A Deadly Game

A Deadly Game Virginia Smith After discovering her boss's dead body, Susanna Trent receives an unusual package from him filled with strange metal tokens and odd clues.Then Susanna, who is the guardian of her three-year-old niece, starts getting anonymous phone calls taunting her with thinly veiled threats. Worried for her life and that of her sister's child, Susanna struggles to trust the one man who can help: wealthy executive Jack Townsend.As they work together to solve the mysterious puzzle, Jack and Susanna are led into a dangerous game neither knows how to play. But they do know the stakes - life or death. “Here, let me check the house first.” Jack leaped ahead of her up the concrete steps of her small porch. “I’ll take a look around inside, just to be on the safe side.” Susanna followed him in and stood, hugging little Lizzie tight while Jack made a tour through her small home. The alarm created by the detective’s warning was fading. She would feel much safer now, knowing a killer wasn’t waiting to jump out at her the moment she and Lizzie were alone. Jack reappeared in the living room. “Everything’s fine. I made sure all the windows were locked, too.” “Thank you.” She forced herself to smile. This guy was certainly an anomaly. One minute he offended her, and the next he was going the extra mile to make sure she felt safe. “I appreciate that.” The moment he left, a wave of anxiety threatened her composure. What if the detective was right? What if someone is watching, waiting to get me alone? VIRGINIA SMITH A lifelong lover of books, Virginia Smith has always enjoyed immersing herself in fiction. In her mid-twenties she wrote her first story and discovered that writing well is harder than it looks; it took many years to produce a book worthy of publication. During the daylight hours, she steadily climbed the corporate ladder and stole time to write late at night after the kids were in bed. With the publication of her first novel, she left her twenty-year corporate profession to devote her energy to her passion—writing stories that honor God and bring a smile to the faces of her readers. When she isn’t writing, Ginny and her husband, Ted, enjoy exploring the extremes of nature—skiing in the mountains of Utah, motorcycle riding on the curvy roads of central Kentucky and scuba diving in the warm waters of the Caribbean. Visit her online at www.VirginiaSmith.org. A Deadly Game Virginia Smith Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. —Matthew 7:7, NIV For my son, Jonathan Leake. As you seek to solve your own mysteries, don’t forget that the answers are already written down. Acknowledgments Thanks so much to my husband, Ted, for patiently answering questions about cars and auctions and dirt bikes. I’m grateful to my sister, Susie Smith, who helped me figure out where to hide tokens all over Central Kentucky. Huge thanks to my editor, Tina James, for brainstorming above and beyond the call of duty. I’m grateful to Wendy Lawton for a million things. And of course my undying gratitude goes to my Lord, Who knows all mysteries and reveals all things hidden. CONTENTS PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE EPILOGUE LETTER TO READER QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION PROLOGUE Rich men died just as easily as poor men. As he looked down at the body before his feet, that fact disturbed the killer even more than the act he’d just committed. In the end, money bought no advantage. The wealthy, too, fell victim to the great equalizer of men—death. Killer. A shudder rippled through his frame at the word. That was how he must now think of himself. He’d sunk to a new low, performed an act he had not considered himself capable of. Murder. A fleeting wave of regret passed through him, but he dismissed it impatiently and returned his weapon, a computer laptop cord, to its place on the credenza. He’d had no choice. The man’s death was his own fault. He could have cooperated, made them both some money. Instead, he’d resorted to threats. Well, this was one rich man who would never threaten to expose anyone again, would he? The killer glanced at his watch. Not much time. If he were caught here, everything would fall apart. They’d convict him of a whole list of crimes, a list that started with murder. Even if the police didn’t catch him, there were others who would, and he feared them even more. He may yet end up as dead as his victim. Adrenaline and fear in equal measures coursed through his body and his gaze slid around the office. So many possible hiding places. Where to start? Ten minutes later, he could no longer ignore the compelling urge to flee. He hadn’t found a thing. But he wasn’t ready to give up yet, not by a long shot. He let himself out of the office and hurried to the secretary’s desk out front. A quick search of the drawers paid off. From a file labeled Personal Receipts in neat block letters, he extracted a cell phone bill and copied down the name, address and phone number printed at the top. Then he slid the file back in place and closed the drawer. Two smiling faces peered into his from a framed photograph on the corner of the desk, a young woman and a child with golden curls. A smile crept across his lips as he committed the faces to memory. ONE The moment she rounded the corner of the building, Susanna Trent knew something was wrong. To her right, darkness shrouded the wooded area that ran the length of the building housing Ingram Industries. Tiny frozen daggers of sleet sliced through the nighttime sky to fall onto the crowded evergreen branches, the contact goading the trees into an eerie dance. To her left, slivers of light peeked through the cracks of closed blinds in the floor-to-ceiling office windows. Sleet stung her cheeks and slapped at the nylon hood of her jacket as she skidded to a halt on the sidewalk. Behind her, Jack Townsend didn’t stop quite as quickly. He bumped into her, and almost knocked her off her feet. Jack slipped a strong hand under her arm to steady her. “Sorry about that.” Susanna acknowledged the apology with an absent nod, her stare fixed on the windows. A finger of disquiet tapped at the edges of her mind. She’d expected to see her boss standing there, waiting for her to arrive with his new Corvette. Mr. Ingram had been ecstatic when she called him after the auction ended to tell him that she’d succeeded in buying the car he wanted. Why wasn’t he watching for the moment she arrived, ready to dash outside to see it? Something definitely wasn’t right here. Jack’s head turned as he followed her gaze. “Is something wrong?” Susanna shook her head, as much to dislodge the uneasy feelings as to answer. “It’s just that the blinds are closed. They’re never closed.” “Maybe he wanted some privacy.” “From what?” She pointed toward the desolate woods. “Nobody ever comes back here except him and me.” Jack peered into the ice-covered evergreens, then shrugged. “Why don’t we ask him?” His smile tilted sideways, and Susanna couldn’t help but admire the guy’s strong jaw, chiseled nose and short-cropped dark hair. They’d just met a few hours ago, at the car auction, and she’d noted his wholesome good looks right off. Normally she would have found him attractive, but Jack Townsend was exactly the kind of man she made a point of avoiding. He shared too much in common with someone she hoped she’d never have to see again. Still, he was doing Mr. Ingram a favor by delivering the new Corvette. She had to admit that was a nice gesture, especially when he had been bidding against her for the same car. Unusual, too. In Susanna’s