t playing with a full deck; she didn’t want them to consider her completely paranoid.

  When she finished, Clarissa, a pissy expression twisting her features, said, “So what now? You’ve come. You’ve met us. Introduced yourself to Dad. Messed up our mother’s life imme
asurably, especially concerning that she’d never really accepted Robert as our half brother.”

  Robert glowered a bit but didn’t argue.

  Clarissa went on, “I suppose you’re going to want to hire on with the company, here, along with the rest of us. Or are you planning to come over for Christmas dinner? That might be interesting in an absurd way.”

  “More than a little,” Cameron added.

  Kacey stood. “All I wanted was validation, I guess. To find out a little more about myself and let the rest of you know what’s going on, that people related to Gerald Johnson are dying.”

  “Still just a theory,” Robert reminded.

  She turned her attention to him, the one most like her, not really part of the family. “I really don’t have anything else to say. Contrary to what you think,” she added, looking directly at Clarissa, “I do have a life. My own life and it’s pretty good. I’d just like to keep it that way.”

  She was about to walk out when a knock sounded on the door the moment before it was pushed open. A tall man, probably six-two or three, poked his head inside. Handsome, with bladed features and eyes a shocking blue, he looked around the room, his gaze landing on Clarissa.

  “I thought we were meeting with the builder this afternoon,” he said, obviously displeased.

  “Family emergency.” Clarissa’s lips were tight, but she gathered her things together, zipping her laptop’s case.

  Gerald added, “It’ll just be a minute more, Lance.”

  Lance? As in the husband Clarissa would “eviscerate” if he was ever caught cheating? That would be quite a feat, Kacey thought, as this man looked tough as nails. Maybe tougher. Like someone who bow hunted and rock climbed and participated in Ironman competitions just for fun. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his large frame and not the hint of a smile in his even features.

  Kacey headed to the boardroom closet, where she’d hung her coat. “I’m done,” she said to no one in particular as she slipped her arms through her sleeves. “You can keep those photos,” she said. Lance, eyeing her speculatively, gave her a wide berth as she walked through the door and into the maze of hallways connecting the rooms and buildings of Gerald Johnson’s empire.

  It was really just a company, after all, she thought, but the way her siblings acted about it, the corporation could just as well have been called GJ’s Holy Roman Empire rather than G. Johnson, Inc.

  She felt slightly tired. Nothing really had been accomplished today, except that now Gerald and his children were more than two-dimensional pictures on the Internet to her; they were real, and she felt as if she understood them a little more, which wasn’t all good.

  But at least they now knew of her and of her mission. She’d warned them, though she wasn’t certain any of them were targets. Briefly, she wondered if one of them could be the person who had bugged her house, or possibly even the killer, but it seemed unlikely. Even if the man central to the mystery were Gerald Johnson.

  Clarissa was right about one thing; she’d certainly stirred up a hornet’s nest. No telling what would come of it, but she doubted there would be any family ties established.

  “What’d you expect?” she asked herself as she walked along the pathway to her car. Her boots sunk into an inch and a half of new snow. Had she really thought she’d be welcomed with open arms? Or that she’d be able to pick out which of Gerald’s biological children was crazy enough to commit murder?

  And why would that be?

  Or were the individuals she’d left arguing in the conference room targets themselves?

  Blaming her sour stomach on a severe case of nerves, she climbed into her SUV, put the Edge into gear, and backed out of her parking space. A few minutes later she called Detective Alvarez and left a message that she was on her way home. Then she phoned Trace and told him the same thing. Then she asked about Eli. Trace said he was coughing, still a little listless, but definitely improving. The neighbor had come over and was “keeping the boy company” while Trace did the chores. When Kacey was assured that all was as well as it could be with Eli, she launched into the tale of where she’d been and whom she’d seen.

  When she was finished, Trace said, “I wish you’d told me where you were going. Sounds like a nest of snakes.”

  “Vipers,” she corrected, and he chuckled, the sound warming her from the inside out. “I just needed to meet him by myself.” After spending part of the afternoon under the icy scrutiny of her half siblings, it was a relief to be talking to a man who seemed to trust her, care for her.

  “Do you want me there tonight?”

  “No, I’ll let Detective Alvarez and the rest of them take care of it.”

  “I can be there. If Tilly will stay with Eli, I’ll meet you at your house. If you want me to.”

  From the background an older woman’s voice yelled, “You don’t have to twist my arm, Trace. It’s time I showed this young’un a thing or two about checkers!”

