When a Secret Kills Page 9

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked.

  “Backup.”

  Before he could make his way toward the house, movement in front of the truck grasped his attention. Colton braked again, reached for his weapon, and blinked when he saw Ernie appear from the tree line. The dog walked a few steps, then sat down, rolled onto his side, tongue lolling, panting hard.

  Jillian gasped and opened her door. She ran toward the dog and knelt beside him, running her fingers over his coat. Colton followed, his mind churning, eyes watchful. “I thought you said he shot the dogs.”

  “He did. I don’t understand . . .” She stopped and pulled back. Blood covered her fingers.

  Colton examined the wound himself and pulled a small dart from Ernie’s side. “Tranquilizers.”

  Hope blossomed on her face. “Then he’s going to be okay?”

  “Yes. Get back in the truck and stay down. I don’t want you out in the open until we find this guy.” Colton murmured soft words to his canine buddy as he picked him up and put him in the back of the truck.

  Two county cruisers pulled into the drive and came toward them, lights flashing, but sirens silent. The first car came up beside him. Colton had given Hunter a description of his truck to pass on to the officers. Colton flashed his badge and said, “Follow me.”

  He and Jillian climbed back into the truck and headed the last few yards down the drive. Colton stopped and looked at Jillian. “Stay here, lock the doors, and keep your head down.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to argue with him. He got out of the truck, pulled his gun, and walked toward the open garage.

  He heard the officers bringing up the rear. Turning, he said to the closest one, “Check the perimeter, will you?”

  “Sure.” The officer took off and Colton and the second cop, whose name tag read T. Vincent, cleared the garage. Colton led the way to the door that would open into the kitchen. It was cracked. He pushed it open with his foot, gun ready.

  Everything looked just as he’d left it only a few hours ago. They checked the pantry, behind the furniture, anywhere someone could hide. “Clear,” he finally called. He could see Bert through the den window still and motionless in the backyard near the trees. Concern tugged him, but the dog would have to wait. And where was Jonah? The man hadn’t answered his cell.

  The officer headed for the stairs with Colton right behind him.

  It didn’t take long to clear the second level. Colton descended the stairs and walked out the front door to find the first officer carrying Bert toward the truck.

  Colton’s concern blossomed. “Thanks.”

  “I think he’s all right. Just still woozy. He’s got a dart in his side.”

  “Yeah.” Colton took the dog from the officer and placed him beside Ernie in the back of the truck. Ernie whined and pawed at his companion. Bert lifted his head, then dropped it. Colton would get them to the vet as soon as he had everything wrapped up here.

  Jillian opened the door and climbed out. “He got away, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah. He’s gone. Probably had a car parked somewhere close by—”

  “And Jonah?”

  “We’re searching the wooded area and the—”

  “Hey, Colton!” He turned at Hunter’s shout. Hunter stood from his kneeling position next to a tree. “It’s Jonah. He’s alive but unconscious. I’ve called for an ambulance.”

  Colton rushed down the sloping hill to the tree line. Jillian followed him. Hunter held up a dart that matched the ones from the dogs. Relief filled him. His friend would be all right.

  Colton placed his hands on his hips and looked around. “It’s pretty remote out here, but it’s summer and there are people around. Let’s get officers questioning everyone.”

  Jillian frowned and muttered, “I should have shot him.”

  He jerked and looked at her in surprise. “What?”

  “I could have, after I hurt him. But I didn’t. I should have.”

  Officers nearby exchanged glances and raised eyebrows. Colton looked at them and shook his head. To Jillian, he said, “You said he was hurt. How bad?”

  “I almost had him knocked out cold. He’s got a head injury. I hope he has a massive concussion.” She drew in a breath. “I had to act fast. The attic stairs were down in the garage. I saw a can of oil, grabbed it and greased the metal brackets pretty good as I climbed up. Then I pulled the steps up and waited. He saw me, walked toward me . . .” She stopped and shuddered.

  Colton felt his insides tense as he imagined the scene she described.

  “And when he got to the right spot, I gave the stairs a shove and they flew down like I’d shot them out of a cannon.” She blinked and Colton saw the fear in her eyes as she remembered. But she shrugged. “He went down hard. But not hard enough, unfortunately. If he’d been unconscious, I would have figured out a way to tie him up and call for help.”

  Colton closed his eyes, grateful Jillian was still alive. If the intruder had gotten his hands on her . . .

  He couldn’t go there. He walked over to stand in front of the garage. While part of the drive was gravel, the area directly in front of the garage was concrete. Hands on his hips, he simply surveyed the area. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he’d know it when he saw it.

  “What’s going on?”

  Colton turned at Katie’s voice and saw her standing with the officers. For the next few minutes, he filled them in.

  Katie walked to the edge of the garage and crouched. “Hey, you got a crime scene kit?” She pointed to the concrete. “I think this is blood.”

  Jillian stood by the truck, watching as the detectives collected what little evidence had been left behind. A crime scene unit had been dispatched, but hadn’t arrived yet.

