If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Shiloh Walker

  “Oh, we’re just peachy keen.”

  The bite of sarcasm in her voice had him smiling. “When you talked to Roz this morning, did she say anything about going anywhere?”

  “No. And she wouldn’t be—too many shipments come in today,” Lena said.

  Hell. “Okay. Everybody still there?”

  “Yes. Why were you asking about Roz?”

  “I was just wonder—”

  “Bullshit,” she bit off. “What’s wrong with Roz?”

  “I can’t say anything is wrong with her. I haven’t seen her.”

  Lena fell silent. Even though he couldn’t see her, he could all but feel her worry. “Do you think …?”

  “Don’t start the what-if game, baby,” Ezra said, sighing. “Just hang tight. If I hear anything, learn anything, I’ll call. And if you hear from her, call me.”

  “Okay.”

  “And keep everybody there. Don’t leave, okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She paused briefly, then murmured, “I love you. You be careful.”

  “I love you, too, sweetheart.” As he disconnected the phone, he was all too aware that Remy was watching him—too aware, but he was already walking on a hair trigger himself. Getting into a pissing match with a man he considered a friend wasn’t going to help either of them right now. And Remy—hell, his life was about to get seriously unpleasant.

  Carter was a killer. Ezra knew it in his bones.

  “What’s this workshop for? He paints, right?”

  “No. Pottery.” Remy’s tone was level, measured, like he knew Ezra was carefully circling around the things Remy wanted to say. “Carter’s a potter. Does the pottery you see in Roz’s shop, in the bookstore on the square. Even gave you and Lena a platter at your wedding—the sign of a killer, for certain.”

  Ezra gave him a narrow look. “You’re right. Killers always look like killers. Jeffrey Dahmer looked so evil, didn’t he, Jennings?”

  Remy tensed, his muscles bunching.

  He could all but see the other man getting ready to lunge.

  Ezra stilled. “Don’t. We don’t have time for this shit—and I think, if you’d just take a few seconds and listen to your gut, you know I’m not just making this up. I want to be wrong, Remy. Like you wouldn’t believe. And if I am, I’m willing to deal with the fallout. But are you prepared to deal with what happens if you are wrong?”

  “Fuck you,” Remy snarled. Then he started to walk, moving down the gravel path at a fast pace, too fast.

  Ezra didn’t bother trying to keep up. Whether it was his own nerves or what, the muscles in his leg were already knotting up and he could just see it buckling under him, see himself flat on his ass. Not going to happen.

  Remy got to the workshop ahead of Ezra, leaning back against the door with a sour look on his face. “Surprise, surprise. The door is locked,” Remy said, sneering. “And Carter isn’t in there, because he’d be answering if he was.”

  Blowing out a breath, Ezra pushed Remy out of the way and peered through the narrow window in the door. It didn’t let him see much and most of what he could see, he didn’t recognize. Some benches, a huge metal thing hulking over in one corner—a kiln, maybe? There were smaller versions, too. Kilns, had to be. That’s what potters used, right?

  “Shit.”

  He backed away, reaching up to rub his neck. Running around in circles. Head bowed, he stared at the ground, tried to think. He was so focused on trying to figure out the next step, he had probably been staring at it for a full twenty seconds before he really saw it.

  It was small, much smaller than what they’d found at the house.

  Already dry, too. But the blood still looked pretty fresh. At least that was what he’d say if he got asked. He drew his weapon as he put a few feet between him and the door. Remy had already started back down the path—it wasn’t until he heard Ezra kicking the door in that he bothered to look back.

  “Damn it, Ezra, what in the fuck are you doing?”

  “There’s blood on the ground and on the threshold. Gives me reason to think there might be somebody inside here that’s hurt,” Ezra said, keeping his voice low. Remy came rushing up and Ezra caught his arm, jerked him to the side. “Didn’t you hear me? If I think there could be somebody hurt, that means somebody who could be doing the hurting could also be in there. Makes sense that the person with the gun goes first.”

  Of course, Ezra knew Carter wasn’t in there.

