Without Warning

by Lynette Eason

  But nothing. He relaxed slightly. Just the wind.

  And yet . . .

  He continued to clear the area around the house, and when he made it back to his front porch, his nerves were tight. But at least no one lurked in the shadows. For now.

  He unlocked the door and stepped into his home, shut the door behind him, and punched in the code for his alarm to deactivate it. He rearmed it, then shrugged out of his heavy coat and gave it a toss over the back of the nearest dining room chair.

  “Uncle Daniel? Can we talk now?”

  He turned to find Riley coming from the hallway. He blinked. As always he was struck by her physical beauty. Her dark hair and blue eyes were a wicked combination, and he was surprised he wasn’t finding guys parked on his front porch. What really hit home was how remarkable the resemblance was to her mother. He nearly gasped aloud at the sharp stab of pain the memories evoked. “Hey, Princess.” She grimaced at the nickname and he winced at his forgetfulness. “Sorry. It’s a hard habit to break. I’ve been calling you that since you were born.”

  “Just don’t do it in public.” She shot him a ferocious frown. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “I am now that I know you are.” She crossed the kitchen, slipped her arms around his waist, and laid her head against his chest. “You scared me,” she whispered. “What if I’d lost you too?”

  He held her tight, her fears valid. He could have been hurt had the intruder had something else on his mind. Checking out the yard might not have been the best decision. He really had to get used to thinking about the fact that another person was depending on him. After eighteen months one would think he’d have gotten the hang of that. “You’re not going to lose me.”

  She pulled away. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You and I both know life is fleeting and can be snatched away in the blink of an eye.”

  His heart squeezed. She shouldn’t have to worry about that kind of stuff, but then again, maybe it was good she was so aware. “Yes, that’s true. Let me put it to you this way. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure nothing happens to me, all right?” Or at least he would from now on.

  “Fair enough. Olivia didn’t say much, just that it looked like the fire was on purpose. So who’s the jerk that burned down the restaurant? Did you find Mom’s box?”

  “To the first question: I have no idea. The police are looking into it. As to finding the box, no.”

  Her shoulders slumped.

  “Hey, I just have to wait for everything to cool off, then I can go back and find it.”

  “It’s probably gone.”

  He chucked her chin. “It’s not gone ’til it’s gone. It’s marble so it might be all right. Maybe singed and sooty, but all right. Stay positive.”

  She looked away. “I put her Bible in there,” she whispered.

  Daniel stilled. “Why?”

  Her shoulder lifted slightly, then dropped. “I don’t know. I guess I was hoping it would . . . make a difference somehow. I don’t know.” She tucked her chin. “Stupid, I guess.”

  “Definitely not stupid. I promise I’ll go back and look for it as soon as I can get access, okay?”

  She sniffed and nodded. “So what now?” She pulled his jacket from the chair and walked behind him to the hall closet, opened the door, took out a hanger, and hung up the jacket. When she turned around, her slight frame shook. She was fighting tears.

  “Aw, Riley, I’m sorry, hon. Come here, let’s go into the den and have a seat.”

  She sniffed and shook her head. “No, you have an interview in the morning, remember? For the new cook you need?” She looked at the kitchen clock. “Or rather, in about four hours.”

  He kissed her forehead. Right. His secretary, Bridgett Holmes, had scheduled the interview after his trip to Charleston was canceled. Riley had instant access to his calendar so she knew where he was at all times. And sometimes she saved his hide by reminding him of appointments. “All right then. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, I almost forgot. This guy named Tim Shepherd called. He said it was urgent that you call him back.”

  Daniel stiffened. Tim Shepherd, a real estate developer who wanted Daniel to sell his prime piece of land that now held a burned-down shell of a restaurant. “What time did he call?”

  “Around eight o’clock.”

  “Okay, thanks.” He pulled out his phone.

  “You’re not going to call him now, are you?” Riley exclaimed.

  He paused. “Why the outrage?”

  “The time, Uncle Daniel. Remember what time it is?”

  Daniel blinked. “Oh right.”

  She shook her head, took his phone from his hand, and powered it down. “You can call him tomorrow. Today.” She frowned. “In a few hours. Go to bed. You need your beauty rest.”

  He snorted, secretly glad she’d lightened the moment. “You go to bed too, kid. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “No you won’t. I’m sleeping in.”

  “Playing hooky?”

  “It’s the weekend. Today is Saturday.”

  “Oh. Right. The weekend.” Her exasperation amused him. He hoped he hid it well.

  She shook her head. “You really need to work on the whole concept of time and days and stuff.”

  He sighed. “Hey, I’m getting better, aren’t I?”

  “Maybe a little.” She gave a small laugh.

  “But not much?”

  “No, not much.”

  He paused. “Did Grandma call or text or anything? Does she know about this mess?”

  “No, I haven’t heard from her. She’s probably asleep.”

  “But she watches the news every morning.” He sighed. “I’ll call her first thing in the morning.”

  “That would probably be wise.”

  He tweaked a stray lock of her hair. “Night, Princess. Love you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Night, Danny boy. Love you too.”

  “Later, gator.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder. “Not saying it.”

