The Second Sister

by Dani Sinclair

  George had promised him! So had the attorney. Gavin scrawled his name on the paper he was handed and stuffed his nearly empty wallet into his back pocket. Livid that one of them had betrayed him, he started walking away. The interrogation-room door swung open.

  The police chief stood in the doorway, glaring at a slim figure sitting on the hard wooden chair. She stared back with wide, unblinking eyes.

  “You should reconsider,” Chief Crossley growled.

  Leigh Thomas rose with the grace of a queen. Her long, golden-brown hair swung halfway down her back. She faced the man with a composure few could have matched.

  “No, you should reconsider.” She spoke with quiet force. “I know you don’t like me and my sister, and you don’t like Gavin or the Walkens, but if you let that stand in your way, you won’t solve this murder, either. Gavin was with me last night, and I’ll swear to that in court. There is nothing you can say or do that will change that simple truth.”

  She stared him in the eye without flinching. A slip of a girl really, yet she faced that six-foot-five-inch pompous ass with a dignity that shrunk him right down to size.

  “You listen to me, girl. If we find one piece of evidence to link Jarret to that crime, I’ll have you up on an accessory to murder charge so fast it will make your head swim.”

  “No. You won’t. You’d have to fabricate evidence, and you may be incompetent, but I don’t think you’re dishonest.”

  “Get her out of here,” the chief snarled, turning dark angry red. Pivoting, he spied Gavin. “Get them both out of my sight,” he told the young cop standing silently to one side.

  Gavin fell into pace beside Leigh. She wouldn’t look at him as they walked outside. Her chin was up, her shoulders back, and she stared straight ahead as she moved. She flinched when he touched her shoulder, and his gut tightened in pain.

  “Why did you come here?” he demanded. “I told that lawyer and the Walkens to leave you out of this!”

  “They don’t even know I’m here,” she told his shirtfront.

  He needed to see her eyes, to know what she was thinking. Did she hate him for what had happened last night?

  “Then, why come here today?”

  She didn’t raise her head. “Because you were with me when the robbery happened.”

  Gavin swore. “Precisely. There wasn’t any evidence against me, just some anonymous phone call. All I had to do was sit tight and they would have released me sooner or later. Don’t you realize what you’ve done to your reputation by coming here?”

  That brought her pointed little chin up. She faced him squarely without a flicker of emotion.

  “Enhanced it or ruined it depending on who you talk to.” Her shoulders rose and fell. “Want to know how much I don’t care? If I hadn’t come forward, the police would have stopped looking for the real criminal, just like they stopped looking for my mother. Mr. Wickert was a nice old man. He deserves better. Now, take your hand off me before I kick you in the shins.”

  Gavin dropped his hand, still trying to read her expression without success. “Are you okay? I mean after last night—”

  “After last night, you owe me, right?”

  Surprised, he managed a nod. Beyond her, he saw her sister running up the sidewalk toward them.

  “If you owe me, then do us both a favor, Gavin. Grow up. Make something of yourself. That bad-boy reputation could have cost you a prison term just now. And you made Mrs. Walken cry. She deserves better, too.”

  The words lashed him with their simple truth. “I thought you were supposed to be the quiet twin,” he muttered.

  “Leigh!” Hayley called to her.

  Leigh narrowed her eyes. “I am. Stick around. My sister will tear a strip off you that will make you wish you were back inside with Chief Crossley. As for last night, forget it, Gavin. I plan to.”

  “You won’t forget,” he said softly as she turned to meet her sister. “And neither will I.”

  Chapter Two

  The present

  Marcus Thomas had been murdered over the roses he’d so carefully tended. Shouldn’t she be able to summon some emotion other than relief? He’d been her father after all. Admittedly that had been a technicality as far as he’d been concerned, but it was biological fact, nonetheless.

  Leigh Hart Thomas found herself standing slightly apart from the small group gathered under the hot summer sun. She wondered how the minister could find any kind words to eulogize a man like Marcus. She would have been unequal to the task. Even his widow, Eden, stood there without expression as the mercifully short service was concluded.