  She’d been printed so they could compare her prints to any they found. She’d overheard Colton talking to Hunter—they’d caught a break. The place had been professionally cleaned by a local service after the last time it had been used. All they had to do was rule out the cleaning crew’s prints, hers, and Colton’s, and see if the intruder had left any behind. But if she remembered correctly, he’d been wearing gloves.

  Jillian walked back to the truck to check on the dogs and climbed through the small door into the cool area. They lay on their sides, eyes open, ears pricked toward the sounds going on around them. Sweat ran down the back of her neck and she was glad Colton had the back of the truck covered with a canopy. He’d left the vehicle running and the air conditioner blew full blast, cooling the area where the dogs lay.

  “It’s all right, boys, you’re going to be fine,” she murmured as she ran a hand down Ernie’s side. He lifted his head to lick her hand, then lay back down and closed his eyes.

  Gravel crunched and she saw Rick pulling in the driveway. He gave her a wave and kept going.

  “Jillian?”

  She turned to see Colton standing at the end of the truck bed, right behind her. He helped her back out and she nodded toward the house. “They find anything?”

  “Some, not much.”

  “I heard someone say something about a blood sample.”

  He nodded. “Rick’ll run it through the database and see if there’s a match for anyone. It was dry, so we’re not sure how long it’s been there. As hot as it is today, it would have dried almost instantly.” He placed his hands on his hips and squinted down at her. “Now the problem remains. Who knew you were here? How did they find out, and what are we going to do with you now?”

  “Good question.” She frowned as she stared down at the dogs.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?”

  He slipped a hand under her chin and looked square in her eyes. “No, Jillian. I thought you’d be safe. I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

  She swallowed at the truth she saw there and nodded. “Okay. I believe you.”

  Relief glinted in his gaze. The gaze that dropped to her lips. Her hea
rt shuddered as his head lowered. A gentle kiss caressed her lips. Then his head lifted and it was over. Much too soon, if you asked her.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  14

  The ride to the vet had been a silent one. Dr. Wainsworth had promised to check the dogs and keep them overnight. He’d be in touch soon.

  “Thanks.” Colton paused. “Do you mind boarding them until I get back to you?”

  “Working a case?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jillian watched the exchange. Obviously not the first time Colton had left them with the doctor.

  As they pulled into the parking lot of the police station, Colton’s tension radiated from him. Jillian kept quiet, grateful for the opportunity to just think for a minute. Colton had taken every precaution to stash her away safely and still she’d been found. Chills raced up and down her spine. Or was it all just to look good? Had he told his uncle she was there? Immediately, she pushed those thoughts away. Again. He wouldn’t do that to her.

  Would he?

  His phone rang and he left the car running while he answered. “Yes sir.” She listened and raised a brow when his jaw tightened. He let out a sigh and grimaced but nodded. “Yes sir. I’m not sure that’s necessary, but we’ll do whatever you want.” He listened and finally hung up with a low grunt.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m going to kill Rick Shelton.”

  She smothered a smile at his disgust. “What’s he done?”

  “Convinced the captain that there are some of us who need to attend his seminar on the latest crime-solving technology.”

  “What’s wrong with that? Seems like you would have to do that kind of thing in your line of work.”

  “Yeah. We do. But not with Rick.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s hard to explain, but Rick . . . you see, Rick is . . .” He waved a hand. “Rick’s a great guy, but when it comes to teaching, he’s better than a sleeping pill.”

  “Ah, I get it.”

  “Yeah.” They climbed out of the car.

  Colton took her arm as they stepped into the station and gently propelled her toward his office. He didn’t stop to speak to his fellow officers. Instead he seated her in his chair, said, “Stay here for a minute,” and disappeared from view.

  Jillian leaned back and stared at the ceiling. She’d just noticed the fresh paint smell mingled with the scent of coffee. Coffee. She stood. That might help.

  She spied the coffeemaker on a rolling cart in the corner and made a beeline for it. Her mind churned as her hands went through the motions necessary to produce a pot of coffee. She needed a place to stay. A place where no one would think to look for her. But where? She also needed to talk to Serena. The first step in proving what happened ten years ago would be to prove how the governor died.

  Because she knew it wasn’t a car wreck.

  Jillian walked over to the phone on the desk, picked it up, and dialed.

  Serena answered.

  “I’m so sorry, Serena.”

  “I am too. But you and Colton are alive—I can’t even worry about the house right now.”

  “But your things,” Jillian whispered, grief and guilt cutting a fresh path through her once again.

  “Hey, they’re just things. The animals were safe, I have copies of every important paper and picture in a safe deposit box. Trust me, it’s okay.”

  Jillian didn’t feel a whole lot better. “I wanted to stick around and apologize last night, but Colton rushed me out of there so fast . . . and I wasn’t really thinking straight . . . and . . .”

  “Jill, hush, it’s okay.”

  “But your house,” Jillian wailed as tears floated to the surface for the umpteenth time.

  Serena sighed. “I have insurance. Now,” her voice took on that no-nonsense tone she’d learned at an early age, “tell me what I can do to help you. Do you want to stay with Mom and Dad and Camille? They’d love to have you and they have a great security system.”

