The Betrayed (5 page)

She tightened her grip on the pistol and slowly turned the doorknob and eased the door open. As the light filtered into the opening, she frowned. The clothes she’d expected to see were nowhere in sight. Instead, a steep flight of stairs led down to the first floor.

A shock wave of fear ran through her and she released the doorknob and staggered back a couple of steps. During her tour of the first floor, she’d found the servants’ stairwell close to the laundry room, but she’d assumed the entry would be off the hallway upstairs. She’d never considered that the stairs would lead straight into the master bedroom.

Someone could have been here.

She grabbed the flashlight and hurried out of the room and back downstairs, rushing across the entry to the back of the house, where she’d seen the exit for the servants’ stairs. The door was closed, but before she could think about all the potential dangers, she yanked it open, pointing her pistol inside.

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until it rushed out in a whoosh.
Get a grip,
she told herself as she pushed the door shut, noting that it didn’t make a sound as it closed. If someone had passed this way earlier, she wouldn’t have heard them exit. But the big question was, if someone had been in the house, where were they now?

The laundry room was at the end of the hallway, just a few feet beyond the servants’ stairs. She hurried to the laundry room to check the back door. The knob turned easily in her hand, and she pushed the door open and looked out into the backyard that had been swallowed up by the swamp. Vines and moss clung to every branch of the cypress trees that loomed above, while moss and weeds choked out any remaining sign of lawn.

She stared at the tangle of foliage and decided it made her just as uneasy as the master bedroom. It wasn’t just here, either. The swamp surrounding her cabin felt equally as ominous—as if it were a living entity and resented her trespass. For a girl who’d lived in some of the toughest neighborhoods across the country, it was unnerving to get such powerful feelings from a bunch of trees and brush.

She pushed the door shut and locked the dead bolt, her mind made up. Someone had been in the house. They’d stayed hidden upstairs while she was searching the first floor, then used her trip upstairs as an opportunity to slip out of the house unseen. They probably thought she’d dismiss the unlatched back door as an oversight, but they were wrong. Street-smart women like Danae didn’t have “oversights” on things as important as exterior doors, and she was certain it was locked when she’d examined the first floor earlier.

In the past, when her safety had been threatened, she’d simply packed up and moved on. She’d had no roots and nothing of value to keep her tied to any one place, especially a dangerous one. But now she had something to lose. Something huge. Running was out of the question, so she hurried back to the kitchen and pulled out her cell phone.

For the first time in her life, she was calling the police.

Chapter Five

Zach paced the tiny caretaker’s cottage, aggravated with almost everything. His original enthusiasm over scoring the LeBeau estate job was seriously compromised after meeting Danae LeBeau. The heiress had enchanting features and a stellar body, but was prickly and suspicious and was already making a mess of his carefully laid plans.

How was he supposed to dig around in the house records with her looking over his shoulder? If she were going to be at the house every day alongside him, that didn’t leave him any opportunity to snoop during that time. Now his only option was to find a way inside the house so that he could search for his answers at night.

Maybe he’d luck into a spare key lying around. If not, then he’d make sure to leave a window unlocked—a downstairs one with easy access, if such a thing existed. The swamp had almost swallowed the house, the brush and weeds pushing their way right up to the house walls.

He stopped pacing and ran one hand through his hair. What the hell was he supposed to do until tomorrow morning? Even if he could have distracted his overloaded mind with television, the caretaker didn’t own a set. No television, no radio, not even a crossword-puzzle book. What in the world did the man do for entertainment?

He glanced at his watch for the hundredth time since leaving the mansion. Four o’clock. At this rate, he’d wear out the cabin’s wooden floors before nightfall with all this pacing. Maybe Danae was still at the house. If so, he could always ask if he could take an inventory. That way, he could pick up any needed supplies in order to begin work straightaway the next morning. Surely she couldn’t find fault with that logic.

Mind made up, he grabbed his keys and headed back to the mansion. As he pulled into the drive, he saw a truck with the sheriff’s logo on the door. His hand tightened on the steering wheel as he pulled behind the truck and parked. What could be going on that warranted the sheriff?

He hopped out of his truck, and as he started toward the front door, it opened and a man stepped out. Zach studied the sheriff as he approached the entrance. This athletic man looked to be about the same age as him, the last thing he’d imagined for the sheriff of Calais. An aging, balding man with a potbelly was more what he would have guessed.

The sheriff caught his gaze immediately as he stepped outside and glanced back at Danae, who stood just inside the door. She said something to him and he nodded then made his way across the drive, meeting Zach halfway.

“Carter Trahan,” the sheriff said and extended his hand.

“Zach Sargent,” he replied and gave Carter’s hand a firm shake. “I hope there wasn’t any trouble here.”

“Not at all. I promised Alaina I’d check up on Danae.”

