If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (36 page)

Watching the big deputy crouch inside it made Ezra’s gut clench—the thing was nothing more than a big oven, one that got really, really hot. He circled around it, checking the display. It was dark, but still, it freaked him out seeing one of his men in there. Almost as bad as it had been seeing Roz—

“Sheriff, there’s something weird about the back wall of this thing.”

“Something weird about this whole damn thing,” he muttered, shaking his head. Then he sighed and headed back around to the front, peering inside.

Mabry tapped the strange white bricks that lined the back.

“They don’t match.”

Ezra frowned. “I couldn’t care less if it matches or not, man. It’s not like we’re running a fashion show here.”

Mabry shifted around more, giving Ezra a better view. “You’re not using your imagination there, Sheriff. Look.” He tapped the sidewall in front of him, then gestured to the other one. “See? These two, the material matches. The bottom, the top? All match. It’s the back that doesn’t. And look.”

Ezra watched as Mabry used his flashlight and tapped it against the sidewall. Nothing happened. But when he tapped it against the back wall, the white brick crumbled.

“You know how hot these things get?”

“Really hot?” Ezra said helpfully.

Mabry snorted. “How does about two thousand degrees or so sound?” He pointed to the back of the kiln. “The brick is supposed to help insulate against fire and stuff. How safe you think that is?”

“Well, probably not very. But we’re not here for fire safety—”

“This, here, Sheriff, is a patch job.” Mabry pulled a pocketknife out, wedging it in between two of the bricks. “There’s something behind this. I bet he doesn’t even use this kiln. It’s just here for show.”

Narrowing his eyes, Ezra folded his arms over his chest and watched.

It took more than an hour.

But when they were finished, they found a small, secure little cache. Two locked metal boxes, long and skinny, the kind Ezra would expect to see in a bank’s vault. The first one held hair. More than a dozen different swatches, different shades, different textures.

The other box, a larger one, was the most disturbing, though.

It held ashy fragments of bone.

Mabry looked up at him. “Is … ah, is that what I think it is?”

The rest of his men gathered around to peer inside.

Ezra blew out a careful, controlled breath as he studied the kilns. “How hot did you say these suckers could get again?”

“Two thousand degrees, easy.”

Gently, Ezra placed the lid back on the metal box. “The human body can be burned to nothing but ash and
fragments of bone when it’s exposed to temperatures that high for a couple of hours.”

“Oh, God.”

He didn’t know who said it, but he echoed the sentiment. Somehow, he didn’t suspect they’d be finding many bodies. That was part of the reason Carter had gotten away with this for so long—there was never a trail. He picked women who weren’t from here, women with no connection to him, and instead of burying the bodies, he’d burned them.

“Sheriff.”

He glanced over. “Yeah, Kent?”

The deputy stood by one of the workbenches, staring down at something. Needing to get away from that macabre discovery, he joined Kent. “I saw this earlier. Didn’t think much of it until you all pulled that out,” he said, his voice thin and reedy.

Ezra frowned, looked at Kent, at his pale face, the sweat beading on his brow. Then he took the little index card.

The word
glaze
was written in neat block print at the top.

Most of the words on the card might as well have been a foreign language.
Silica, feldspar, quartz
. But there was one word that jumped out at him. One word that all but imprinted itself on his brain.

Ash mix
.

His hand clenched spasmodically.
Don’t jump to conclusions—don’t
. “Ash mix, could be a lot of things.”

Kent shook his head and pointed to a magazine that lay open on the workbench. “He’s got an interview in there—it’s a recent one, just came out last week. Somebody asks him about his glazing techniques. Apparently he has a gift for coming up with ones that others can’t duplicate. He says he has a unique way of mixing his
glazes. Cutting the wood ashes with a special mix of ashes that is unique, and only his.”

Kent bent over and tugged open a drawer, revealing another large metal box, similar to the ones they’d found hidden in the kiln. There were only ashes in this one, but precious few, clinging to the cracks and crevices of the box.

“In the article, it also says that his special mix has been depleted, though, and he anticipates it may be a long while before he can get the right ingredients again. He even says he may never be able to get the
right
ingredients—says he may not be able to use that glaze ever again.” Kent swallowed, his eyes glassy, but the rage was starting to burn through now. Rage. And horror. “People who have those special pieces should treasure them … each one is unique, each one glows with its own soul, its own voice … its own life.”

