Evil Secrets Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vickie McKeehan

  On cue, Trevor pushed the button on the recorder he held in his hand.

  He watched from one of the vacant offices as the two-way radio strapped to the heaviest of the rent-a-cops crackled to life. The muddled voice, the garbled language, came out as something intelligible.

  “Come back. I didn’t copy that.”

  Again the distorted message filled the air. The message that wasn’t meant for anyone to decipher, broke the silence. Suddenly, the rent-a-cop abandoned protocol and said simply, “Hey, Mike, is that you? I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  Clearer, but breaking up every third or fourth word or so, Trevor pushed the recorder again. This time the message coming over the two-way radio hinted at a disturbance on the fourteenth floor. “…Cory…got…trouble…floor fourteen…breaking glass… Cory… need…help…intruder… Cory…need…assistance…do you …copy? We’ve…got…trouble…need assistance.”

  Cory, who had been on the job for less than six months, never thought for a moment the call was fake. Trevor watched as Cory deserted his post outside Frank’s office to go help out his buddy Mike.

  Trevor grinned. Another plus in his favor. Well-intentioned, Cory had left poor Mr. Geller clearly unguarded.

  A few minutes later, Trevor opened the door to Frank’s office and stepped inside. Talk about feeling secure, the man never even so much as glanced up from the papers until Trevor walked up to the man’s desk.

  “Such a twit, did you really think they’d be able to keep me away?” He saw the shock register on Frank’s face.

  That boost kicked in.

  Frank’s eyes locked on Trevor’s and froze. Automatically he reached for the phone.

  Trevor placed a gloved hand over Frank’s to still the motion. “I’m afraid it’s too late to phone a friend.”

  “Who are you? Why are you killing my family?”

  “Well, now, it’s like this. Let me tell you a story.”

  “I don’t have time for stories. Look, I have a fortune in a Swiss bank account. It’s yours, just don’t kill me.”

  Trevor shook his head and laughed. “Can’t do it, mate. It wouldn’t be fair to the others. Besides, Frank, they need you to argue leniency with the Devil. Even as we speak, they’re waiting for you at the gates of hell.”

  “Wha…what are you doing?” Frank’s eyes grew wide when he saw Trevor reach into his pocket and pull out a .22 Smith and Wesson.

  “It’s small but effective when fired from close range. And it never misses from a few inches away.” He saw Frank swallow nervously, watched as his mouth went dry in fear.

  “I’ll give you anything you want. Look, I’m writing down my Swiss bank account number and the code you’ll need as we speak.” He shoved the piece of paper frantically toward Trevor.

  “Sorry, mate. There’s no bargaining in your future. That will only buy you a very quick suicide.”

  Ten minutes later, Trevor had just made his way out of the elevator to ground level when he felt the earth begin to shake. He saw the building sway, heard breaking glass above him and looked up in time to see broken shards rain down on his head. The quake had him taking off running through the parking structure as fast as he could to reach open space.

  Connor, on the other hand, had made a side trip to Agoura Hills. At the same moment the ground stopped shaking, he was parked in his Hummer outside Gloria’s house staring at Baylee’s Range Rover which was parked in the driveway. It hadn’t moved in days. He knew that for certain because he’d hired private security to stake out not only William Scott’s house twenty-four-seven but also to babysit her car here in Agoura Hills. But she’d made no more slip-ups showing up here or at her father’s house.

  He’d been up most of the night. The trip to Gloria’s house he now realized had been made on impulse and a mistake. He glanced over at the man sitting in a Chevy at the end of the street. Was that his security detail? he wondered as the two locked stares. It better be, he thought bitterly. The bitch was costing him a fortune and not for the first time.

  His head pounded like a mutha. No one was getting him any results. Why couldn’t anyone find one fucking woman with a little baby? If the answers weren’t coming to him, he’d by God find his own. He opened the car door and climbed out. Maybe she was holed up inside the guest cottage after all, he decided, as he crossed the street and walked up the driveway between the Range Rover and Gloria’s Honda Accord. He’d check the inside of the cottage for himself.

