The Drake House (33 page)

“I want you to know…” Turning her to face him, he looked into her eyes, the deep brown that ruined and saved him, and found nothing he could say that wouldn’t hurt her more.

“Say what?” she whispered. “That you hate me only slightly less than you do yourself? That you wish things could be different? Save it, Nick. I don’t want to hear it.”

Yeah, that summed it up.
“That you look lovely.”

He was wrong. There
was
something that could hurt her more.

Kindness.

Honesty.

Her lips pressed together, the edges of her eyes drew down, and her free hand rested over her stomach. But, she said nothing.

He looked down at his hand over her arm, noting there was no pain when he touched her now. Just regret. Regret he was used to. He dropped his hand to release her, and she wasted no time walking out the door.

He gave her time before walking out and ran into Brad on the stairs. “Give me your cell,” Nick said. Brad fished the phone out of the breast pocket of his suit and handed it to him without question. “I’m programming Detective Lafferty’s number in your cell,” he said as he typed.

“Why?”

Nick handed the phone back. “I have a bad feeling. Call him if anything comes up. There’s a handgun in the guestroom nightstand strapped under the drawer.”

Brad stared at him, open-mouthed. “Tell me I won’t need it.”

Nick couldn’t lie to the guy. As much as he hated Brad at first, the man had grown on him. He’d become something of a friend. The whole town had grown on him. He could understand why Trisha had such a hard time differentiating her thoughts and feelings when it came to her own safety. Nick couldn’t tell who the bad guy was. Because none of them were.

His parents were in the living room talking to the Eatons. Trisha was smiling as if nothing was wrong. His mom lit up brighter than the fifteen foot Christmas tree next to the fireplace. As if he could feel any worse, the realization of how much this would hurt his mom sank like lead in his gut. Being with Trisha gave his mom hope.

He learned long ago that hope was too dangerous.

A good forty other guests were in the kitchen and dining room, sipping champagne and checking out the appetizers. Nick walked around and made idle chit chat, all with an ear open.

By the time Nancy was on her third round of refreshing the food, there were more than a hundred people in the house, and a few stragglers on the front porch smoking. Nick was having a hard time keeping Trish in sight. He didn’t want to hover over her, as it would give the town more gossip, and if someone was going to make a move, they wouldn’t do it with him right there.

The night was proving uneventful, and he an idiot. He began to question whether his instincts were just paranoia. After all, the killer hadn’t made a move. Maybe Trisha relaying her plans to the town was stopping the superstition.

As
Here Comes Santa Claus
played for the fifth time, Steve’s wife, Cheryl, walked over to where he was hiding in the corner. Brad and Trisha were talking on the other side of the room, so Nick relaxed and smiled back at her. She was an eccentric one, but Nick liked her. She had on a black dress, very low-key for her, but she offset that with a pair of lime green and pink polka-dotted heels. Her red hair spiked at unnatural angles.

“Nice shoes,” he said in greeting.

Her grin widened. “Thank you. You look nice.”

Nick glanced down at his black suit. He’d called his parents that morning and told them to bring one. He hadn’t brought one when he moved because he hadn’t needed to wear a suit since his time in Milwaukee. “Are you having a good time?”

“I love Christmas,” she gushed. “It’s so nice that Trisha has these parties. It’s just Steve and I now since his dad died a few years ago.”

“Must be hard this time of year with no family.”

She shrugged. “It’s no secret the man was an ass. When we were kids, Steve would show up at school with bruises. I’m going to hell for saying this, but I’m happy the bastard’s dead.”

The smile fell from his face as his eyes glazed. His spine prickled, from base to brain stem.

“Are you looking at my chest?”

Nick blinked and realized he had been staring, not at her chest, but at the white hairs clinging to the fabric.

Little. White. Hairs.

“Oh,” she said and laughed, brushing the hairs from herself. “Our damn cat. I love her to death, but she sheds like the dickens.”

Shit. No.
No, no, no
.

Nick’s gaze whipped to where he last saw Trish. Brad was now talking to Eduardo. No Trish. No Steve. Air wheezed from his lungs. He shot across the room toward Brad. Cheryl called after him, asking what was wrong. He ignored her. Shut everything out.

