Jax’s lips twisted. They were probably lucky his mom hadn’t walked out one day and never come back.
“Is this spa still open?” he demanded.
“I’m not sure.” His mother gently closed the photo album, placing it on the mattress. “I remember hearing that it’d been taken over by Dr. Bode’s son, but I don’t know anyone who’s ever been there.”
Jax glanced toward the ugly oil painting of their house that hung on the wall opposite him. It’d no doubt been created by one of his brothers, and it would have looked a lot better on top of a bonfire, but his mother had hung it with obvious pride.
“Why would the name of an old health spa be in my victim’s bedroom?” he muttered.
“Well,” the older woman leaned toward him, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, “my mother told me a rumor she heard when she was staying there.”
“What rumor?”
“That Dr. Bode started his spa with money that was given to him by the mob,” she told him.
Jax resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was Chicago. Every rumor had something to do with the mob. Usually it ended with Al Capone being involved.
“Why would the mob give money for a spa?” he obediently asked.
“Because he had a clinic there that he used to give new faces to people who wanted to disappear,” she continued. “You know, if they had to get away from the feds.”
Jax’s resigned amusement was forgotten as he realized exactly what his mother was telling him.
“Dr. Bode was a plastic surgeon?”
She nodded, a smug smile curving her lips. “He was.”
“I have to go.” Jax jumped to his feet, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
He needed the address for the Paradiso.
“Don’t forget dinner tomorrow night,” his mother called out.
Jax lifted his hand in agreement, although he barely heard her words.
He had a real lead.
The hunt was on.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ash watched as Remi sipped her coffee and nibbled on a blueberry muffin. They’d just crawled out of bed, although it was closer to lunch than breakfast. Now he was struggling to shake off his delicious sense of lethargy.
There was nothing he wanted more than to spend the rest of the day with Remi, making love and curling up on the couch to binge-watch their favorite movies.
Unfortunately, he was going to have to postpone his fantasy. At least until he’d discovered whether there was anything to his suspicions.
Pushing aside his empty coffee mug, he cleared his throat. Remi wasn’t going to be happy. But he had to do this.
“Do you have any plans for today?” he asked.
She reached for her phone, scrolling through her calendar. “No, but I might go to the youth center later.”
“What time?”
“When school gets out. Around three.” She set down her phone, studying him with a curious expression. “Why? Is there something you’d like to do?”
His gaze narrowed, taking a slow, thorough inspection of Remi from the top of her dark hair, rumpled from sleep, down to the tips of her bare toes. She’d wrapped a silk robe around her body, but the material was thin enough for him to see through. The sight wrenched a low groan from his throat.
“A dangerous question,” he warned in a husky voice.
A flush stained her face. “Ash.”
He gave a wistful shake of his head. Soon the damned Butcher was going to be in prison. Or better yet . . . dead. But until then, he had to make sure his first priority was keeping Remi safe.
He reached across the breakfast bar to stroke his finger down her reddened cheek. “As much as I want to stay here, I have something I need to check out.”
She dropped her half-eaten muffin, regarding him with a sudden wariness. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
He shrugged. “It’s just a theory.”
“What do you need from me?”
“I want you to invite your mother out for lunch.”
“My mother?” She jerked her brows together, staring at him as if she was certain she’d misheard him. “I just had lunch with her.”
He grimaced. He knew he was asking a lot. Mothers—even his own—were best enjoyed in small doses. That way you could truly appreciate them.
“I know you did,” he said in apologetic tones. “But I need to get her away from the estate for an hour or so.”
She slid off her stool, her face pale. “You don’t believe it was a nightmare.”
Her words were a statement, not a question.
“I’m not sure,” he said. And he wasn’t. Right now, he was grasping at any straw he could find. “That’s why I have to check it out.”
She wasn’t satisfied with his words. “Why not go there and ask my mother?” she demanded. “If anyone would know about secret tunnels, it would be her. She’s lived there most of her life.”
He shook his head. He wasn’t prepared to admit that he was afraid Liza Harding-Walsh would refuse to let him step foot on the estate. He’d deal with his future mother-in-law later.
Right now, he wanted to get in and out of the estate unnoticed.
“I’m not ready to involve anyone else,” he told her. “Not until I have some actual evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“That someone who worked for your family is the Butcher,” he said.
She snapped her lips together. Ash knew it had to be hard for her to accept that someone she’d known, and perhaps liked, was responsible for the grisly murders. But what other explanation could there be? If her dream had been real, the killer had to have ready access to the estate. That was the only way they could have stumbled across the tunnels.
“At least call Jax,” she requested at last.
His fingers slid down her cheek, his expression apologetic. “As you just said, right now, we don’t know if this is anything more than a bad dream. If I find anything, I’ll let him know.” He stroked a soft caress down the side of her neck. “I promise.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like the thought of you going there alone.”