  Walking her dog, Gloria saw him cross the street from the end of the block. For a bit of security, she reached down and snatched up Morty, her Chihuahua, from the pavement. She had no intentions of backing down from the likes of Connor Boyd. But as she got closer, she saw the vacant look in his eyes. Alarm crept up her back.

  “Gloria.”

  “What are you doing here, Connor?”

  “Where’s Baylee?”

  “You think I would tell you? Humph, I wouldn’t, not even if I knew, which I don’t.”

  When he got close enough, he reached out to grab her arm, but the dog had other ideas. Morty bared his teeth, growling. Connor jerked his hand back just in time. “Tell me where she is.”

  “I have no idea. I suggest you leave now, Connor, before I call the police.”

  With the dog in one hand, Gloria reached in her pocket with the other and pulled out her cell phone. “Do I make the call Connor, or do you leave? You don’t frighten me for a minute.”

  “Look, old woman, you should be scared. But I’ll leave, this time. Your threat to call the cops isn’t why I’m going. I know plenty of cops. Answer me one thing, though. Is Baylee in that guest house around back?”

  Gloria forced out a laugh. “Of course not. You’re welcome to look and see for yourself.”

  Connor started walking to his car, jingling his keys, but turned back. “You know and I know that baby is mine. I intend to find her, Gloria. And when I do, I intend to get sole custody. Be sure to tell her that the next time you two talk. She can’t hide from me forever.” With that, he climbed back into the Hummer, started the engine, and barreled off down the street.

  Gloria watched him go. “Oh, Baylee, I do hope Dylan has you well hidden. If not, we may have to get you out of the country…and fast.”

  At that very moment on Catalina, the not-so-well-hidden Baylee enjoyed a leisurely pace along the boardwalk in the sunshine with Dylan by her side as he pushed Sarah in her stroller. Headed down to the harbor to see Kit and Jake off to catch the ferry back to the mainland, the four of them watched the boats come and go as they kept up a steady stream of chatter before they reached the landing where the ferry waited.

  “I miss having you and Sarah at the shop,” Kit told Baylee.

  “I miss the work. I even miss waiting on the cranky customers, even the commute into San Madrid every day. I guess I got used to that little fishing village more than I thought.”

  “When this is all over, you’ll move into Gloria’s house and make San Madrid your home.”

  “I can’t wait. What is it you aren’t telling me, Kit?”

  “Be careful, Baylee.” Kit glanced over Baylee’s shoulder at Jake, who was deep in conversation with Dylan. She hoped Jake was doing what she could not, warning Dylan about Connor.

  Just before the last call to board, Jake pulled Dylan aside and told him, “Stay on your toes. Kit got a call from Gloria before we left the house. Connor came by. She said the guy looked strung out, started ranting how Sarah was his, threatened to get sole custody.”

  Dylan’s knees wanted to buckle. “Shit. This is exactly what Baylee feared. Jesus, Jake.” He ran his hands through his long locks of hair. “I want to keep her safe. I’m not sure Catalina is going to get the job done, not far enough away, not by a long shot. How do you feel about me taking off for parts unknown? Because right now, I’m not so sure that isn’t the best thing I can do for her.”

  Jake slapped Dylan on the back. “Dylan, I’ve known you since the first grade. Are
you by any chance in over your head here?”

  Dylan didn’t have to ask what he meant. He rubbed his chin and looked over where Kit stood talking to Baylee. His world seemed a whole lot brighter. “I’m pretty sure I’m drowning, maybe going down for the last time.”

  “You couldn’t have picked a better human being, and those eyes.”

  “Her legs aren’t bad either,” Dylan offered, but even the distraction couldn’t lessen the tension. “Maybe I should take her to Canada.”

  “I know just how you feel. I’ve got a hearing coming up in less than a month that’s supposed to put Collin away for a measly five years.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “You’re telling me.” He glanced over at Kit saying goodbye to Baylee and Sarah. “You let me know if you can talk Baylee into leaving her father. I’ll use whatever you come up with to pack Kit off with you.”