  “I want you to,” Kacey said.

  “See you soon,” he said into the phone.

  “Okay.” Again her silly heart soared, and again Kacey reminded herself to keep her feet on the ground, her head out of the clouds. Two weeks ago she hadn’t even met Trace O’Halleran or his adorable son.

  Two weeks ago her life had been normal. In a rut. Then women who looked like her started dying.

  Now, at least, with Trace on her side, she wasn’t fighting this battle alone.

  As she turned off of the main highway toward Grizzly Falls, she glanced in her rearview mirror, glad to see no one appeared to be following her through these snowy hills. Turning on the radio, she was relieved to be leaving the sick tangle that was her newfound family far behind.

  CHAPTER 31

  Calm down.

  Pretend nothing’s wrong.

  So the bitch went to Gerald? So what?

  It was inevitable. As are the police.

  And things are only going to get worse when they find the other one....

  Glancing down at the screen of his GPS tracking system, he realized that Acacia had driven home from Gerald’s company in Missoula, which was exactly what he’d expected. And yet he couldn’t help but worry, his hands sweating in gloves, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he thought of everything that could go wrong.

  He’d been so diligent....

  He was on the move again. There was just so much to do, and time was his enemy.

  He’d switched license plates on the truck, just in case, putting on the set of stolen Idaho plates.

  His windshield wipers wiped off the snow as he thought about yesterday and how he’d surprised another one. She had been cross-country skiing on a trail that was one of her usual haunts. He’d had to wait several days in the empty parking lot, hoping she would appear.

  Finally, yesterday, as he’d pretended to be checking his own equipment, the nose of her Honda had appeared. After she’d parked, she’d geared up and he’d offered a hand in greeting as she’d snapped on her skis and taken off.

  He’d waited until she was around the bend and through a copse of pine before he’d taken off after her, his strides strong and swift. She was athletic, and he was surprised how long it had taken to catch up to her, but he’d kept her red jacket in his line of vision until she’d started up the incline that ran along the creek.

  He’d accelerated then, pushing himself, feeling the cold wind permeate his ski mask as it rattled the trees.

  Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh!

  His skis skimmed over the thick powder.

  He dug his poles into the soft snow with smooth, sure regularity and gained on her.

  She was thirty feet ahead of him and gliding through the sparse stands, her skis smooth near the creek bank, the wires from her iPod now visible.

  Twenty feet.

  Up another short incline. Perfect.

  He dug in, pushing harder.

  Sweating.

  Closing the distance between them.

  Ten feet.

&nb
sp; Behind his ski mask, he grinned. She hadn’t heard him, didn’t know he was following. So into her music and the beauty of the fresh snow in the wilderness, or some such crap, she skied innocently.

  Unaware.

  Closer still.

  Now the tips of his skis were nearly touching the backs of hers. They were heading into a thicker grove, where birch and pine quivered with the wind. One gnarly pine, with a thick trunk and several broken branches, caught his eye.

  Perfect!

  As she curved around the bend in the creek, he pulled up beside her. They were skiing two abreast.

  She caught a glimpse of him because, just as the tree with its broken branches loomed, she flinched. She turned her head, eyes round in fear, mouth pulled back to scream, as he shoved her.

  Hard.

  Into the rotting pine.

  Now, as he remembered the horror on her face, the sickening sound of her body slamming into the bark, the thud of her head cracking against that jagged, protruding broken branch, he grinned again.

  One less Unknowing walking the earth.

  And now, he thought, bringing himself up to the minute, he would take care of the one he should have dealt with years before. His scar seemed to throb as the wipers swatted away the snow and some inane Christmas song rolled through the speakers.

  “Three Kings, my ass,” he muttered, and he felt that little zing sizzle through his blood, that spark of anticipation, as he thought of what was to come.

  Acacia.

  God, he’d like to fuck her. Just to show her what he could do ... Then again, he’d settle for killing her. Watching her eyes widen in surprise when she recognized him, seeing her pupils dilate in terror, witnessing her understanding that he would snuff the life from her.

  He felt his cock twitch and stiffen. With a moan, he let out his breath slowly, loosening his fingers as they gripped the wheel. He had to park out of sight again and snowshoe in, which was perfect, and the falling snow would make an excellent cover, get rid of his tracks.

  Smiling, he drove into the foothills.

  He knew just the right spot.

  “So that’s it?” Alvarez said into the hands-free device of her cell phone as she drove. “Black paint that you can buy anywhere?”