Deadly Lies (14 page)

She had spent precious little time inside the house. The only thing she had taken off was her gloves. She paused, looking back at the door. He had opened it. She had not touched the door. She would leave it open, she decided. The deck was icy. It was plausible that he had slipped and fallen on his own.

Jill eyed the room with a clinical detachment, confident that if she kept her cool, she could make all of this go away.

She used the towel to swab away any tracks her boots had made on the floor. She wiped down anything she might have touched, then balled up the towel and shoved it into her coat pocket. Standing at the front door, she spun around for one last look.
That should be it
.

Pulling her gloves and boots back on, she let herself out, twisting the lock behind her.

Back in the SUV, she slid the gearshift into drive. The urge to pin the accelerator to the mat, to get as far away from the cabin as fast as she could, was palpable. Exercising the limits of her self-control, she pulled away from the cabin slowly. Her eyes searched the rearview mirror and focused on the cabin disappearing in the distance. Snow caked on the steepled roof. Gray smoke billowed into the cold air. The passing trees marked her progress, and the windshield wipers swished as she drove down the winding road. She checked the mirror again and again until at last the cabin behind her disappeared from view.

Jill forced herself to relax her hands on the steering wheel and drew in a deep, cleansing breath. She had to be careful now. She couldn’t afford to skid off into the ditch or get into an accident. She couldn’t be noticed by anyone she might pass on the road. It had to appear like she had never been here.

The gloom of the afternoon closed in around her. The white beam of the headlights reflected off of the snow drilling into the windshield. The sooner she could get back to Interstate 80, the better. There was no telling when conditions would deteriorate to the point that the
road might close, leaving her stranded. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw flashing lights approach.

The police? She went rigid with fear. Could someone have heard Jamie’s scream? No. Yellow lights. A snow plow passed, going in the opposite direction. Reflexively, she checked the rearview mirror again as she drove by.

The spray from the plow covered the rented Escalade’s tracks in a white flurry of powder. If the forecast was right, heavy snow would continue to fall for the next several days. The road would likely close. If her luck held out, it would be days before anyone missed Jamie. She would be home in Seattle by midnight, tucked safely in bed beside her husband, the cop.

Jill tried to block the images from her mind, but as hard as she tried, all she could think about was Jamie growing cold in his open grave. His red blood sinking into the pristine snow blooming scarlet, like a winter rose.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

T
he rain hammered relentlessly on the roof of the cab. The hiss of the blasting heater seemed too loud, the oppressive heat adding to her queasy desire to escape. It felt too close in here.

She handed him thirty bucks and told him to keep the change.

“You wan’ receipt?” the taxi driver asked in passable English.

“No,” Jill replied and stepped into the rainy night. The less evidence of her trip, the better. She had already left more of a paper trail than she wanted. The damp chill of the air cut her straight to the core. She pulled her coat closer.

The door squeaked on its hinges as she opened it. Entering the house, Jill could detect the lingering scent of embers smoldering in the fireplace.
Cedar
. A small nest of warmth on this miserable Seattle night.

Home. Safe
. Relief flooded through her, the feeling so strong that her knees threatened to give way.
Home
, she thought again,
far from the horrors of Lake Tahoe
. Jamie’s broken body laid to rest under a frigid blanket of snow.

Jill pulled off her coat and hung it on the wall rack by the door. Leaving her bag on the landing, she climbed the stairs, fatigue having long since set in.

The house was quiet. The ticking of the mantel clock faded in the distance as she traversed the hall on the second floor. Molly emerged from the bedroom door, wagging her tail as she approached Jill. The
dog stopped a few feet away and took a long sniff in the air. Her tail stalled midswing.

“Come here, girl,” Jill said softly, reaching out a hand toward Molly’s muzzle. The dog did not respond. After a long moment, the Lab returned to the bedroom, leaving Jill alone in the hallway.

Jill stared after her. Could Molly sense death? No, that was crazy. She needed to forget about Jamie. She needed sleep.

With tired hands, Jill stripped off her clothes, letting the garments fall heedlessly to the floor. Pulling back the sheets, she paused, looking down at Alex’s sleeping form.

His face was barely visible in the dull light of the room. He looked so young lying there. Tranquil. Innocent. For the longest time she sat on the bed, aching to touch him. She reached out toward him, fingertips suspended inches above his face before she let them drop to the cool sheets.
Best not to wake him
, she thought.

His chest rose and fell with his deep, even breaths. At last Jill slipped in between the sheets, giving in to her exhaustion. Lying here beside Alex made everything all right. Feeling at peace, she started to drift away.

Teetering on the soft edge of sleep, she suddenly opened her eyes. Had she forgotten anything at the cabin? What if someone found out about the affair, or her visit to Tahoe? In the darkened room, underneath the warm covers, she could picture Jamie’s body slowly disappearing under a blanket of snow.

Jill felt a hand gently shaking her shoulder. Reluctantly she pushed through the warm layers of sleep that enveloped her and allowed herself to surface. Her eyes squinted against the dull morning light seeping through the bedroom windows.

Alex perched on the edge of the bed, his hand still resting lightly on her shoulder.

“I brought you some coffee,” he said, inclining his head toward the night table.

“Thanks. What time is it?”

“Well past eight.”

“Damn,” she said, rubbing her eyes and propping herself up against her pillows.