“I’ll have a quick look around and leave,” he assured her. “You’ll know exactly where I’ll be, and I’ll keep my phone on in case I need to call for backup.” His fingers threaded into her hair. “Everything will be fine.”
She glared at him, her jaw jutting to a stubborn angle. “I still don’t like it.”
Ash heaved a sigh. “Just an hour. Please?”
She continued to glare at him before snatching the phone from the counter.
“Fine,” she reluctantly conceded. “I’ll ask my mother, but don’t be disappointed if she won’t go. Since Dad died, she doesn’t like to leave home unless it’s for one of her charity events.”
He watched as she turned away from him, pressing the phone to her ear. A pang of regret sliced through him. She was worried about him. He understood. The return of the Butcher not only reminded her that she was in constant danger, it had ripped open the wounds of her father’s death.
With an effort, he squashed the urge to reach out and take the phone from her. The sooner he could search the estate, the sooner he could get back home and hold her in his arms.
After a brief conversation, Remi lowered the phone and turned back to face him.
“Well?” he prompted.
“She agreed,” Remi said, her expression tight. “We’re meeting at her favorite French restaurant. It’s only a couple of blocks from her house.”
Ash grimaced. “Snails and foie gras? Better you than me.”
She shrugged. “It’s an acquired taste. And the wine is superb.”
He rounded the end of the breakfast bar, wrapping his arms around her waist.
“You could order an extra bottle,” he suggested. “We’ll share it tonight.”
She lay her hands flat against his chest, pushing him away. “If I have to spend another day with my mother, I’m drinking th
e extra bottle myself.”
“Then get two,” he teased. “I like when you’re tipsy.”
She sniffed, refusing to be charmed. “I’m going to take a shower.”
Ash instantly felt his body hardening at the thought of Remi naked and wet. “Would you like me to wash your back?”
She gave another sniff. “Buddy needs a walk and his breakfast.”
With that, she pivoted on her heel and left the kitchen. Ash gave a sad shake of his head, glancing down at the dog, who was regarding him with an accusing expression.
“I knew it was only a matter of time before I ended up in the doghouse,” he assured the canine. The sound of the bathroom door slamming echoed through the house. Buddy barked. “Yep. Doghouse,” Ash muttered.
Hoping to avoid any arguments about his plans for the day, Ash took the dog on a quick walk, returning to the house to pull on a pair of jeans and heavy sweater. Then, grabbing his coat, he headed out to his car.
The morning sunlight had disappeared behind a layer of sullen clouds, but on the plus side, the wind had died down. A blessing as he parked his car a block away from the elegant estate and walked back to hide in the high hedge. It was cold but not unbearable.
Or at least it wasn’t for the first fifteen minutes. Eventually, his toes began to go numb and his teeth were chattering.
At last, he caught sight of the BMW pulling out of the front gates. Eagerly, he pushed his way through the hedge and skirted the back of the mansion. If his theory was right, the night Remi was followed, she must have managed to park her car before the killer attacked her. That indicated that the opening to the tunnel was somewhere in the garage.
He paused in front of the door of the garage, using the key he’d borrowed from Remi. Then, slipping inside, he quickly closed the door behind him.
It was shadowed inside, but Ash didn’t turn on the lights. He couldn’t risk attracting unwanted attention. Instead, he pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and swept it around the cavernous space.
Walking forward, he ignored the cement floor. If there was a large hole cut in the pavement, Remi would have noticed. The opening had to be a lot more discreet.
Instead, he moved to tap on the walls. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to detect a hidden door, but he’d seen this method used in the movies.
Feeling like a fool, he moved along the paneling, knocking every few inches. He’d managed to reach the far corner when he heard the sound of the door opening.
Cursing at his crappy luck, Ash slowly glanced over his shoulder to watch Albert step into the garage. He had a brief moment of madness when he considered darting behind the Mustang. Thankfully, it quickly passed.
He was a grown man who’d once carried a badge, not a teenager who was terrified of getting in trouble.
Flicking on the overhead lights, Albert had reached the middle of the floor before he realized he wasn’t alone. The older man instinctively lifted the heavy wrench he was carrying, clearly intending to bash the intruder on the head.
Then, with a frown, he slowly lowered his hand. “You again?”
Ash smiled, cautiously moving forward. “I’m like a bad penny,” he said. “I just keep turning up.”
Albert glanced around the garage, as if making sure nothing had been stolen. Once reassured everything was where it was supposed to be, he returned his attention to Ash. “Mrs. Liza isn’t here.”
“I know,” Ash admitted.
Albert frowned. “I don’t think you should be poking around without her approval.”
Ash held up his hands, considering the best way he could convince the man to let him search the property.
“I understand your loyalty to your employer, Albert, but this is extremely important.”
Albert remained wary. “I’ve kept an eye on the Mustang. I swear it hasn’t been moved.”
