by Vella Day
I have to be wrong, her logical side screamed.
No you aren’t, her pushy tiger countered.
His foul scent once more seeped in through her nose and triggered that horrible memory along with the more recent one. Her tiger demanded that she shift and kill him right there, but she couldn’t give in. As much as she wanted to rip him apart, she refused to let her anger take over. She’d have to find a way to prove he was the killer first. Then she’d bring him down legally.
Jillian drew on her lawyer calm and studied him. The man was tall, maybe six feet and had weathered skin, close-set eyes, and a weak chin. He also had that two-inch scar on his right jaw.
The instinct to flee was strong, but Jillian had to act as if she had no idea he’d committed this heinous act. Because alcohol tainted her breath, she believed she could use that to her advantage, and pretend she’d seen nothing—or almost nothing.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions,” the man with the crescent-shaped scar said. He turned to his female partner. “Can you take her statement? I need to call the crime scene unit.”
“Sure.”
He sounds so professional. Could he be the killer? her human side questioned.
Yes, her tiger immediately responded as she scraped her nails along the lining of Jillian’s stomach, probably to show the strength of her conviction.
Focus. Jillian had been introduced to many of Camille’s coworkers, but she’d never seen this woman before. Her nametag read Rodriguez. She was human and stood about five foot five, the same height as Jillian. The officer’s skin was a warm honey color, and thankfully, her dark brown eyes exuded sympathy. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, Jillian followed her out to the living room.
“Please, have a seat,” the officer said. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Jillian decided to mix truth with fiction, all the while pretending to possess only human traits—that is, someone who didn’t have exceptional hearing or fantastic eyesight. She sure as hell wasn’t about to mention how fast she’d rushed into the house. The only stroke of luck was that the killer hadn’t been the one to interrogate her.
“I was at a bachelorette party all night. I probably shouldn’t have been driving home after drinking, but it wasn’t far.” Jillian waved a hand, wanting to keep talking before she received a lecture about drinking and driving. “Anyway, as I drove up, I saw a masked man charge out of my front door.” She slurred a few of her words for effect. “He ran down the street and drove off.”
“Did you see what kind of car he was driving?” the officer asked with no signs of disgust.
Jillian shook her head. “It was dark, and when I saw him come out of my house, my heart beat so fast I couldn’t catch my breath, let alone register what was happening.” She’d never be able to explain how she’d caught the first three digits of the license plate, as no human would have been able to see them from so far away. The fast beating heart, however, wasn’t a lie. Otherwise, she would have memorized the entire license plate number. “I do remember that it wasn’t a truck or a van.”
The officer jotted down the information. “What time was this?”
“I can’t be sure exactly, but I think I left the party around one, so maybe it was 1:15 before I arrived home.” That was the truth.
All throughout the questioning, Jillian wondered what the man was doing in the spare bedroom. Was he making sure he hadn’t left any evidence? It wasn’t like she could mention to the female officer that her partner had killed her friend because he smelled the same as her intruder. Humans didn’t have a keen sense of smell.
“Can you describe what he looked like?” she asked.
Jillian had said the man wore a mask. “He was maybe six feet tall. He might have been middle aged because his gait appeared stiff.” That was all she was going to say. If the man believed she could identify him, he might come after her.
The officer kept asking her what seemed like the same questions over and over again. Even the ones about Dalia and her contact information were difficult. Eventually, two more people arrived with cameras and cases. Given they wore overalls and then slipped on disposable booties and head covers, they must be with the crime scene unit. Her house now a crime scene, Jillian figured it was a matter of time before they asked her to leave.
“I don’t want to stay here tonight. I’d have nightmares. Would it be okay if I packed a few things and went over to a friend’s house?” Her plan to escape town had evolved during the questioning.
“Absolutely. You can’t remain here anyway. Where will you be staying so we can keep in touch?”
The first name that came to mind was Camille’s. “Camille Williams. She works for the LAPD.”
The officer wrote her name down. “That’s perfect.”
For effect, Jillian staggered as she left the living room. Unfortunately, she had to pass the guest room before reaching the master, so she forced herself not to look. As quickly as she could, she threw warm clothes into a suitcase. Tennessee, where her brother lived, would be cold in February. She picked that location in part because Jillian wanted to be as far away from Scarface as possible. Dalton also would be able to help her figure out what to do next. Her clients might revolt that she’d skipped town, but they would be more upset if she were murdered.
Something niggled at the back of her mind at that thought. Had the bullet that killed Dalia been meant for her?
Chapter Two
‡
The last place Brian Stanley wanted to be was in his dead parents’ house packing up their possessions, but his very pregnant sister Elana had asked for his help and he couldn’t say no. Thankfully, she’d already done most of the furniture removal before he’d moved to Silver Lake.
Two days ago, she’d told him it was time to put the house on the market, and he was thrilled. He wasn’t so crass to mention that she could burn the old homestead down for all he cared. After all, he’d found his parents murdered in the living room and sworn he’d never step foot in this place again, yet here he was. That was how much he wanted to reconnect with his baby sister. For as distant as he’d been from them most of his life, even he agreed with his therapist that unless he found closure to his parents’ actions, he’d never heal. So here he was—back in the town where it all started.
