The Drake House (28 page)

Doc’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

As Nick climbed in his SUV, he wondered what more wasn’t being said. Doc knew about the supposed kidnapping. What else did he know? As the only town doctor, no one would question him on the death of a woman everyone feared. They were just relieved to have her gone. No way does a trained physician miss bruising or defensive wounds.

Nick drove the few blocks to Wayne’s house, checking on the cat hair lead while he was on this side of town. When he received no answer to the doorbell, Nick stepped off the front porch and rounded the back. Wayne, it seemed, was out at the moment. But the trip wasn’t a wasted one, nor was the house completely empty.

“Shit,” Nick muttered, pulling out his cell and staring at the kitchen window from the sheriff’s deck. “Lafferty,” Nick muttered into the phone, “Wayne Radcliff has a gray and white cat.”

****

Nick glared out over the orchard searching for Trisha. If he had to chain her to a chair in the basement to get her to stop this foolishness, he damn well would. The idiot woman was going to get herself killed. Among the children bustling about, the smell of cider and caramel lofted through the bitter wind. Strange how not seeing her for near a month hadn’t retracted his senses like before. Eduardo and Brad passed him on a four-wheeler hauling a hay-covered trailer loaded with excited kids.

The month of October had flown by without a hitch. No calls. No murders. No sleepwalking incidents. Well, that he knew of. He’d kept his men on Trisha like glue so he wouldn’t have to. Not that the absence of Trisha from his eyes relayed the message to his heart. The traitor.

Breakups were supposed to be easier than this. Always had been before. But the others weren’t her. Weren’t Trisha. He didn’t lay awake nights wishing the other women were there with him in the dark. Or roll over in the morning light reaching for them.

The only time he’d spoken to her was two weeks ago to tell her she was not Alexandra Drake’s daughter. She didn’t appear surprised. What he kept to himself was that the blood evidence left at both Chuck and Andrew’s murder was a direct relation to Alexandra herself. According to Annie at the Madison lab, there were just enough genetic markers to draw that conclusion. Since her only son died in infancy, Lafferty had sent two of Madison’s officers yesterday to Alexandra’s home state of Minnesota to look into what, if any, family she had. It was too damn slow-going for comfort.

Spotting Trisha over by the apple-bobbing tank, he made his way over. Her parents flanked either side of her, cheering on the Miller’s eight-year-old daughter, Britney, as she plunged her head in the tank for an apple. Trisha was dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. Last time he popped in, she and Brad were Thing One and Thing Two.

Crossing his arms, he waited until the girl was finished and Trisha spotted him. Her hazel eyes widened before she masked her surprise.

“Long time, no see, Nick.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m busy,” she claimed, turning away.

“Come with me now,” he ordered, “or I’ll drag you myself.”

Deliberately, slowly, she straightened and turned. Her eyes were like little daggers. “Go to hell.”

“Been there.”

Trisha’s mother cleared her throat. “Um, we’ll watch things here, honey. You go ahead.”

Nick raised his brows, waiting to see what she decided. Part of him hoped she refused. His hands itched to touch her again. One look, and the past month away from her was an eternity. Like his reasons for doing so held no validity.

Whirling in her ruby slippers, she pivoted and wove her way through the apple trees toward the house. Nick waited several seconds, and then followed, ignoring the entire town’s eyes on them. By the time she reached the other side of the house away from curious stares, the pink in her cheeks from the cold had heated to a bright red.

She fisted her hands on her hips. “Well?”

His anger drained away as he stared at her. God, he missed her. Lifting a hand from his pocket, he fingered her pigtails. Anger turned to shock to lust across her face. Making a decision right on the spot, he stepped closer, backing her up to the side of the house.

“Cute costume.”

She blinked slowly. “Thanks. Why are you—”

His mouth closed over hers, shutting her up and drawing a moan from his chest. “Missed you,” he mumbled against her mouth. When she swayed, he braced a hand on the house and drew her closer with his other arm, pinning her body to his raging reaction. Before he lost all control he pulled back, dropping his forehead to hers.

