SHATTERED (2 page)

Chapter Two

Nate knelt beside the body and rolled it over, knowing who and what he would find when he did so. Or at least he’d thought he knew. The who was easy. Mike was dead. The what was a shock.

Not a heart attack, not a stroke, but a massive gunshot wound to the chest had ended Mike’s life. His clothes were soaked in blood, his pale eyes half-open, his lidded gaze fixed and empty. Nate had run across more than his share of shooting victims, and now he scanned the area for some sign of the weapon that had caused this catastrophic damage. He felt for a pulse, knowing he wouldn’t find one, and did his best to block out the smell of blood. He quickly searched Mike’s pockets for a phone or anything else that might help explain what had happened before he died. He found nothing.

He sat back on his heels. Poor Mike, poor guy. To survive the mall, to actually be the one to wrestle the wounded killer to the ground and hear his dying words, only to end up like this five and a half months later in his own home...

There was that noise again. Was the killer still in the house? From the look of things, an intruder had walked right in and caught Mike coming from the living room. He wore an unzipped jacket, as though he’d been in the process of leaving the house. The room had the appearance of having been searched, and none too carefully, either.

The house was cold, no lights, no fire in the grate, impossible to tell how long ago this had happened. There was no smell of gunpowder in the room, but with an open door that didn’t really mean much.

He listened carefully as he stood up, once again scanning for something with which to arm himself. All he could see was a fireplace poker, and that struck him as pretty low-tech when it came to confronting whatever had taken down Mike. On the other hand, it was better than nothing. He crossed the room silently, snatched the poker from atop the hearth and stood stock-still, listening.

Another noise, like a door closing. He followed it across the living room and into the entry. He was certain it came from down the hall. He had a quick look at the kitchen and the laundry room, noting the disarray of cupboards and drawers. What in the heck had someone looked for—and had they found it?

The outside door was locked. He turned around and retraced his steps, switching on lights as he moved. Whoever was here must have heard him rustling around, probably seen the lights come on. There was no possibility to surprise them.

A more prudent plan of action would be to head for the relative safety of his truck and call the police, but then the intruder might escape through a back window or destroy evidence. All but holding his breath, Nate nudged open the first door on his left.

From the threshold, he could see the room held a lone twin bed and nightstand, a small chest of drawers and a few boxes stacked in the corner. The closet doors were folded open and the overhead lamp revealed three hangers. There were a couple of empty cardboard boxes inside the closet, their contents heaped beside them. Ditto the boxes in the corner. The drawers were all open.

The door across the hall led to another small room furnished with a futon, a small television and a desk piled high with papers and books. The drawers in this room were open as well, the items they’d apparently once held now scattered across the floor. It looked as though a computer used to occupy the desktop, but all that was left now was a mouse and a few cords. He checked the closet, but it was empty. He found the main bathroom in a similar state of disrepair and pulled the shower curtain back to make sure no one was hiding there.

The last door opened onto what was obviously Mike’s bedroom. It held an unmade queen-size bed, a dresser and a couple of chairs. Piles of clothing littered every horizontal surface and the air smelled stale and unused, but it didn’t appear to have been ransacked like the rest of the house. The bathroom off of this room was empty. That left the closet.

Wait just a second.
Surely the person who had gunned down Mike in cold blood wasn’t now cowering in a closet? Well, it was either that or they’d found a way around to the front of the house or out a window.

Holding the poker high, Nate planted his feet firmly, stood off to one side and yanked open the door. At first he saw nothing but the usual array of hanging clothes and a locked gun cabinet. Then he saw the clothes rustle. Peering into a gloomy jumble of boots on the floor, he glimpsed two smaller shoes. One moved slightly. Someone was hiding in here.

“Come on out,” he demanded, his grip tightening on the poker.

“Don’t shoot,” a shaky voice responded.

Using his free hand, Nate pushed back the clothes and found a woman scrunched as far back into the closet as was humanly possible. It was so dark back there that she was little more than glistening eyes and a pale oval for a face.

