Evil Secrets Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vickie McKeehan

  After spending months hounding detectives at several different jurisdictions, one sheriff’s deputy finally suggested he learn to deal with the fact that the killers were already sitting in a jail cell serving time. Case closed. But without positive proof, Noah had refused to accept that, refused to let go.

  But what he came to know as fact was that no one seemed to care about a double homicide that had happened six years earlier to his parents. No one but him.

  After wandering aimlessly around L.A. for months flat broke, he had re-upped in the army. The military had used the rage burning inside him over the deaths of his parents to make him the best the army had ever seen, the best he could be, the best sniper, and later, the best soldier of fortune money could buy.

  Over the next twenty years, Noah would play amateur detective on his own time, never able to let the murders of his parents rest for long.

  But it wasn’t until he retired that he began to camp out at the county court house, began searching through old court records, poring over old probate documents, old archives that he found the answers, answers that had eluded him for two decades. Noah had discovered through court records that the law firm of Boyd Boyd Geller & Gatz had basically inherited everything his parents had ever owned through a trust set up three months before their deaths to the tune of some fifteen million dollars. Turns out, the trustee had been Jessica Geller, and she had been married to her law partner husband, Sumner Boyd.

  His naïve parents had trusted the wrong attorneys.

  His parents been elated when BBG&G had won them a settlement in excess of fifteen million dollars paid out over three years. Noah had known about the court victory, had been happy for his parents. But it had been the partners in the law firm that had betrayed them.

  Through persistence, he discovered that Jessica Boyd had not been the only one to benefit from the deaths of Pete and Mary Parker. No, it had been a family affair, a conspiracy between all of the law partners, which included Jessica’s husband Sumner, her sister Eva Geller Gatz, and their brother Frank Geller.

  A mere four months after the deaths, the Parker Estate increased in value to the tune of fifty million dollars when the law firm had sold off the Sundown Ranch and the surrounding land to a local developer named Carlton, who happened to be the new husband of Alana Stevens. Then, nine months after the murders, in May of 1970, the four conspirators had formed a partnership and using a portion of the trust to purchase a sizeable chunk of Malibu real estate, which they immediately developed into a compound of family-owned mansions clustered together. They called this compound The Enclave.

  As Noah finally unraveled the mystery, he had to admit sixty-five million dollars wasn’t a bad take for a night’s work murdering two defenseless old people in their sleep. He just couldn’t be certain which of the five had been the ones to pull the trigger.

  But then, one day, to test his theory, he decided to make an unannounced visit to the law offices of Boyd Boyd Geller & Gatz. And suddenly the rest of the tumblers had fallen into place.

  None of the partners had been happy to see him. In fact, they had put up roadblocks at every question, refusing to answer the most basic of questions about the Parker Trust. They had threatened to call the police on him. It was clear to Noah then that they simply thought themselves invincible, beyond reproach where the murders of his parents were concerned.

  They’d gone on with their lives thanks to every asset that had belonged to his parents.

  From there it had been simple really. Noah had followed the proverbial money trail, followed the lawsuit his parents had won two years before their deaths, a lawsuit the firm had handled from the onset, followed the disbursement of the three year court settlement, the fifteen million dollars that led straight back to BBG&G.

  All of the original partners had profited. Over the years they’d gotten richer and fatter, the same years he’d struggled to survive in a prison camp, barely eating, barely living, and barely getting by. Then to get out at war’s end, hoping to come back to his life on his father’s ranch, to pick up some semblance of his old world, only to discover that greed had obliterated his old world and he’d never be able to get it back again.

  In retirement Noah had time to keep watch, tally his evidence, and make sure his theory made sense. Knowing the ranch land had been sold a mere four months after the murders and that Jessica’s best friend, Alana Stevens, had brokered the deal, there was yet another money trail to follow. And this time he dug deep, bribed a few bank officials, and documented every aspect of how the money led not only to every member of the law firm but to the Stevens woman as well.