experience, the sons of billionaires were far too self-centered to do something nice for someone else. She glanced again at the closed blinds and couldn’t completely dismiss the feeling of foreboding that bloomed. Hurrying to the heavy metal door, she shrugged the strap of her voluminous handbag from her shoulder. The cavernous interior of the purse held a wealth of useful personal items, with plenty of room for the envelope containing the papers for Mr. Ingram’s new car. But it also ate keys. She rummaged inside, shaking to listen for the telltale jingle. Finally, she found them. Her gloved fingers fumbled to locate the right one, and she shoved it into the lock. The hallway inside was empty, but it would be at this time of night. Susanna led Jack down the short corridor and around the corner. A quick glance toward the front of the building showed that the main lights were off in the accounting department. Stillness filled the office, normally bustling in the daytime. A few safety lights cast a dim glow over the empty desks. She didn’t pause when she entered her own work space, but hurried across the carpeted floor, past her tidy desk. The door to Mr. Ingram’s private office had been pulled almost closed. Was he on a phone call, maybe? She halted for a moment, but didn’t hear any noise from inside. “Mr. Ingram?” She tapped on the wood, the sound muted by her gloves. “I’m here with your car.” No answer. Alarm crept like spider legs up the back of Susanna’s neck. Something was wrong; she could feel it. She exchanged a glance with Jack, whose brows had drawn together over eyes dark with concern. “Mr. Ingram? Is everything okay?” Susanna laid a gloved hand on the solid door and gave a gentle push. It swung inward, and she slipped through the enlarged opening. The desk chair was empty, but her gaze was drawn to the floor. A body lay halfway hidden behind the big wooden desk. But the head was visible. The image seared into Susanna’s brain like a hot brand, and she knew she would remember it as long as she lived. Mr. Ingram’s face was purple, his eyes bulging from their sockets to stare at something no living person could see. A scream tore from her throat. While the police officer took his statement, Jack tried not to look toward Ingram’s open office door. From the corner of his eye he saw a flash from the investigator’s camera as it photographed the body. He suppressed a shudder and glanced in the opposite direction, where Susanna sat huddled in a chair, her face hidden behind a curtain of blond hair. The horrified sound of her scream still echoed in his ears. She spoke quietly into a cell phone, which she held cupped to the side of her head with one hand while she massaged her temples with the thumb and forefinger of the other. Something about the way her drooping shoulders gave an occasional heave, as if she was holding back sobs, made Jack want to cross the room and place a comforting arm around her. The thought brought a sour taste to his mouth. An offer of compassion might be viewed as an invitation, and he wasn’t about to get himself any more involved with Susanna Trent than he already was. They’d known each other only a few hours, and already the gruesome specter of a dead body had polluted any budding relationship they might have enjoyed. That, and the fact that she knew who he was. The name Townsend cast a long shadow in Lexington, Kentucky. “Thank you for answering our questions, Mr. Townsend.” Jack pulled his attention away from Susanna and focused on the police detective. The man, who had identified himself as Detective Rollins, gave a quick smile. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to get an address and phone number where we can reach you in case something comes up that we need to clarify.” “Of course.” Jack slid his wallet out of his jeans pocket and extracted a card. Rollins took it out of his hand and studied it. “Vice President of Supply for Townsend Steakhouses, Inc.” The detective didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was impressed. “That sounds like an important job.” “Yes, it certainly does.” Jack worded his answer carefully, and hoped his smile was sincere. The detective’s expression turned quizzical, but he didn’t pursue the matter. “Well, we may be in touch. In the meantime, if you think of anything that could be helpful, give us a call.” Rollins handed the card to the uniformed officer standing next to him, who began copying information from it. With another quick smile, this time in dismissal, the detective headed for Ingram’s office. Apparently Jack was free to leave. He glanced toward Susanna, who had not moved from her chair and was still speaking quietly into her phone. Hopefully she was talking to someone who would offer her the support she needed. A boyfriend, maybe. Though he felt a twinge of guilt at leaving her to face the detective’s questions alone, he had his own call to make. He’d put it off long enough. Jack extracted his cell phone from his pocket and pressed the power button as he stepped from the building into the cold evening air. He hurried down the sidewalk toward his truck, which still had the big covered car trailer hitched to the back. The sleet had stopped for the moment, but his breath froze in visible puffs as he scrolled down the listings in his cell phone address book to the entry for his father, R. H. Townsend. When Jack came to work in the office of Townsend Steakhouses, his father had insisted that he stop being childish and address him as R.H., like all the other management employees. In Jack’s mind, he’d been R.H. for years anyway. Giving that cold man the title Father had felt wrong for a long time. The time read just past nine, which meant that R.H. would be in his home office, working for several more hours before he went to bed. Jack pictured him behind his desk, reading from a neat stack of papers, jotting notes on the yellow legal pad he kept nearby at all times to record the not-infrequent ideas that kept the research and development department at Townsend Steakhouses in a perpetual state of flustered activity. The phone didn’t finish the first ring. “I’ve been trying to call you for hours. Did you get the car?” No greeting. R. H. Townsend rarely wasted time on pleasantries. “I’m afraid not. The b—” “What?” A string of foul language polluted the airspace between Jack’s phone and his father’s. Jack set his teeth together and endured the tirade. If the frigid air had turned blue around him, he wouldn’t have been surprised. His father’s language was rarely appropriate for Sunday school, but this outburst went on longer than usual. When he paused for a breath, Jack jumped in to defend himself. “Wait a minute. If you’ll just listen—” “Listen? That’s what I expected you to do—listen to me, and do as you were told. But I guess it was asking too much to expect you to follow one simple request.” The scorn in his father’s words was all too familiar. It was a tone Jack had heard many times since his boyhood. “Who bought it?” Jack squeezed his eyes shut before he said the name. “Tom Ingram’s secretary.” “You let a secretary buy my car out from under your nose?” Another tirade followed, and Jack let it run dry before he offered his explanation. “The car sold for thirty thousand dollars. I checked a whole list of comparables before I left for the auction, so I know that’s more than it was worth. But I located another red Corvette up near Indianapolis, and it’s in even b—” “Just forget it. I don’t want to hear your excuses.” With iron control, Jack bit back the words that threatened to shoot out of his mouth. His