Dangling at the end of her rope in this situation, more than once she’d thought about taking Alex and leaving, even though she had no legal right to take him. Another thing they’d never gotten around to—her adoption of him after his mother was killed. What would Tommy do if she left with his son? Call the police on her? That made her laugh bitterly. She’d be surprised if he noticed they were gone.
Tommy came out of the bathroom and went to the closet where he had clean clothes to choose from thanks to her. Did he ever wonder how that happened? He put on jeans and a black T-shirt and then went to unlock the bedside drawer where he kept his badge, weapon and cuffs.
She watched him slide the weapon into the holster he wore on his hip and jam the cuffs and badge into the back pockets of his jeans, the same way he did every day. Holding her breath, she waited to see if he would say anything to her or come around the bed to kiss her goodbye the way he used to before disaster struck, but like he did so often these days, he simply turned and left the room.
A minute later, she heard the front door close behind him.
For a long time after he left, she lay in bed staring up at the ceiling with tears running down her cheeks. She couldn’t take much more of this.
TWO
SAM WAS THE first of her team to arrive on the scene of the smoldering fire that had demolished half a mansion in one of the District’s most exclusive neighborhoods.
“What’ve we got?” Sam asked the fire marshal when he met her at the tape line.
“Two bodies found on the first floor of the house, both bound with zip ties at the hands and feet.”
And that, right there, made their deaths her problem. “Do we know who they are?”
He consulted his notes. “The ME will need to make positive IDs, but the house is owned by Jameson and Cleo Beauclair. I haven’t had time to dig any deeper on who they are.”
“Are we certain they were the only people in the house?” Sam asked.
“Not yet. When we arrived just after four a.m., the west side of the house, where the bodies were found, was fully engulfed. That was our immediate focus. We’ve got firefighters searching the rest of what was once a ten-thousand-square-foot home.”
“Any sign of accelerants?”
“Nothing so far, but we’re an hour into the investigation stage. Early days.”
“Has the ME been here?”
“Not yet.”
“Could I take a look inside?”
“It’s still hot in there, but I can show you the highlights—or the lowlights, such as they are.”
Sam followed him up the sidewalk to what had once been the front door. Inside the smoldering ruins of the house, she could make out the basic structure from the burned-out husk that remained. The putrid scents of smoke and death hung heavily in the air.
“That’s them there,” the fire marshal said, pointing to a space on the floor by a blackened stone fireplace where two charred bodies lay next to one another.
Sam swallowed the bile that surged to her throat. Nothing was worse, at least not in her line of work, than fire victims. Though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she moved in for a closer look, took photos of the bodies and the scene around them, then turned to face the fire marshal. “Anything else you think I ought to see?”
“Not yet.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
He walked away to continue his investigation while Sam went outside, carrying the horrifying images with her as she took greedy breaths of fresh air. As she reached the curb, the medical examiner’s truck arrived. She waited for a word with Dr. Lindsey McNamara.
The tall, pretty medical examiner gathered her long red hair into a ponytail as she walked over to Sam.
“Fire victims,” Sam said, shuddering.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Hands and feet bound with zip ties.”
“Here we go again,” Lindsey said with a sigh. “Looks like it was quite a house.”
“Ten thousand square feet, according to the fire marshal.”
“I’ll get you an ID and report as soon as I can.”
“Appreciate it.” Sam opened her phone and placed a call to Malone. “I’m at the scene of the fire in Chevy Chase.”
“What’ve you got?”
“Two DOA, bound at the hands and feet, leading me to believe this was a home invasion gone bad. I need Crime Scene here ASAP.”
“I’ll call Haggerty and get them over there.”
“I want them to comb through anything and everything that wasn’t touched by the fire, and they need to do it soon before the scene is further compromised. We’ve got firefighters all over the place.”
“Got it. What’s your plan?”
“I’m going to talk to the neighbors and find out what I can about the people who lived here while I wait for Lindsey to confirm their identities.”
“Keep me posted.”
Sam slapped the phone closed and headed for her car to begin the task of figuring out who Jameson and Cleo Beauclair had been and who might’ve bound them before setting their house on fire. If the bodies were even those of the Beauclairs. Cases like this were often confounding from the start, but they would operate on the info they had available and go from there.
Her partner, Detective Freddie Cruz, arrived as Sam reached her car, which she had parked a block from the scene.
“I guess it was too much to hope our homicide-free streak would last until after the wedding,” he said.
“Too much indeed. We’ve got two deceased on the first floor of the west side of the home, hands and feet bound.”
“Do we know who they are?”
“We know who owns the house, but we’re not a hundred percent sure the owners are our victims,” she said, passing along the names the fire marshal had given her. “Let’s knock on some doors and then go back to HQ to see what Lindsey can tell us.”
“I’m with you, LT.”
“Any word from Gonzo?”
“Not that I’ve heard yet.”
“He can catch up.”
Don’t miss Fatal Invasion by Marie Force,
available now from HQN Books.