  The bastard knew he’d been figured out. He was on the move. Ezra knew it as well as he knew the back of his hand. And as much as he was throwing procedure out the window right now, he didn’t know why he was bothering. But he wasn’t letting a civilian go in there, not until he’d checked it out.

  It was easier to think that Ezra had lost his mind than to think about the alternative. Remy was very much clinging to his thoughts of the sheriff’s sad future, how people would shake their heads and sigh about how he’d cracked under the strain.

  It wasn’t much comfort, though, because there was nothing about Ezra that he could totally write off as nuts. He’d even looked at the spot on the threshold, tried to convince himself it could be anything but blood. Hell, Carter glazed stuff here, right? Could be glaze.

  But the longer Remy had stared at it, the more it looked like blood. His imagination—that was all. Getting away with him. Finally, Ezra appeared back in the doorway and nodded. “He’s not in here. Nobody is.”

  “Then we leave, damn it,” Remy snarled. “You’ll be lucky if I can talk Carter out of pressing charges. He’s insane about his privacy—” The second the words left his mouth, he snapped his jaw shut, wished he hadn’t said anything.

  Ezra’s mouth twisted in a smile, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah, I bet he’s insane about his privacy.” He ambled off, back into the workshop, not even remotely resembling something that looked like he was leaving.

  Remy closed his eyes and swore. He had to get the bastard out of here. Had to, before he ended up screwed as well.

  “What are these things?” Ezra asked, stopping in front of a huge receptacle that took up most of the eastern half of the workshop.

  “His kilns.” Remy started over to him, snagged his arm. “You can learn about pottery while you’re in jail for breaking and entering. Come on.”

  “You might want to take your hands off me, Remy,” Ezra said, keeping his voice light, easy.

  Remy snarled at him, fisting his hand in Ezra’s shirt. “Will you just get the fuck out of here before you screw your career and mine?”

  Ezra glanced down at the hand that still held a fistful of his shirt. Then, eyes narrowed, he looked up. “You want to watch it there, Jennings. I mean it.”

  “We’re leaving.”

  Ezra reached up with one arm, shifted the other, managing to trap Remy’s hand. As he did it, he whirled around, using his momentum to shift Remy’s body around. Remy hit face-first into one of the smaller kilns—hard. For a second, he saw stars. Then he saw red. But he was hard-pressed to do much about it, which only pissed him off even more. He shoved back, but Ezra had somehow managed to get his arm locked and twisted high between his shoulder blades.

  “Enough, Remy,” Ezra snapped. “You got it?”

  Remy shoved back, ignoring it as his shoulder screamed a warning at him. “Get the hell off of me.” He managed to budge himself. About one inch. Shit. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Counted to ten. “You can’t expect me to believe this shit. Carter’s not just my cousin—he’s one of my best friends. You can’t just expect me to believe this.”

  He opened his eyes. Stared at the kiln just an inch from his face. “You can’t.”

  Behind him, Ezra swore. Then said something.

  But it was like bees buzzing in his ears. Slack, Remy sagged against the kiln, staring through the small, almost nonexistent peephole. It wasn’t much of a space—just enough to get a glimpse inside.

  But that glimpse was all he needed. That glimpse was too much.<
br />
  “Holy shit. God, oh, God, oh, God … Ezra.”

  Ezra let go. “What—?”

  The strength drained out of Remy’s legs and he reached up, clamped a hand over the top edge of the kiln. This was a smaller one—maybe twice the size of an industrial fridge. Shaking, he lifted his hand, rubbed his eyes. Looked again.

  What he saw didn’t change.

  “Aw, no. No, fuck, no.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  IT WAS A DECENT SIZED HOUSE, NIA KNEW, BUT SHE was absolutely certain she was going to come out of her skin if she had to stay there too much longer. Which meant she was going to come out of her skin, she supposed.

  As much as she wanted to be out there doing something to find Carter Jennings, Nia wasn’t about to do the dumb chick thing and put her ass out where it didn’t belong. She was a photographer, not a cop. She’d done what she’d set out to do, even though it was mostly through sheer dumb luck and chance. But she’d done her part—she needed to let King do his job now.

