Traitor (Last to Leave Book 1)

by Nicole Blanchard

  Ford offers me the big comfy chair behind his desk, but I shake my head and take one of the two guest chairs. The sheriff takes the other.

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Sheriff Hadley suggests.

  I knot my fingers in my lap and struggle for the right words. They tangle up in my throat and spill out over my lips. I try to relate all the details with as little emotion as possible, sticking to the relevant facts. As I talk, Ford goes to a little mini fridge on a counter behind his desk and retrieves a couple bottles of water. He places one in front of me, then Sheriff Hadley. I pause speaking long enough to wet my throat. When I’m finished, the two men share a glance and silence settles over the room.

  “So you didn’t get a good look at either of them? Not enough to identify them?”

  My head drops. “No, I’m sorry. They were too far away for me to get a good look at them.”

  Sheriff Hadley turns to Ford. “Where were you in all this? Did you see the assault, the murder, too?”

  Ford shakes his head. “No, I came up after. I found Ms. Rhodes in the water. She’d hit her head and fell into the lake.” He sips at his water and crosses his legs. “I didn’t see anything on my way down. There were no boats on the water when I got there.”

  “What about the boat?” Hadley asks. “Did you see where it went, Ms. Rhodes, or where it came from?”

  I take a sip of water. “No, it was already there when I got there and I didn’t see which direction it went after.”

  The questioning. That’s what I hate the most. I hated it before and now I hate it even more. The sly looks like they don’t quite believe me. Having to prove myself, that I’m telling the truth. It causes bile to rise in the back of my throat.

  “Could you tell whereabouts on the lake? Distance, direction?”

  Closing my eyes, I try to remember where the boat had been. “From the dock it was at eleven o’clock, closer to the far side of the lake.” I open my eyes and send them both an apologetic look. “I’m sorry I’m not of more help. It all happened so fast.”

  “Not like you could have turned into Superwoman and flew across the lake to save her.” Ford sets his water on the table and says to Hadley, “I can take you in my boat, if you want to give it a look now.”

  The sheriff nods and gets to his feet. “I appreciate it. Don’t trouble yourself, Ms. Rhodes. I wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger. You didn’t do anything wrong. We’ll go take a look and see what we see. If you think of anything else, you let me know. All right?”

  “Sure. Yeah, I can do that.”

  Hadley takes the water bottle, sips, then readjusts his ball cap with a nod at Ford. My gaze follows him out the door until he disappears from sight.

  “Why don’t you head back up to your room?” Ford suggests. He stuffs keys and his cell phone into his pockets. That done, he crosses to a safe embedded in the wall and after putting in the code, he takes out a vicious looking handgun, which he loads and straps on with a shoulder holster. “This could take a while and you look like you could use some rest.”

  My throat goes dry. “No, I’d like to wait for you to get back. To—I’d like to wait, please.”

  I couldn’t choke out the words. Didn’t want Ford to give me that sympathetic look I always receive. He doesn’t know me, doesn’t know my past, but as soon I as I let slip what happened to me, the pity will start. The last thing I want is pity from a guy like him.

  “Fine,” he grunts. “You can wait here.”

  “You’re too kind,” I say to his retreating back.

  When I’m alone, I drink some of the water and fight the urge to poke around his office, just to spite him. What the hell is it with him giving me orders, anyway? It would show him if I did.

  “Did you really see a dead body?” Comes a quiet voice as I’m contemplating going through Ford’s drawers. A man like that has to have secrets.

  I turn to the doorway and find a young girl leaning against the doorjamb.

  “I’m sorry?” My brain grinds to place her. Then I remember, she was there when Ford attacked the man in the Mustang.

  “Mom said Uncle Ford had to go check out a dead body before she left.” She ambles closer and I’m struck by the uncanny resemblance between them. “So, did you see it?”

  “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” I ask.

  I’d been an only child and after…well, after, I hadn’t really had much opportunity to socialize. To say I didn’t know how to act around them, much less nosy preteens, is an understatement.

  “I’m not six years old,” she replies in a bored tone. “Besides, Mom isn’t home, and I didn’t want to be alone. I’m Lexie, by the way.”

  “I’m Peyton.” Knowing the feeling, I soften toward the girl. “I hope she wasn’t dead, but I don’t know. Sheriff Hadley and Ford went out to look.”

  “Are you and Uncle Ford like a couple or something?” she asks.

  Baffled laughter erupts from my chest. “What? No!”

  “You sure? He does that thing where he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking, so I just figured you were.”

  He does? “He does?” I don’t know whether to be creeped out or flattered. Erring on the side of caution, I go for unimpressed. “No, we’re not dating. I’m only staying here for a couple of days.” Considering I’m the only witness to a murder, maybe longer than I originally had planned.

  “Mom didn’t want to be around when the cops got here. She and Uncle Ford are like, allergic to them. Mom says it’s ‘cause Uncle Ford was interrogated after he went overseas.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “He killed someone and there was a big thing about it. Grandma and Grandpa thought he might go to prison.”

  A chill coats my skin and I wish I’d taken a shower before I’d changed clothes. The memory of being swallowed by cold, dark water from the lake seems to have frozen me right down to my very bones.