Copyright © 2018 by HTJB, Inc.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Colton’s Fugitive Family by Jennifer Morey.
Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!
Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003
Colton’s Fugitive Family
by Jennifer Morey
Chapter 1
White Christmas lights twinkled in the otherwise dimly lit log cabin; a fire crackled; It’s a Wonderful Life played on a DVD. Demetria “Demi” Colton hung the last ornament she’d picked up in town. Stepping back, she admired the end result. She folded her arms and smiled, feeling a welcome upturn of the corners of her lips.
Perfect.
Teal, magenta, blue and lime-green round ornaments mixed with other fun, animated character ornaments and sparkly sprigs of blue-colored berries. She’d wondered if the end result would be too gaudy but the tree looked beautiful. She’d put it in the corner of the living room, flanked by windows. Only she and Wolf would enjoy viewing the lights from outside—hopefully. She didn’t want company.
She had worried she wouldn’t be able to have a tree this year, but she’d come up with a disguise so she could go into the little town not far from here. She’d changed the color of her hair from red to black and cut it into a pixie almost a year ago, when she’d first gone on the run. A brown wig, black-rimmed glasses and hippie-themed clothes were diametrically different from how she had dressed before. Working as an independent bounty hunter she had worn practical clothes—clean, neat and tidy—but she also liked to dress up and go o
ut. She did not turn away from a Little Black Dress when the occasion fit.
Thinking she heard something outside, Demi moved to the front window and parted the heavy drapes that reached the floor. She saw nothing other than darkness beyond the porch lights. On one side of the cabin the front entry jutted out farther than the living area inside, one thing she really liked about the place. There was room to remove winter clothes, put shoes under the white bench and hang jackets on hooks above. She’d bought a no-slip multicolored rug to put over the wood floor.
The weather forecast had called for snow tonight and tomorrow. She loved snowstorms, one positive about being forced into hiding with a five-month-old baby, and this storm had prompted her to stock up on essentials since it was predicted that over a foot would fall. The single-lane driveway that wound its way a quarter of a mile from the highway would be impassable for days, shaded by a dense, dark forest.
Snowflakes drifted down right now, nothing too ominous, but a light layer of white already covered the ground. She’d be safe tonight, a rarity.
Letting the drape fall back into place, she turned toward the living room of the small cabin and shut off the lamp beside the sofa. She left the light on over the stove all night. With the Christmas lights, it was just bright enough to see. The cabin wasn’t big, with a kitchen, dining area and living room, and two bedrooms down a short hallway. One bathroom.
She had constructed a secret room where Wolf slept, and a baby monitor on the kitchen counter kept her apprised of his well-being. She’d created a hidden entrance in her bedroom closet. She’d divided the second bedroom into two. Call her paranoid, but given her fugitive situation, her first priority was Wolf’s safety. And she had an escape plan if anything went wrong. She slept easier at night knowing her son was locked in a secure place. She shouldn’t have to do any of that. She shouldn’t even be in this preposterous situation.
Anger flared. Innocent of the alleged murder of her ex-fiancé, framed unjustly, she had no way of finding evidence to clear her name. That infuriated her. It would infuriate anyone in this situation, but her temper demanded some extra control. She screamed into pillows on occasion, banged on the mattress. Sometimes she just did a few laps around the cabin to vent steam. The real killer better not get too close. The least she’d like to do was give him a bloody nose.
“We aren’t succumbing to anger anymore,” she said aloud. She didn’t feel like going to bed yet, too restless and in one of those moods where, bored and caged, she didn’t know what to do with herself.
She tried to take in her home, to let it soothe her nerves as it often did. The living room took up the front, with the kitchen to the rear left and the smaller dining room to the right, the hallway between. She’d found a used furniture store in town and used the cash she’d taken from her account to survive on the run. That had been another sore point. She should not have had to tap into her savings, most of which had come from an inheritance from her mother, who had ended up marrying someone with money after she divorced Demi’s father. She had died in a car accident a few years ago.
A tall dark-wood bistro table with white trim and very few scratches stood in the dining room. She hadn’t hung anything on the log walls. The blue patterned sofa was against the wall near the entry, and two high-backed chairs flanked a wood-burning fireplace near the dining room. A cream and tan area rug warmed the room.
The kitchen had come with stainless steel appliances and beautiful gray granite countertops with white cabinets and pendant lighting above the snack bar. She sat at one of the two blue-cushioned stools each night for dinner, after she fed her adorable baby.
If she had to spend a lot of time isolated and on the run, she needed a calming environment, and this cabin had provided that, thanks to a good friend. Being alone had its challenges, however.
“I just need to be around people more.” Maybe she’d started to go a little crazy being cooped up in this place for so many months.
If she could socialize again, then she could stop talking to herself. She had Wolf, but a five-month-old couldn’t talk back yet.
Thankfully, her inventive disguise allowed her to go to the nearby small town for supplies and visits to the library where she kept tabs on the Groom Killer investigation. She’d used the computer there to read news reports and dig into the background of the bogus witness who claimed to have seen her fleeing the scene of her ex-fiancé’s murder back in January. She’d believed he would lead her to whoever framed her. And why. And she’d been right.