  But the tension in this place was driving her crazy. It was even worse now, ever since he’d called not too long ago to check on Lena.

  The other woman hadn’t said much, but Nia could tell she was worried. She’d like to do something, say something to help, but what could she say? I know your new husband is out there chasing after a psycho, but I’m sure he’ll be fine, maybe? Didn’t really sound like a Hallmark card.

  By some unspoken agreement, they all stayed together. After lunch, they’d all migrated into the living room and none of them seemed interested in leaving. When one of them left, even if just to use the restroom, Law played their shadow. It was sort of embarrassing, yet still strangely comforting, at least for Nia. He wouldn’t let anything happen, not if he could stop it. And while she’d never wanted or needed a white knight, she’d never realized how reassuring it could be to have one handy.

  Right now, he was sitting on the floor at the coffee table, across from Hope, the two of them bent over a chessboard. For some reason, it didn’t surprise her at all that he knew how to play chess. It was a game that confused the hell out of her. He’d offered to teach her, but she could barely hold a thought in her head today.

  Lena sat in a fat, overstuffed chair, her legs tucked neatly under her, a weird-looking contraption in her hand. She’d offhandedly mentioned it was her PDA—and right now, she was running the tips of her fingers over it.

  Reading, Nia supposed. The device was a lot bigger than any PDA Nia had ever used, but then again, she didn’t have to rely on her hands to read.

  Just then, Lena glanced up, a faint smile twisting her lips.

  “Do I look that much like her?” she asked softly.

  “Huh?”

  “Your cousin. Do I really look that much like her?”

  Staring at that face, feeling an ache in her heart, Nia said quietly, “Yeah. You look a lot like her.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Hell, it’s not your fault.” Because it hurt too much to think about Joely, she asked, “You can really feel me staring at you?”

  “When somebody’s staring at you, don’t you feel it? Yeah, I can feel it.” She shrugged and set the gadget on the table next to her chair. “You live without being able to see most of your life, you start to pay more attention to your other senses.”

  “So you used to be able to see?” Then she winced. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. That was rude.”

  “It’s okay.” Lena shrugged. “I don’t mind. Yeah, I used to be able to see. Out of one eye, at least. I was born with this thing called PHPV—persistent hyperplastic primary vitreous.” She grinned. “Try saying that ten times fast. It only affected my left eye. Up until I was ten years old, I could see out of my right eye just fine.”

  She reached up and tugged off her glasses, revealing pale, almost crystal blue eyes. “People who have a vision problem on one side are like ten times more likely to have an accident that will screw up the vision on the other side. You know that? But I was one of those kids who didn’t want to be seen as different. My mom was the overprotective sort who would have covered me in bubble wrap, put me on a shelf, and kept me there my entire life if I would have let her. Every chance I could, I did exactly what she didn’t want me doing. Things like playing baseball without the safety glasses I should have been wearing. I got hit. That’s all it took.” She finished with a wry smile.

  How in the hell could she tell that story with a smile? Nia gaped at her, stunned. “My God, I’m so sorry.”

  Lena laughed. “Why? You didn’t make me not wear the glasses.”

  “You were ten,” Nia snapped.

  “Yeah. I was ten. Kids never think anything bad can happen.” She sighed and slid her glasses back on. “Actually, plenty of adults think nothing bad will ever happen. But it does. It’s not like it was the end of my world, though. I can’t even say it ruined my life. It changed my life, but considering how my life is going? I have to say it changed it for the better. How do I even know I’d be where I am, married to Ezra, with a career I love if my life had gone a different way?”

  “You’re one hell of an optimist,” Nia muttered.

  At that, Law laughed.

  Nia shot him a look.

  He glanced up from the chessboard, a smirk on his face. “She’s about the most unoptimistic person I’ve ever met. She’s just realistic.”

  Lena made a face in his direction. Then she shrugged. “He’s right. I’m hardly ever optimistic. But I love my life—I wouldn’t do anything that might change how it’s going now. Especially if it meant that I might not have Ezra in it.”