“Alaina?”

“Her sister.” Carter grinned. “And the woman most likely to make my life miserable if I don’t follow her instructions.”

Zach smiled. “Is Alaina as attractive as her sister?”

“Ah, now, see, I can’t answer that question without being in trouble with someone, so I’ll just say they’re both gorgeous in their own right and leave it at that.”

“You’re a wise man.”

Carter nodded. “Danae tells me William hired you to make the repairs.”

“Yeah,” Zach said. “I just got a glance at the inside earlier, but it looks like my work’s cut out for me.”

“Definitely.” He studied Zach for a moment. “This seems an odd choice of jobs for someone as young as you. I figured the reconstruction in New Orleans pays better and offers the nightlife.”

The delivery of the statement was casual, but Zach knew a fishing expedition when he heard it. The sheriff’s seemingly pleasant disposition didn’t completely mask his shrewd observation skills. Zach had to be very careful, very deliberate, around this man. If he gave Carter any reason at all to suspect he wasn’t exactly who he claimed to be, he’d run him out of town on a rail.

“The rates are better, that’s true. But I’ve been in the city all my life. Sometimes a man just needs to get away from everything—slow down a bit.”

Carter nodded. “I get that. Did it myself earlier this year. Resigned my detective position with the New Orleans Police Department and came back home to run herd over a town with less people than my old apartment building.”

Zach struggled to keep the surprise and worry from his expression. A young, inquisitive sheriff with big-city experience and connections was the last person he needed looking into his background. This was no small-town sheriff that could be easily fooled. “Any regrets?”

“Not a single one.”

“Then maybe I’m on the right track.”

Carter smiled. “Did you get settled in the caretaker’s cabin?”

“Didn’t bring much with me except work clothes and some tools. To tell the truth, I was feeling kinda stir-crazy, so I came to see if Danae was still here. Thought I could put together a supply list and get it filled this evening. Save me some time getting started tomorrow morning.”

“Efficient. I like that. Well, guess I’ll leave you to it. Maybe I’ll see you in town sometime—buy you a slice of pie and coffee down at the café.”

“That sounds like the best offer I’ve had in weeks. Nice meeting you.”

“You, too,” Carter said as he strolled to his truck. He gave Zach a wave as he pulled away.

Zach looked over at the entry, not surprised to see Danae still standing there, observing the entire exchange. She frowned as Carter’s truck pulled away, and Zach wondered if Danae wasn’t thrilled with her sister’s choice of men. He’d seemed nice enough but a person never really knew what went on behind closed doors.

Maybe she wants him for herself.

The thought came unbidden and he felt a twinge of jealousy, which irked him. He was in Calais to find answers and then get back to his real life in New Orleans. He’d pulled major strings to manage even a few weeks away. The absolute last thing he needed to do was waste any of his precious time with amorous thoughts of a woman who seemed annoyed at his presence.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you back so soon,” Danae said as he approached the door, her tone telling him straight off she wasn’t the least bit happy to see him, either.

“I was hoping to get a quick inventory—maybe get some of the supplies this evening.”

“That’s what I heard. I’m going to be here another hour or so. Do you think you can cover enough ground by then?”

He shrugged. “It will be more than I have now.”

Danae opened the door wider and stepped back, allowing him to enter.

“So,” he said as he stepped inside, “your sister and the sheriff?”

She raised one eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a romantic, Mr. Sargent.”

“Please call me Zach. And maybe I was just interested in your sister.”

She gave him the faintest of smiles. “Most men that have seen her are.”

“Really? Then I guess it’s a real shame she’s settled on a guy who carries a gun for a living.”

“You don’t like living dangerously?”

Surprised at the slightly teasing tone of her voice, he smiled. “Not when it comes to women.”

“Smart.”

She turned and waved a hand toward the vast open entry. Zach couldn’t help but notice how her jeans curved over her hips, how her T-shirt clung to her full chest and tiny waist.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“Huh?” Her question came at the worst possible time, because at that moment, none of the things he had in mind had anything to do with the repairs.

“Well,” he drawled, hurrying to recover, “I thought I’d do a quick inventory of rooms to note the obvious items. I’m sure the list will expand as I begin work. Is there any problem in particular you’d like me to start with?”

Danae nodded. “The power is my biggest concern. I will be working through the property records for William, and the office is one of those rooms where the power is out. I can haul the files to the kitchen to work, but it would make it easier to see in there...”

Her voice trailed off and she frowned.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“It’s stupid.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

She stared off across the entry then finally blew out a breath before turning to face him. “It’s creepy, okay? I know that sounds foolish and girly and weak, but the room is creepy and the lack of lighting makes it worse.” She dropped her gaze to the floor.

