In the Shadow of Evil (6 page)

Tears pooled in her eyes. She sucked in air and grabbed the doorjamb. "All our work . . ."

Maddox glanced back to the cruiser. He'd never been able to handle a crying woman. Suspects he could take—their tears were normally as false as their statements. But a woman crying in pain . . . he didn't know how to process that.

"I'm so sorry." Houston was so much better at handling women. Probably learned a lot from being married for nearly three decades.

She sniffed. "What happened?"

Maddox met her painful stare. "Arson."

She blinked rapidly, seeming to take in the information. Then her chin jutted out and she made eye contact again. "Well, praise God we hadn't already moved in or we'd have lost everything."

Was she kidding? She'd just been told her new house had been burned down—deliberately—and she was praising God? She couldn't be serious. These religious nuts had no sense at all.

"Was anyone hurt?"

His partner caught his eye before focusing back on her. "Actually, Ms. Caldwell, there was a body found in the house."

Her tears returned. "Oh, dear Lord, someone died in the fire? Who?"

"That's what we're trying to find out." Maddox waited until she faced him again before he continued. "Do you have any idea who might've been in the house?" No sense giving her too many details. As sweet as she seemed, she could still be involved. It was, after all, her house.

And she knew it was vacant at the moment. A perfect setting for murder.

She shook her head, fingers pressed to her mouth.

Houston leaned in closer and withdrew his notebook from his pocket. "You can't think of anyone who would be in the house?"

"Not a single soul. We'd finished almost everything. The only one who was still going by and doing little things was the electrician, because he wanted to change out the dimmer switch in the living room to match the wallpaper better."

"We?" Maddox cocked his head.

Ms. Caldwell nodded. "Part of the deal with Hope for Homes is the new owners have to work a certain number of hours. I was there nearly every day."

"And this electrician . . . he's the only one you know of who still had business at the property?" Houston scribbled in his notebook.

"Maybe Layla. She kept a careful watch on every stage of the house's progress."

"Layla?" Houston hovered his pencil over the page.

"Layla Taylor, the contractor."

Maddox almost shook his head. A woman contractor? And with a name like Layla? Brought up images of blonde and flighty.

"Or maybe her sister."

Now Maddox was thoroughly confused. "Her sister? Why would the contractor's sister be at the house?"

"Because some of the workers were from Second Chances."

The work-release group. But it still didn't correlate. "I don't understand what that has to do with being the contractor's sister or being at the house."

Sally smiled. "Because Layla's sister, Alana, oversees Second Chances. Could be she went by to check on the workers or something."

"Was that common? I mean, for this Alana to drop by the site?"

"No. I only met her once. She came by the house to talk with her sister about something."

He'd just bet. Sounded fishy. Maddox clenched his jaw. These sisters, Alana and Layla, were about to get a visit.

And they'd better be prepared with some answers.

THE TINKLING OF THE bell over the main entrance to Second Chances drew Alana and Layla's attention.

Alana sighed. "Let me go see who that is. If it's Gavin's probation officer . . ."

Layla allowed a smile to creep to her face since Alana had already left the room. Her sister's determination always amused her. She shook her head, then lifted the paper again, studying it. Fred had pulled all the information for Alana and her, and now they were knee deep in reviewing it.

The three men Bob had used on the Hope-for-Homes site were Darren Watkins, Sam Roberson, and Kenny Lindsay. All three had been into at least their twelfth week at Second Chances, and all hadn't had a single incident since entering the retreat. Only one had a previous history of violence—Darren. He'd physically abused his girlfriend before his arrest. Beating two men with a baseball bat during a mugging had landed him four months' incarceration prior to giving him the opportunity to attend Second Chances.

Did Darren have any connection to the site?

Layla opened her mouth to ask Alana, then realized her sister had never returned. No probation officer would've shown up on a Saturday afternoon. Maybe Fred had come back. Layla shoved the chair back from the desk and stood. If Alana had gotten sidetracked with something minor about the retreat when this was so important, Layla just might scream.

She walked down the short hall to the front area. Voices reached her before she rounded the corner. Male voices that didn't sound too friendly.

Layla fisted her hands stiffly and strode into the room.

Alana stood on the welcome rug, worrying her bottom lip. Clearly uncomfortable. The hair on the back of Layla's neck jumped to full attention as she took in the two men looking down at her sister.

One man had to be pushing fifty, with thin gray hair. He wore an outlandish print shirt over well-worn khaki slacks. The other man was taller and younger, probably closer to Layla's own age of twenty-nine. He had dark, dark brown hair worn in a crew cut. His shoulders were wide enough for him to play for the Louisiana State University Tigers, and he looked like he was solid muscle in the jeans and long-sleeved pullover he wore very well.

"Alana?"

Her sister and the two men simultaneously faced her.

She continued her approach, taking in both men's silent appraisal of her. She squared her shoulders and moved beside her sister. "What's up?"

Alana licked her bottom lip. "These are Detectives Wallace and Bishop. Gentlemen, this is my sister, Layla."

So the police didn't waste any time.

The older man extended his hand. "Detective Houston Wallace, Ms. . . ."

She shook his hand. "Layla Taylor."

She turned to the younger man, then trapped her gasp before it escaped her throat. He had the truest blue eyes, framed by the darkest, longest lashes she'd ever seen on a man. But it was the expressiveness of them that snatched her breath and held it hostage.

Suspicion hung in the blue irises with rings of accusation surrounding.

He said nothing, just stood there, staring at her with a stare so penetrating, the urge to squirm nearly strangled her. Tall and dark-haired . . . just like Randy. Layla swallowed, refusing to see any further similarities.

