Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1 (22 page)

John clenched his jaw. “I know what you’re
saying, Palmer.”

“I need to go.” Andra’s voice was small and
full of pain.

John turned and saw the brokenness in her
eyes. He wanted to reach out, but he had to stay impartial.
Professional.

“I need to go.”

Hurt warred with determination on her face.
Then her chin lifted, resigned to whatever was going to happen. She
was going to face it with grace.

John stared at her. She’d really thought she
could hide this from them all, forever? Was she hoping for more
mercy? Not likely. Eventually mercy ran out and consequences
stepped in.

“You can’t leave.” John kept his eyes on her
while Palmer moved down the wall. “You have to stay here and face
this. No more hiding up in your cabin.”

Her eyes widened.

The door flung open and slammed against the
wall. The mayor pushed through people, shoving everyone out of the
way to get to John and Andra. “Where is she?” The minute he saw
Andra, Samuel Collins stopped. “You killed her.” His voice was a
whisper. “You killed my wife.”

Andra flinched like she’d been struck. “I
didn’t kill Betty.”

“Don’t you say her name,” the mayor screamed.
“You don’t get to say her name!”

John moved to the mayor. “Samuel, let’s take
a minute and sit.” He took hold of the mayor’s bicep to lead him
away.

The muscle flexed and he shook John’s grip
away. John reached for him again but the mayor shook him off. His
elbow swung back and slammed John in the face. John blinked and the
mayor had Andra.

“Samuel.” John’s voice boomed as he blinked
away the blurry vision. His forehead was pounding. “Let her go,
now.”

The mayor swung her around and Andra cried
out. “You should arrest her!”

“That’s not how this works.” John took a
breath. “Let her go. This isn’t a show. And you don’t make the
rules.”

He wanted to reach out a hand and have Andra
take it, to pull her away from these people and guard her from
their accusations. But they were right, weren’t they? An assassin.
How easy it must have been for Andra to slip that knife into Betty
Collins. She probably figured one more kill wouldn’t matter. No one
would know enough about her to accuse her and she’d be able to go
back to her cabin, safe in the knowledge that she got away with
it.

The door opened again and more people filed
in, talking. Someone gasped.

Andra struggled to move but the mayor held
onto her.

“Samuel, let her go.”

“So you can arrest her, right?”

John wasn’t going to lie. It was looking like
she did it, but it wasn’t conclusive. Everything on these walls
concerned what happened more than a decade ago. Before Andra had
arrived here.

“Let her go.”

Palmer set down his stack of papers. One wall
was clear. He strode over and stood at a right angle to John,
between him and where the mayor held Andra. “Give her to me,
Collins. I’ll take her from here.”

John didn’t let it grate him too much that
the man obeyed Palmer instead. The two of them might be wearing the
same uniform but it was one sheriff’s office. They were a team.

Until Palmer pulled out his handcuffs.

“Hold up.” John took Andra, pulling her to a
chair. He motioned her to sit. She didn’t. He wouldn’t either. It
was a vulnerable position that reminded him entirely too much of
being at Alphonz’s mercy.

The crowd was still there. John made eye
contact with as many of them as he could in a sweep. “It’s time for
you folks to leave.”

No one moved.

John put his arm out, ushered Terrence and
the other guy toward the crowd and then bodily moved all of them to
the door until they funneled out. He shut the door and locked it.
“Get all these papers down, Palmer. Now.”

Andra stood with her fingers linked in front
of her. Arms straight and tight to her sides. Her face registered
only shock as she took in the contents of her file. Her gaze hit
the photos again and she winced, pausing on the image of a man.
Were those her victims? John didn’t know what to say. His stomach
churned, full of coffee and not much else.

Palmer and the mayor shared a look—what was
that about?—then the deputy sauntered to the nearest paper-covered
wall and resumed taking down the contents of Andra’s file.

John looked at the mayor. “You should head
home. I’ll update you later as to the status of my investigation
into your wife’s murder.”

“I want this woman arrested.”

Sometimes we don’t get what we want.