“It doesn’t sound foolish or weak at all. For my own well-being, I’m not touching the ‘girly’ comment.” He scanned the cavernous room, littered with columns with various sculptures and statues—all covered with layers of dust and cobwebs. “Look, I’m sure this place was beautiful once, but I have to tell you, it wouldn’t be someplace I’d choose to stay.”

She looked up at him, a flicker of appreciation in her expression. “Really?”

He held up one hand. “Swear. This place is gloomy and depressing. Your sister’s work in the kitchen gives me an idea of what it could look like, though.”

Danae gave him an appreciative smile. “You’re right. I need to keep reminding myself that it will feel different after the repairs are made and we’ve managed a good scrubbing.”

“It’s none of my business, but why doesn’t William hire someone to do the cleaning?”

“According to café gossip, he’s tried, but none of them last more than a day.”

“Why not?”

She smiled. “Because of the ghost.”

Maybe it was the decrepit state of the house, or maybe it was the swamp that was slowly swallowing up the entire structure, but he actually gave her statement more than a moment’s passing thought.

“Ghost, huh?” he said finally.

“That’s what I hear.”

“But you haven’t seen it?”

“No, but then today is the first day I’ve been in this house since I was a toddler.”

He wanted to ask her more about her stepfather and her sisters, but as soon as she’d issued that statement, her expression had gone from somewhat relaxed to completely closed off again.

“Who’s the ghost supposed to be?” he asked instead.

She frowned. “I don’t know. I assumed it was my stepfather. Based on the description of his lifestyle from the locals, it sounds like he was agoraphobic. I guess I figured that even in death, he didn’t want to leave the house.”

“Well, then, I guess I best get to work lighting up this place before I have to add a ghost to the payroll.”

Danae gave him a small smile, but he could tell that something was bothering her. She appeared to be telling the truth when she said she hadn’t seen a ghost, but something had happened that put her on edge—something beyond just a spooky house. She was too observant, too suspicious for the average person. Either she was paranoid or she had something to worry about. Both concerned him as either could blow his cover.

“Where would you like to start?” Danae asked.

“Well, I know the electricity is a priority, but I need to test everything before I can pin down the problem. I brought my voltage equipment with me, so I’ll start that tomorrow morning. I thought I’d take a tour of the house and note the obvious needs. Then I can have supplies on hand for several jobs.”

Danae nodded. “So if you have to wait on special orders, you can keep working on other things.”

“Exactly.”

“Then I guess we can start downstairs.”

We? The last thing he needed was the cagey heiress lingering over his shoulder while he cased the house, especially now that his mind had formed a permanent imprint of her absolutely perfect rear end. But before he could formulate a logical argument, she spun around and headed to the kitchen, then came right back with a pad of paper and a pen.

“It will probably go faster if you dictate as you go,” she said. “I can make the notes. That way you don’t have to stop what you’re doing to write.”

He nodded, unable to argue with the efficiency her plan presented. “I assume you have a basic idea of the layout, so lead the way.”

She pointed to rooms that lined the south side of the house. “We can start over there and work our way around.”

He followed her into the first room and was pleased to find it only contained a table, dresser and a couple of boxes. The west window was intact, but a sheet of plywood covered the wall where he guessed a south-facing window was located. “What happened here?” he asked, pointing to the plywood.

“I haven’t asked about it yet, but I assume the guy who attacked my sister broke it to get inside. The plywood covering it looks new.”

He stared at her. “Someone attacked your sister in the house?”

“Yeah.” She frowned then shook her head. “I guess I forget it’s just hitting the news this morning. He attacked her here but she ran into the swamp and got away. He caught up with her trying to get away in her SUV, and that’s when Carter shot and killed him.”

He stared at her for a moment, trying to absorb the implications of trying to keep his cover intact at a crime scene. This entire situation was becoming more complicated by the minute. “Wow! Is she all right?”

“She’s fine.” Danae cocked her head to the side and studied him for a moment. “Most people would ask who was trying to kill her and why.”

“You said it just hit the news. I can catch up on the local gossip later. I have a younger cousin who’s more like a brother to me. I guess I was thinking about something happening to him.”

“Are you always this logical?”

“I try to be. It seems to make life easier.”

“Well, then, I guess we best get back to this list. I don’t want to throw you off course.”

He crossed to the intact window and studied it. “I’ll have to remove the plywood to check the dimensions, so I’ll leave off replacing the window for later. I’m going to have to special-order something to even come close to matching the others, but I know a guy in New Orleans who specializes in making windows for restoration projects. I can get some pictures tomorrow and see what he can do.”

He reached up for the latches and opened the window, then pulled it upward, but it stayed firmly in place. It only took a moment to realize the sliding pane of the window had been nailed into the frame. The oxidation on the edges of the nails let him know that wasn’t a recent addition.

“This window is nailed shut,” he said.