by VK Powell
“Oh, Carter. Get over yourself. First of all, there’s not a fake bone in the woman’s body. If there were, I would’ve sensed it days ago. Second, she’s free to use anything I told her about my life with Cass because it’s nothing but a love story. And third, there are easier ways to get information than sleeping with you.”
“But something’s very wrong. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“Honey, don’t worry. You’re safe. You were only two years old when all this happened.” Ann turned in the seat to face Carter. “Wait a minute. You’re worried about me.”
“What?” Something about that time summoned uneasiness bordering on panic inside her, but she couldn’t resurrect exactly why.
“Do you think I had something to do with Theo Thompson’s death?”
“No, of course not.” She twisted the cat’s-eye chain into a knot.
“You do.”
“No, I don’t, but other people might. Emma Ferguson can influence other people’s opinions. I saw her notes. She’s already decided you had a motive to kill Thompson.”
Ann laughed out loud. “Well, that’s for damn sure. I’d put myself first on a suspect list, but that doesn’t mean Emma intends to do us harm.”
“It sure feels that way to me.”
“Because you’re over-protective, especially when it comes to me. Give the woman a chance. If she’s the person I think she is, she’ll find the truth.”
“Then why do I have this sense of impending doom?”
Ann’s lack of a snappy response troubled Carter more than her usual chatter.
*
Night had settled on the park when Emma pulled up to her cabin and scanned the nearby woods for another prowler. Darker shadows streaked the walkway, and she wobbled across the paving stones trying not to fall. Crickets chirped nearby, and frogs croaked from the lake as she made her way to the door. The chill in the air reminded her of Carter’s facial expression when their cars had passed earlier. Ann seemed friendly enough, but Carter hadn’t acknowledged her, not even a glance.
She dug through her bag for the key and found it at the bottom tangled up with something else. She yanked hard, and the bag’s contents spilled on the ground. Swearing under her breath, she knelt on the path, fumbled for her scattered items, recovered them one by one, and stuffed them back into her bag.
As she knelt on the uneven surface, a chill shot up her spine before she heard the crunching footsteps behind her. From the corner of her eye Emma saw a dark-clad figure moving toward her. She felt for the small mace canister that usually hung on the side of her bag, but it wasn’t there. Willing herself not to panic, she clutched the cabin key on the ground with her right hand. She gauged the distance to the porch and her chances of outrunning whoever was behind her and opening the door before he caught her. Emma remained crouched on the path formulating a plan.
She wrapped the bag straps in her fist, took a deep breath, and dashed toward the porch. Her heart pounded wildly as the footsteps behind her drew nearer. She skipped the steps onto the landing and jabbed at the lock with her key. Her hands shook violently. She was trapped. The figure coming toward her blocked her exit to the left, and the table and chairs to her right made a run toward the woods impossible.
“Who are you?” Emma yelled, trying to control her trembling body. “What do you want?”
The intruder strode silently, deliberately onto the porch, his muscular body covered entirely in black. Tiny slits in the center of the ski mask revealed eyes that flashed with anger. He paused momentarily before raising a large tree limb in his gloved hands. Then with a high-pitched, guttural yell he swung at her head. She ducked, and the branch swooshed by, crashing against the doorframe. Emma dropped to the floor and rolled away as the assailant regained his balance. He swung again, and Emma felt a sharp pain in her left arm when he made contact.
Adrenaline and redheaded determination kicked in. Emma’s fear turned to anger and defiance. She pretended to coddle her injured arm and clenched her bag tighter in her right fist. The attacker stood over her, and Emma willed herself to wait as he raised the tree limb over his head for another strike. Then she rose and brought her bag from behind in a full roundhouse swing. The upward arch slammed into the side of the rogue’s body, sending him into a backward fall off the porch.