John didn’t think that would go down well. He
needed a statement from Andra first. And then he had to speak with
Justice Simmons about the evidence. There wasn’t enough for an
arrest warrant, not yet. But he did need to interview her.

The door shut behind the mayor.

John motioned Andra to the door. “Let’s
go.”

“You’re really arresting me.” She sounded
resigned.

“We’re going to talk at my office. I’m not
handcuffing you and I’m not reading you your rights.”

“But you think I killed Betty Collins.”

“Because you did.” Palmer’s voice drifted
over even though he was facing away from them, which meant John
caught the slice of pain that flashed on Andra’s face.

She held his gaze with her big brown eyes and
whispered, “I didn’t kill her.”

Could he trust that? Maybe she knew exactly
what those eyes looked like when she looked up at him. He could
almost imagine falling into them so deep he didn’t know what was
coming until it was too late. She was mesmerizing. Why hadn’t he
seen that? He’d just assumed quiet little Andra Caleri wasn’t
capable of hurting anyone, when the reality was so far from what
he’d figured it was astounding.

He turned away. “Walk with me.”

**

Andra forced her gaze up to the shoulder seam
of John’s sheriff shirt. He opened the door of the Meeting House
and stepped aside. The crowd he’d removed from inside was
congregated around the door, standing in the bright sunlight. Andra
squinted, hating that she was forced to show weakness even if it
was only from something as innocuous as the light outside.

John’s hand settled on the small of her back
and she flinched. The lady closest to her squealed and jumped back.
Andra glared at her and the people around the lady came to her aid,
staring wide-eyed at Andra.

Like she was going to hurt any of them.

Like she’d ever killed anyone because she
felt something at all for them—anger, obsession, hurt, pleasure.
None of those emotions had any connection to the things she’d
done.

Not after the first time.

It had only been about doing a job. One she
did for the sake of owning her own life and never for the
money—which hadn’t been that good.

John opened the sheriff’s office door. Andra
looked back. All their eyes were on her still—white-hot blades of
hatred she could imagine flying from their gazes to her, their
poisoned arrows sinking into her flesh. She didn’t blame them.
Those were the choices she had made.

It wasn’t lost on Andra she could have been a
waitress, or a librarian or a teacher. Whatever she could have
chosen, for some reason at eighteen she hadn’t gone that direction.
Instead she’d been pulled into a world she never imagined existed
and then made the decision to stay there. For five years.

Sixteen kills.

The first had been a crime of passion done in
the heat of the moment. Kill or be killed. Then Sheila became part
of her life and there were eight more jobs that made her name.

Enough the CIA found her and offered her a
contract. Seven more for the U.S. government took her to the
finale, the pinnacle of a career which left her pregnant with a
dead husband.

Flying to Washington and offering the
government all the knowledge she’d amassed hadn’t been hard at all.
Not even with the accusations, the recriminations and the distrust
they showed her until she proved her information was worth what she
was asking for. Never mind that she’d already been working for them
for a year. It still hadn’t been hard, not compared to everything
she’d already done. Killing hadn’t gotten easier each time she did
it. That was a lie.

Andra took one look at the open door to the
jail cell and swallowed. John pulled a chair over from the other
desk—Palmer’s—and said, “Sit.”

Andra settled. Was she supposed to talk
first? What was he thinking? Was he regretting spending time with
her now he knew who she really was?

John folded his arms, his mouth pressed
closed like he was saying everything he needed to say just by
looking at her. Was she supposed to read his mind?

He opened his mouth and then closed it again.
Took a breath.

For crying out loud. “I told you I didn’t
kill Betty Collins. I wasn’t lying.”

“I need proof what you’re saying is true,
otherwise I’m never going to get the town to believe you didn’t do
it.”

“Why do you think I kept the past to
myself?”

Nadia Marie knew enough. She could vouch for
Andra, although not enough to provide her with a solid alibi. They
hadn’t been together the night of Betty Collins’ death, since Nadia
had been caught up with Bolton at the time.

