by Jan Coffey
“Glad to oblige.”
“What the hell?” Jake said in greeting as he hung up the phone. “You leave the tournament of the year to go messing with lowlife scum that are none of your business?”
Gavin shrugged.
“Can we count on you next week or are you going to take off on us again when the game gets hot?” Jake groused.
“Hit me up as we get closer and I'll check my schedule.”
Gavin grabbed the dart case off Jake’s desk, sucking in a breath when he saw the name on the file at the bottom. Lacey Watkins. What was that doing here? Her case had been handled in Litchfield County, not here.
“What's this here for?” he asked, looking from Luke to Jake and pointing to the folder. He yanked the file from the stack.
Jake glanced at the name, then grabbed it from him and tucked it under his arm. “I believe that would fall under the category of official business.”
Luke just shrugged his shoulders.
“Okay.” Gavin remembered how vulnerable she looked at the funeral. She didn’t need more trouble. “Just thought you two losers might still need someone to keep you out of the doghouse…but whatever.”
Shaking his head, Gavin tucked the dart case under his arm and headed for the door.
CHAPTER 6
“I think we have everything we need for now.” The young police officer tucked his clipboard under one arm.
Lacey stepped back as a second cop walked out. He was carrying a police department laptop with the files from her computer loaded on it.
“What does for now mean? Where do we go from here?” she asked.
“We’ll do some checking and try to confirm that it’s your sister in those photos,” he said.
Lacey had told him a hundred times that it was Terri, but they weren’t going to take her word for it before the state police had their say. They still believed it could be a prank.
“If we have to take your computer, we’ll come back for it,” he added.
She rubbed her arms to try to ward off a chill that wasn’t going away. “I want to know how that file got mixed in with my work and who took those pictures.”
They’d gone over in minute detail at least three times where she’d been and who might have had access to her cameras and computer in the past week.
“It might be just what I said before,” he said. “The Internet is like the wild west. It’s the fastest growing area of criminal activity. Someone could have planted this through a virus or something. You never know.”
She bit back her frustration. “Have others gotten this? Have you had any other calls or heard of anyone else complaining of the same thing?”
The cop shook his head. “Not yet. But that doesn’t mean anything. The state police have a Computer Crime Unit. If it’s out there, they’ll have heard about it.”
Lacey wasn't feeling any better. She was already questioning her decision to call the locals. She should have contacted an expert. She thought of Gavin MacFadyen again.
“In the meantime, I’d be a little more careful about who you let use your computer.”
Lacey looked up to see Amy standing in the doorway. She had on her coat and dark glasses. She was holding her white walking stick. Lacey had called her first thing this morning to give her a heads-up about what was going on. She didn’t want her to be startled at the police activity at the house.
Although blind, Amy worked as a receptionist at a local health club, did a shift at the adult daycare facility, and put in a few hours a week running Lacey’s home office. Amy was both independent and efficient.
“I’m walking down to the convenience store for some milk. Do you need anything?”
“I could use some fresh air, too. How about if you wait a minute, and we can go together?” Lacey turned to the police officer as Amy left. “I work with professionals. I’m the only klutz around here when it comes to this kind of stuff.”
“Since we don't know much about anything so far, we’ll keep the lid on this for now. You don’t need people reading about it in the Westbury Times,” the cop said before heading toward the door. “Might not help with business.”
She met Amy at the bottom of the steps. “Hey, did you fall?” Inside, she’d noticed dirt stains on Amy's knees and the sleeves of her jacket.
“I tripped over something on the way over. Something gross and definitely dead.” Amy wiped the palm of one hand on her coat.
“Where? Show me.” Rumors had been circulating of a pack of coyotes hunting in the area at night.
She followed Amy not fifty yards from Lacey's porch. The dead animal was beyond identifying. Gray fur and blackened entrails. It wasn't the whole animal, and it also wasn't freshly killed. It looked like something from the side of the highway. Nasty.
“What is it?”
“I don't know.” Lacey shuddered. This was the second dead animal she'd found near the house in recent weeks. “Whatever it is, I'll throw it in the barrel when we get back.”
A brisk breeze was churning up the leaves, sending them flying in every direction. Giving the carcass a wide berth, Lacey led Amy to a path through the woods behind the property. In a few minutes they crossed through an old cemetery, a shortcut to downtown.
“So what did the cops say?” Amy asked.
“Nothing. They had no answers. They took a copy of the file. Otherwise, they were totally useless,” Lacey summarized. “But they were nice enough not to take my computer.”
“I overheard him blaming me,” Amy said when they had reached the paved lane of the graveyard.
“No, he wasn’t. He was making a general statement.”
“My laptop is networked with your system. Could I have somehow screwed up?”
“No. You couldn’t. Regardless of what the cops say,” she continued, “this is a lot more complicated than someone mistakenly downloading a file. It’s ridiculous to think that an image can randomly insert itself into a customer file I was working on last week. Those are pictures of Terri. The caption was meant to hurt me. This is personal. Whoever it is, he's trying to get to me.”