As calloused as it sounded, it wasn’t holding his dying mother in his arms that still haunted him; her rejection and total lack of love still fucked with his head. Hell, it had taken him thirty years of therapy to mostly come to grips with being tossed in an institution as soon as he turned eight.
“The door leads to the attic,” Elana said pointing to the ceiling in the hallway outside their parents’ bedroom. “Just yank on the cord.”
He was more than aware what was up there, but perhaps it slipped her mind that he had lived in this house until she was born. Many times he’d sneak up there when his parents weren’t around—which was much of the time—and pretend he was a stowaway on a pirate ship headed for some Caribbean island where he could run free.
As much as he didn’t want to touch anything that belonged to them, Elana was asking for his help. If he had any chance of experiencing what it was like to have a family, he couldn’t blow it now. He’d already walked out on her once, and he was determined not to rebuff her again. In the short time he’d been in Silver Lake, Elana had proved to him that she was pure goodness.
He tugged on the cord, climbed up the steps, and then turned on the bare bulb that only faintly illuminated the attic. Heart pounding, memories assaulted him, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to block out the images. Despite the precaution, he couldn’t stop his mother’s sharp voice from entering his mind. The sound bounced around like a pinball, slamming against his brain until it hurt. No sooner had that stopped than his father’s pinched face came into view filled with disgust and disappointment that were heaped upon controlled anger.
Brian slipped his hand in his pocket looking for his meds, but they we
ren’t there. Damn. Only then did he remember that he’d tossed the small pillbox in his glove compartment in case of emergency. Today might be the day that broke his streak of being one-month medication free.
“What do you see?” Elana called from below, immediately blocking his parents’ grim faces.
“Ah, boxes.”
“How many?”
Happy to take his mind off where he was and why, he swept his gaze across the two pieces of plywood that sat on top of the rafters. Pink insulation covered the rest of the area. “I’d say no more than eight.”
“I’ll have Kalan and some of his friends come over and bring them down.”
If she’d planned on doing that, why ask him to help? “I can grab some of the smaller ones.” He needed to be useful.
“Okay.” The cheer in her voice bolstered him.
Ever since he’d come to Silver Lake a few months ago, something wonderful had happened to both his body and his attitude. Not only had he dropped the excess belly fat he’d been carrying for years, he’d been able to more or less wean himself off his bipolar meds. Even though Brian was thrilled to be mostly drug free, he still didn’t understand why the change had happened, though he sensed it had something to do with his sister. Every time he visited her, it was as if his worries suddenly disappeared. However, it could be that the air was less polluted in Silver Lake than in Ohio, which helped suppress his allergies. Bottom line, something was affecting him—and in a good way.
Pushing his questions aside, he brought down the four lightest boxes one at a time.
Elana examined them. “I wonder why Mom didn’t mark what was in them.”
“Maybe she didn’t want anyone to know what was in them. She was secretive that way. You could open them and find out.”
Elana inhaled then ran her hands over her protruding belly. For a moment she looked like their mother, but he dismissed that unpleasant thought. Elana was much prettier and a hell of lot nicer. Maybe it was the pink top that cinched under her breasts and the pink bow that held back her thick hair that made her look so young and innocent. What he knew for sure was that his sister was happy, and that gave him hope he could be too.
“Yeah, I know, but I’m not ready to see what’s inside just yet,” she said with a bit of depression in her tone.
He wasn’t ready to see their stuff ever. “I’ll put these in the back of the truck then.”
“Thanks.”
The moment he finished loading them, Elana slipped into the front seat, and Brian couldn’t wait to leave the property. The drive down the tree-lined driveway caused too many bad thoughts to jam his brain waves. He even had to force himself to loosen his grip on the wheel.
“Looks like it might snow,” Brian said, wanting to take the focus off being in his parents’ house.
“It does, but I don’t mind the cold.”
As much as he disliked the inconvenience of driving in the wet stuff, of late, things like slippery conditions and the wind cutting right through him, didn’t seem to really bother him much anymore. Even the gunmetal sky, while dark and foreboding, couldn’t dampen his overall mood—only thinking about how his parents had treated him could.
Ten minutes later, Brian parked in front of his sister’s house. “Where do you want the boxes?” he asked.
She withdrew a remote from her purse and clicked it to open the garage door. “Just stack them on the right side.”
“Can do. Why don’t you head inside while I take care of it?” He didn’t want her to push herself too hard. His nephew needed his rest.
“You have a moment to come in?” Elana asked.
He did, but he wanted some alone time. Who was he kidding? He needed his meds, and he didn’t want to take them in front of her. “Can I have a rain check? I have a lot of chores to do. It’s been a long day—and I bet the baby wants you to rest too.”
Elana leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. That one action heated his cheeks, but it also lightened his heart. She pushed open the truck door and eased out. “Thanks for helping me. I know that was hard for you.”