“Where is she?” Nick demanded.

“Trisha?” Brad asked, his face smoothing into cold dread after seeing Nick’s urgency. “She’s in the kitchen helping Nancy, I think. Why—”

“Call Lafferty now!” he shouted, making a dash for the kitchen, elbowing guests out of the way.

How could I have been so dense? Right under my nose. One of my own deputies.

Steve fit the age. Steve himself had even told him he moved here when he was young. Nick never connected the dots because Steve was one of his own. He was looking in the wrong place this whole time.

Trisha was going to pay for his mistake, just like Bethany.

She wasn’t in the kitchen. “Nancy, where’s Trish?”

“I just saw her a couple minutes ago—”

He darted out of the room and up the staircase, dialing the station on his cell on the way. Troy picked up and Nick cut off his greeting. “I need you both at the orchard now. The guests stay in the house. No exceptions,” he barked and hung up.

No one else was going to die. If his deputies kept everyone isolated, they could keep them safe.

His pulse pounded in his ears as he drew a gun from his waistband and entered her bedroom. No one. Frantic, he shot across the hall and into Nancy and Eduardo’s room. Empty. Guest room and her parents room too.

Shit.
Shit, shit, shit
.

He charged down the stairs and solidly into Brad.

“Have you seen Steve?”

Brad blinked. “Yes, he was talking to Trisha in the kitchen a while ago.”

He ground his molars so hard they should have cracked.
The Drake house
. Steve took her there, where it all began. He knew it as certainly as he knew he loved her. How many times had he pictured her body lifeless? How many times had a rope lay around her throat in his mind?

His stomach threatened to revolt. He could not lose her. Would not fail her. She had saved him, made him mourn Bethany and see the truth. Made him want to live again. Feel. There was no living without her. Did not
want
to live without her. Trisha was everything.

His head whipped back as if being punched. Pain cracked his chest, not from the past, but from fear. The room, so bright, so loud, caused his head to roar. The guests were staring, horrified, wondering what was going on. He glanced at the gun in his hand and then at Brad.

“Keep everyone in the house if you can. I’m going after them.”

“Them? Steve and Trisha? Where are they?” Brad paused, then gripped the railing and swayed. “Uh huh. No.”

Nick didn’t have time, but Brad was on the verge of losing it. He needed Brad calm. “Troy is on his way. You called Lafferty?” Brad nodded, eyes bulging. “I’m going to get her back safe, Brad. I promise.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

She was frozen. An unforgiving Wisconsin had dropped the temperature to twenty degrees after receiving two more inches of snow. Her black heels were not made for this kind of walk. Her sleeveless dress offered no warmth. Her hands, already sensitive from frostbite years ago, were screaming in agony. Violent convulsions wracked her body to the point she could barely put one foot in front of the other.

Steve’s hand gripped her arm tighter, pressing the gun deeper into her side, as they trekked through the orchard.

Steve. It was insane.

Trisha didn’t bother asking why. She didn’t dare speak at all. When he caught her just outside her back door while taking the garbage out, his face said everything.

I’m sorry.

The hidden path was an easier task, as the woods provided more shelter from the earlier snowfall. Her brain tried to seek a solution, a way out, but her body wouldn’t allow it. Part shock, part hypothermia. He was going to kill her. The same way he did Alexandra, Chuck, and Andrew.

Nick.
She was rarely off his radar. He’d find her. Eventually. In her heart, she prayed it wouldn’t be too late. She strained to hear any other footsteps besides theirs; however, no one was coming.

She was on her own.

Steve wasn’t a big man, but he was too big for her to fight off. If Andrew or Chuck couldn’t, she stood no chance. He couldn’t have been more than a teenager when Alexandra died.
Why did he kill her?

Alexandra.
She’d come to her in dreams, seeking help. Had called out to her in her room. Trisha had tried to help. So hard, she’d tried. The dreams had been escalating. The only reprieve this past year had been at Nick’s, or when Alexandra’s body was exhumed. Brad said she’d been possessed whenever on the property.