  “And put them in danger? No way!” She pushed a file to the side and sat in the chair behind the desk. “Besides, you had a great security system, and that didn’t stop them from blowing your house up.” She didn’t give Serena a chance to answer. “No, I’ll figure something out. I can always go to a homeless shelter.”

  Serena drew in a sharp breath. “Jill . . .”

  “Bad joke, sorry. I had enough of those the first few months after I left that night.” Quiet echoed back at her. “Serena, I need to ask you something.”

  “Sure.”

  “How well do you know Colton now?”

  “Pretty well. We spent a lot of time together when he helped track my serial killer. Why?”

  Jillian sighed and wondered if she should voice her thoughts.

  Serena asked, “Jill? What’s going through that mind of yours?”

  “I’m questioning whether I can trust Colton. I mean . . . it’s his uncle I’m accusing. I just . . . I mean I do trust him. I think.” At least she did earlier when he’d declared he’d never do anything to hurt her.

  “You can trust him,” Serena insisted. “I have no doubts about that.”

  Her reassurances helped. “It’s hard. I had to learn to be suspicious of everyone, to trust no one, and now . . . ,” she bit her lip at the irony, “and now—how can I trust the nephew of the man who’s trying to have me killed? It doesn’t really make sense.”

  “I suppose when you look at it that way, it does seem a little crazy, but I promise, if I had any doubts about Colton, I’d warn you. I don’t. He’s a good man and he’s missed you terribly.” She paused. “You never told me what you did after you left. How you survived. How you took care of Meg.”

  Jillian winced. “I know. It just didn’t seem important. Even though I used a pay phone when I called, I was never 100 percent sure someone wouldn’t figure out a way to find me through it.”

  “I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through. I can’t imagine it. I wish—”

  “Don’t. It’s okay. Or it will be as soon as I can prove Frank Hoffman killed Governor Martin.”

  “And how do you plan to do that?”

  “I want you—and me—to talk to the ME who did the autopsy on the governor.”

  “That was ten years ago.”

  “I know. Can you find out who handled it?”

  “Hold on a sec.” Clicking keys filtered through the phone line and Jillian waited. She tapped her foot, shook her leg. Blew a breath through pursed lips.

  Serena finally came back on the line. “Jillian?”

  “Yeah?”

  “His name was Gerald Benjamin. And . . . this is crazy, but . . . he’s dead.”

  They both went silent as they processed that bit of information.

  Jillian asked, “You think that was a coincidence?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” Her friend paused. “So, now what?”

  “New plan.”

  “You and your plans. What?”

  “We’re going to dig up the ME’s body—and you’re going to do another autopsy.”

  “You’re going to what?” Colton couldn’t help the raised voice or the blurted question. He’d walked in just in time to hear Jillian talk about digging up a dead body. “That’s illegal, you know.”

  She finished her call and hung up. When she turned to face him, she notched her chin a bit higher in the air. “I’m not going to do anything illegal. You’re going to get a court order for it.”

  “Based on what?”

  “An eyewitness testimony that the governor was shot and his car accident was a cover-up.”

  Colton digested her words. The smell of fresh coffee distracted him for a moment. He darted for the cart to pour himself a cup while shooting daggers at this woman who’d managed to turn his world upside down again. His brows shot north as he took a sip. “Hey, this is good.”

  A ghost of a smile graced her lips. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to make a good pot
of coffee.” She turned serious again. “So anyway, you just need to get the court order, get the body to Serena, meet her at the lab, and wait for her to do the autopsy.”

  “You really think it’s going to be that easy?”

  “No.” She studied him. “But with your help, we can get it done.”

  “I don’t have any reason other than your say-so. I can’t just take that to a judge. I need something more.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like proof.”

  She groaned and wilted, dropping her head to his desk. “That’s why I need his body exhumed. The proof is in his body. Serena just told me the ME who did the original autopsy, Gerald Benjamin, died about three weeks later. That’s not a coincidence, Colton.” She slapped a hand on the desk, her cheeks red, eyes spitting determination.

  “How did he die?” he asked. He could look, but he knew she knew.

  She stuck her thumbnail between her teeth and stared at him. Dropping her hand, she said, “Anaphylactic shock from multiple bee stings while he was fishing. Alone.”

  He sighed, exasperation building. “And you’re seeing a murder there? That kind of stuff happens, Jillian.”

  He dropped into his chair and pulled up a website. Clicking, he logged in.

  “It’s not a coincidence!” She stood and jabbed a finger into his chest, pushing him back into the chair. “I know what I saw. Governor Martin was shot by your uncle. Martin did not die in a car wreck and Gerald Benjamin may have died of anaphylactic shock, but it was because someone knew he was allergic to bees and made sure he ran across a bunch of them.”

  “But why would Benjamin agree to file a false cause of death? That’s grounds for losing his license, not to mention jail time. He would be ruined if it was discovered.”

  Two more clicks with his mouse.

  She paced to the door, then back to the desk. “I don’t know why. Maybe he was being blackmailed. Maybe he owed a favor. Maybe he was promised money. I don’t know. What are the usual reasons someone does something like that? I just know that he probably did and he died for it.”