Emma rushed to the edge of the landing, bag clutched in her hand, ready for another volley. The masked figure lay on the ground, struggling to get up. As she raised her arm, a stream of light illuminated the woods behind her. A vehicle bounced over the pavers and skidded through gravel up to the porch steps. When she looked back, the assailant was gone.
Donovan slid across the hood of her car onto the porch just like a television cop, and Emma wanted to snarl at the perfect execution. “What the hell is going on? Are you okay?”
Emma trembled as she stared into the woods. “Did you see that? He tried to kill me!” Her legs suddenly felt rubbery as the adrenaline surge passed.
“Take it easy, Ferguson. He’s long gone. We need to make sure you’re all right.”
“Of course I’m all right.” Emma’s bravado didn’t match her quivering insides. “My arm’s aching, that’s all.”
“Let’s get you inside. Give me the cabin key.”
She allowed Donovan to help her to the door and handed over the key.
“Does trouble follow you around, Ferguson, or have you pissed somebody off?” Donovan closed the door behind them and helped Emma to the sofa. She examined the swelling lump already forming on Emma’s arm and then ran her hand gingerly over Emma’s other arm, across her back, over her rib cage, and down her legs.
Emma brushed her hands away. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t get excited, Ferguson. I’m just checking for fractures or other injuries. Do you hurt anywhere other than your arm?”
She sat motionless, as if the events of the past few minutes had happened to someone else and she’d watched from a distance. But Donovan’s question forced her to consider her physical situation, and when she did, pain throbbed in her left arm. “Just there.”
“I’ll get some ice. You could have a hairline fracture. At the least you’ll have a great bruise. Do you have any idea why someone would come after you?”
“I’d like to think it was a case of mistaken identity or just random, but I had a prowler recently, and somebody slashed two of my tires.”
“That doesn’t sound random. You should file a report with the sheriff, just in case.”
“I was willing to write off the first two incidents as teenage pranks, but this was definitely personal. I looked into his eyes and saw pure hatred.” She shivered as Donovan placed a makeshift ice pack on her arm. “Can the report wait until tomorrow?”
“Sure, but we have to consider the possibility the attack is connected to this case.”
“Why?” Emma had a feeling Donovan could be right but wanted to hear her reasons.
“Maybe someone doesn’t want the truth to come out. The construction company that wants to raze the old factory can’t be happy about the delay the investigation is causing.”
“That’s for sure. The same guy has harassed me about it twice,” Emma said.
“Really? What does he look like?”
Emma recalled the mediocre man and pictured him dressed in black swinging a tree limb. “Medium height, muscles, shaved head, always sitting at the same table in the diner by the door like he doesn’t have anything else to do.”
“I’ll pay him a visit tomorrow.” Donovan took a seat beside her on the sofa. “Do you have any idea where the groundskeepers were tonight?”
“If you’re referring to Carter and Ann, forget it. They were leaving the park when I drove in.” Damn it, she sounded defensive again.
Donovan held up her hands. “Hey, I’m just covering all the bases. They could’ve doubled back. What are the chances your assailant was a woman?”
Emma considered the possibility as she replayed the attack i
n her mind. The dark clothes and night had blended together, blurring any distinguishable features. He hadn’t spoken, and his hands and face were completely covered. She’d just assumed it was a man. Her stomach churned when she realized it was possible a woman had attacked her, but she refused to consider that woman might be someone she knew.
“The look on your face tells me the answer to my question is yes.”
“I suppose it’s possible, Donovan. It’s just not possible Carter or Ann would’ve attacked me.” She shifted the ice pack from the numb spot on her arm and then pushed it off entirely. She was annoyed with Donovan for making her consider things she didn’t want to see. “Why are you here anyway?”
“I thought I’d come by and update you. Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything new today, but I decided to come anyway. And it’s a good thing I did. You’re welcome, by the way.” She flashed one of her dazzling smiles, and Emma almost liked her.
“I had things mostly handled before you showed up.” At least she liked to think she had things under control. Any other scenario was unacceptable. “And thank you.”