  I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I’d been right when I thought there was something violent about Ford. Something dangerous. Something that screams at me to get the hell out of Dodge before shit gets even more real.

  Chapter Eight

  Ford

  “So, what do you know about this girl?” Hadley asks, as the boat glides over the lake.

  “You know as much as I do, Sheriff. She’s a guest at the lodge. I haven’t asked her life story.”

  Sheriff Hadley shines a high-powered flashlight over the surface of the water. “She seem like the reliable type to you?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. But I’ll tell you this, I’ve seen the way people react to trauma. I don’t think she was faking it, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  Hadley grunts. “Let’s take it all the way around to the far side of the lake and work our way back. With the dark, the distance, her estimation could have been off.”

  I point the boat toward the far side of the lake, my eyes scanning back and forth, straining against the lack of visibility. “Bear Lake is big, but it ain’t huge. If something happened here, like she says, it wouldn’t be hard to find it.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Is Windy Point hiding a hotbed of crime and intrigue I wasn’t aware of?”

  Mercy and I grew up in a town not far from here and moved to Windy Point while we were in elementary school, when my father bought the lodge. It was the only place I felt at home when I left the Marines. The townspeople didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms, but as long as I kept my head down and my nose clean, they didn’t stick theirs too far into my business, which is how I prefer it.

  Windy Point has been the quintessential small town as long as I’ve lived there. Local businesses trying to keep their heads above water. A thriving tourist season when the weather is right. Farm country and mountain country. Plenty of places to hide, to get lost in. A place where I don’t have to look over my shoulder.

  “Not any more than anywhere else, I reckon. We’ve got your domestic violence cases every once in
a while. Sometimes a drunk and disorderly. Not as many murders, thank the Lord. The only big to-do was when you got home…”

  He trails off, but neither of us needs him to finish the sentence for me to know what he was going to say.

  Hadley clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to imply…”

  “Forget it,” I bite out. “Let’s focus on finding this woman.”

  It’s midnight by the time I haul my tired ass back to the lodge, having said goodbye to Hadley a few minutes prior. Staying out on the water for hours, without dinner, in the freezing cold did little to improve my sunny disposition. I can only hope Peyton had changed her mind and decided to go back to her room to sleep. The last thing I want is to make small talk, but I know she has to be worried out of her mind. It only irritates me even more that I’m concerned about her.

  I don’t want to worry about her.

  Don’t want to think about her.

  The sooner she leaves, the better.

  The great room is empty, the embers in the fire have long since burned down. The night desk clerk nods at me as I walk by, but otherwise keeps her mouth shut. At least one of my employees has learned to follow directions. I make a mental note to fire Nell at least twice tomorrow for getting me involved in this mess.

  Pushing through the door that leads to my small apartment and office space, I listen out for any sounds of movement. Hopefully Mercy and Lexie are asleep. I don’t want to answer their questions or deal with their pestering, either. But the hall is dark and quiet. If they’re awake, they’re in my quarters.

  The door to my office is cracked open and I see a sliver of Peyton asleep at my desk. Her blonde hair falls in a golden waterfall down her back. Her head rests on her folded arms and her pretty pink lips are parted slightly. She must have fought it for hours because there are dark circles underneath her eyes.

  Because I want to watch her sleep, I nudge her shoulder until her eyes flicker open. “Peyton. Wake up, sunshine.”

  She stirs, moaning a little. “What?”

  “C’mon, let’s get you up to your room.” I take her hand and help her to her feet while she’s all docile and sweet.

  “Ford?” She blinks until her eyes clear, then her hands fist on my shirt sleeves. “What happened? Did you find her?”

  Oh, baby, what happened to you?

  Instead of asking, I steer her toward the stairs. Her past is her business. I don’t want to get more involved than I already am. “We didn’t find her or any sign of her. Hadley is coming back tomorrow to search during the daylight with more officers.”

  Peyton visibly deflates, and I have to brace myself when she stumbles. “What?” She shakes her head. “No, I definitely saw her. She was there. You have to find her.”

  It’d be easier if she was yelling at me. Instead, her voice gets weaker. I want her to fight with me, to show me the spunky woman I know is buried deep inside—behind the fear—so I stop at the base of the stairs and give her a little shake. “Stop it.” Her eyes widen at my barked order. “We don’t know anything yet, other than what you saw. Hadley is a good man, a good cop. It’s in his hands now. If there’s any evidence of what happened, he’ll find it.”

  She nods and begins to nibble on her thumbnail. Catching herself fidgeting, she tucks her thumb into her palm. The nervous gesture shouldn’t be endearing, but it is. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. Do you need help to your room?” I want her to say yes. I want to keep my hands on her, as messed up as that is. She may look like a spoiled brat, but there’s a strength to her I want to explore.

  “No, I think I’ve got it. Thanks,” she pauses awkwardly, “for your help.”

  “Did the doc come by and take a look at you?” Hadley requested the local physician come to the lodge and give Peyton a once over for her concussion.

  “He did, he said I’m going to have a big goose egg, but that I’m okay to sleep.”