  “After ’while, crocodile,” he finished.

  “Ugh.” She disappeared down the hall to her room and the smile slipped from his lips. He turned his phone back on. Riley meant well, but he couldn’t take a chance on missing any calls from anyone who might have news about the events of the night. He rubbed his eyes and walked from the kitchen into the living area to drop into his favorite recliner. Instead of picking up the remote and turning on the television, he stared at the blank screen while his brain finally processed the events. He had no idea how long he sat there, unable to relax. But he kept waiting for the phone to ring. Or for a knock on the door. Or for the security alarm to sound.

  Something. Anything.

  When no one called to give him a report on the conclusion of the fire, he unclipped his phone and dialed Detective Holcombe’s number. Then hung up. The detective would call him if he had something to say. Daniel set the phone on the end table next to his grandmother’s Bible. A Bible he hadn’t opened in eighteen months but couldn’t bring himself to put completely out of sight. He was sure a psychiatrist would have a field day with that one.

  He turned his gaze from it.

  Someone had set fire to his restaurant. That same someone—most likely, though not yet proven—had killed a man and hung him in the basement of one of his other restaurants.

  Daniel was no stranger to death. He’d seen plenty of it during his three tours in the Middle East. He’d even been a target before, simply because of his country of birth. But this was different. This was personal. And the sinking feeling in his gut said it had only just begun.

  As he let himself inside his house, he breathed his first real breath since meeting Maurice Armstrong at the restaurant. The man had agreed to meet him after hours. When darkness would cover the fact that Armstrong was once again on Daniel’s restaurant property. Money was a very good motivator.

  He
fancied himself pretty smart. Brilliant even. Usually he was a planner and always level-headed. He never acted upon impulse. At least not anymore. The fact that he’d done so tonight, had reverted to old habits, had knocked him off his game. Meeting Armstrong had been an impulse, a decision that had to be made without careful forethought or planning. Going to Daniel’s house had been spur of the moment as well. He shouldn’t have gone, but he almost couldn’t help himself. He had to know, had to watch. It unnerved him that Daniel had sensed his presence and come looking for him. He’d managed to slip away, of course, but now it was time to regroup.

  He headed for the fireplace and stripped himself of each garment and threw them into the cavernous hole. He used a small bit of lighter fluid and set the clothes on fire. He’d dispose of the ashes in the morning. He went into the master bath and bathed, scrubbing every square inch of skin. If they came to his house, they’d find no evidence on him. He meticulously cleaned his nails and hands—even though he’d worn gloves. Then washed his hair three times before deeming himself free of evidence. Once out of the shower, he dressed, then grabbed the bleach from beneath his sink. He poured the remaining amount of liquid into the shower, then scrubbed it as well as he had his body.

  He replaced the bottle of bleach back under the sink, grabbed the damp towel, and returned to his living area. He tossed the towel into the fireplace with the clothes and watched the lot burn. He enjoyed the warmth from the flames as he thought.

  He hadn’t planned the events that had unfolded. Not all of them anyway. He certainly hadn’t planned on having to kill. But once he’d seen what Armstrong had to show him, he’d had no choice. The plan had jumped into his mind as though it had been waiting for him to embrace it. And that was when he’d known that Armstrong had to die. No, that part of the night hadn’t been planned.

  But now that it was done, he wondered at his lack of emotion. Shouldn’t he feel bad that he’d taken a man’s life? Probably. But the fact that there had been no other choice soothed any remorse that might be trying to rear its head. And truly, Armstrong had brought on his own death, insisting Daniel needed to know things that just weren’t his business. There was no way he could allow that. So really, Armstrong had committed suicide, it just hadn’t been by his own hand. He smiled. It was like suicide by cop. He’d been perfectly justified in killing Armstrong, so there was no need for regrets.

  He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of ice water. He chugged it and refilled it, then walked back into the den. He relived the moment he’d felt Armstrong’s life seep away. Carrying him into the basement might have been stupid, but he’d thought the man wouldn’t be discovered until much later. How was he to know Daniel would be there and would almost come upon him? He wanted to smack himself. He should have checked the front parking lot. He would have seen Daniel’s SUV. But he hadn’t even gone that way. He’d parked in the cemetery and had walked over to the back area. Maurice had done the same. He sure hadn’t wanted his car on Daniel’s property.

  Ah well, at least he’d thought to avoid the security cameras. And at least he’d had a hoodie on to pull up over his head. A hoodie that had now been reduced to ashes, along with the rest of the clothes that might carry any evidence of his nocturnal activities.

  He had to be more careful from now on. He had to plan, to calculate the risks involved in what he wanted to accomplish and be ready to act if he found unexpected obstacles in his path. And he expected he would. He rose from his sofa and walked to his desk. He set his glass on the coaster and pulled his pen from the holder. With his left hand, he opened the middle drawer and pulled out a brand-new yellow legal pad. He placed the pad exactly in the middle of the desk and stared at it while he thought.

  Yes, it had all worked out for the best, but there could be no more unplanned scenarios. He tapped his lip with his forefinger and ran through all the different ways he could use everything to his advantage. The niggling at the back of his mind that he’d had when he’d set fire to Matthews’s restaurant now blossomed into a full-blown plan.