Ash paused, not sure how much he wanted to share. Then he gave a mental shrug. Right now, honesty seemed like the best policy.
At least a small amount of honesty.
“Have you noticed anything strange?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“Any old employees hanging around?”
“No. It’s only me and the housekeeper now.”
“None of the previous staff have stopped by for a visit?” Ash pressed.
“No.” Albert studied Ash in confusion. “Are you interested in any particular employee?”
“Perhaps one who revealed an interest in Remi when they worked here?”
Albert’s lips pinched in disapproval. He had enough fatherly affection for Remi to have been disturbed by an employee stepping over the line.
“There’s more than one name I could give you,” he admitted. “Ms. Remi was a pretty girl and she was always friendlier than she should have been with the staff. She didn’t realize her kind heart could lead to trouble.”
“Amen,” Ash muttered. He’d chided her more than once about being so friendly with her fellow college students. He told himself that he was concerned one of them might take advantage of her. Looking back, he suspected a portion of his fear had included the knowledge that the college was filled with young, handsome men who had plenty of time to spend with a beautiful coed.
“But none of them have been back at the estate. Not since . . .”
Albert didn’t have to finish his sentence. He meant that no one had been there since the night Gage was murdered.
Stymied, Ash shifted the conversation to the reason he’d come to the estate. “What do you know about the history of this place?”
Albert was clearly baffled by the question. “Chicago?”
“No, this estate.”
“Oh.” He glanced around. “I think it was built by Mrs. Liza’s great-grandfather. Or maybe it was a great-great-grandfather.” He shrugged. “All I know for sure is that it’s been in the Harding family ever since then.”
“I’ve heard it was used as a speakeasy during Prohibition. Is that true?”
The older man’s spine stiffened, as if he was offended by Ash’s question. “I’m old, but I wasn’t working here during the twenties.”
“There must be a few mementos from that time,” Ash insisted. “I remember the house being filled with antiques.”
Albert abruptly walked around Ash, heading toward the cabinet to place the wrench inside. Was he trying to hide his expression?
“The family doesn’t like anyone discussing what happened in the past,” he said.
“Well, I’m soon going to be part of the family, I’m sure no one will mind,” Ash assured the older man.
Albert whirled back to regard Ash with raised brows. “The engagement is back on?”
Ash wrinkled his nose. He couldn’t lie. Not about his relationship with Remi. It was too important.
“I’m working on it,” he said.
Albert smiled, seeming to assume his words meant the engagement was all but official. “Congratulations.”
Ash held up his hand. “Thanks. But before we can celebrate, we have to stop the Butcher.”
Albert moved back to stand in front of Ash. “You haven’t had any luck?”
“Perhaps.” Ash tried to act casual, even as he closely monitored the older man’s reaction. “Remi is beginning to recall the events of the night she was attacked.”
Albert jerked, as if he’d been struck by lightning. “Truly?” He cleared his throat. “That would be a miracle.”
Ash frowned. Albert looked more concerned than delighted that Remi was starting to remember. Of course, if Ash wasn’t so desperate to track down the serial killer, he would be worried himself.
The memories could only bring her pain.
“It is a miracle,” he agreed. “But it’s still fuzzy. Last night, she remembered being in a dark tunnel.”
“In a cave?” Albert asked in confusion.
“No, she thinks she was beneath this estate.”
Albert’s eyes widened, his hands clenching at his side. “Here?”
Ash covertly moved so he was between the older man and the door. Albert had a weird look on his face. He couldn’t be sure the man might not suddenly decide to bolt. “It occurred to me that one of Remi’s ancestors might have found it useful to have a way to allow their guests to enter and leave the place without attracting unwanted attention,” he smoothly suggested.
Albert’s lips parted, then he gave a slow shake of his head. “It’s been years. I’d almost forgotten about them.”
The air was jerked from Ash’s lungs. It hadn’t been a bad dream. He could see the truth etched on the older man’s face.
“You know about the tunnels?”
Albert twisted his callused hands together, his gaze darting toward the door before he leaned toward Ash. Was the man afraid there might be someone lurking outside who might overhear them?
“Shortly after I started working here, Mr. Gage told me he was worried about some old passages,” he confessed.
Gage? Ash was caught off guard. He hadn’t expected his old partner to know about the tunnels. Why had he kept them secret from Remi and himself?
The question reminded Ash of the hidden file that had been given to Jax. Yet another secret his partner had kept from him. He was beginning to suspect he hadn’t known Gage as well as he thought.
He gave a shake of his head, concentrating on the man standing in front of him.
“Why was he worried?” he demanded.
Albert hunched his shoulders. “He said he was afraid that they were aging and might collapse.”
That made sense. If they’d been built a hundred years ago, it was likely they’d become unstable. “Did he want them filled in?”
“No, he didn’t want to risk causing any damage to the buildings,” Albert said.
The Intended Victim Page 28