“I’m not going to shoot,” he said, resisting the urge to shine the flashlight on her.

“Why did you kill my dad?” she asked, and he could hear the effort it took for her to spit out these words. “What good is that going to do?”

“You’re Mike’s daughter?”

She caught a new sob in her throat and wiped at her eyes. Even in the dim light, he could see her fingers shake as they grazed her cheek. “I...I was,” she said.

He offered her a hand because she appeared ready to keel over. “I didn’t kill Mike, but it sounds like you know who did. Please, come out of there. Did you see or hear anyone?”

“No,” she said. “Nothing.”

“Come on,” he coaxed, touching her shoulder. “I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Nate Matthews. I was a friend of your dad’s.”

“From the store? He quit, you know. He couldn’t concentrate on selling things anymore. He said... Well, never mind.”

“No, I didn’t know he quit his job. I didn’t work with him. I’m from down in Arizona.”

“Oh, my God,” she said, her hands flying to her mouth. “You’re one of the men who was at the mall last summer with Dad. You’re the deputy sheriff.”

“Yeah,” he said without correcting her.

She seemed to relax a tiny bit and allowed him to help her from the shadows of the closet.

Seen in brighter light, she turned out to be a little older than his first estimate of late teens, and he adjusted her age to mid-twenties, a decade or so younger than him. She had a very pale complexion, her flawless cheeks moist from tears. A sheath of black hair caught the light and reflected it, setting off the bluest eyes Nate had ever seen. She was tall, probably five-seven or so, with full breasts and a small waist, attributes her black turtleneck sweater clearly revealed. Tight jeans announced the other half of her was just as fit. A pair of worn equestrian boots hugged her calves.

Her eyes grew huge as he pulled his phone from a pocket. “What are you doing?” she demanded, catching his hand.

“Calling the police.”

“No! You mustn’t. Please.”

“Listen...” He paused, not knowing her name.

“Sarah. Sarah Donovan.”

“Sarah, if there is one thing I’m absolutely positive I must do, it’s call the police. This is not open for debate.” But why wouldn’t she want him to call for help? For that matter, why hadn’t she? “When did this happen?” he added when he found he had no signal.

She was studying her watch, and whatever she found there seemed to alarm her. She looked up as though she’d only half heard him. “What? The shooting? I’m not sure when it happened. I just got here a little while ago.”

“From where?”

She hesitated a moment before saying, “What’s it to you?”

“How did you get here?”

“I flew.”

His brow furrowed.

“I landed in Reno and rented a car. It’s out in the barn. Why are you looking at me like that?”

He ignored her question. “Does your dad have a phone?”

“He got rid of the landline, but he has a cell.”

“I checked his body. He’s not carrying it.”

“He always carries it,” she insisted.

He frowned at her again. “Do you have any ID?”

“What!”

“Look at it from my point of view. You’re the only person in the house with a dead man and I’m supposed to take it at face value that you are who you say you are? For that matter, put up your hands. I’m going to frisk you.”

“Why?”

“Because Mike was shot in the chest and I don’t want the same thing to happen to me. Put up your hands.”

“Or you’ll what? Hit me with a fire poker? Really?”

“Really,” he said, his tone serious.

She glowered at him as she raised her hands. He patted her down with one hand while still clutching the poker with the other.

“Satisfied?” she said when he was finished.

“You could have hidden a weapon somewhere in the house. What about some ID?”

“I left it in the car.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I wasn’t planning on being here very long.”

“So, you flew here all the way from who knows where, parked in an old barn, came into a dark house—”

“It wasn’t dark when I got here,” she interrupted. “After I saw my dad lying on the floor, I heard an engine and thought his killer had come back, so I turned off the lights and hid. It must have been you.”

“Do you have any idea why the house was searched?”

Her gaze flicked to the floor and back. “No.”

He stared at her a moment. “Let’s go get your ID.”

“I have a better idea. Why don’t you drive back into town where your phone gets reception and summon the cops? I’ll stay here. With Dad.”