chest expanded slowly as he drew icy air into his lungs. He’d long ago given up trying to defend his actions to his father. Besides, he had another blow to deliver, and there was no way to soften it. His father and Thomas Ingram had been friends. Jack kept his tone even as he spoke. “R.H., I have something to tell you that may come as a shock.” He drew another breath, then broke the news. “Tom Ingram is dead.” “Dead? Don’t tell me he wrecked the car as soon as he got it.” Jack arrived at the pickup, and unlocked the door with a click of the remote. “No, it wasn’t an accident. He was killed. Murdered, right in his office.” Silence on the line. Jack opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. A trace of warmth still lingered in the cab from his ninety-minute drive after the auction. He pictured his father, seated in his high-backed chair, digesting the news. He and Ingram were among a small group of wealthy businessmen who’d been in the habit of getting together for a monthly poker game for the past several years. Ingram’s death would be a blow to them all. “That’s…terrible. Just terrible. Where did you hear about it? Is it on the radio?” “No, I don’t think the press has gotten wind of the news yet. After his secretary bought the car, she couldn’t find a transport company to deliver it tonight. They were all booked solid for several days. Since I had taken an empty trailer with me anyway, I offered to bring the Corvette back to Lexington for her. We found the body when we got here.” “Wait a minute. First you let someone else buy my car, and then you delivered it for her?” Jack stiffened at the outrage in his father’s voice. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I just told you that your friend has been killed—murdered—and I found the body. And all you can think about is a car?” “I said it was terrible. What more do you want me to say?” Jack heard a quick intake of breath. “What’s going to happen to the car now? Ingram certainly doesn’t need it anymore.” He shook his head, unable to answer for a moment. Obviously he’d been wrong to describe Ingram as his father’s friend. R.H. had no friends. He had social acquaintances, business associates and employees, but certainly no one in whom he would confide as a friend. Jack had heard the lecture many times growing up—confidences were an act of weakness. Why would you tell someone your thoughts and give them a weapon that might be used against you later? Being too open with people was one of the many things for which R. H. Townsend faulted his son. Still, a man had been murdered. Jack had known his father rarely wasted time on sentimentality, but to express an interest in the Corvette this soon? It was downright callous. If that’s what being a successful businessman leads to, Lord, then save me from success. There was no use trying to convince his father that the question was inappropriate. The man was a brusque, uncaring businessman through and through, and he wasn’t likely to change his attitude anytime soon. Jack finally managed an even response. “I overheard his secretary tell the police that Ingram has two daughters. The car probably belongs to them now. Maybe they’d be willing to sell it to you.” “How long do you think that would take?” Jack closed his eyes. “I really don’t know.” “Check on it then.” A click, and the call disconnected. For a long time, Jack sat staring at the phone. He’d seen his father make some harsh business decisions with little regard for the people whose lives he had affected. He’d watched him sign away the jobs and livelihood of hundreds of employees with the flourish of a pen, without even a passing thought to their welfare. Heard him more than once berate midlevel managers with language that should have resulted in lawsuits. And he’d been on the receiving end of that famous Townsend temper more times than he could count. He thought nothing the man could do would surprise him anymore. But this reaction to Tom Ingram’s death plunged to a new depth. R.H. had proven himself to be completely heartless. The cab lost the last of its warmth, and a circle of breath frosted on the inside of the windshield. Jack shook himself free of his thoughts and jumped out of the truck. He’d better go back inside and find out how to contact Ingram’s daughters about the Corvette. If he didn’t, R.H. would do it himself. At least Jack could try to handle the situation tactfully. The walk to the door seemed longer than before. An uncanny silence had settled over the wooded area behind the building, as heavy as the darkness that enveloped them. As he walked, Jack couldn’t stop staring in that direction, peering between the heavy branches. They seemed menacing, as though they hid a dark and deadly secret. Had the murderer concealed himself there, watching Tom Ingram through the now-shuttered windows? Might he be there even now? The skin on Jack’s arms crawled beneath a menacing stare that might, or might not, be imaginary. He rubbed his hands on his arms and quickened his pace toward the door. TWO Susanna watched from beneath the shield of her hand as Jack left the room. She was thankful he’d been with her when she had arrived here. What if she’d been alone when she found—she gulped—the body? Even so, she was glad to see Jack go. His presence was a painful reminder of that terrible time four years ago, and she couldn’t bear to think about that right now. One tragedy at a time was all she could handle. She glanced at the door to her boss’s office, but thankfully she only saw the moving figures of police officers inside. More reminders. A terrible weight pressed on her chest as the reality of the situation struck her afresh. Mr. Ingram was dead. “Kathy, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be here,” she whispered into the phone, aware of the silence that pervaded the outer office and the police officer who hovered near the doorway. “I’m sorry to dump her on you like this.” “I keep telling you, don’t worry about it. Lizzie and Maddie have been playing ever since I picked them up from the babysitter. And I’ve already told them they might get to have a sleepover tonight. They were thrilled.” An ache throbbed behind Susanna’s eyes. She closed them and pressed her temples as hard as she could. “Thank you. I’ll return the favor sometime.” The sound of shoes scuffing on the carpet in front of her drew Susanna’s attention. She opened her eyes to find the detective who’d been questioning Jack for the past ten minutes standing in front of her. Plainclothes, but she’d be able to pinpoint him as a cop in a second if she met him on the street. He had the same arrogant air about him as the one she’d spoken with four years ago in Tennessee. Stop it! This guy’s probably on the up-and-up. Not all police officers are on some rich man’s payroll. She straightened and spoke into the phone. “I need to go. I’ll call you when I know more.” When she had lowered the phone and started to stand, Detective Rollins stopped her with a gesture. “You can stay seated if you like. In fact, I’ll join you.” He dropped into the chair beside her. Susanna placed her cell phone on the small table between them, next to an array of magazines she kept there for visitors to read while they waited for their appointments with Mr. Ingram. The hovering officer, a young man with a fresh face, approached to stand beside Rollins, his pen poised over a metal clipboard to record her words. “I know this has been a shock, Ms. Trent.” Rollins’s smile held a world full of sympathy. “We’ve already taken Mr. Townsend’s statement, but if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to