The air suddenly felt colder. The breeze was bending the gnarled branches of ancient trees. Only a few orange leaves clung tenaciously above them as they neared the edge of the cemetery. Lacey buttoned her jacket as a chill swept down her spine.
She couldn’t shake the image of Terri's face, gray and lifeless, from her mind. Prior to seeing that photograph, she remembered her sister from the morning of the accident when she'd been leaving the house. Lively. As happy as she was capable of being. Bragging about the coffee she'd brewed being superior to the pot of mud Lacey usually made.
“I can feel you shivering.” Amy’s fingers touched Lacey’s. “Are you cold? Do you want to go back?”
Lacey stuffed her frozen fingers into her pocket as they stood in the shadow of an evergreen hedge at a turn in the lane. The breeze had died and the place had become very still.
It had been Terri's wish to be cremated. They’d discussed the morbid topic twice on their long telephone conversations across the country when their grandfather was dying. Lacey always thought she'd be the first one to go, but Terri's ashes were now in the heavy ceramic urn on a dresser in the upstairs hallway that she touched every morning on her way down.
Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck jumped to attention. She was being watched. Again.
Lacey looked around. Fifty feet away beyond the rows of gravestones, she saw him.
He always watched her from a distance. Never approached. Never said a word. She could never make out anything recognizable in his face, except that it was lined with age. She had no idea who he was. She saw him mostly in the cemetery. Perhaps he had a loved one buried here. He always seemed to wear the same gray raincoat and a battered fishing hat. This time, he stood under a tree and just stared.
An old feeling of defenselessness rushed back. Perhaps he recognized her. Maybe he knew of her past. She wondered if he’d been outside her house last night.<
br />
The truth stared her in the face. She was no longer able to ignore it. Lacey pretended that living in a different town in Connecticut, having a job, and minding her own business would be enough to make her invisible. But many in the area still remembered the horrific crime and there were a few who believed she’d gotten off too easy. It had only been a matter of time before connections were made and everyone would realize that Lacey Watkins was the teenager who’d been present when Stephanie Green had been raped and murdered.
And she had a sick feeling that Terri’s hit-and-run was connected to the lakeside tragedy sixteen years ago. There were no accidents. Someone was punishing Lacey.
The knot in her throat was large enough to choke on.
“Lacey? Are you okay?”
She took a couple of quick breaths and forced herself to focus. She hadn’t told Amy about her past. And Amy had never asked.
“I’m okay. I’m sorry. Let’s go.” She took Amy’s arm, relieved that the man had left.
They walked for a while in silence while Lacey struggled to put one foot in front of the other. The pavement, lined on either side with graves, was a bleak reminder that she was the last one left alive in her family. Terri had been taken before her time. Now it was up to her. She had to be strong.
And find the bastard who had done this.
As they reached the cemetery's main entrance, a white sports car slowed to a stop. The passenger window rolled down, and even at a distance the smell of expensive perfume reached them.
“Hi, you two. It's too cold to be out there,” the driver, Donna Covington, leaned across the seat.
Donna lived up the street and was the district manager of a chain of health clubs, including the one where Amy worked part-time. Smart, fit, platinum blond, she was one of those women who always turned heads. Lacey had decided early on to like her because Donna was even nice to misfits like the two of them.
“Donna, are you okay?” Amy asked, reaching out with her stick and gauging the distance to the car. “We’ve been worried about you this last week.”
“No, I’m fine. Just a nasty flu. Lots of fluids and bed rest. I’m back to normal.”
Lacey vaguely recalled Amy mentioning that Donna had been absent from the health club.
“Where are you headed? Do you want a ride?”
“Just getting some fresh air,” Amy answered. “Thanks, but we’re fine.”
“I saw the police cruisers in your driveway this morning, Lacey. Everything okay?”
“Someone hacked into my computer. Very upsetting,” Lacey caught herself and stopped. An awkward moment of silence followed as she refused to offer any more information. Thankfully, her cell phone rang, ending that conversation.
“Watkins' Photography,” Lacey answered.
“Lacey Watkins, please.”
The man's voice was deep and had a familiar edge to it. And it took her a split second, but she remembered him.
“This is she.”
“Hi, Lacey. This is Gavin. Gavin MacFadyen. We met at—”
“I remember.” She took a few steps away from Donna’s car, a small, tight knot forming in her stomach.
Nervousness. That’s all this was. Just nerves at the level of authority in Gavin’s voice that made her uncomfortable. He was a cop. An ex-cop. Cops—or ex-cops—weren’t high on her list of must-have friends.
But there was something more going on—the sudden pounding of her heart, a warming in her cheeks. The mix of emotions was confusing. All last night and this morning, she’d been wanting to contact Gavin and here he was calling her.
“I've been meaning to call you.” Gavin’s voice lost its intimidation factor when she thought about how he’d looked at the funeral. “I wanted to see how you were making out and ask if you needed anything.”
Her silence was painful, but she couldn’t manage a single word. It was as if her brain and her mouth were both tongue-tied.