  Going over the police reports, which he’d obtained through a series of bribes to a county sheriff’s deputy, he’d discovered the murder weapon had been a .357 magnum. He’d taken that information to every gun dealer in L.A. and found that two days before the murders Alana Stevens had purchased that particular caliber weapon from a pawn shop in the San Fernando Valley. He didn’t think she’d bought it for protection.

  Believing he’d solved the murder of his parents, Noah had taken what he had to the authorities, document by document, piece by piece. They’d listened―politely. Called his evidence, his theories mere coincidence, and in the end they’d been less than interested in pursuing the bad guys, especially when these particular bad guys were now movers and shakers all over Beverly Hills, all over the state.

  Just when Noah had been about to take things into his own hands, mete out justice the only way he knew how, the way he’d been trained, he had discovered he had pancreatic cancer.

  Noah had turned to his old friend Trevor Dane to pick up the task at hand.

  And Trevor had no intentions of letting him down, especially now that he knew the evil ran so much deeper.

  CHAPTER 4 Book 2

  Baylee heard Sarah begin to fuss through the baby monitor, rolled over in bed, blinked through a fog of sleep, and stared at the clock, 5:45. Her body felt like it was five-forty-five.

  After waking up around midnight Sarah had stayed awake for almost an hour playing, until her bleary-eyed mother had finally gotten her to go back down again. At this point, she wondered if her daughter would ever sleep through the night. Baylee slid out of bed and grabbed for her robe. As she did she caught her reflection in the mirror hanging over the dresser. She paused long enough to stare at her mousy brown hair. For months now, ever since coming back to L.A., she’d dyed her damned hair and for what?

  Connor had found her anyway. And it hadn’t been difficult at all.

  At the first opportunity she planned to put it back to its original blonde.

  When Sarah’s fussing grew louder, she hurried next door to the bedroom designated as Sarah’s nursery before the baby woke up Dylan. Pushing open the door to what used to be his office, she wondered why he had insisted setting up Sarah’s crib in here and not her room. She hated the idea of intruding on Dylan’s personal space, kicking him out of his own office seemed rude. She wasn’t even paying rent. He had refused to take a dime. And she was grateful for his generosity. Now that she’d had time to think about it, she wondered how she could have ever thought going on the run with a baby was the answer.

  But thank God Connor hadn’t seen Sarah.

  Thinking about him had her wondering if her life would be in turmoil from this point forward, hiding, running, moving every time she got scared he might find out—about the daughter he didn’t know existed—and take her away.

  Just because Jessica was dead didn’t mean that she hadn’t trained her sons well. Her death didn’t mean that if he found out about Sarah he wouldn’t try something just as underhanded out of spite. Baylee knew the whole family was well-connected and capable of almost anything. She couldn’t take the chance. No matter what she had to do to keep Connor from finding out the truth, she’d do. If it meant hiding out here at Dylan’s for a while, if it meant pretending Sarah belonged to Dylan, she’d do whatever it took.

  Thank God, she’d had the foresight
to leave the father-line “unknown” on Sarah’s birth certificate. Maybe she could talk to Dylan, see if he’d be willing to put his name on the document now, just in case. It was asking a lot from someone who’d already been far too giving. But this was no time to let pride get in the way of what was best for her baby daughter.

  She was embarrassed about her breakdown the other night in front of Dylan. But she’d been so tired to face yet another move, to face how often she’d failed as a mother over the past few months. Sarah had been born nine days before Christmas on the sixteenth of December. Baylee hadn’t even left the hospital yet when Tanya Lincoln had called and told her about her father’s brain cancer. She’d been torn as to what to do. In the end, she thought she’d done the right thing when she’d packed up and brought her eight-day-old baby back to L.A.