Can Alexandra help me now?

Even in her own mind that sounded crazy.

Once they were inside, out of the biting wind, maybe she could think more clearly.

Her heel wedged in the rotting wood of Alexandra’s front porch. Steve bent down, gently unbuckled her shoe, and jerked his head toward the door. Slipping out of the shoe, she hobbled to the door, her feet stabbing like sharp claws of ice. Steve had left the door open, probably knowing tonight was the night he’d have to kill her. Have to, because Steve obviously didn’t want to. Maybe she could play that up.

“By the staircase,” he ordered, his voice coarse. He kicked the door shut with his foot, drowning all light.

Trisha walked through the entryway, feeling along the wall for guidance. A hard task, as she had almost no feeling in her hands. They weren’t due to start renovations until after the New Year. She hadn’t had the power company turn on the electricity yet.

The entryway ended, opening into the foyer. She looked up at the grand staircase where Alexandra was found hanging over the banister. She was sure that’s what Steve planned to do again.

Steve let go of her arm but kept the gun trained on her. Bending down, he flipped the switch on a battery-powered camping lantern, illuminating the small area and casting deep shadows in the corners. At his feet was a rope, longer than she thought he’d need.

The house was freezing, but the shelter from the wind kept her shaking to a minimum. Her hands and feet started to thaw, stinging and stiffening. Panic set in. She wondered how long it would be before Nick realized she was gone.

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” he asked, his voice more a whine than an order. “Why did you let it get this far, Trish?”

“You killed my men,” she said. Anger bubbled up, clearing her head, and the resolve to fight overshadowed everything. “Why? You’re going to kill me anyway, you coward. I want to know why!”

“Because you wouldn’t listen. This has to stay buried.” Bending down, he retrieved the rope from the floor. One end already had a noose knotted.

Play the sympathy card. He doesn’t want to hurt you
.

“You were like a brother to me, Steve.”
Yes, say his name. Make it personal.
“Steve, look at me. We’re friends. Whatever this is about, just tell me. It’ll stay between us. You can trust me.”

“He should have killed you back then. Made sure you were dead in that fountain. Then this wouldn’t all be on me.”

She stepped back. He raised the gun to her head. “Who, Steve? Who should have killed me?”

In the blink of an eye, his face turned to stone. A chill nailed every vertebrae on the way down her spine. “That sack-of-shit father of mine, that’s who!”

Something started to sink in, a lock clicking into place. Cakes Alexandra ordered from the town bakery every year in October. Writing children’s books. A son she said died in infancy.

“You’re her son. You’re Alexandra’s son. But her attorney said you died—”

“A lie! A lie she told everyone to make herself feel better. It’s how Dad kept me in line. Reminding me the real world already thought I was dead. The bitch just left me with him.”

Her heart broke like lead glass on a granite floor. Tears clung to her lashes. “She loved you,” she whispered. “The court gave him custody because of her medical condition.”

“She didn’t fight for me!” His voice reverberated off the walls. The hand holding the gun shook. “She followed us here, claimed she was going to haul him back to court. More lies. Instead of taking off again, he kept me here in this town to torture her. So close, yet couldn’t touch. But she never wanted me. I came here to the house, just that one time, to find out why. How a mother could just abandon her kid like that. But he found out.”

Keep him talking
. “And he showed up. You didn’t kill her. Your dad did.”

“I hit her over the head with a lamp. I didn’t mean to hit her that hard. I was so angry.”

She swallowed. “Let’s go back to the orchard, Steve. No one will have to know.”

For a moment, he looked like he was considering it. A glimmer of hope blinked inside. But after a second, he shook his head vigorously. “No. Put this on.”

She caught the noose he tossed and looked down at it. “I’m not going to do it. You’ll have to shoot me. Nick is going to find out. This may be a small town, but they’re not stupid. No one will believe I hung myself.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It ends with you. They have nothing on me.”

“They have your blood.” The idiot had tied himself to the scenes personally by using his blood to write the messages. His blood that had Alexandra’s DNA coursing through his veins. They just never had reason to test him against the samples.