  Eden’s son, Jacob Voxx, looked decidedly ill at ease at her side. Of course, it was broiling hot beneath the sun and he was dressed in a somber black suit and tie. One sleeve dangled uselessly at his side. Since his left arm had provided passage for one of the killer’s bullets, it was still in a sling to restrict its movement. That would be enough to make anyone uncomfortable, but Leigh suspected it was only part of the reason Jacob glanced once more to his left.

  Leigh’s twin sister, Hayley, stood beside Bram Myers. His large, strong hand rested lightly—protectively—on her shoulder. Hayley looked incredibly good for someone who had twice nearly died at the same murderer’s hands.

  Leigh decided it was hard not to feel a twinge of envy looking at the couple. She and her sister had always shared a special bond—that would never really change. But while Leigh had been in England visiting friends, her sister had forged a new bond—one Leigh couldn’t share.

  Bram Myers was a large, rawboned man, handsome in a dark, intense sort of way. Ten years older than her sister, he might not think he wanted to marry again, but it was a foregone conclusion for everyone else. If there was ever a couple that belonged together, it was the two of them. Leigh wondered if Bram was aware that he maintained a subtle, physical contact with Hayley whenever they were together.

  While Leigh envied her sister, she doubted she could ever open herself emotionally to another person so completely. Trust came a lot harder to her than it did to Hayley.

  Restlessly, Leigh tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and decided she was definitely going to adopt her sister’s new, carefree hairstyle as soon as she could get into town to see the beautician. Not only was her current style hot and heavy in the summer heat and humidity, the shorter, sleeker look was a much better image for someone about to embark on a new dream job as a computer programmer for an exciting start-up company involved in the telecommunications industry.

  As Hayley and Bram exchanged a private look, Leigh’s gaze skated to the couple standing slightly behind them. George and Emily Walken stood side by side. They had been family friends, and Heartskeep’s closest neighbors, since before Leigh had been born. The childless couple had always taken in troubled foster youths, and since her grandfather’s death and her mother’s disappearance, they’d taken in Hayley and Leigh as well.

  When Marcus had been murdered, the couple had shielded them from the media. They’d run interference with the authorities, offered them a place to stay, and helped in every way they could. Leigh would never forget their kindness. Being around them was the next best thing to having her mother and grandfather back.

  Off to one side, Odette Norwhich scowled darkly at everyone and no one. Eden had recently hired the woman as Heartskeep’s live-in housekeeper. While Leigh had only seen Mrs. Norwhich a few times since she’d been back, she’d concluded the woman always looked like that. Hayley assured her that Mrs. Norwhich actually had a softer side, but Leigh had yet to see one.

  Leigh let her gaze travel around the circle to the other people who now walked forward to offer their condolences. Since the service had been private, there were blessedly few of them. She pasted a smile on her face and spoke briefly to each person, relieved when it was finally time to go. Marcus had been their father, in fact, but never in deed. And while he’d lived at Heartskeep as long as they had, he had never belonged there.

  Leigh started to
follow her sister and Bram, when a gust of chilled air swept her body. Except there wasn’t the faintest trace of a breeze. As she turned slowly, her gaze skipped over the abandoned coffin and the scattered grave sites surrounding it. A solitary figure stood several yards away. Her breath constricted painfully in her chest and her heart began to pound.

  What was he doing here?

  Riveted in place, she stared helplessly as memories ambushed her without mercy. It wasn’t fair. She’d dealt with these emotions years ago.

  “Leigh? Is something wrong?” Hayley asked.

  Everything. The mere sight of Gavin Jarret shouldn’t affect her so deeply after all these years.

  “Leigh?”

  She focused on Hayley’s hand, warm against the bare skin of her arm. Bram’s dark eyes mirrored her sister’s concern. Leigh managed to shake her head. Quickly, she sent her gaze to the coffin.

  “I should be feeling something, shouldn’t I?” she asked, relieved that her voice sounded normal.