tell me everything that happened today.” Susanna drew a breath. “Mr. Ingram sent me to an auction out of town to buy a car for him. I didn’t even come in to the office this morning because he wanted me to be there all day, to be sure I didn’t miss the Corvette.” “Do you normally perform tasks like this for your boss?” She hesitated. “Well, I’m his personal secretary, so I do run errands for him often. Mr. Ingram is a widower and a busy executive, so if he needs someone to pick up his dry cleaning or prepare snacks for his poker club, I don’t mind doing that. But this is the first time he’s ever asked me to buy a car for him.” “Mr. Townsend told us that his father sent him there on the same errand. Is there something special about this Corvette?” “Other than the fact that it’s a really hot sports car? I don’t think so.” Susanna leaned forward to grab the handbag she had shoved beneath the chair. She fished inside until she found the auction catalog Mr. Ingram had given her yesterday. It was already opened to the appropriate page. “I wondered at the time if it was…” She bit her lip and battled feelings of disloyalty before she continued. “A midlife crisis.” Detective Rollins inspected the picture of the bright red Corvette—bloodred was the term Mr. Ingram had used to describe it. The uniformed officer peered over the detective’s shoulder. Rollins’s lips twitched. “Speaking as a man of around the same age, I can affirm that if I could afford to buy a car to help me over a midlife crisis, that’s one I’d pick.” He returned the catalog, and Susanna shoved it back into the depths of her purse. “Ms. Trent, are you aware of anyone who might want to harm the victim?” Since the moment she’d realized Mr. Ingram was dead, Susanna had been racking her brain trying to think who would do something so horrible to such a nice man. She’d drawn a complete blank. “I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Mr. Ingram. He is—” she bit her lip “—was well respected by everyone—all the employees here at Ingram Industries. The customers. Everyone.” “What about competitors?” Rollins tapped the issue of American Coal magazine that topped the stack on the table between them. “I imagine the coal industry is fairly competitive.” “Of course there’s competition in any business, but nothing serious enough to kill someone over.” “A disgruntled employee, maybe? Anyone been fired lately?” Susanna shook her head. “No.” Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and she looked up in time to see Jack step into the room. What was he doing here? She’d thought he had gone home. After a quick glance in his direction, Rollins focused all his attention on her. “Who would be the most knowledgeable about the victim’s day-to-day business dealings?” Jack wandered over to her desk and picked up the framed photo on the corner, the one of her and Lizzie taken at last summer’s company picnic. “That would be me.” She smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I maintain Mr. Ingram’s calendar, both business and personal. I arrange all his meetings, screen all his calls, draft his correspondence. And I can’t think of a single issue that’s come up lately with even the slightest bit of conflict.” The detective studied her for a moment, then gave a nod and slapped his hands on his knees before standing. “We’ll need some information from you. The names of anyone who’s had contact with the victim in the past few weeks, to begin with. His appointment calendar, phone records, things like that. Then we’ll need the company’s employee roster with contact information.” Susanna followed the detective’s example and rose. A list began to compile itself in her mind, beginning with those who had closest contact with Mr. Ingram—the executives at Ingram Industries. And what about the board of directors? Detective Rollins would probably want their phone numbers, as well. Her conscience prickled, but she dismissed the feeling. No one would fault her for providing their private contact numbers to the police if it helped to apprehend a murderer. “Hopefully it won’t take you too long to pull that together. When you’ve finished, you’re free to go.” Rollins shifted his gaze to Jack. “Perhaps Mr. Townsend would be kind enough to escort you home.” A hot flush threatened to flood her cheeks. A glance at Jack’s face showed he was as surprised at the detective’s suggestion as her. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” she assured Rollins. “My car is in the parking lot.” The detective stopped in the act of walking away and turned to face her with a sober expression. “I don’t want to frighten you, Ms. Trent, but I hope you understand how serious this situation is. You could be in danger yourself.” “Me?” Her voice came out in a frightened rush. “Why would I be in danger?” Rollins’s eyes flicked toward the inner office, where the low murmur of voices blended with the mechanical click of a camera. “A man has been killed in this office. Until we know more, we can’t rule out the possibility that the killer’s motive has something to do with the victim’s business. And who is most closely acquainted with his business dealings?” Susanna’s mouth dried. Her lungs refused to cooperate, refused to draw in a breath. Fear paralyzed them. The detective saw her reaction, and gave a nod. “Just so you understand the gravity of the situation. If you prefer, I’ll have Officer Bledsoe make sure you get home safely.” Jack returned the picture to the desk and stepped forward. “I don’t mind following you home.” The smile he flashed at her held a note of apology. “We need to talk about what happens with the car anyway.” Though she far preferred the officer as an escort, Susanna couldn’t think of a polite reason to refuse Jack’s offer. Her mind was still reeling from Detective Rollins’s warning. And the image of Mr. Ingram’s lifeless eyes. And the thought of going into her dark, empty house alone. Mutely, Susanna nodded. Light shone from the windows of the houses on either side of Susanna’s, but hers was covered in blackness. Even the porch light was dark, burnt out a few weeks ago. She pulled her car into the driveway and made a mental note to replace the bulb as she slid out of the driver’s seat. The rattle of Jack’s diesel engine interrupted the neighborhood’s peaceful silence. Susanna stood in the dim circle of light from her car’s interior, her hand resting on the rim of the open door, as the pickup and trailer rolled to a stop at the curb in front of the house. A sound broke the silence behind her. Startled, she whirled and peered into the deep shadow of overgrown evergreen shrubs that separated her house from the one next door. Was something there? Yes, the branches were moving. Her pulse kicked into high speed as she strained to make out details. Though clouds obscured the moon, there was no wind tonight. Was someone hiding there, between the houses? The bushes moved again. In the second before she leaped back into her car, ready to slam the door and punch the lock button, she realized the movement was too low to be a person. She strained to discern black from pitch-black as the figure moved toward her. A tense breath left her lungs in a rush when the shadows materialized into the neighbor’s cat, sauntering toward her with an unhurried gait. It disappeared beneath her car, apparently in search of a warm place to sleep. Susanna released her death grip on the door. How foolish of her, afraid of a cat. That detective had her jumping at shadows. The truck’s door slammed, and she turned to see Jack striding toward her across the