Staring into that metal box, Ezra’s blood roared in his ears.

Slowly, he shifted his eyes upward, staring at the neatly organized row of pots and vases lining the shelf just above the workbench. Some truly did seem to glow.

“My God,” he whispered.

“You believe this crazy shit?” Ethan muttered, shaking his head and staring out the window at the big old white farmhouse. Lena had spent a lot of money having the place fixed up. Fresh white paint gleamed in the soft light of the late evening sun. The shutters were dark red, but nobody could glimpse anything inside the house.

The curtains were drawn, hiding everything inside.

“I mean, seriously, Keith. This is
nuts
,” Ethan said, shaking his head. “Carter Jennings? A fucking killer? You don’t believe that, do you?”

“I know I don’t want to,” Keith said quietly. Carter
was blood to him—very convoluted and distantly related, but still, family was family.

But the job was the job and when he’d taken the call from the sheriff, he’d heard the urgency, the sincerity in King’s voice. The man wouldn’t have them out here on some crazy ghost chase.

“Ha! See, I knew I wasn’t the only one.” Ethan smirked and leaned his head back against the headrest, sighing. “Damn it, this is going to screw Sheriff King up bad.”

Keith slid him a narrow glance. “You didn’t hear me very well. I
said
I didn’t
want
to believe it. That doesn’t mean I
don’t
believe it. I’m going to withhold judgment there. But the sheriff wouldn’t make this call without good reason.”

The crackle of the radio kept him from hearing anything else that might have been said.

“This is Dispatch … got a report of suspicious activity … Deb Sparks …”

Ethan and Keith, as one, groaned.

Keith answered. “We’re already busy at the moment, Dispatch. You’ll have to send another unit.”

“No one close—sounds urgent, heard her screaming.”

“Fuck.” Ethan rolled his eyes.

Keith groaned.

Ethan said in a low voice, “It’s just Deb. I can leave you here, swing by, flash the lights. It will make her feel better while the other car gets closer. We’re spread thin here as it is, with most of the team out at Carter’s workshop.”

“Against protocol.”

“And what if there really
is
a problem?” Ethan gestured to the house. “There
isn’t
one here.”

The radio crackled again. “Closest car I have reports ETA in ten minutes.”

“We’re three minutes away.” Ethan glared at Keith.
“You either get out and keep an eye on the place on foot, or you come along for the ride.”

Keith glared at the younger deputy as he reached for the door. “You know I’m going to write your ass up for this.”

Ethan flashed him a grin. “Go ahead. But I figure King’s going to be in so much damn trouble for the shit storm he’s bringing down with this bullshit on Carter, nobody’s going to care.”

That had to be the most faulty reasoning Keith had ever heard. But as he watched Ethan speed off down the driveway, he was torn—he liked Ezra. He liked Ethan. He’d known Carter most of his life. So did he hope Ezra was right—which meant Ethan wouldn’t be getting off scot-free for insubordination—or did he hope Ethan was right and that while Ethan’s little fuckup would get lost in the smoke of Ezra’s screwup, Ezra’s career would be shot?

“I didn’t sign up for this political bullshit.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Hell. Too much political bullshit.

Deb’s lifeless eyes watched him as he poured himself some whiskey from the stash she’d kept hidden in her sewing basket. He toasted her. “Cheers, Deb,” he murmured, looking out the window.

He’d heard her calling the cops. He’d
wanted
her to call the cops.

After all, how could he make a move when they were all focused on the place where he needed to be?

The sheriff’s department was spread thin as it was. So if he could cause enough chaos, hopefully he could slip in, quietly, do what he needed to do, and then be done with it.

When he heard the sirens, he smiled and left her sewing room, made his way to the living room. It was dim
in the house now, almost dark with the oncoming night. He’d already taken care of the lights. Now he just had to wait, and watch.

Through the window, he could see the car well enough. Just one deputy. Sheffield, he thought. Wasn’t positive, but he thought that was the name. Carter was happy it wasn’t family.