  “That’s so sweet.” Hope smiled.

  “Yeah. I’m sugar, all right.” Lena snorted and picked her PDA back up.

  “It is sweet. Romantic.” Hope shrugged and looked back at the chessboard. “I mean, there are probably a lot of people who couldn’t say that—they’d want a chance to go back, undo what the ten-year-old kid did, you know? Your life could have been easier. But you don’t care, because Ezra’s worth it.”

  “It’s not just about Ezra,” Lena said self-consciously. Then she shrugged. “But yeah. He’s worth it. And hell, would you change things if it meant you wouldn’t have Remy? You had to deal with more hell than I ever did.”

  Hope glanced at Lena. Then away. “Remy’s worth everything. Anything.”

  “When it’s real, when it’s right, that kind of love is everything.” Lena focused on her PDA again. “And now I want to read—this much mushy talk is going to make me want to wear pink and dance on mountainsides or something stupid.”

  Envy, longing, stirred in Nia’s heart. Everything …

  Feeling the weight of his stare, she looked up and saw Law looking at her. Her heart skipped a beat and then started to race.

  Everything … Yeah. She could believe that. Maybe she wouldn’t have a few years ago. Even just a few months ago. But Law was changing all sorts of things.

  Remy tore at the door to the kiln, wrenching at the complicated mechanism even as Ezra tried to grab his arm. “Get the fuck away,” he snarled. He got the door open just as Ezra managed to jerk him back.

  Ezra froze as he saw what Remy had glimpsed through the kiln’s tiny peephole.

  It was Roz.

  Bound hand and foot, her head lolling against the side wall of the kiln.

  “Dear God,” Ezra whispered.

  Remy barely heard him.

  He had to crawl inside to get to her. It wasn’t one of the bigger kilns, but it was too big for him to pull her out without getting in. Part of him was terrified to touch her. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing. Couldn’t tell if she was alive. And he wouldn’t know until he touched her. But he couldn’t live in denial anymore.

  There was only one way she could have gotten here.

  Ezra had been right—Remy had been horribly, terribly wrong.

  And he was going to kill Carter.

  His hand was shaking as he reached out, touched Ro
z’s neck, checking for a pulse. Her skin was warm and under his fingers, he felt a thready, erratic beat. Heaving a sigh of relief, he awkwardly eased her body out. “Thank God,” he whispered.

  “There’s a pulse?”

  “Yeah.” Remy cradled her against his chest. “Roz? Roslyn, sweetheart.”

  She didn’t move. Didn’t seem to hear him.

  He heard Ezra talking and glanced over, saw him on his radio. Calling it in, he realized.

  Shit. This was really happening.

  Carter—

  Dazed, he looked at Ezra and shook his head. “I can’t believe this is happening, man. I … what in the fuck is going on?”

  Ezra paused, lowered the radio. “I don’t know.” He looked at Roz’s still form, and then shifted his gaze back to Remy’s. “I really didn’t want to be right, you know.”

  Memories, fragments from their childhood flashed through his mind. Camping in the woods. Hunting. Fishing. Chasing after girls. Racing down the highway after Carter had gotten his first car … Remy had stood up with him at his wedding. Carter had been there when Remy’s dad had died.

  Brushing all of that aside, he swallowed and met Ezra’s gaze. “I know.”

  “Sirens,” Lena murmured, lowering her PDA.

  Law climbed to his feet and moved to look out the window, even though he couldn’t see more than a slice of the road. He caught a glimpse of red and blue lights, but that was it. “Heading east,” he said softly.

  “Wonder if it means anything,” Hope said.

  “It means they are heading east,” Lena said flatly. “Toward the Inn, most likely.”

  Law turned and watched as she reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone. Gripping it like it was a lifeline.

  “I wish Ezra would call already,” she muttered.

  “It’s only been about twenty minutes or so since the last time he called,” he said softly. He moved to sit on the ottoman in front of her. Taking her free hand, he squeezed it. “I know you’re worried about him, but he can handle himself, sweetie.”

  She scowled. “This being married to a cop thing is going to have some rough spots.”