grass. Susanna closed her own car door and pointed toward the trailer as he approached. “I don’t know what to do about the car. I don’t have a garage to park it in.” Jack shoved his hands in the front pocket of his jeans, shoulders hunched against the cold. “I overheard you saying Ingram has two daughters. What about taking it to one of them?” “The oldest lives in California, and the youngest is studying in Europe.” She had given the police their contact information. Did they know yet that their father was dead? Susanna intended to call tomorrow, to see if they needed her to help with the arrangements. “Does Ingram have a garage?” Of course. Why didn’t she think of that before they left the office? She massaged the back of her neck. Her brain wasn’t working right tonight. Shock, probably. “Yes, he does. I guess we ought to go back to the office and get his house keys so we can take it over there.” Jack scuffed at the driveway with his shoe. “I hesitate to bring this up, but my father said he’d be happy to buy the Corvette now that Ingram—” he paused, embarrassed “—uh, won’t be needing it. I’m sure he would store it at his house until the arrangements can be made.” For a moment, Susanna was speechless. How utterly mercenary of Jack’s father to suggest such a thing while Mr. Ingram’s strangled body still lay on the floor of his office. And how completely in character for a self-centered man who was used to getting whatever he wanted, regardless of the circumstances. People talked, and she’d heard rumors about R. H. Townsend and the ruthless way he ran his business. For office workers searching for a job, Townsend Steakhouses, Inc., was at the bottom of the list unless you were desperate. She’d thought better of Jack, though. In the few hours she had known him, he’d seemed like a nice guy, with his generous offer to deliver the Corvette to Mr. Ingram. How could he bring himself to relay the request? Or maybe she had misjudged Jack all along. His helpful gesture might not have been an act of kindness at all. Having failed to buy the car for his father at the auction, his good deed might have been a last-ditch effort to convince Mr. Ingram to sell it to him. Bitterly, Susanna realized she wasn’t surprised. Her former fianc?, Bruce, would have acted the same heartless way if it meant getting something he wanted. Maybe Jack and Bruce were two of a kind. The thought soured her stomach. She was still searching for an appropriately scathing response when the porch light of the house across the street came on. The front door opened and a figure appeared. Her neighbor, Kathy, made her way carefully across the street carrying a blanketed bundle. “Hey, I saw you were here, so I thought I’d bring Lizzie home. She just fell asleep about half an hour ago.” Ignoring Jack, Susanna took the bundle from Kathy’s arms. The child cocooned inside stirred during the transfer. A whimper sounded when the blanket fell open, exposing the little girl to the frigid night air. “I don’t wanna go home,” Lizzie complained in a sleepy voice. “I wanna have a sleepover.” “Shh.” Susanna tucked the blanket more snugly around her. “We’ll have a sleepover another time.” She looked up at Kathy. “I can’t thank you enough.” “No problem.” She rubbed her hands on her arms and shivered. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” She flashed a quick smile at Jack as she left. Jack watched, silent, as Susanna hugged the blanketed child close. She could see the questions in his wide eyes, but she left them unanswered. Her life was none of his business. “I need to get her out of this cold air.” She glanced toward the car trailer. “I hate to park an attention magnet like that Corvette openly in my driveway. Would it be all right if you left the trailer here tonight? Mr. Ingram’s daughters will need to decide what they want to do with it.” She pressed her lips together. “I’ll get in touch with them tomorrow and pass along your offer.” He jerked away his curious stare at Lizzie, and whipped out a business card from his pocket. “Sure. Probably not a good idea to leave it on the street, so I’ll put it in your driveway. My cell phone number is on that card. Just give me a call and let me know what they decide.” She took the card awkwardly while she balanced her sleeping bundle, and then turned her back on him to march toward the house. “Here, let me get that.” He leaped ahead of her up the concrete steps of her small porch and held his hand out for the keys. “I’ll take a look inside, just to be on the safe side.” Susanna hesitated, but the thought of all those dark rooms inside—from now on she would leave a light burning, regardless of the electricity bill—made her decision for her. She handed him the keys and stood waiting while he unlocked the door, flipped the living-room light switch and stepped inside. The warmth in the house was a comforting contrast to the biting cold of the porch. Susanna followed him in and stood, hugging Lizzie tight, while Jack made a tour through her small home. He was certainly thorough. By sound she tracked his progress through the kitchen, laundry, both bedrooms and the bathroom. He even peeked inside closets. Embarrassment that he was seeing the private rooms of her home warred with relief inside her, but she consciously grasped at the latter. The alarm created by Detective Rollins’s warning was fading. She would feel much safer now, knowing a killer wasn’t waiting to jump out at her the moment she and Lizzie were alone. Jack reappeared in the living room. “Everything’s fine. I made sure all the windows were locked, too.” “Thank you.” She forced herself to smile. This guy was certainly an anomaly. One minute he offended her with an inappropriate offer to buy the Corvette, and the next he was going the extra mile to make sure she felt safe. “I appreciate that.” “No problem. Oh. Here.” He extracted a key ring with a single key from his pocket and, since her hands were full, set it on the coffee table. “The key to the car trailer.” He left, and Susanna stood in the doorway watching as he crossed the yard and climbed into the pickup. The engine roared to life, and he maneuvered the trailer backward into her driveway. When it came to a stop on the other side of her car, she pushed the door closed and threw the dead bolt before heading down the short hallway to Lizzie’s bedroom. She was still getting the child settled in bed when the engine revved again. A peek through the pink curtains revealed the taillights disappearing down the street. When the truck turned the corner, a wave of anxiety threatened her composure. What if the detective was right? What if someone is watching, waiting to get me alone? I should have asked Jack to check the backyard, too. With an effort, she forced the haunting image of Mr. Ingram’s body from her mind. If she dwelt on thoughts like that, she would become paranoid. She posed no threat to whoever killed Mr. Ingram, because she didn’t know anything. She hadn’t even been near the office at all today. There’s nothing to worry about. I need to relax and get some sleep. Things always look better in the morning. Still, she decided to make one more round through the house and check all the locks before she got ready for bed. Just to be sure. THREE Jack steered the pickup through Susanna’s modest neighborhood. Though he had lived in Lexington his whole life, he’d never been on these streets. The yards were all clean and neatly landscaped, as far as he could tell in the dark. Mature trees testified to the age of the homes, which were single-story rectangles made of brick. The small size of Susanna’s