  They’d spent the holidays with Kit in San Madrid. From there she’d moved back in with her father. But the past month he’d started drinking heavily—again. And when William Scott, the infamous director, drank, he was not a happy camper. Baylee had refused to expose Sarah to that kind of verbally abusive environment and had packed up again and moved into Gloria’s guest cottage. She’d only been in the cute little house a little more than a week. She sighed. She’d miss living there.

  She had to admit, it was downright strange to be sharing a house with a man. Four years at UCLA, she’d shared an apartment with Kit and Quinn but it wasn’t the same thing. After that volcanic kiss the other night, the two of them would get to know each other in a hurry.

  He’d probably get tired of having them around anyway, she thought, as she walked over to the crib. But she had no intentions of staying long enough to get kicked out. It had been days since the incident at the Book & Bean. Maybe Connor had gone on with his own life just as they all hoped he would. As soon as this mess with him was over, when the coast was clear, she intended to get her life back.

  Over the next few weeks she had to figure something out and stop all this moving around, maybe buy a little house of her own, somewhere near the beach, like the one Kit rented from Gloria. A little house like that would be perfect for her and Sarah.

  She liked San Madrid, and house-wise, the little town was certainly more affordable than anything in L.A. She didn’t mind working at the Book & Bean, even though it wasn’t her first choice for a career. But how could she make a living designing jewelry when it was nothing more than a hobby? She hadn’t been able to completely support herself in the design business before Sarah. Now that she had two mouths to feed she couldn’t depend on a sideline business for security no matter how much she enjoyed the work.

  She had to start thinking in terms of what was best for Sarah. Baylee didn’t mind hard work. She’d been working since she was sixteen, just like Kit and Quinn had. Living with roommates, she’d saved quite a bit of money during college. She didn’t require flashy clothes, or four-hundred-dollar shoes. That was one trait she shared with Kit and Quinn and one of the reasons they got along so well. They were not generally materialistic. Well, at least not much.

  Even going to an exclusive Beverly Hills private school, the three of them had known from the beginning they were not like the other girls. Life at home had been too difficult for all three of them to spend much time at the mall obsessing over what expensive clothes or shoes to buy.

  The reason had been simple. With Quinn, she hadn’t wanted to ask her father’s lawyer for money for things like that. And forget about asking her stepfather to pay for anything except the necessities. With Kit, she had resisted Alana’s efforts at every turn, of anything that even hinted they might make her into a carbon copy of Alana, because nothing would have pleased Alana more than if Kit had spent hours shopping at the mall. So they all three girls had their private reasons for not spending much time there. Instead, they had shared a love of sports, from beach volleyball to rollerblading to riding their bikes to hanging out at the miniature golf course or spending time riding go-carts, or any other outside activity that would get them out of their respective houses for any length of time.

  They would spend hours hanging out at the beach, or the pool, any place would do as long as they didn’t have to spend time at home.

  When Baylee spotted Sarah’s little arms and legs kicking the air in a furious motion with all the energy of a kick-boxing ninja warrior, she smiled.

  Maybe she could work a deal with Gloria to buy the house Kit lived in at the beach. After Kit and Jake moved into the Crandall House, the little Spanish bungalow would be vacant.

  And Baylee reminded herself when it came to trying to find work; she did have a college degree. Maybe it was only an art degree, but hey, it looked good on a résumé. She needed to get her act together. Sarah deserved better, better than what she’d given her the last few months.

  Baylee knew Kit and Quinn would help her any way they could. But Sarah wasn’t their responsibility. She needed to step up and do better as a mother. Just looking at the little angel in the crib, Baylee resolved to get her life back on track.

  And she needed to do it now.

  “Good morning, angel-face. Are you wet? Let’s get you out of that wet diaper.” In a move that came with months of practice, Baylee had Sarah changed and powdered in a flash, then reached in and scooped the squirming baby to her chest. “Are you hungry? Did you wake up hungry?” As she settled Sarah to her breast, and the baby began to nurse, she decided she needed to find out exactly when Kit and Jake planned to make the move into Crandall House, which would leave Kit’s house available and ready for a new tenant.