“There’s medication for people like you,” she said, but there was no heat in her words. “A month with no word from you—”

“You broke up with me.”

“…and then you come over, demanding to talk—”

“Yeah,
that
. We do need to talk.”

“…and kiss me like…like—”

“Like a man who loves you?” he finished for her.

Shit. Real smooth, jackass.

“Oh, Nick,” she said, wariness lacing her tone. Edging out of his grasp, she stepped away. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We weren’t supposed to…”

“We did.
I
did.” The last part was uttered with his back to her, not wanting to see the pity on her face. For the first time in his miserable existence, he told a woman he loved her—while she was wearing a freaking Dorothy costume, of all things.

Shit.
Again.

Swallowing in the silence between them, he turned and looked at her. A sheen of tears glazed her eyes. “I knew this was going to happen,” she whispered.

“Goody for you,” he muttered. “Shocked the hell out of me.”

Which isn’t completely true,
he thought. His feelings for her had been slowly building to this point. And she hadn’t returned his endearment. Exactly how it should be, though the despair weighed him down like an anvil. She couldn’t love someone like him. He was unlovable. But he was good at his job, and that was all he had.

“Mind telling me,” he asked, “why you’re trying to kill yourself?” The confusion in her eyes told him she hadn’t adjusted to the topic change. Or, rather, his avoidance. “You’re telling people around town that you own the Drake house now. That you’re remembering things.”

“I’m trying to—”

“To get him to come after you!” he yelled. “You’re trying to get yourself killed.” He sucked in a breath while his brain worked out a solution to both problems, a way to fix the damage done.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Trish. Starting tonight, I’m on your babysitting detail. I’ll be the one in your house to keep you safe. Day and night. I’d rather be sleeping in the bed next to you than your guest room. But if you choose to continue denying what’s happening here, I’ll take the guest room. When this case is over, I’ll leave Small Rapids and move back to Milwaukee so you don’t have to worry about lowering yourself to falling in love with me.”

Her gaze traveled the length of him, as if trying to figure out who was standing in front of her. “It’s so easy for you, isn’t it? Laying it all on me. Blaming me. You were going back to Milwaukee anyway, Nick. Sooner or later, this town would have been too much and you’d have to leave. Go where you can hide. Where you can live out a soulless life alone with your guilt.”

“Not fair, Trish.” The quiet control in his voice was slipping. “You’re not only walking away from me, you’re sprinting.” He darted a glance to his left, noticing Brad standing there.
Lovely. Just lovely.

He looked back at her. “I’ll be back at dark with my things.”

Chapter Twenty

As Nick was packing a duffle bag to take to Trisha’s, his cell rang.

“The two officers are back from Minnesota,” Lafferty said. “The only contact they had for Alexandra Drake was an old neighbor. Her parents are dead. No siblings.”

Lafferty paused long enough for Nick to say, “And?”

“You sitting down? I don’t think the son’s dead. Her husband, a guy named…” Nick could hear him shuffling papers as he waited, “…Paul Reitz, went through a bitter divorce, and because of her disability, the guy got custody. Son’s name is Sean. He was two months old at the time. Drake kept her maiden name.”

“Where are the husband and kid now?”

“After the divorce, he took off with the kid. About a year later, he came back with a death certificate on the kid saying it was sudden infant death syndrome. Neighbor thinks he was lying and came back just to torment her—throw it in her face. There’s a police report about a domestic dispute, but Drake dropped the charges, sold the house, and left. No one’s heard from either since.”

“Did Reitz have any family?”

Lafferty cleared his throat. “A brother, now dead.”

“How?”

“Car accident.” He paused. “The day Paul Reitz took off.”

“Shit.”

“There’s more,” Lafferty continued. “The neighbor claims the husband was abusing her. She would hear screaming and crying coming from the house nightly. Back then, people didn’t report that crap.”

Nick mulled that over. “Maybe the death certificate
was
fake. Could be Alexandra found out where Paul took Sean and went there. Meaning here.”

“And do what? Lock herself in a secluded house and still not see him?”

“Maybe that wasn’t the plan, but something happened. Maybe she got the wrong lead and gave up. Or the kid did die and she came here to forget.”