“I’m beginning to understand that.”

He wasn’t going to give her anything? Not
even a simple, “I can see you’re not that person anymore”? She’d
thought it was obvious she was different now. Everything about her
was different.

What was she supposed to say? The truth was,
if she had killed Betty then John wouldn’t have had to clean up
such a big mess. But Andra didn’t think saying that was going to
help. Knives weren’t her style, not after the first time.

She held his gaze with her own. “I haven’t
killed anyone in a decade.”

Not since she’d given birth. It wasn’t much
as far as recompense for what she’d done. But it had been a turning
point.

John gave her a look. Guess that didn’t help,
either. He would think differently if he’d been here for any length
of time. There were plenty of instances she’d figured murder would
be justified, given the people who lived in this town. It was like
they wanted to make her angry. But Andra didn’t kill because the
person made her mad, otherwise she probably would have killed
Harriet Fenton a long time ago.

“What am I supposed to do now?”

Andra linked her fingers on her lap,
squeezing until her body quit shaking. “You mean, now that I’ve
been tried and convicted in the court of public opinion?”

“You’re going to have to give me
something.”

“Like a killer? Because someone needs to take
the fall for Betty’s murder and clearly it’s going to be me. Unless
I can do your job for you, that is.”

John straightened in his chair. “You want me
to arrest you and let you get flown off to serve a life
sentence?”

“Of course not.” Andra stood. “You think I’m
going to let you arrest me?” She smirked. “I’d like to see you try.
I’ll be gone so fast you won’t even know until you come
looking.”

“You’re standing here right now.”

Andra folded her arms. “You have no warrant.
I might be a killer, but I’m not stupid.”

Nadia Marie rushed in the door and put both
hands out in front of her. “Don’t say anything. I’m your
lawyer.”

Princess Leia stood in the doorway. Just
without the circles of braided hair. John sighed. “And you
are?”

She narrowed her brown eyes at him. “Nadia
Marie.”

The alibi. Right.

Andra didn’t seem surprised at the intrusion.
“
Cariña
, you are not my lawyer.”

“Well, you need one.” She planted her hand on
one hip and her short jacket flared. “You’re crazy if you think I’m
going to let you get thrown to the wolves.”

Palmer strode in with a mish-mash pile of
papers. He dumped it all on John’s desk. “I’m out. Need
anything?”

“Nothing I can think of.” His stomach
rumbled.

Palmer smirked. “I’ll grab two specials for
you and Pat and bring them back over.”

“Thanks. That would be great.”

John checked his watch. How much longer was
Pat going to be out riding his bike?

John waited until Palmer left and then
glanced at the two women. Why the look? It seemed something unsaid
was being passed between them. Because of Palmer?

“Something you ladies want to share?”

Nadia Marie’s spine snapped straight and her
face flashed with guilt.

It was Andra who said, “No.”

If they didn’t want to share he could hardly
pry it out of them. John pulled out his notepad and looked at
Nadia. “Where were you at around nine-thirty, Saturday night?”

If she’d been with Andra close enough to the
time of the murder, John could calculate how far from the body she
was and how much time it would take to get from one place to the
other. It could potentially prove Andra couldn’t have had time to
do it.

Nadia Marie reacted immediately. “Busy.”

John waited but she didn’t elaborate. “Maybe
I should get your fingerprints also, since we’re all here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I was talking
with someone.”

“And this person can verify your
whereabouts?”

Nadia Marie pouted. “I was with Bolton
Farrera, taking their team flag. You’ll have to ask him.”

“You’re team C as well?”

She nodded.

“Where did you go after you spoke with
him?”

“To meet up with Andra. She was already at
Hal’s radio station when I got there around nine-fifty.”

John sighed. That meant Andra had been close
enough to town to have time to kill Betty between when he saw her
in Dan’s barn and when she met up with Nadia. It also meant she
could be the woman the two young guys who found Betty had seen
running away. In the right direction to make it not look good for
Andra at all, if she’d been heading to Hal’s in time to meet
Nadia.