Brian had never been around anyone like Elana before. “It couldn’t have been easy for you either.”
Her thin smile told him she was working to hold it together. As soon as Elana waddled to the front of the house and let herself in, he placed the boxes inside the garage. Once done, he fished out his meds from his glove compartment and downed an anxiety pill. Disappointment washed through him. Fuck. Why was he so weak? He knew. It was his parent’s fault.
Stop blaming them for everything, that little voice in his head told him.
Shaking off his own self-loathing, he drove off. While he had every intention of heading straight to town, something made him turn toward the lake. He’d only seen the shimmering water through the trees one time when Elana had given him a brief tour of the area, but even that small glimpse had drawn him in like a rubbernecker to an accident.
It might be cold, but today he needed to explore the area. It was as if some siren was calling to him. After a two-minute drive, he reached a spot where car tires had rutted a stretch of land. He shut off the engine, zipped up his jacket, and headed down the path that led to the water.
As he neared, his step turned lighter and a strange joy seeped into him. He swore Silver Lake was emitting some kind of drug that created a surge of endorphins, or else the pill he’d just swallowed had kicked in already.
The pine trees were giving off a fresh scent that entombed the area in coziness. There was definitely something strange going on here. He could feel it, but what was it? What he wouldn’t give to have this fleeting euphoria stay in his heart once he left this lake.
Brian walked around the shoreline, confused as to why his years of hatred toward his parents dissipated the longer he spent in the lake’s presence. Perhaps he was crazy to attribute his happiness to a body of water. It didn’t really matter. Contentment surrounded him.
It’s the pills.
No, it isn’t. He’d taken these pills for years, and they’d never worked this fast before or made him feel this way. Once his demons shut up, Brian returned to his car, determined to unravel the mystery of Silver Lake.
*
Jillian was exhausted. As soon as she’d flown the coop, she’d driven straight to the Los Angeles airport, praying the bastard didn’t realize for a few weeks at least that she’d left the state. Because she’d given the female cop her cell phone number, Jillian had to turn it off, fearing he might be able to trace her location. Even if Camille called, she had to remain offline.
By the time she arrived at the airport, it was almost three in the morning, and unfortunately, the first plane to Knoxville, Tennessee didn’t depart until six.
With her suitcase by her side, she slipped down onto one of the terminal airport seats. Twisting her long blonde hair into a knot at the back of her head, she tried to stretch out on the hard lounge chairs for the long wait, but she couldn’t get comfortable. It might have been because with each passing minute, not only did her mood head south, her anger at the injustice of Dalia’s death caused her stomach to turn into a cauldron of acid.
Believing she was safe in the airport, she closed her eyes. Seconds later that horrible man’s smell floated toward her, and she jackknifed into an upright position. Jillian twisted around, expecting to see the cop with the scarred face, but no one was there. Damn. The last thing she needed was an over active imagination to mess with her senses. Her tiger was already on high alert.
No sooner had Jillian pushed aside the heinous violation that had occurred in her home than she realized she’d have to call Dalia’s parents and tell them how sorry she was. Hopefully, they wouldn’t blame her for leaving their daughter to go to the party.
While Jillian tried to relax once more, a looming sense of doom prevented her from letting down her guard. She might not be psychic, but she’d always had a sense about people. It was what made her a successful lawyer. If that cop was involved in Dalia’s mur
der, he might consider her a loose end. And loose ends needed to be eliminated.
*
By the time Jillian made it across the country, rented a car, and then drove the hour to her brother’s place, it was a little after dinnertime. Thank goddess for the GPS system or she’d never have found Dalton’s house.
The only good thing about arriving late was that her brother might be home from work. If not, she’d find the sheriff’s office and ask for him there.
Her brother had lived in Silver Lake for nine months, yet she hadn’t found the time to visit her only sibling before now. Jillian could see that had been shortsighted. Family had to come first. Clearly, her struggle for success had blinded her to what was important in life.
As she pulled in front of his one story brick house, his white SUV sat in the drive. Jillian smiled as she remembered how happy he’d been when he bought his new car. He’d added the black wheel well trim, joking that his car was more of a white tiger than he was. He had even kept his identity secret from his werebear partner, Kalan Murdoch. As far as Dalton knew, only wolf and bear shifters existed in this town, and he didn’t want to be the odd man out ever again.
As soon as she cut power to the engine, the tension in her shoulders unknotted. She’d made it. I’m safe, for now at least.
Leaving her suitcase in the car, she stepped into the brutally cold air and shivered. Looking over her shoulder one last time, Jillian rushed to the front door and knocked. Shifting her weight back and forth to keep warm, she rubbed her arms. Voices sounded and then the door opened.
“Jillian?” her brother said with wide eyes. “What are you…doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you. Never mind, come in, come in.”
For a cop, he sure was tongue-tied. The moment he closed the door, he wrapped his arms around her in the best and warmest embrace ever.
“Someone killed Dalia,” she blurted into his shoulder, her throat clogging at the words.