Young. Stupid. Arrogant idiot.

He announced himself before he entered—Carter had left the door open. No reason to make him break it down, after all. He wasn’t trying to hide.

Backing out of the living room, he waited in the formal dining room. It was a new game of cat and mouse, and it had his heart racing. His last game—that was what today was. His last game, and now that he’d settled down to play, it was turning out to be pretty damn fun.

Floorboards creaked as Sheffield came into the living room.

Carter watched the floor, judging by the shifting shadows as Sheffield drew closer to the open doorway between the two rooms.

“Miz Sparks? It’s the County Sheriff’s office. Can you tell me where you are?” Ethan called out. Not so much arrogance in his voice this time.

A wicked little smile curled Carter’s lips.
Why, Ethan … she’s dead. I’ll tell her you dropped by …

Ethan drew closer to the dining room and Carter backed away, edging out and circling around, carefully avoiding the boards that squeaked—he’d taken care to learn them, and he placed his weight with caution. When he peered around the doorway, Ethan had already made his way through the dining room.

Smiling, Carter moved faster. It was his own arrogance that tripped him up. He didn’t double-check before
he came around the corner and he found himself staring down the business end of Ethan’s service revolver.

“What the …” Ethan shook his head, gaping.

Carter might have been touched by the astonishment in the boy’s eyes—if he had cared.

He didn’t, though.

Ethan shrugged it off, though, and he did it fast. In a harsh, flat voice, he said, “Drop the weapon.”

Carter smiled. “No.”

He jerked it up, aimed.

He pulled the trigger just as Ethan got a round off.

The fiery pain that cut through his arm was a shock. A brutal, burning one. In the end, it was also one that didn’t matter, because Ethan went down, his throat a raw, bloody wound, blood gushing. Carter kicked his weapon away and then bent over, grabbed the radio, jerked it off. He’d be dead in no time.

As he was walking to the door, another fiery pain hit him.

A bullet, ripping through the side of his calf.

He stumbled, slammed into the doorjamb. Looking back, he watched as Ethan’s backup weapon fell from his hand. Watched as his eyes went empty. Lifeless.

Lena closed her eyes.

The sound of a gunshot echoing through the night was like the start of the nightmare all over again. Except she wasn’t alone.

Her hand clenched in Puck’s fur and every once in a while, she rubbed her finger over her wedding ring. Ezra was still out there. Searching, looking for evidence, or something. Maybe even looking for Carter. Roz … damn it, where the fuck was Roz?

There was a deputy pacing around her house.

Law, Hope, and Nia were here. And she knew she wasn’t going crazy—knew people believed her. All good things.

So why was she still so terrified?

There was a thunderous bang at the front door and she jolted, barely managed to suppress a whimper. She hadn’t even made it to her feet when Law said softly, “I’ll get it, Lena.”

She didn’t bother arguing. Why should she? There was only a handful of people she’d let in right now anyway and two of them were already in here. The other three were her husband—and he lived there, so he didn’t entirely count—Roz, and Remy.

And it turned out to be Remy, she learned in under twenty seconds. Hope’s relieved sigh told her that without anybody even having to say his name. Lena smiled as she heard her friend rushing across the floor to him. “Oh, man, am I glad to see you.”

“You, too,” Remy murmured.

His voice … he sounded like he’d aged ten years. Poor bastard.

“Hey Remy.” Resting her head on the back of the chair, Lena said softly, “I take it you’ve been told what’s going on.”

Silence fell, heavy and tense. Then he said, “Yes.”

Lena nodded. “Don’t suppose you know where Roz is, do you? I haven’t been able to get ahold of her all day.”

“She … is in the hospital. And don’t ask anything else right now, because I don’t know.”

Roz
—hospital—

Lena’s heart leaped into her throat.

“Don’t
ask
anything else?” she snarled, shoving upright. Next to her, Puck tensed. “Excuse me, but did you just tell me not to
ask
?”

“Yeah. I did. I can’t tell you shit, so save us the headache and don’t ask,” he bit off.

“That’s one of my best friends, damn it. You want me to just meekly sit here and not wonder why she’s in the hospital?” Her hand curled into a fist and she all but shook with the need to do something violent.