If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Shiloh Walker

  Weary, he slid into his chair and rubbed his eyes. Coffee. Damn it. Should have gotten coffee before he sat down.

  Too late now. He was going to make some headway on the messages he knew would be waiting for him before he got the damn coffee. The coffee would be the reward.

  He opened his eyes and sure enough, there were messages.

  Reports. One preliminary report—his eyes narrowed on that one and he grabbed it, but before he could start reading, a shadow fell across his desk.

  He looked up, expecting Ms. Tuttle.

  He found Carter Jennings. Roz’s husband—Lena’s sort-of boss. Sort-of because he did own half of the Inn, although Roz had more of a hand in running things.

  “Hi, Carter,” he said, leaning back.

  “Hey, Sheriff.” He gave him a tired smile, leaned against the doorjamb. “You look worn out.”

  Ezra shrugged. “Late night.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Carter’s grin flashed wider now. “You’ve figured out the small-town grapevine, right? You know how many tongues are wagging right now?”

  “Probably all of them,” he said mildly. “Now ask me if I give a damn?”

  Carter chuckled. “Oh, I don’t need to. You don’t give a damn. But I’m hoping you can tell me something, anything to set Roz’s nerves at ease. She’s stressing something awful.”

  “About Lena?” He shrugged. “Look, it’s more to put my mind at ease than anything.”

  Carter looked down, sighed. “No. Not about Lena. Just about … well. Whatever’s going on.” He looked up, his blue eyes intent on Ezra’s face. “So much weird shit going on around here lately. And after last night … well, she’s just worried sick. She was after me to go talk to Hank, but I don’t want to do that, ya know?”

  “It’s not like he can tell you anything,” Ezra said, shaking his head. “Right now, there’s nothing to tell. Just let me do my job. So I have something I can tell you.”

  Carter continued to stare at him. Then he sighed, and nodded. “Okay.”

  As he turned away, Ezra leaned back, scowling.

  Not a damn thing out of either of them.

  Carter wanted to hit something, smash something. Break something.

  He couldn’t indulge, though. No, all he could do was head out to his workshop, get some work done on his projects—he had some pots that needed to be glazed today and Roz was on his ass to get some new designs in for the summer.

  He couldn’t change anything about his behavior. Even as that thought circled through his mind, he laughed shortly. Not a damn thing. Not when he was surrounded by nosy cunts, cops who were too busy listening to nosy cunts, and bastards like Law.

  Sweat trickled out from under the hairpiece he wore, to run down his neck to his spine. A cool breeze drifted across the square, one that would have felt sweet if he could have fully let himself enjoy it.

  But he couldn’t do that—couldn’t relax his guard. Climbing into his car, he shot another look at Ezra’s window. He jolted when he saw the sheriff standing there.

  Watching him.

  He waved. And absently, he wondered why the sheriff had mentioned Lena at all.

  Carter hardly ever even thought about Lena …

  Law waited until they pulled out of the driveway before he asked.

  “So what did you take?”

  Nia stiffened. Her face turned a dusky shade of pink. Her eyes, still too wide and too unfocused, went glassy. “Huh?”

  “What did you take from Roz’s desk?”

  “I didn’t take anything,” she snapped, her voice just a little too harsh, a little too defensive. She had her arms crossed over her chest, and if she hunched in any farther on herself, she might just disappear inside the seat.

  Sighing, Law said, “Bullshit. I saw you in the mirror hanging outside Roz’s office.”

  “What … you … I …” She ran out of steam and snapped her mouth closed. Thunking her head back against the seat, she sighed. In a quiet, almost desolate voice, she murmured, “It’s a bracelet.”

  “Okay.” His gut went icy and his hands went slick with sweat, but he kept his tone cool. So she’d taken a bracelet. He almost wished he could tell himself this was some latent klepto streak she’d developed under stress. But he knew better. “You want to tell me the significance of the bracelet, beautiful?”

  She licked her lips and shifted, reached inside her pocket.