had surprised him. The whole house would fit inside the kitchen in his family home, where he had grown up and where his father still lived. Even Jack’s apartment was half again as big. But every room in Susanna’s house had been spotlessly clean, the decorations tastefully elegant. The little girl’s room had pink frills everywhere, an overflowing toy box and a bedspread with princesses. And what about that child? He didn’t glimpse much more than a quick peek of a smooth cheek and bow-shaped lips inside the blanket. The picture on the desk at Ingram Industries had shown a happy little girl with sparkling blue eyes and blond hair, the same bright shade as Susanna’s. The child was around two or three years old, if he was to take a guess. Susanna obviously wasn’t married, since she and the girl lived alone. Divorced maybe? Or maybe she had never married. Was the child’s father in the picture at all? He gauged Susanna’s age at mid-twenties, plenty old enough to have a three-year-old daughter. Although, now that he thought about it, that was pretty young to have attained the status of executive secretary for a coal magnate like Ingram. How had she managed to land such an important job? Jack gave a soundless laugh as he exited the neighborhood with a right turn onto the main road. What was this preoccupation with a woman and her child? They were none of his business. He’d done what he could for them, made sure the house was empty and secure. Though personally he thought Detective Rollins’s warning a bit on the dramatic side. The police had no idea why Ingram had been killed. To assume his secretary was in danger was too big a leap to make sense, in Jack’s opinion. But the police had to be extracautious, he supposed. Lord, keep her safe tonight, please. And help her to get some rest. She’s had a pretty awful day. The quick prayer on Susanna’s behalf put that part of his mind to rest. He had done the only thing—the best thing—he could do for her. The traffic light up ahead turned yellow, and Jack slowed to a stop as it changed to red, gingerly pumping the brakes in case the evening’s sleet had left icy patches. A right turn would take him to the affluent neighborhood where he had grown up. He hadn’t lived there since college and his first apartment off campus, where he’d encountered a peaceful existence he hadn’t dreamed possible in the years of living under R.H.’s critical eye. Cheri, his older sister, had escaped four years before him when she went to Cornell University. She had never returned to Kentucky. Jack visited her in New York as often as he could. A couple of cars passed by in front of him heading in the direction of his family home, where R.H. no doubt was still hard at work in his office, though the clock on Jack’s dash read ten-fourteen. Their earlier phone call replayed itself in his mind, as conversations with R.H. were wont to do. There had been one moment when Jack thought he detected a trace of emotion in the astringent voice. When R.H. had learned of Ingram’s death, he’d said, “That’s terrible. Just terrible.” He’d sounded shocked, and a little bit…vulnerable? No, Jack must have imagined that part. Vulnerability was something he’d never seen his father display. It was a weakness, and R.H. had no patience for weakness in any form. He’d excised it from his life many years ago, when Mom died. But it was natural to feel shock at the violent death of a friend. Ingram and R.H. shared a lot in common, after all. They were roughly the same age. Ran in the same social circles. They both headed up powerful corporations, though in different industries. R.H. must have identified with Ingram to some extent. The death had to come as a blow, perhaps even give him a glimpse of his own mortality. The light changed from red to green. At the same moment Jack took his foot off the brake, he came to a decision. He turned on his blinker, checked the mirror and made a quick right turn. If R.H. was feeling Ingram’s death personally, even a little, then he shouldn’t be alone. His questions might turn toward spiritual matters, and if they did, Jack wanted to be there with the answers he had found himself. No doubt he would be slapped down yet again, but the man was his father. Beneath the ridicule and the harsh behavior, Jack knew R.H. loved him and Cheri as much as he could. As much as he was able. He punched in the code to open the gate at the entrance to the exclusive neighborhood, and then steered the truck through the familiar streets. The homes here were a far different style than the ones he had just seen. The price tag for many of them ranged into seven-digit territory, and every lawn had the unmistakable look of hours of care by professional landscapers. Three turns and Jack arrived at the cul-de-sac where he had grown up. He pulled into the driveway of the house and followed the graceful, rosebush-lined curve around to the back. But the windows he’d expected to see lit up, the ones to his father’s study, were dark. In fact, there were no lights on anywhere in the house. Jack checked the clock on the dashboard again. Not even ten-thirty, and R.H. was already in bed? A niggling worry started in his mind, like an itch he couldn’t ignore. R.H. never went to bed before midnight. Was he sick? Had Ingram’s death affected him more than he let on? Jack parked the truck and hopped out. He went to the back door, but hesitated before he put his key in the lock. It was possible his father had simply gone to bed earlier than usual. Even if he were upset by Ingram’s death, he wouldn’t appreciate Jack’s interference. In fact, any concern Jack was bold enough to voice would no doubt be met with scorn, and probably another angry tirade. The window in the back door was covered with custom-fitted blinds, and Jack could see nothing through it. After a moment of indecision, he turned toward his truck. Tomorrow at the office he’d mention that he stopped by to give him an update on the Corvette, but left when he realized R.H. had turned in early. Maybe he’d learn something from the reaction he received. He followed the cobbled walkway toward his pickup and passed the garage window. The blinds stood open and he glanced inside. He skidded to a stop. It was probably just the darkness, but from this distance it looked as if the garage bay nearest the window was empty. Curious, he stepped over the knee-high shrubs to take a closer look. His shoes scuffed in the winter mulch of the flower bed as he approached the window. The three-car garage normally housed two vehicles. One bay had remained empty for as long as Jack could remember. R.H.’s main car was a BMW, and that was parked in its regular place, the bay closest to the door leading into the house. But he also had another car, a Lexus SUV, which he used on the rare occasions when he drove out in the country to the hunting lodge, or when the city roads were icy. The SUV was missing. R.H. was not at home. When Jack called earlier he had dialed the house phone, so he knew his father had been at home ninety minutes ago. Where would he go this late at night? Though weariness dragged at Susanna’s body, sleep refused to come. The novel on her bedside table failed to either hold her attention or coax her to sleep. She gave up on the book, turned off the light and closed her eyes. But all she could see was the image of the body sprawled on the floor. Her eyes flew open. Maybe a hot cup of herbal tea would help her relax. Resigned, she got out of bed, slid her feet into her slippers and went to the kitchen. A few minutes later, she carried a steaming mug to the soft comfort of the