“Probably, but admit it. You were a little glad to see me, weren’t you?”
She’d definitely felt better knowing someone else was nearby. “I’d be happier if I knew who was after me and why. I have no interest in joining Theodore Thompson in the ranks of the not-so-dearly departed.”
“We’ll get on that first thing in the morning, after we’ve both had a good night’s rest. I’ll take the sofa, if you don’t mind.” Donovan stretched and yawned as she reached for the blanket on the back of the sofa.
“You don’t actually think you’re going to sleep here tonight.”
“You bet I do. After what happened, Rick Hardy would have my hide and maybe my job if I left you alone.”
“I’ll be fine. You don’t need to stay. I’ll even sign a note to that effect if you’re so worried about Rick’s wrath.” She couldn’t imagine spending a night under the same roof with Billie Donovan. She’d been kind and thoughtful, professionally precise and thorough and, during it all, very charming. So, what was it about Donovan that irritated her so much? Was it her past connection to Carter? Ridiculous. Everybody had a past. She just didn’t enjoy seeing Carter’s in the form of a gorgeous, talented, sexy, and graceful blonde.
“I’m afraid I have to insist,” Donovan said. “The attacker might come back. We need to stick together until we figure out who this person is. Trust me, you’ll be safe. I’d never take advantage of an invalid. I prefer my women fully functional.”
Emma shook her head to dislodge another image of Donovan and Carter together and walked toward the bedroom. The problem was, she couldn’t blame Carter for being attracted to Donovan. She had a lot to offer whereas Emma had nothing.
“I hope you’ll be very comfortable on the sofa with your oversized ego.” When she slammed the bedroom door, she heard Donovan’s cocky laugh in the other room.
Chapter Thirteen
Carter patrolled the upper ridge behind Emma’s cabin, refusing to actually go down her road, a childish indication of how upset she still was. When she topped the hill, she saw a strange car parked in the driveway. Closer inspection showed the vehicle was only inches from the porch and had skidded up a path of gravel as it slid to a stop. The porch table and chairs were overturned. Had Emma come home and tripped over the furniture, or was something wrong?
She put the Jeep in reverse, but just before accelerating, she saw a petite blonde step from Emma’s cabin onto the porch. She stretched and pulled a blanket tight around her otherwise-naked body. Carter stared, trying to convince herself there was a logical explanation but always coming up with the obvious one.
Emma had slept with another woman, and only two days after they’d been together. A feeling bubbled up, bringing anger and pain—not jealousy. She wasn’t jealous of any woman. This felt more like the sting of duplicity. She tried to argue that it didn’t matter, but the energy bouncing around inside her told another story.
Carter’s ego urged her to charge the imposter and find out what she was doing at Emma’s cabin, but her appearance had already answered that question. Carter wanted to disappear, to be far away from this scene and from the unfamiliar ache throbbing inside her.
As she stared at the stranger so comfortable on Emma’s porch, something about her seemed familiar, but her presence here was totally foreign. The woman scanned her surroundings and, when she saw Carter sitting in the Jeep, waved enthusiastically before going back inside. Carter willed herself to move and slowly backed her vehicle onto the main road.
So what if Emma already had another lover? Carter knew better than to care about her in the first place, and she’d been lucky to get out when she did. She didn’t need or want Emma Ferguson in her life. Their night together meant nothing to her. As she willed herself to believe the words, Carter knew they were a lie.
*
Emma sat up in bed, the mouth-watering smell of bacon snapping her fully awake. A dull pain throbbed in her left arm when she stood, reminding her of the attack and her unwelcome houseguest. Donovan, Egomaniacal Agent Extraordinaire, had slept on her sofa and was now apparently in her kitchen. Emma pulled on a pair of sweats and opened the bedroom door.
“Good morning. It’s about time you woke up. Did you sleep okay?”