  When she pulled it out, sunlight shining in through the windshield hit the diamonds and made it gleam. Somehow, Law suspected that wasn’t some JCPenney purchase. “Nice sparkly there,” he said, keeping his tone light.

  She didn’t respond, just flipped it over and studied the underside of it.

  “Pull over.”

  He shot her a glance. One look at her face had him arrowing the car for the side of the road and slamming on the brakes so hard, the car behind him laid on the horn. She barely got out the door before she started to puke.

  For my angel.

  For my angel.

  For my angel …

  The words seemed to shriek inside her mind, danced around like a horrendous, speed-induced hallucination. They had teeth, nipping and tearing at her flesh.

  For my angel … And that tiny little flash of blue.

  She moaned and leaned forward, retching.

  A gentle hand came around, supported her brow. “Easy, Nia,” Law murmured. “Just breathe. Whatever it is … we’ll get through it. Just breathe.”

  She focused on his voice—on him. So much easier than thinking about the words that mocked her and taunted her.

  That bracelet. Oh, fuck. She’d been sleeping yards away from the man who’d kidnapped, raped, and tortured her cousin—renting a bed from him …

  Another spasm of nausea hit her, doubled her over.

  It seemed like ages before it passed, before it ended.

  Her face stung and burned, and tears soaked her flesh.

  But when she went to straighten, the nausea, while it lingered, didn’t pounce on her anew. Something hard and round was pushed into her hand. Looking down, she saw a bottle of water. Puzzled, she glanced at Law. He shrugged. “Maybe I should have been a Boy Scout. I keep water in the back.”

  She nodded and twisted the top off. It helped, rinsing her mouth. She didn’t trust her belly enough to drink anything. Spitting it on the ground, she closed the bottle and then eased herself down to sit on the car’s seat, her feet still outside.

  “We need to go into town,” she said quietly. “Talk to Ezra.”

  Looking down, she stared at the bracelet she still held clutched in her hand.

  “Okay.” He knelt next to her, touched one fingertip to the glimmering piece of jewelry. “Mind telling me what this has to do with anything?”

  Sympathy glinted in his eyes as he looked up at her. “Was it Joely’s?”

  Nia shook her head. “No. I think it belonged to the woman he killed in Chicago a few months ago. Her name was Kathleen Hughes.”

  He tugged on it gently, staring at it. Then he looked at her. “Baby, this looks like it could have been bought at just about any decent jeweler’s. It looks expensive, but …”

  With a shaking hand, she reached over and turned it, exposing the inscription. And the little sapphire. “Yeah. It could have been bought at just about any decent jeweler’s. But the odds of Roz having the exact same inscription, and the exact same stone set on the inside?” Her voice shook, both with fury and fear. “No.”

  “Shit.”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  HE COULDN’T CONCENTRATE.

  Something was niggling him in the back of his mind and Ezra couldn’t focus on his work to save his life.

  Swearing, he threw his pen down and leaned back in the chair, blanking his mind. Once he did that, a face settled there. A man.

  Familiar. But … not. Something off.

  He’d seen him before—

  He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to remember.

 
; Courthouse.

  At the courthouse when Nia had been going through records. Something about him had struck him as familiar. But not.

  The eyes …

  The answer hovered just there, just right outside his reach. He could almost feel it forming, almost feel the pieces settling into place. Almost. Not quite.

  Voices intruded on his thoughts, Ms. Tuttle’s firm, insistent tones, then a low, softer voice—although no less firm, no less insistent. Accompanied by another voice, one that made Ezra scowl as he kicked his feet off the desk.

  Concentration shattered, he stood up as Law Reilly appeared in the doorway.

  “You know, the point of having a cell phone is so people can call you,” he drawled.

  Law frowned, patted his pocket. “Shit. I guess I left it home. Sorry.” Then he nudged Nia inside, shutting the door in Ms. Tuttle’s surprised—and furious—face.

  Oh, he was going to get it later, Ezra thought. Really get it—and he’d be sure to take it out on Law. When he had a chance.

  Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face. “Law, I don’t have time for this. I’m exhausted, I’ve got too much work to do, and I have to get back out to the site today.”

  “This is more important,” Law said, his voice flat.

  “More important.” Smirking, Ezra hooked his thumbs in his pockets. Absently, he shifted his weight to his right leg, taking the strain off his bad one. “Just what is more important than finding whatever clues we can that will lead us to finding a killer?”

  Law rested his hands on Nia’s shoulders. Then he looked up, focused on Ezra. “How about this … I think Nia knows who it is.”

  In that moment, a gorilla could have danced by Ezra’s window in a pink tutu and he wouldn’t have noticed. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at Nia. She had her eyes closed, and she was pale—almost ashen, her breaths coming in rapid, shallow pants. Alarming, that.

  “Nia?”

  She swallowed and looked up. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled something out—a plastic bag. She barely touched it, holding it only with the tips of her fingers, like she couldn’t bear to touch it.

  “You’re going to find fingerprints on it,” Law said. “Hers, mine … probably from other people. We found it at the Inn.”

  Nia opened her mouth to say something else, but Law’s hand shot out, caught hers, squeezed. He shook his head.

  Ezra narrowed his eyes. “What’s up, Reilly?”

  “Nothing you need to know about.”

  “Why don’t I believe that?” he muttered, shooting Law a dark look as he came out from behind the desk. He took the bag and lifted it. The second he saw what was in it, his heart sank to his knees, and then leaped up to his throat.

  The bracelet. Kathleen Hughes—

  Shit. He’d done some investigating on the girl’s death after Nia had shown him her report. Yeah, this fit the description. But still … hell, Carter bought Roz jewelry all the time.

  “It’s inscribed,” Nia said, her voice reed-thin. “I didn’t tell you that. But her boyfriend had it inscribed to her.”

  Ezra turned it over.

  For my angel.

  There was also a small blue sapphire set there.

  “It was Kathleen’s birthstone,” Nia whispered.

  Ezra looked at her, his hand tightening on the bracelet. “You said you found this at the Inn.”

  Nia nodded jerkily. She opened her mouth, but then closed it without saying anything.

  Ezra didn’t need her to say anything, though. Because just like that … those missing pieces Ezra had been searching for fell into place.

  The man he’d seen in the courthouse—he hadn’t been able to place him because he hadn’t looked right.

  Carter.

  Carter fucking Jennings. He’d looked different, because he hadn’t had any hair—bald.

  What in the holy fuck …

  “Son of a bitch, Lena’s over at the Inn,” Ezra snarled.

  * * *

  He was running out of ashes, Carter mused. He’d known he would. Couldn’t get the ashes when he didn’t have his special ingredients. He’d been hoarding what he had, but he was now just about out. Roz did love the pieces with that glaze, but what could he do?

  Sighing, he added some more copper oxide. It was going to be lovely when he was done. A deep, burnished red glaze he’d use on a few of the pieces he’d fired—one of them was an anniversary present for Roz.

  The glaze had to be perfect. He had used the last of his ashes for it, so it would be perfect. The ashes had a way of giving the pots a special gleam … like they glowed with some inner spark. A soul.

  After leaving the sheriff’s department, he’d come here. He’d been tempted to amble around town and see if he could learn anything. In the end, though, he had needed the peace of his workshop, needed to focus on something other than problems. That was why everything had become a problem, he knew. He let himself get so close he could no longer see the big picture.

  He should have kept his distance.

  They’d found his place. Carter had to deal with that. He’d been careful, even in his own territory, not to leave any sign of himself. Body hair was no issue. He wore condoms and he wore gloves. They would find blood from his victims—blood never really did come out easily, but even that would be hard to trace. Bleach broke down DNA and he used it religiously.

  No, they wouldn’t likely find signs of him and they weren’t likely to even connect his place, for certain, to any specific crimes, because there were no bodies. Save for Jolene Hollister, and of course, Mara and Katia—his infamous Chicago fuck-up.

  But only Jolene could be traced back to Ash. All they had there was suspicion. No hard evidence. Nothing, he told himself. They have nothing.