  Hayley’s features tightened. She barely gave the coffin a glance. “Relief?”

  After a second, Leigh nodded sadly. “He was still our father.”

  “‘It takes more than a biological act to be a father’ isn’t just a saying, it’s a fact. You know as well as I do that the only thing Marcus loved was his roses. Come on, we need to get out of this heat.”

  Leigh let her sister lead her away. When she cast a final look over her shoulder, Gavin was gone, but she glimpsed another figure darting between the headstones. Definitely not a mourner. Maybe a celebrant who’d come to make sure Marcus was really dead?

  She chided herself for the nasty thought. More than likely, a photojournalist had been snapping pictures for some tabloid. The recent events at Heartskeep had made the Hart family headline news once more. Marcus would have hated that.

  As far as Leigh was concerned, the media could print whatever they liked. Still, as they reached the car, she couldn’t prevent her gaze from sweeping the cemetery once more. Gavin was gone. She told herself she was relieved. He was the last person she wanted to talk with.

  Was his presence the reason she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something bad was about to happen?

  “YOU WILL HELP ME,” Martin Pepperton snarled. The horse at his back danced several steps sideways and snorted, reacting to his angry tone.

  Nolan backed to the stall opening to give the large animal more space. He shot a quick glance around the empty barn, feeling dangerously exposed.

  “This is no place for this discussion,” he told Martin, noting the too-wide pupils and the man’s sagging jowls. Martin Pepperton was Nolan’s age, but at twenty-nine, Martin was not aging with grace. The youngest member of the illustrious Pepperton family was beginning to show the effects of his years of substance abuse.

  Martin sneered. “What’s the matter, Nolan? Afraid of a little horse? Panteena won’t hurt you. Will you, girl? You should put some money on her next time she runs.”

  The high-strung animal stomped its hoof, jerking hard on the lead Martin held. Nolan had a strong urge to walk away and not look back. It was unfortunate that he was still tied to Martin with bonds only death would sever.

  “I’ve got to get back to my group,” he told Martin. “The answer is no.”

  “Remember old man Wickert?”

  Nolan glanced wildly around again to make sure the barn was still empty. “Shut up, Martin. That was a long time ago, and it was an accident. The old man wasn’t supposed to die.”

  “Think the police will care?”

  “What’s wrong with you? Even your drug-soaked brain ought to know if one of us goes down for that, all three of us go down.”

  Stepping away from the horse, Martin scowled at him. “You want a bigger cut, is that it?”

  Nolan swore. “I don’t want your money,” Nolan told him, seriously worried now. Martin was crazy—and dangerous. More dangerous than Nolan had realized.

  Martin took a menacing step forward, startling the horse into almost rearing. He yanked hard on the beast’s halter. The animal kicked out and whinnied in protest.

  “I’ve already transferred ownership of Sunset Pride to you. Except, of course, the horse isn’t really Sunset Pride,” he said with a vicious chortle. “Anyhow, I need you to front for me on this deal.”

  “Why the hell did you put that nag in my name? I told you on the phone that I didn’t want any part of your scheme.”

  “My family’s been part of the racing circuit here at Saratoga Springs since the early 1900s. That bastard made a fool of me when he sold me that worthless colt. But I’ll show him. I have a reputation to protect.”

  “What about my reputation?”

  “You aren’t in racing,” Martin scoffed.

  “Exactly. No one’s going to believe I bought a racehorse. Why would I? I don’t even like the blasted animals.”

  “Businessmen buy racehorses all the time. They’re investments, a simple business transaction. All you need to say is that you bought the horse and now you need the cash for something else. The paperwork on this deal won’t be challenged. Until they run a DNA sample, no one can prove a thing. And they won’t. Why should they? Besides, no one will be surprised that someone outside the racing world was fooled into buying a worthless horse. The only one who will look like a fool is Tyrone Briggs.”

  Nolan shook his head. “No way, Martin. I told you, the risk is too high. I want no part in selling Briggs or anyone else a worthless horse. They’re going to trace it right back to you anyhow. You aren’t thinking clear.”