Donovan was entirely too cheerful first thing in the morning and looked as perfectly coiffed as if she’d slept standing up. Emma stared as the toga-clad figure scurried around the kitchen, scrambling eggs, flipping bacon, and pouring coffee like a domestic goddess. And talking, always with the talking.
“Let me guess. You’re not a morning person.” She handed Emma a cup of coffee. “Maybe this’ll help. How’s your arm?”
Emma flopped onto the sofa as the first sip of coffee blazed a warm trail down her throat. She prayed the caffeine would be swift and merciful.
“You should’ve felt very safe last night. I was here, and your park ranger was patrolling the grounds early this morning.”
“Carter was here?” Emma’s groggy mind struggled into action.
“I was standing on the porch enjoying the view, and she was on the upper terrace.”
“You were outside…naked?”
“Of course not. I had this blanket around me.”
“You were on the porch like that?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t very well sleep in my clothes, could I? Is there some park law against standing on the porch wrapped in a blanket?” Donovan grinned as she flipped an egg.
“What did she do? Did you talk to her?” The caffeine was definitely not working fast enough. Emma’s mind was churning in low gear as the scenario played in her mind.
“I waved, and she left. We didn’t talk. What’s the problem?”
Emma imagined what Carter must be thinking, seeing Donovan half naked on her porch first thing in the morning, as if they didn’t already have enough issues between them.
“Oh, I get it.” Donovan turned toward Emma and made an exclamation mark in the air with the spatula. “You two have had a little encounter of the personal kind. Am I right?”
“Get out.” Emma stood and pointed to the door. She didn’t want Donovan knowing anything about her relationship with Carter. Emma was already making comparisons between herself and Donovan and coming up short in every category. She didn’t need the arrogant agent doing the same.
“What?” Donovan stopped in the middle of the kitchen holding a plate in each hand.
“Get out now.”
“But what about breakfast? What about my clothes?”
“Take them with you.”
“What’s the big deal about Carter West seeing me in a blanket anyway? She’s apparently seen both of us in less.” Donovan walked toward Emma and stopped, staring into her eyes. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me about your relationship.”
Emma studied her coffee.
“It’s more than a fling for you, isn’t it? That’s
why you’re unwilling to consider the possibility that she’s involved in this case?”
“Are you dense, Donovan? The woman was two when the murder happened.”
Donovan placed the food on the coffee table and stood toe-to-toe with Emma. “But she could be covering for someone who was involved. Someone like her aunt.”
Emma worried about the same thing, but she wasn’t about to admit it to a BCI agent, especially not this one. “I asked you to leave. I have nothing else to say on the subject.”
“You haven’t said anything yet, but it certainly speaks volumes. I’d recommend you stay clear of Carter West and her aunt until this case is resolved. Your credibility could be jeopardized if you don’t.” Donovan brazenly dropped the blanket and started dressing. “I’ll go, but at some point I’m going to put all the pieces together, with or without your help.”
“Do you love Carter or hate her, Donovan? I can’t figure you out yet.” Emma didn’t like the look in Donovan’s eyes when she talked about Carter. The intensity betrayed her calm, professional voice and demeanor. For the first time since Emma had met Donovan, she looked uncomfortable, trying to button already fastened buttons on her shirt.
“I’m trying to find the truth, which is what you should be doing.” She stopped at the door. “And Emma, don’t presume to know anything about my relationship with Carter. She’s a much more complicated woman than you’ll ever know.” She started to close the door but stuck her head back in. “And tell the sheriff about last night.”
Emma collapsed on the sofa when Donovan was gone, her statement replaying in her mind. Don’t presume to know anything about my relationship with Carter. The vehemence in her voice made it sound as if their relationship was special. Maybe it was. Maybe that was why she was steering Emma away. Had Carter shared her past with Donovan—the horrific story of her parents’ death and her childhood fears for Ann and Cass? Was Billie Donovan the reason Carter wouldn’t commit to anyone else? Carter had said she was mostly single.