  Baylee didn’t intend to waste any more time.

  Dylan sucked in a weary breath and rolled over in bed. Listening to Baylee’s soft voice over the baby monitor as she nursed Sarah was killing him, especially after the heated lip lock they’d shared.

  But it was impossible not to hear every syllable, every word she said what with the baby monitor he’d hooked up in his own room. Glancing at the clock, he wondered if he could maybe get back to sleep for an hour or two before he had to get up and start work. Working at home was new to him, but essential if he planned to keep an eye on Baylee and the baby.

  After several minutes listening to mother and daughter interact in such a personal way, he decided there was no way he’d be able to get back to sleep. He’d be better off taking a cold shower.

  He had, after all, agreed to take it slow. But slow with a woman who looked like Baylee was proving to be tougher than anything he’d done in recent memory. What was he supposed to do about his feelings toward her now that she was living with him? How the hell was a guy supposed to date a woman with a baby when he listened to her breastfeed? Or for that matter, a woman who’d probably gone through one of the roughest years of her young life?

  Common sense had him checking off the points of taking things slow. But slow was killing him. He wasn’t a man used to taking anything at a slow pace. He liked fast cars. He liked surfing, moving through the water fast. He liked rollerblading on the quick. He certainly was not used to taking things slow when it came to a woman.

  Oh hell, why lie, he liked fast women, was attracted to them. When he saw a woman he wanted, he acted on the impulse, always making sure she understood there was no long term outlook, no strings, no commitments. They’d have some fun; have a few laughs, do the dance between the sheets, and then move on. No damage. No foul. That was Dylan’s dating playbook. Use the fast lane―get in and out quick, keep it light, and keep it fun. It had always worked well for him.

  But this was different. Baylee was different. The situation was different

  He threw back the covers and crawled out of bed.

  Thirty minutes later, the sun drenched Baylee’s back as she stood in the kitchen at the counter, drinking coffee and still trying to wake up. A bright-eyed Sarah sat happily in her infant carrier, a steady stream of baby babble filling the air. And Baylee carried on an animated conversation with her daughter as if she understood every word of baby-speak.

 
When Dylan strolled in fresh from his shower, wearing a snug pair of jeans and an old Pearl Jam T-shirt, those surfer good looks had Baylee wondering why the women weren’t lined up at the backdoor, three deep. He’d kept his hair loose, letting it fall around his shoulders in soft curls.

  She’d known women who would have killed to have his hair. “Hi. Sorry we woke you. Again.”

  “Stop apologizing. I told you I get up early.” The lie sneaked out with a straight face. He poured himself an oversized mug of coffee and sat down at the table next to the baby carrier and stared at its precious cargo. “Look at you, had your morning shot of caffeine yet, sweetheart?”

  The minute Sarah spotted Dylan, heard his voice, she started squirming and kicking harder. Her baby babble turned into sincere efforts to get his attention.

  “I think she wants me to pick her up.”

  “Of course she does. She’s no dummy, Dylan. Every time she sees you she’s figured out you’ll hold her.”

  Willing to oblige, Dylan set down his java and started unhooking the straps of the baby carrier. He then hauled Sarah up to his shoulder like a pro. “She likes me, knows a good thing when she sees it.”

  “More like a soft touch, that’s for sure. You’re spoiling her, Dylan.”

  “And you aren’t.”

  Baylee laughed. “Okay, you got me. Want some breakfast? I made French toast.”

  “French toast? Really? You bet.” He sat back down at the table with Sarah on his lap. There were a few advantages to having a woman in the house. Especially this woman. And looking at Baylee in her snug Capri jeans this morning, he decided cooking was the least of them.

  “What time do you want to leave to see your father? It is today, right?”

  She sighed. “I’ll call Tanya and find out what’s the best time to drop by. She tries to keep him on a schedule if she can.”

  “How bad is he?”

  “The doctors think he might have another three months if we’re lucky.”