  And he’d be careful not to give them anything, either. From here on out, his games would stop. Perhaps later, he’d find a new game. But for now, it was done.

  This was for the best. It had been too close, the game he’d been playing and he had been doing too many stupid, foolish things, and neglecting his work, even his wife.

  Roz deserved better than that. He’d make it up to her. The present. Perhaps another special piece of jewelry. A trip, even. He smiled as he finished mixing the glaze, studying it with a critical eye. Yes. This would work.

  His mind calm, he shifted his focus to the other task at hand—cutting himself off from the other loves of his life. His hunts, his games. For a second, the rage tried to emerge, rage at Nia … coming here, screwing it all up—

  Then he stopped, made himself breathe, made himself think.

  “What’s done is done, right?”

  The ringing of his phone interrupted the passive, placid pace of his thoughts. Frowning, he made his way to the dusty thing—he’d turned his cell phone off. He never used it in here and Roz knew better than to call him while he was working.

  Only in emergencies. She knew that.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh … you are there.” She sounded surprised. She paused and he could hear her agitated breathing.

  “Yes, I’m here. I’ve got a lot of work to get done, too. What’s wrong, angel?” Angel … she was his angel. He’d seen that on the bracelet he’d given her, liked to call her that while she wore it.

  “Carter, baby, I know you hate it when I call you while you’re working, but …” Her voice broke. “My bracelet. That beautiful one you gave me after you got back from Chicago? It’s missing.”

  He stiffened. Through stiff lips, he echoed, “Missing?”

  “Yes. I … well, I had a call from Lena. Nia and Law were over, and I thought maybe they were wanting to talk about a wedding package or something—you can see they are gone over on each other. The clasp was giving me trouble again and I just left it on my desk when Lena called. She was upset and …” She was talking so fast her words were running into each other.

  Carter swore and reached up, skimming his hand along his smooth scalp. He never wore his hairpiece in here. It
got too hot and when he sweated in it, it made it that much more often he had to clean it. It was a pain in the ass to clean, too, something he had to see to himself, because he didn’t want others knowing.

  Only Roz knew about his hair loss—something that had crept up on him after college. He’d hated it at first, but over time, he realized it was better. Without hair, he was less likely to leave evidence, a blessing in disguise.

  But right now, the feel of his naked scalp was just another irritation, one that would boil out of control. Why in the fuck did things keep going wrong?

  The calm he’d found in his short time here was threatening to disappear, but he clung to it. Forcing himself to speak quietly and coolly, he said, “Roz, you need to slow down. What happened?”

  “I … well, I feel awful saying this, but I think Nia might have stolen it.”

  His calm exploded in a blast of fury. And more than a little fear.

  Son of a bitch.

  That cunt knew about Katia.

  * * *

  Lena King might not be able to see, but she didn’t need eyes to sense the storm of emotion cutting through the air.

  With one leg drawn up to her chest, she tried to track Roz’s movements, but the woman was moving too damn fast.

  “You going to tell me what has you so mad?”

  “What? Oh, nothing. You know, if you want, since you’re here, if you want to go bake something fattening and chocolatey, I wouldn’t mind,” Roz said. Her voice had the high, harsh note of somebody who was clinging to her temper by a thread.

  “Hmmm. I bet. I don’t think you need the caffeine, darling.”

  “No. I just need the chocolate.”

  Lena could tell that much, she mused. “You know what? I think you’re probably right. Chocolate is exactly what you need.” She swung her legs off the couch and stood up. “Come on, Puck. Let’s go whip up something fattening and chocolatey.”

  Roz laughed. “Lena, it’s not necessary.”

  “Of course it isn’t.” She smiled as she felt around for Puck’s leash. “But I want to. Forward, Puck.”

  She didn’t mention to Roz what a relief it would be to get out of that small office. Whatever had her so on edge was about ready to send Lena through the roof. Roz had slipped outside a few minutes earlier and when she came back, her mood had been just as erratic, just as harsh.