“You got in late last night. I’m surprised you didn’t stay over in San Jose.”

Averting her eyes, she reached over to pick up her coffee.

“I’ve been away long enough. I just wanted to get home.” She took a sip from the steaming mug, wrapping her fingers around it for maximum transfer of heat.

“I’m sorry we were interrupted on Sunday.” Alex said with a serious look on his face.

“A break in the case?”

“Yes and no. We have a suspect, but we haven’t found him, or Natalie.”

“I’m sorry. I know how hard you’ve been pushing on this one.”

“So about Sunday …”

Jill did not flinch, but met his gaze directly. She had created the distance between them, with work, with Jamie, with the secrets she’d been keeping. Fear hovered beneath the surface of her emotions. Fear of losing Alex. Fear of her role in Jamie’s death being discovered. The world felt fragile to Jill, as if the smallest of shifts could bring everything crashing down around her.

How could she share any of it with Alex? She couldn’t. There was no way she could make him understand. Duty came first for him. He’d call the authorities in California, and everything would be exposed. Everything. No. She would involve him only if she had no other choice. Some secrets were meant to be kept.

Jill swallowed hard, and forced a crooked smile.

“Yeah, well, I knew I was marrying a cop.”

“Still, I’m not very good at balancing work and home. You were right about that and—”

Leaning forward, she silenced him with a kiss. His hand reached around to cup the back of her head, and the kiss deepened before Alex finally pulled away.

“Shit,” he said, looking at the bedside clock. “I’ve got to get going.”

“I think I’m going to work from home today,” Jill said as she eased back against the pillows.

Surprise flashed across Alex’s face.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Just tired.” She rested her hand on his, hungry for physical contact. “Any chance you’ll be home for dinner tonight?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said with a smile.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” she promised.

“I like the sound of that.”

And with a squeeze of her fingers, he was gone.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“T
he bastard didn’t just evaporate,” Alex growled, head tilted back as he stared at the stained, pockmarked ceiling tiles. “We must have missed something. Let’s go over it again.”

Jackson sighed, rubbing his hand across the stubble on his cheeks.

“Honeywell’s long gone. He hasn’t been to work in days. We have people watching the house, but so far, nothing. Did you get much from his computer?”

Alex laced his fingers behind his neck and shook his head.

“Like Kris said, the guy’s no dumbass. He kept his data files on a thumb drive, the kind you plug into a USB port. Probably took it with him.”

“Or maybe he threw it down a storm drain.” Jackson’s expression was grim as Alex continued.

“Either way, it’s a dead end. We found a steganography program, along with some more traditional photo-editing software.”

“Steg-a-what? What the hell is that?”

“Steganography,” Alex explained, “is a technique used to embed one message inside another. In ancient times, it was used by the Romans and the Greeks. Terrorists sometimes use this technique to exchange information. Pedophiles also use it to send pictures of their latest conquests to their network of like-minded souls.”

“Sick fucks.”

“But I’m guessing that Honeywell didn’t plan this all the way through.”

“True. It took time to empty his bank accounts,” Jackson said, inspecting Honeywell’s bank records. “He needed traveling money. But where’s he going?” Jackson’s look was pensive.

Kris Thompson burst through the door looking wide-eyed and pale. Dressed in a baggy sweater and jeans, she looked like she had spent the last two weeks cramming for exams. The dark circles under her eyes underscored the solemn expression on her face, making the hair prickle at the back of Alex’s neck.

“There’s a girl missing in Medford, Oregon.”

She handed Alex a copy of a police report. He skimmed the details, giving Jackson the highlights.

“Kayla Miller. Eighteen. She’s a waitress at the Brown Bear Café. She disappeared two days ago after her shift.”

“Any suspects?” Jackson asked, holding his hand out for the report. Alex handed it to him.

“Not so far. They’re looking into her ex-boyfriend. Her friends say he was an asshole. Threatened her.”

Jackson rubbed his chin, staring at the report.

“She fits the profile,” Kris said, looking grim.

Alex nodded and rubbed his eyes.

“If Honeywell was headed to California, Medford’s along the way.” Alex straightened in his chair. He plucked a sheet of paper out from amid the stack piled on the conference table. Tapping it with his index finger, he continued. “That’s where he did his certification for his mechanic’s license. We need to find out more about his life there. Who did he hang out with? What did he do in his spare time?”

“You think he’d be dumb enough to go back there?”

Alex shrugged.

“It’s a logical choice. His money will run out soon. He’s got to find work. Only he’s going to have to do it under the table. He needs connections. The farther away, the better.”

“Do you think he’d be dumb enough to pick up another girl?”

“He already got away with it once. Why wouldn’t he do it again?”

Jackson studied the police report on Kayla’s disappearance with narrowed eyes and pursed his lips.

“Let’s call Medford, find out if they have any more leads on Kayla.”

Jackson nodded.

“There’s more,” Kris said. “I did a property-records search. Honeywell’s uncle owned a hunting cabin in Winthrop.”

Alex and Jackson traded sharp looks.

“Let’s call the locals.”

Jackson visibly winced at the suggestion. He met Alex’s stare with a hard one of his own.

“We handle this ourselves. If he’s there, we can’t risk scaring him off.”

“I hear you, man,” Alex said, slapping Jackson’s shoulder. “But Natalie may still be alive. We’ve got to act fast.”