  I want to brush back her hair, look for myself, but I don’t. After a moment’s hesitation, I say, “I’ll come and get you in the morning when Hadley gets here.”

  She stops a couple steps up, rubs at her eyes and yawns. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “He’ll want to speak to you again.”

  “Right. Well, thanks, but I’ll meet you down here,” she says.

  “What?” My voice is rougher than I intend. I study her protective stance, her averted eyes. “You aren’t afraid of me, are you?” When she doesn’t answer, I nod, my lips twisting into a sardonic grin. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. Did I think we had some sort of moment of understanding this afternoon? I couldn’t have been more mistaken.

  She tries to interject with what can only be an insincere apology, but I don’t want to hear it. I lift a hand, cutting her off. “Save it. We’re both tired. Get some sleep. Hadley will be here around seven.”

  I’d been an idiot for thinking our conversation had made her more comfortable.

  “I’m just worn out,” she offers, but I don’t miss the way her arms tighten around her waist, or how she glances upstairs toward the safety of her room.

  Disgusted with myself that I’m disappointed, I shove my hands in my pockets. “Yeah,” I reply, because I have no other polite words.

  After an awkward silence, Peyton disappears upstairs like I’m gonna throw her back in the lake, and I head back to my office, where I pour myself a generous shot of the whiskey I save for important occasions. Today hasn’t been worth a celebration, but tomorrow is gonna be a shitshow. I could use the artificial buzz and distraction. Dawn will only bring more police, possibly the press, and God only knows how the guests will react to the possibility of a murder.

  I’ll have to ask Hadley how quiet we can keep this until it’s confirmed. If he’ll even speak to me without wondering whether or not I had anything to do with it.

  Christ, how had everything gone so incredibly south?

  So much for moving back to Windy Point for the peace and quiet.

  I take my glass down the hall to my apartment. It’s not much, certainly not as nice as the lodge itself, but it’s an improvement over a cot in the desert. As I drink deeply, the whiskey settling into my stomach with a pleasant warmth, I study Mercy and Lexie. They must have fallen asleep trying to stay up to grill me about what had happened. They passed out in an incomprehensible tangle on the couch.

  I’ll have to talk to Mercy tomorrow, explain the situation, and convince her to make other arrangements. They don’t need to be around when everything goes down. Even if Peyton was somehow mistaken, news like this is guaranteed to reach the desk of an enterprising journalist. Once they delve into my background, everything I’ve been trying to bury will be fodder for the small-town gossips all over again.

  The last thing I need is for Mercy to get it into her head that her baby brother needs protecting. If anyone needs protecting, it’s Mercy and Lexie. Especially if Peyton was right and there’s a murderer in my backyard. If my bullheaded sister won’t see reason, I’ll call Mom and Dad and have them talk some sense into her. The sooner they leave the better.

  I leave the two of them on the couch, sleeping peacefully for now. The secondary office space I keep setup in my room is lit by the desk lamp I can never remember to turn off. I polish off the rest of the whiskey and wish I’d brought the bottle along with me. Sleep seems near impossible, but I know better than to get in the habit of self-medicating. I’ve seen too many good men go the route of drowning themselves in booze, and I’m in no hurry to join them. I place the empty glass on the desk, sit, and start going through the guest records and security footage from the past couple hours.

  An hour later, I have no more information than when I started, though I do have a headache brewing behind my eyes. All of our guests are accounted for, so no identification of the potential victim. The outdoor footage caught Peyton near dusk going to the water, but she disappeared into the trees. The angles were all wrong to get a clear view of the lake, so no
tag or distinguishing features from the boat.

  Resigned, I lean back in the chair as I attach my findings in an email, then send it to Hadley.

  With the tedious work completed, I can’t keep the thoughts of seeing Peyton facedown in the water from resurfacing. The whiskey does a wicked summersault in my stomach and I start to regret the indulgence. I scowl at my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I wait for the shower to heat up.

  I should have insisted she see a doctor, but I’d been so relieved she was conscious it didn’t occur to me, I’m glad Hadley thought of it. Then I remind myself how she’d looked at me before she went to bed. She didn’t want anything to do with me, that was certain. I can’t say I blame her, considering the circumstances, but that doesn’t explain why it pisses me the hell off. I should be glad she’s keeping her distance. Hell, I even know she should, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting her.

  It doesn’t matter.

  Even if she wanted help from someone, she probably wouldn’t want it from me.

  Chapter Nine

  Peyton

  The gnawing sensation of my stomach trying to cannibalize itself wakes me, and the moment I open my eyes, I realize it’s not because I’m hungry.

  I’m as far from hungry as it’s possible to be. In fact, the mere thought of food makes me want to sprint to the bathroom and vomit. A cold, sour sweat coats my skin, leaving me clammy and sticky, despite the shower I’d taken the night before.

  Because I want to curl under the blankets and pretend like nothing’s changed, I force myself out of bed and pad across the room to throw open the curtains. My hands grip the frame until the urge to fling them closed subsides. In the distance, I can see police vehicles and even farther out, boats on the water slowly gliding back and forth across its surface.