  On their way back to the house, Dylan wondered if he should mention Connor’s visit. But glancing over at the peaceful look on Baylee’s face as she took pleasure in their walk, he decided to at least postpone the bad news until later, maybe after Sarah went down for her morning nap.

  As they explored the shops along the boardwalk, Baylee itched to check out each quaint little store she passed along the narrow cobblestone pathways. The whole village looked as if it belonged along the Mediterranean.

  Noticing Dylan had been exceptionally quiet, she decided to share her Catalina stories with him, ones about all the celebrities who had made the Island home over the years. “Not many people realize that Norma Jean Baker, aka Marilyn Monroe, lived here during 1942 while she was married to James Dougherty, who was in the merchant marine. The Island had been taken over by the military during the war and Dougherty was stationed here. While they were here they lived in an apartment overlooking Avalon harbor.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Not many do. But there’s a museum here dedicated to all kinds of interesting tidbits, like the fact that Mutiny on the Bounty was filmed here, the one with Clark Gable. And John Wayne used to bring his family here for vacations. Charlie Chaplin used to come here to fish.”

  She looked so cute Dylan thought, as she talked and searched each store, each one selling their own version of touristy T-shirts, mugs, and a generous assortment of tacky souvenirs. Although she didn’t buy anything, she was like a kid at Christmas. Watching her take pleasure in the hunt, he did his best to enjoy the ambiance of the place, but the conversation he’d had with Jake on the dock kept coming back to him in spades.

  Connor knew Sarah was his. No, Dylan corrected, he suspected. Suspicions would only get you so far. But it seemed he was hot on their trail anyway.

  Dylan began to deliberately check out their surroundings. They were virtually trapped here. Great places to hide, thought Dylan, as he scanned the gentle slopes and rolling hills of the place. Because most of the island fell under the protection of a conservancy established by the heirs to the Wrigley fortune, a good portion of it consisted of either natural habitat areas or designated campgrounds. Not that Connor was the type to ever get his hands dirty at a campsite or for that matter check out any natural habitat but his own, Dylan thought now.

  There were virtually no vehicles allowed on the island. A decade wait for permission to own a car here tended to put people off getting one. Most residents, as well as visitors, used golf carts to get from one site to another.

  That was great if you had all the freaking time in the world, thought Dylan. But if Connor showed up unannounced… What the fuck good would a golf cart do if Connor paid them a surprise visit in the middle of the night and they needed to get out fast?

  Dylan began to prepare an exit strategy.

  But Sarah’s fussiness interrupted his escape plans. Nap time. It took them all of three minutes to walk back up the hill to the house. Ten minutes later, she was snuggled down inside the Pack’N Play fast asleep.

  As they stood there looking at the sleeping infant, a quiet settled over the house. The next couple of hours belonged to them. Dylan looked at Baylee. Heat flared between them. “What do you say we take our own version of a morning nap?”

  Without saying a word, Baylee took his hand, pulled him out of the room and down the hall to the master bedroom.

  Head cocked to one side, Max St. John stood next to Frank Geller’s desk, studying the position of his body. He didn’t mind anyone settling old scores with these guys. From what he’d learned over the last month, they’d had their fingers in a lot of dark places. But it didn’t really matter who the victims were, whether a hooker or a high-profile, highly paid attorney, no one murdered on his watch and got away with it.

  He’d seen a lot over the years. In the old days this might have been deemed a suicide, plain and simple, and no one would have been the wiser. God, how he missed those days. How many more months did he have until retirement anyway? Too many, he thought sadly. Looking at the blood splatter on the wall, he knew one thing for sure. Whoever was out to get these people might possibly be the best he’d ever seen. And he’d seen a lot. He glanced up just in time to see his partner, Dan Holloway, stride into the room.

  “I’d say it was suicide except for one small problem. We’re standing in the office of the last original law partner and he’s just become victim number…” Dan counted off the victims on his fingers. “By my count. five. This guy’s good.”