Lafferty paused before speaking. “Drake told her attorney the son was dead. If the husband was abusive, he could’ve killed the son, she found out, then moved.”

“But why then kill her almost twenty years later?”

“More importantly, why go after Eaton? Could be this is unrelated. The town shunned her. Maybe some jackass decided to teach Drake a lesson and Eaton saw. But just to be sure, do you have any Reitzs in town?”

Nick sat on the bed with a plop. “Neither name rings a bell. I’ll check the town records though. Did you do a search on the names?”

“Yes. There are a lot of men with the name Paul Reitz. None are close to the right age though. Son either, if he is alive. No hits on the social security numbers.”

“Maybe they changed names,” Nick offered, thinking aloud.

“Why bother if the court gave him custody? If the kid was alive, he wouldn’t have to change names.”

“Perhaps you are right; maybe this is unrelated,” Nick said, but his tone held little merit. This case got more screwed up the more they learned.

“The Drake autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Nick said through a sigh. “Let me know what pops up, if anything.”

After Nick disconnected, he debated whether or not to call Wayne Radcliff and ask about Reitz. The less he involved the town the better. But Wayne would know the name. If he asked face to face, he could tell if the sheriff was lying. Lafferty didn’t have anything on Wayne to tie him to the murders. White cat or not, Wayne’s DNA didn’t match the saliva on Chuck’s car seat, nor the blood at either crime scene. Neither detective ruled out the sheriff, but they needed proof.

Grabbing his duffle bag and keys, Nick headed for his SUV in the driveway. Left to head to the orchard, right to Wayne’s house. He turned right, pulling his ringing phone from his pocket while doing so. “Yeah?”

“It’s Brad. We have a problem.”

They had several problems, to which did he refer?
“What’s that?”

“After everyone left, the men and I were getting a jump on taking down the Halloween stuff. One of the guys needed Trish, but she wasn’t around. I found her behind the shed, whispering into her cell phone. I thought she was talking to you, so I gave her a minute.”

“I didn’t talk to her after I left.”

Brad huffed. “I know. Trisha told the caller, ‘Then come for me. I’m waiting.’”

Nick’s body tensed to the point of pain. “She said what?”

“I know. I tried confronting her, but she said it was you and not to worry.”

“It wasn’t me, it was
him
. He’s calling her now?” Nick checked his rearview and pulled a U-turn, heading instead to the orchard. “Where is she now?”

“In the shed.”

“I’m on my way. Don’t leave her alone for a second. Where was everyone else while she was on the phone?”

“The only guys not near us were Hank, Eduardo, and Greg.”

Two suspects and Andrew’s replacement. The replacement, Greg, was forty-two and a laid-off mill worker. He didn’t live on the ranch. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Watch her.”

****

“Damn it, Brad. I told you to leave it alone.”

Trisha locked the shed doors, wanting nothing more than to sink in a hot bath. The murderer’s voice still whispered in her ear, begging her to find him. To find the truth. She never felt so damn useless in her life. She craved organization and order. Everything in these past ten months disrupted that. Had stolen things, people, from her.

When she turned back to Brad, Nick was heading their way. He didn’t look happy either. Then again, did he ever?

Brad glanced at Nick as he approached, then glared at her. “So, Nick, Trish tells me you had a nice phone conversation after you left.”

Okay, so she lied. She did it to protect them. The murderer wanted her and was killing her men to get to her. She had to do something. Maybe by drawing the killer out, he’d make a mistake and this would all end. Before anyone else had to die.

“You can go now, Brad.”

Her best friend glared at her for several seconds before retreating into one of the ranches. Nick cleared his throat to get her attention, but she couldn’t bear to look at him. Looking at him meant seeing all he felt for her. Meant acknowledging those feelings and opening her own. She couldn’t do that. Contrary to what he thought, neither of them were ready for that kind of commitment.

Nick stepped in front of her. “How long has he been calling you?”

“This was the third call. And before you say anything, no, I didn’t recognize the voice. He did something to muffle the receiver.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”