“You’ll stay here,” he said, his voice very dry.

“Yes. Now what’s wrong?”

“I still don’t know who you are. I’m not leaving you alone in this house.”

She rubbed her forehead as though she was so frustrated with him she had to fight to maintain control.

“Let’s go get your ID,” he repeated.

She didn’t look happy about the prospect, but when he started to touch her arm, she drew away and took off down the hall. He stayed close behind her, telling himself not to get distracted by the way her hips moved inside the black denim.

“I need my coat,” she said, gesturing at the chair behind Mike’s body. As she spoke, her gaze traveled down to her father’s still form and she caught a sob in her throat. She flicked away new tears as Nate handed her the coat. He did his best to look away for a moment.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was a little shaky. She’d zipped a dark blue down parka up to her chin. The color emphasized the sapphire hue of her eyes. “I just wish I’d known him better,” she whispered.

Nate felt the same way, but wasn’t it odd that Mike’s daughter did, as well? Maybe Mike wasn’t the easiest guy to get to know.

Sarah turned suddenly and met his gaze. “I’ll go get my purse,” she said. “No reason for us both to freeze to death.”

“I don’t mind,” he said.

“Which really means you don’t trust me.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Shall we?”

“Like I have a choice.” Once again she glanced at her watch, this time emitting a small gasp. It gave him the willies. Why was she worried about time? Was she waiting for an accomplice to show up?

He followed her out the front door, amazed how much more snow had accumulated in the few minutes he’d been inside. His own white truck was covered with the stuff, as was the other. The wind had also picked up, blowing icy crystals at their faces as they started across the yard. He held the Stetson on his head and was glad he’d worn his trusty cowboy boots.

“I left the car in that barn over there,” she said. She opened the sliding door a couple of feet and they walked inside. Nate flicked on his flashlight as he heard a horse whinny nearby.

“That’s Skipjack,” she said. “He’s the last horse Dad has. Had.”

Nate nodded, but his concentration was really on the old green sedan sitting ten feet in front of them. “You rented
that
at an airport?” he asked.

“Sort of,” she said.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I rented it from a place that specializes in wrecks. It wasn’t exactly at the airport.”

“Good grief,” he said.

“My purse is in the backseat on the left by my suitcase. It’s unlocked.”

He moved around the car to the far side. Opening the back door, he shined the light into the interior. “I don’t see anything—” he began, glancing up, and for a second, he wasn’t sure what had happened. The woman was gone as if she’d never existed. Then reason took hold—she must have run out the door while he was distracted. Swearing, he raced around the car and shined his light across the yard in time to see the driver’s door of his truck slam closed.

As he followed the path she’d plowed through the snow, he heard the automatic click of his door lock. He shined the light at the driver’s window and saw her searching everywhere for something. She finally turned on the cab light and lowered the visor, patting it as though she thought a key might be lurking up there. He saw her cup her forehead with one hand, wincing in defeat. Her lips moved as if she swore. Then she looked at him through the foggy glass.

Taking the ring of keys out of his pocket, he dangled them in front of his side of the tinted window. Her eyes narrowed and her lips moved again. This time he was sure she swore. He pressed the automatic lock button and opened the door.

“Who in the hell are you?” he asked her.

“Just who I said I was. Sarah Donovan.”

“Why are you acting so peculiar?”

“I have to get out of here. Now.”

“Why?”

“It’s none of your business,” she said with a pleading note in her voice.

“Well, actually, grand theft auto is my business when it’s my damn truck. Did you kill Mike?”

“No, of course not. Everything happened just the way I said.”

“Why can’t I quite believe that?” he mused aloud, offering her a hand down.

She ignored his help and jumped to the ground, where she slipped on the compacted snow and started to fall. He caught her shoulders and she looked up at him. “You can’t believe me because you’re cynical,” she said. “Every cop I’ve ever known gets to be like that.”

“And have you known a lot of cops?”

“My share,” she said. “I even married one a long time ago. Listen, please, just let me leave.”