  He clicked the tip of the pen and began to write.

  [4]

  Saturday

  12:15 PM

  Katie looked up from the novel she was reading, yawned, and chugged another swig of her black coffee. She had the day off and intended to spend it doing nothing more strenuous than curling up on the lounger in her newly finished sunporch. She had been trying to find the time to read this novel for a month now. She popped another peanut M&M and glanced at the clock.

  Well, the rest of the day anyway. She’d slept through the first half of it. She’d received a text from Olivia stating that all was quiet and peaceful at the Matthews household and Katie was instructed to enjoy her time off.

  So, she focused back on the book and ignored the call of the rest of her unfinished house. Truthfully, she’d be working, but she couldn’t do anything in the kitchen until the cabinets arrived. Until then, she was content to wait and be lazy with a good book. And wait for Quinn to call and let her know how the investigation was going.

  Unfortunately, the words on the page ran together and her brain refused to process them. She reread the last paragraph, and when she found herself reading it yet again, she finally slammed the book shut and looked at her watch. Was Quinn going to call or not?

  “Not that he’s under any obligation to call,” she muttered. Backdraft, her orange tabby with reddish coloring, leaped onto her lap and settled against her stomach. She scratched the cat’s ears and thought about the events of the early morning.

  She wasn’t officially assigned to anything dealing with the case, but she couldn’t get the burning building out of her mind, or the fact that Daniel could have killed Armstrong and hung him. Or wrapped the chain around his neck and held him there until he died. Or whatever . . . She really wanted to hear the official cause of death.

  Regardless, no one in his right mind would do that and not expect to be a suspect. Or was it just a clever way to throw suspicion off himself hoping that the police would wave their hands and say no one was that stupid?

  Unfortunately, the police knew people were that stupid, so if that had been Daniel’s plan, it would eventually backfire and he’d be arrested. But . . . she really didn’t believe he’d had anything to do with any of it. She sighed. Time would tell. The first thing Quinn would check would be Daniel’s financial status. Those records would show if he needed the insurance money from the fire.

  Her phone buzzed and she looked at the screen. Her stomach dropped and she grimaced. But she couldn’t ignore the caller. “Hi, Daphne.”

  “So you are still alive.”

  “I am. And how are you?”

  Her sister’s sigh filtered clearly through the line. “I’m fine, Katie. It’s the middle of October.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

  “So . . . are you coming home for Thanksgiving next month?”

  Katie closed her eyes. Was she? She pictured the event. Her family seated at the table with five places for her, her sister, her mother and father. And one distinctly missing person. The tension would crackle, the atmosphere would be subdued. And she would feel the blame emanating from her parents. She drew in a deep breath. “No. No, I’m not.”

  As soon as she said the words, a deep satisfaction filled her. This was the moment she’d been dreading and now she felt almost . . . free.

  Silence greeted her words. She could feel Daphne’s shock reaching across the airwaves. Katie held her tongue and refused to give in to the desire to cave and do what her sister wanted.

  “I . . . see.” Daphne cleared her throat. “I . . . well. Um . . . are you sure?”

  “Daphne, what will it accomplish if I’m there?”

  “Well, I . . . don’t . . . I mean . . .” Another sigh. “Mom’s not going to take this lightly.”

  “I didn’t make the decision lightly.” She glanced at the clock hanging over the television. “I need to go.” But she didn’t. Not really. Bu
t phone calls to her family always stressed her out and she didn’t want to be stressed today.

  “You always need to go,” her sister said.

  The sadness in her voice struck Katie and she swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. She was only a two-hour drive from her family and she never saw them. And while she had her reasons, she knew Daphne missed her. “What are you doing this weekend?” Katie blurted.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, are you busy? What are your plans? Are you on the schedule?” Daphne was an ER nurse at the Grand Strand Medical Center in Myrtle Beach.

  “Nothing terribly exciting. I’m off Friday, probably will see a movie with some friends Friday night, work on Saturday, and Sunday dinner with Mom and Dad.”

  “You want to come visit?”

  More silence. “You’ve never asked me that before.”

  Katie blinked. “I haven’t?”

  “No. Every time we talk, you’re always busy with some job. So I don’t ask you to come home and I don’t ask to come visit. And . . . neither do you. Until today.”

  “Oh.” She stood and walked over to the window to stare into her backyard and the wooded area beyond it. “I’m sorry.” Had she truly not? She closed her eyes. “I didn’t know I needed to. I suppose I just assumed you would know you had an open invitation.”

  Daphne’s small laugh reached her. “No, I wasn’t sure.” The hesitancy in her sister’s voice nearly killed her. “I mean, aren’t you working?”

  “Yes, I’m working a case, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you.”

  “Then I’d love to come see you this weekend. I want to hear more about your job.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, it’s, um . . . pretty boring. At least most of the time.”

  “All right, then we’ll talk about Thanksgiving.”

  Katie closed her eyes and gave a silent groan. “Okay. Text me when you’re on the way.”

  “I can come Friday morning. We could have most of the day Friday, but I would have to leave first thing Saturday morning. I have to work that afternoon.”