  Martin’s face underwent a dark change. “I’m thinking just fine,” he snarled. “You’re the one who isn’t thinking. I need you to do this for me. You act as owner on this sale or, so help me, I tip the cops about what really happened seven years ago.”

  Fear sent Nolan’s pulse racing. His friend wasn’t bluffing.

  “Will you listen to yourself? You’re so high you’re acting nuts, Martin.” A trickle of sweat started down his forehead.

  When a gun appeared in Martin’s hand, Nolan’s mouth went dry. Martin had become unpredictable at the best of times, but now, as Martin’s generally florid cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of red, Nolan knew real fear. The bastard was just crazy enough to pull the trigger.

  “Don’t be a fool, Martin. The minute you fire a gun in here, people will come running.”

  “Maybe I don’t care.”

  His eyes glittered with a drug-induced sheen. Nolan had no doubt Martin was high enough to pull the damn trigger and worry about the consequences later.

  “You don’t need this kind of petty vengeance,” Nolan said in an effort to placate him.

  “The guy screwed with me. He’s going to pay. No one’s going to make me look like a laughingstock. By the time Briggs learns the horse is worthless, he’s the one people are going to laugh at.”

  Reason wasn’t going to work. The drug was in charge. Nolan took a half step forward into the cramped stall and tried not to look at the nervous animal shifting restlessly.

  “Okay, okay. If it’s that important to you I’ll make the call.”

  Martin grinned. Sensing victory, he lowered the gun. Nolan sprang forward. Panteena squealed and kicked the wood sharply as the men came together, struggling for possession of the weapon. The gun discharged, muffled by the press of their bodies.

  Nolan wrenched it free. For a second, Martin stood there with a blank look of surprise on his face. Then he folded with a groan. That was too much for the frightened animal. The horse reared with a loud shriek of protest. Nolan jumped back just in time. The wicked hooves came down with deadly accuracy. He heard the crunch of bone even as he hurried out of the stall and closed the gate.

  He didn’t waste time fooling with the lock as Panteena reared again. In a maddened effort to escape, the horse put all fifteen hundred pounds behind the blows it inflicted on the mangled form at its feet. Nolan ran toward the opening at the far end of the barn and heard the spl
intering sound of hooves against wood.

  Any second now, the horse would hit the gate and be free. That was fine with him. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about Martin Pepperton again. No way could he have survived those hooves. A quick glance over his shoulder nearly stopped Nolan’s heart cold.

  A woman stood framed in the opening at the opposite end of the barn, looking right at him. She turned away quickly and at that moment, the horse kicked open the un-latched gate and erupted from its stall. With a sinking feeling, Nolan began to run.

  She must have recognized him. He hadn’t changed that much in the last few years. And he realized Martin’s gun was still clenched in his fist.

  Nolan shoved the weapon in the belt under his jacket and altered his course. He needed to establish an alibi—fast. There was a chance the cops wouldn’t listen to the bitch, especially if he could produce a solid alibi.

  Hell. Maybe he’d get lucky. Maybe the horse would run her down and kill her too, saving him the effort.

  LEIGH STEPPED from the beauty shop and swung her hair experimentally. Her head felt several pounds lighter. The sensation was strange. She couldn’t ever remember having short hair, but she liked the feeling. And as a bonus, all those long, golden-brown strands were going to be put to good use. The beautician had suggested donating her hair to a local group that made wigs for people undergoing chemotherapy. She’d been only too happy to agree.

  All in all, she felt pretty good as she walked down the street to meet her sister at Rosencroft and Associates. The lawyer’s office had called Hayley right after Marcus’s funeral. Eden had announced her intention to attend the meeting and Hayley hadn’t argued.

  “Let Mr. Rosencroft explain that she has no authority at Heartskeep anymore. It isn’t worth an argument.”

  Leigh agreed. She’d never understood the relationship between Eden and Marcus, any more than she’d understood the relationship between Marcus and her mother. There had been no affection between any of them. Yet Marcus had married both women.