It’d been a long time since any man had affected her like this.
“So how are you doing?” he asked.
“Fine,” she managed to get out, aware that Donna and Amy had stopped talking and were looking at her. So Lacey put more distance between them. “Actually, I…I was going to call you. Something has come up that I was hoping to get your opinion on.”
“Do you want to get together?”
“That would be best.”
“I have to be in Litchfield this afternoon to meet with a potential client. How about after that?”
“Yes, that would be great. Can you come to the house?”
There was a pause. “Sure. Does around seven work for you?”
She hadn't looked at the appointments Amy had booked for today. But it didn't matter. She had to see him. “Yes, that’s perfect.”
She should ask him if he wanted to stay for dinner. But that was too personal. She was tongue-tied over the phone; she could be in worse shape in person. But the nervousness was stupid. She had to think of him as Terri’s partner and nothing more.
CHAPTER 7
The gravel parking lot was situated beyond a long walkway, separated from the street by a small river. As Fay Stone crossed the narrow pedestrian bridge, she glanced into the black water. A streetlight cast a broken reflection on the surface. It was getting dark so much earlier these days. At the end of the bridge, two dumpsters overflowed with torn trash bags, broken glass and beer and soda cans littering the ground around them.
Fay had parked her old Dodge Intrepid under the only light post in the deserted lot. Unfortunately, the car was still there.
“What do I have to do for someone to steal this piece of crap?”
The mechanic’s quote to do the brakes, get four new tires, and replace the water pump and timing belt was twenty-five hundred dollars.
“Have I mentioned today, car, how much I hate you?”
Fay yanked the handle and pulled open the door with a mighty, upward heave.
“A fifty dollar bill,” she said, throwing her purse and briefcase across the center console before lowering herself into the driver’s seat. “I'm taking you to Bridgeport and leaving a fifty dollar bill and the keys on the dashboard. That should make it worthwhile for some junkie.”
But first she had to clean out the car. She definitely kept too much crap in here. Jamming the key into the ignition, she reached for the seatbelt.
It was only then that she sensed that someone else was in the car.
Before she could turn, the cord snapped taut around her neck, jerking her back against the headrest. Fay grabbed at her throat in a desperate effort to get her fingers under the cord.
She couldn’t breathe. A sharp pressure was building in her head, and she twisted in the seat, catching a glimpse of her attacker. Recognition registered, but it didn’t matter.
The killer yanked once more, Fay’s bowels released, and it was over.
CHAPTER 8
Lacey’s tone this morning had made it clear that this wasn’t a social call. Still, Gavin picked up a bouquet of flowers when his appointment in Litchfield ended early. He was glad he’d called her. He was even happier to know she’d wanted to see him. Her appeal hadn’t diminished at all since that first meeting.
Plenty of women had walked in and out of Gavin’s life over the years. His love life was no mystery. He was no romantic, but he knew how to woo them. He had needs like any other healthy male and he was good in bed. The Connecticut shoreline had its share of satisfied women who would attest to that. But Lacey, for him, represented that forbidden fruit. The one that he’d heard so much about for ten years but was beyond his reach. She was no saint and she was wounded. And from all the conversations he’d had with Terri, he knew something special lay beneath Lacey’s scars. He’d even come to know what made her tick…and what could hurt her. Still, he’d always thought there would never be an opportunity for him to know her personally.
But now he could.
Turning on to her street, he glanced at the time. Early. Five or ten m
inutes might be forgivable, but he was half an hour early. Westbury was one of those suburban towns that rolled up the sidewalks at sunset. There wasn’t anywhere else he could go hang out while he waited.
He drove slowly past the house. It was set back from the road behind a grove of trees, but all the lights were on. Her silver Honda was there by the house.
He backed up the deserted street and started down the long gravel driveway.
Large paper bags stuffed with leaves were piled up against a garage. His headlights flashed on a painted sign displaying the name of her business with an arrow pointing to the front door. The railing on the porch appeared to have a fresh coat of paint. By the door, an oversized pumpkin and a bunch of gourds decorated a bale of hay. The house looked lived in, cared for. He was glad she’d decided to stick around at least for now. She’d always run before. She probably would again.
Gavin pulled around by her car and parked. Calling her number, he checked out the house. He’d been here many times and he knew the layout. The last time he’d been here, he’d helped Terri move furniture around after her grandfather died.
The house was set at a protected angle from the road, but from the driveway he had a clear view into the windows. None of the curtains were closed and he wondered if she was in the kitchen at the back of the house. The few pieces of furniture he could see were the same as before, but the walls had been painted. Large prints of photos had been newly hung as well.
The phone rang a few times and went to her voicemail. He didn’t leave a message and hung up as his gaze was drawn to the second floor window. Lacey walked into a bedroom, obviously from the bathroom. In one hand she was holding a small towel against her body as she threaded the fingers of the other hand through her wet hair. Generous stretches of naked skin were visible. He eyed the smooth curves of her bottom. She picked up the cell phone off a shelf and, using the same towel, started drying her hair.