Hearing that sound again—a sort of thump—Demi returned to the window, but when she pushed back the drape a bit, the Christmas lights were reflected on the glass. She saw nothing, but heard a muffled scraping on the other window.
Heart leaping into faster beats, she hurried to the fireplace mantel where she kept a wooden box containing a pistol. She had mounted a rifle on the wall in the hallway and kept another pistol in her bedroom, on the top shelf of her closet.
When she heard a piece of glass part from the window and the sound of a gathering winter storm grew louder, she realized that whoever had carved a hole in the glass, A, had specialized equipment, and B, was a professional. Although she didn’t see him, she listened as he unlocked the window and slid it open.
Flipping off the safety, she racked the slide and moved out from behind the Christmas tree.
“Come one more inch into this cabin, I’ll shoot and keep shooting,” she said.
The man had already climbed inside and when he heard her, he rolled or fell onto his behind, brushing the branches of the tree and jingling ornaments. The drapes slid off him to reveal a familiar face.
Lucas Gage looked up at her with his sexy dark eyes. His chestnut hair was mostly hidden by a black beanie, but the scars on his left cheek and above his right eye were a clear identifier. A bounty hunter, like her, he’d been her nemesis for years. He must be feeling mighty triumphant right now. He’d found her.
Instead of gloating, however, he let out a long breath and said, “You’re okay.”
He hadn’t expected her to be? And was that relief she saw and heard? Surely he hadn’t worried about her.
“Get your hands where I can see them,” she ordered.
He held up his hands, amusement spreading over his face. That always annoyed her. He was always so cocksure of himself and seemed to enjoy riling her. It didn’t help that he was a good bounty hunter—a legitimate Red Ridge Police Department bounty hunter with a K-9. Whenever she felt spurts of envy or insecurity, she reminded herself that she didn’t have to play by any PD rules.
“Thanks to you, I’m going to have to find another place to stay,” she said a bit harshly.
“You don’t have to run anymore.”
What was he saying? Was that some kind of ploy to get her to trust him? If so, it was weak. How would she get away? How would she snatch up Wolf and get out of here?
She gestured toward the window. “You have a backpack or something out there? Handcuffs?” She’d tie him up and leave. By the time he got free, she’d be long gone.
“I didn’t come here to take you in, Demi. You don’t have to tie me up and run.”
As if she’d believe him. A man like him would say anything with a gun pointed at his head.
“I came here to tell you the Red Ridge PD is almost a hundred percent sure you’re innocent.”
“Almost?” That was rich. Did he really expect her to melt in relief and blithely go with him?
He let out a long exhale, no longer so amused. “It’s Devlin Harrington who’s been killing all the grooms. Police just need the missing gun and hopefully prints or other evidence that will link him.”
The police had no evidence against Devlin and he still thought she’d be safe returning to Red Ridge? “I know it’s Devlin.” She’d known for quite some time.
Devlin had behaved strangely toward her after she reject
ed his invitation to dinner one night. A few months later, she found herself accused of murder. While that hadn’t made the connection for her, recalling that Hayley Patton had rejected him as well made her begin to wonder if that meant something. Sure enough, it did.
“I also know he’s obsessed with Hayley Patton and a witness claimed to see me kill the last groom victim,” she continued. “A low-level drug dealer with a rap sheet said he saw me fleeing Bo’s murder scene. Really? That’s a credible witness? Another witness was killed. Can no one see a pattern here?”
“The police do.” Lucas moved slowly and began to rise, keeping his hands up and looking at her warily, testing her.
“Stay on the floor.” She took a step back. She’d never get away from him if he got the upper hand.
Lucas stood all the way up, his hands shoulder height. “I’m not going to take you in, Demi.”
“How can you expect me to trust you?”
“You don’t have to. Just believe me when I say you’ll be safe in Red Ridge.”
She wavered a few seconds before she skittered back to caution. She could not trust him.
“How did you know Devlin was obsessed with Hayley?” he asked. “One of the witnesses confessed to being paid, and that story was in the news, but what about Hayley?”
“I remembered how he used to watch Hayley. His girlfriend, Gemma Colton, brought him to a rare family gathering that her branch of the family deigned to attend. It was as though he forgot all about her when Hayley showed up. He had a creepy way of just staring at her. Then he’d make derogatory comments about Hayley, strange comments, like her dress was too short or she had on too much makeup. It was as though he thought she should be more modest. One or two comments like that and I wouldn’t have noticed, but he always criticized the way she looked and he did in a weird way, as though he was offended. I also found a social media webpage of his. He assumed a different name but I recognized him in a couple of photos he had posted. He posted a lot about his girlfriend and never mentioned her name, but he had many, many photos of Hayley and made up stories about things they did together that clearly never happened.”
Soldier For Hire (Military Precision Heroes Book 1) Page 24