  “Just thinking the same thing myself. But there’s also this.” Max held up a gloved hand, turned a gold cowboy the size of a toy soldier over for Dan to inspect. “He’s also consistent. Five victims, five crime scenes with different caliber weapons used, including one where he used a knife. There are no patterns to speak of, except for leaving this gold cowboy at each scene.”

  “Five that we know of,” Dan reminded him. “And the guy almost got Collin, the lucky SOB.”

  “Yeah. That we know of. We’ll have to see, won’t we? What it looks like and what it is are entirely two different things.”

  “Coroner’s report and forensics will tell.”

  At that moment, Garrett Geller, the victim’s son, appeared in the doorway.

  “Get him out of here,” Holloway bellowed to the uniform standing guard.

  “He wouldn’t have killed himself,” Garrett yelled in protest when the guard tried to manhandle him back into the hallway. “He’d just gotten married, just got back from his honeymoon for God’s sake. Can’t you see that the same bastard who killed my aunts and my uncle did this? Can’t you see that? What kind of morons are you? Anyone with a brain could figure this out. Don’t go calling this a suicide.”

  “Get him out of here,” directed Max. “And if you can’t contain this crime scene any better than that I’ll find someone who can.”

  With that, the uniform grabbed Geller and backed him forcibly out of the room.

  Dan shook his head. “Even we morons know that our guy is responsible for what’s starting to add up to a very impressive body count.”

  “You got that right. I’d say this is a personal vendetta. That’s a given. You know, I got a curious phone call from a cold case detective, a Ron Blake, over at the Sheriff’s Department. Double murder. 1969. An old couple named Pete and Mary Parker.” He relayed the information to Dan about the couple’s connection to the law firm, the lawsuit they’d won, the fifteen million at stake, and the codicil of the will where Jessica Boyd had been appointed the sole trustee of the estate, essentially removing the couple’s son, Noah, out of the inheritance picture.

  “I remember hearing about the lawsuit. The paper ran some kind of anniversary addition once, about how the case had essentially put Boyd Boyd Geller & Gatz on the map. Why’d he call you?”

  “To confirm his prime suspects were my dead victims. Alana Stevens and Jessica Boyd.”

  Dan’s mouth dropped open. “You’re joking?”

  “I wish I were. It seems Boston and his lawyer did a little end around, had a private detective deliver a .357 Magnum they
found in the Stevens’ attic. Ballistics match made in heaven.”

  “Son of a bitch. That might explain this whole thing.”

  Max nodded. “Looks like someone came back forty years later to settle a score. Any ideas?”

  “Geez, the son, this Noah Parker would be my guess. But the guy would have to be in his sixties by this time, wouldn’t he? Be easy enough to check. Run his name through the computer. That’s why we live in the technology age.”

  “I did that. The son died two years ago. Looks like we’ll just have to go where the wind takes us on this one, Dan.”

  Baylee’s eyes flew open. She realized she was in bed. She glanced at the clock and stretched catlike. Not yet noon. When was the last time she’d had a morning nap? Inclining her head, she listened to the quiet of the house. Lazily, she rolled over and saw the empty side of the bed where Dylan had earlier done absolutely, amazingly sinful things to her body.

  She ran her hand gently across the sheets―and smiled at the memory of each glorious one. The man had wonderful technique, skilled hands with long fingers; not to mention, he had an even better mouth.

  Leaving her alone in bed was becoming a habit of his, she thought. So he wasn’t the kind of guy who liked to stay in bed and snuggle. Well, there were worse things about a guy, she guessed, as she got up and threw on a pair of shorts and a cropped T-shirt.

  She padded down the hall to check on Sarah. Expecting to see the baby still sleeping, she was surprised to find the crib empty. She headed downstairs, stopping long enough to listen when she got to the bottom step. The house was too quiet. Despite her relaxed state, nerves started to jangle along her spine. Where were they?

  But then through the open windows, she heard Sarah giggle and Dylan’s calming voice coming from outside on the back lawn. They were sitting on the grass playing with a large bright red ball. Where the ball had come from Baylee had no idea. But Sarah was having fun attacking it as it became clear Dylan was using the rubber orb as incentive to try to get her to crawl.