Detective Wallace cleared his throat. "That's my partner, Maddox Bishop."

"Maddox?"

He narrowed those blue eyes at her.

Had she asked his name aloud? She pinched her lips together. She hadn't meant to speak. It was just that his name was so unusual.

"Yeah, my name's Maddox. Why?" His voice was as masculine as his appearance.

"It's nice. Odd. I like it." Oh, splinters! She stammered like a kid.

He kept his eyes narrowed. "Layla, huh? Sounds like a song."

Heat spread across her face. "Like I haven't heard that before."

"So," his partner interrupted, "your sister was just telling us about Second Chances. Sounds like this is a really good program."

Funny, she didn't believe him. But she also didn't look away from Maddox. The unspoken line had been drawn. No way would she break eye contact first. Childish? Perhaps. But she wouldn't drop her gaze.

Silence hung heavy over the room, as tangible and cold as the wind whipping outside.

"Layla, they're here about the Hope-for-Homes house that burned down."

"I figured," she replied, still not dropping her stare.

"Is there a place we can sit down and talk?"

"Certainly, Detective Wallace. Let's go to the reception room. It's this way." Alana's voice cracked, but her footfalls moved toward the hall.

His two steps squeaked behind Alana's, then he halted. "Bishop?"

Maddox lifted a single brow at her before he turned to his partner. "Yeah. Coming." He moved alongside Detective Wallace. Together, they followed Alana.

Layla swallowed. Hard. She hauled in a deep breath, then released it slowly before trailing them. So much had been in Maddox's glare. Distrust . . . accusation . . . loathing. All unwarranted, but his scrutiny had unnerved her just the same.

Yet she hadn't looked away first. At least she'd won that unspoken challenge.

But what would she lose now?

FIVE

"The best way out is always through."

—ROBERT FROST

SHE WASN'T REALLY STRIKINGLY attractive. Not dainty and petite like her sister—more lean and toned and athletically built. But something about Layla Taylor definitely grabbed his interest. Didn't really surprise him. He found most ladies interested him in some form or fashion.

And Layla Taylor was hot. At least to him.

Maddox sat in the chair opposite Houston, with the two sisters sharing a couch between his partner and him. Easier for them to observe the facial expressions of the sisters.

"You have no idea why someone would have been in the house?" Houston asked.

"No." Layla flipped her shoulder-length dirty blonde hair over her shoulder. As she did, a whiff of a spicy scent teased Maddox's nostrils.

He liked women. Lots of women. While Layla Taylor definitely appealed to him, she was different. It was as if just being in the room with her hit him in the gut or something. He didn't like it. Made him feel weak. Reminded him of Julie. He wouldn't go there again. Last time he'd allowed himself to be wrapped up in a woman, his mother had died. He no longer let himself be distracted by any woman. He inhaled slowly and focused on her sister. "Do you?"

Alana's eyes widened. "Of course not."

"Why would she know anything? She wasn't ever on the site." Layla's hands were balled on her lap.

A defensive gesture. Maddox's instinct rose. Why was she so defensive? He kept his face neutral as he dared to meet her eyes.

Huge mistake. An exotic green color, her eyes tilted up in the outer corners. They snatched Maddox's attention no matter how hard he fought to ignore them. Especially now, when something flickered in them, making them appear to glimmer under the afternoon sunlight stealing in through the windows.

"Our records indicate that some of the workers on the site were staying here," Houston said.

Alana licked her lips. "Yes, that's correct. The work-release program has been very successful for the Second Chances' residents. After they complete their initial sessions and the therapist believes they're ready to start the process of returning to society, we pair them up with tradesmen. It's kind of an apprenticeship program."

"How long has this working program been in effect?" Houston held a pencil over his notebook.

Alana shrugged. "We started it a year after we opened. So for about two years now."

Maddox leaned forward. "Any problems?"

She licked her lips again—a definite nervous gesture. "One or two, but nothing major."

"Every program has glitches. Especially in the beginning," Layla interjected.

Maddox forced his eyebrow to stay in place and concentrated on Alana. "What kind of problems?"

"One of the residents stole tools from some carpenters." Alana smoothed her palms over her jeans. "Of course, we recovered most of them."

"And what they didn't, Alana reimbursed the carpenters." Layla's facial features tightened.

"I see." Houston looked up from his note taking. "What else?"

"The only other incident was when a person reverted back to his addictive ways." Alana stared at the worn rug under the coffee table.

What wasn't she saying? Maddox inched to the edge of the chair. "So, you found someone using drugs again?"

"Not exactly." Alana lifted her gaze. "He got high, stole my truck, and left. He caused an accident." Big tears shimmered in her eyes.

Not again. Two crying women in one day?

She sniffed. "He hit a lady and her daughter. Both died."

Layla wrapped an arm around her sister's shoulder and threw daggers at Maddox with her glare. "None of which is your fault."

"I know."

"Bet that one's still doing time," Houston mumbled.

Layla snapped her gaze to him. "No, he committed suicide when he sobered up and realized what he'd done."

Houston cleared his throat. "If I'm understanding correctly, Second Chances has been in operation for three years, right?"

Alana nodded. "Yes. I hired the assistant director, Fred Daly, two years ago. Approved by the federal board who oversees rehab programs such as Second Chances."

"And in that time, you've only had two incidents?"

"Yes."

"Not a bad record." Houston swallowed loudly, which meant he'd finally gotten rid of his gum. "No other problems or issues?"

The sisters glanced at each other. Maddox could almost hear a conversation happening between them. Certainly there were other issues. They just didn't want to talk about them.

He straightened. "Ladies, we're investigating a murder. We need all the information you can give us."