living-room sofa. Her purse lay on the cushion where she’d tossed it, the packet of papers she’d received from the auction inside. The last errand she would ever perform for her boss. She dropped onto the couch and sipped from her tea. There had been something else in the plastic envelope with the papers and keys, but she’d been too busy trying to find a company to transport the car tonight to pay much attention to it. And since then, she’d been…well, occupied. She set the mug on the table, fished out the envelope and upended it onto the cushion beside her. Out tumbled the owner’s manual, registration, car title signed by the previous owner and a set of keys on a metal ring along with a key tag bearing the Corvette emblem. The bulk of the contents was a thick stack of papers held together with a large rubber band documenting the car’s maintenance history, which was apparently important to the value of a classic automobile. The auctioneer had made a big deal out of mentioning it. Susanna fanned through the papers. They were in date order going all the way back to 1980, the year the car was manufactured. Oil changes, brake pad replacements, a receipt for new tires. Something dropped out of the bundle and landed on the cushion beside the owner’s manual—a small canvas pouch with a drawstring opening cinched shut. Curious, she opened it and emptied the contents into the palm of her hand: a silver coin, about the size and weight of a half dollar. One side was embossed with a single word—nine. She flipped it over. The other side contained the digit—9. A comment from the car’s previous owner, whom she had met briefly while sitting at the auction desk signing papers, came back to her. He’d smiled as he shook her hand and said, “Congratulations. You got number nine.” She had assumed the man was a dealer or something, and the Corvette was the ninth car he’d sold today. She weighed the token in the palm of her hand. How odd. Why would he put numbered coins in with each of the cars he sold? Maybe it had something to do with Corvettes, like a numbered painting or something. Or maybe it had something to do with the auction. Sort of like a proof of purchase, perhaps? She held the token up to the light and inspected it carefully for any other markings. Nothing. No Corvette emblems, nor the auction house’s logo. She’d have to remember to ask Mr. Ingram about— Reality slapped at her, cutting off the thought unfinished. She’d never be able to ask Mr. Ingram anything, ever again. In a flash, the events of the day caught up with her. She replaced the coin in its pouch, stuffed everything back into the envelope and shoved it inside her purse. Then she switched off the lamp, clutched a throw pillow to her chest and tucked her feet beneath her. Tears held too long in check burned her eyes and blurred her vision. She could hardly believe Mr. Ingram was gone. Memories paraded through her mind, each one bringing a fresh rush of tears, until her cheeks were raw from salty rivers flowing over them. After an eternity they slowed and finally stopped. Numbness gradually stole over her, and Susanna slept. A clang jarred her awake. She jerked upright. What was that noise? Had it come from inside the house? The digital clock on the DVD player read nearly two-thirty. Heart thudding heavily inside her chest, Susanna rose as quietly as she could from the couch. She tiptoed across the carpet to the front door and checked the lock. Still securely closed. She hurried down the hallway and into Lizzie’s room. Maybe the child had fallen out of bed again. The weight in her chest lightened a fraction at the sight of the little girl sleeping peacefully in her bed, tousled blond curls splayed across her pillow. She was safe. And yet, if the sound hadn’t originated from Lizzie, where had it come from? Quickly Susanna went through the house, checking every room, every lock on the windows. All was as it should be. Had she dreamed it, maybe? No, she didn’t think so. She could hear an echo of it still, pulling her from sleep with a metallic clank. The noise must have come from outside. Mr. Ingram’s Corvette! She hurried back to the front room and, standing in the dark, parted the front curtain a fraction, just the width of her eye. The sky had cleared and white moonlight illuminated the yard. She saw no movement at all. On the other side of her Toyota, the trailer was in the exact place Jack had left it. She let the curtains fall back into place. Maybe she had imagined the noise. Or maybe it had come from a passing vehicle. Or she dreamed it. Her tea mug sat on the end table, half full of cold tea. She picked it up and carried it to the kitchen. Dim, white light filtered through the miniblinds in the window above the sink. As she emptied the contents of the mug down the drain, she peeked into the dark backyard. All was still. Not even a breeze stirred the branches of the tall evergreen hedge that bordered her yard. A noise close by sent alarm zipping down her spine. It was coming from the door. Breath caught in her throat, she crept toward it. Horror stole over her as she watched the door knob turn slowly. Just a tiny bit, a fraction of movement, back and forth, as someone on the other side jiggled the handle. Susanna couldn’t stop the scream that tore from her throat. She raced from the room, snatching her cell phone off the kitchen counter as she ran. By the time she got to Lizzie’s bedroom and slammed the door, she had already punched 9-1-1. FOUR “I’d fallen asleep on the couch,” Susanna told the policeman standing in her living room, “and a noise woke me up. I’m almost positive it came from the car trailer in the driveway.” The young man wasn’t one of the officers she’d seen at Ingram Industries last night, nor his partner, who at the moment was investigating the backyard with a flashlight. He nodded. “Have you checked the trailer?” “Are you kidding?” Susanna clutched Lizzie, whose arms and legs were still wrapped tightly around her even though the child was starting to drift back to sleep. “We shoved the dresser in front of the bedroom door and hid in the closet until you got here.” “That was a smart move, ma’am.” She glanced toward the window. “I’m worried about the car, though. It’s extremely expensive, and it doesn’t belong to me.” “I’ll check it out.” When he turned toward the door, she stopped him. “Here. You’ll need this.” She scooped up the trailer key, which was still where Jack had left it on the coffee table. As he left the house, she considered putting Lizzie back to bed so she could check on the Corvette. But the child had been terrified to be awakened by Susanna’s panicked shrieks, and she didn’t want to risk her waking up alone while everyone else was outside. Instead, she scooped up a throw blanket from the armchair, bundled it around the little girl and followed the officer outside. Bitterly cold air slapped at Susanna’s face as she hurried down the porch steps and across the short walkway to where the officer stood at the rear of the trailer. “The lock appears to be intact.” The man pulled on a thin rubber glove and, with a finger and thumb, carefully tested the handle. To her surprise, the lever pushed all the way down. The officer’s eyebrows rose. “Are you sure you locked it?” She thought back, picturing the scene in the auction house’s rear parking lot. Jack had locked the door after they’d loaded the car inside, hadn’t he? She couldn’t remember. “Well, no, I’m not positive. But I’m pretty sure we did.” The officer pulled on the handle, and the door swung open. Breath caught in her chest, she peered inside. The sight of the red sports car sent a wave of relief flooding through her tense muscles. “It’s still there.” Maybe Jack had simply forgotten to lock the door. The policeman climbed into the trailer and unclipped a small flashlight from his belt. The Corvette’s body gleamed in the powerful beam. He gave a low, admiring whistle. “This is a beautiful car.” “Is it all right?” Susanna asked. The beam flashed around. “Not a scratch on her.” He dropped down on his haunches and peered beneath. “The straps are still in place, too. I don’t think anyone’s messed with this car.” “Thank goodness.” The officer circled to the passenger side, still examining the unblemished paint. Susanna turned toward the house. Now that she’d satisfied herself the Corvette was safe, she could go back inside where it was warm. Obviously the noise that had woken her earlier hadn’t come from the trailer. She took a step as the officer opened the passenger door and aimed his flashlight inside. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pull the seat upright and heard a distant snap as it clicked into place. Her foot halted. Was the passenger seat pushed forward when they put the car in the trailer? No. It wasn’t. She was positive about that. She returned to stand at the rear of the trailer. “I think someone’s been in there.” The officer’s head emerged from his examination of the interior. “What makes you think so?” “I’m sure that seat wasn’t pushed forward. And why would Jack make a point of giving me the key if he was going to leave the trailer unlocked?” Her arms tightened around Lizzie. Detective Rollins’s warning left an ominous echo in her mind. “What if the person who killed Mr. Ingram came after his car?” A noise behind her made her whirl, but it was only the second officer coming from the backyard. “Nothing back there, ma’am. No signs at all of an intruder.” His gaze rose from her face to his partner’s inside the trailer. Did she imagine it, or did a secretive look pass between them? She could almost hear the older officer’s thoughts. Woman without a man around for protection. Panics over nothing. Despite the frigid air, heat flared up her neck. “I know I heard a noise outside, and I know someone jiggled the knob on my back door.” Before the silence became uncomfortable, the officer in the trailer hopped down to the ground. “I have a theory. I think it was teenagers.” His partner nodded, as though in agreement. “Why do you say that?” Susanna asked. “Did you find something inside the car?” He shook his head as he slid his flashlight back into place on his belt. “If it was a car thief, they would have been more prepared. They would have come with a truck and hauled off the trailer with the car inside. We’ve had trouble with teenagers prowling around town late at night. Some gang activity. Instances of vandalism. My guess is the trailer caught their attention. Since there’s no sign that the lock was forced, we have to assume the door wasn’t locked to begin with.” Susanna would have argued that point, but without a call to Jack she couldn’t say for certain. And there was no way she was calling Jack at three in the morning. At least the officer believed her that someone had been here. He nodded toward the Corvette. “Taking a car like that out for a joyride would be almost irresistible. They probably searched the interior to see if they could find the keys.” “But then why try to break into my house?” The other officer answered. “They probably figured someone who would leave a car like that in an unlocked trailer wouldn’t be too careful with their house, either. They may have just been checking to see if they could get inside the house and get the keys. You scared them off when you screamed.” His expression grew sober. “It’s a good thing you locked your doors. If they were on drugs, you never know what could have happened to you and your little girl.” Susanna turned to look into the deep shadows of the backyard. The scenario did seem feasible, assuming Jack had simply forgotten to lock the trailer. She certainly intended to ask him about that the next time she spoke with him. Still, having someone try to break into her house the same night Mr. Ingram was killed seemed like an awfully big coincidence. What would that detective think? She almost hated to bring up the man’s name, because he reminded her so much of the detective she’d spoken with during that awful business back in Tennessee. “I don’t know. Maybe we should contact Detective Rollins.” “Oh, don’t worry, ma’am.” The first officer closed the trailer door. “We’ll give him a full report.” He turned the key in the lock, tested the handle to be sure it was secure, and handed her the key ring. She held Lizzie in place with one hand and took the key with the other. “So you think we’ll be safe the rest of the night?” “Yes, ma’am, I do.” The officer glanced at his watch, then smiled at Lizzie’s sleeping form. “You should take a cue from your daughter and try to get a few hours’ sleep. We’ll make some extra patrols up and down this street for the rest of the night, keep an eye on things. Just to be on the safe side.” The two officers headed for their cruisers. Susanna watched them for a moment, until an icy breeze blew against her back. Lizzie should be inside, where it was warm. She hurried up the walkway, climbed the steps and let herself into the house. Sleep, the officer had said. After all she’d been through? Right. The two hours she’d managed to doze on the couch earlier would have to last her a while. No way she’d be able to sleep any more tonight. When she’d deposited Lizzie in bed—Susanna’s, not the little girl’s—she returned to the front of the house. A peek through the curtains revealed one of the cruisers still parked at the curb. The sight eased the mounting tension a fraction. A light illuminated the younger officer, his head bent over something on the seat beside him. Typing his report on a computer, probably. Good. Hopefully he’d have a lot to say, and it would take a long time. If the teenagers returned, the presence of a police officer would be a strong deterrent. But the cruiser would leave eventually. She tried to ignore the panicky feeling that made her breath shallow. She was not normally the hysterical type, but the events of the past several hours would make anyone paranoid. If only she had a weapon of some sort. Not a gun, because she wouldn’t know how to use one if she had it. But a baseball bat, maybe, or a crowbar. A glance around the room revealed no likely weapons. She went into the kitchen, opened the knife drawer and examined the dangerous blade of the butcher knife. No. Someone would have to get far too close for a knife to do any good. Besides, she was a weakling. If anyone got into the house, she and Lizzie were done for. Her best defense was to make sure nobody got in to begin with. She slid out one of the sturdy wooden chairs from the dinette set that had belonged to her mother, tilted it on its back two legs and wedged the backrest under the door handle. There. They’d have to chop through the door with an ax to get past that. She’d use another chair on the front door and a third for her bedroom door. She and Lizzie would be safe inside. Before she left the room, she returned to the drawer and grabbed the butcher knife, too. Just in case. Susanna awoke Friday morning to Lizzie’s happy chatter. “I slept with you, Susu!” The child hopped like an excited frog on the mattress. “We had a sleepover.” Morning sunlight filtered through the yellow bedroom curtains and filled the room with a cheery glow. Susanna stretched and glanced at the clock. Eight twenty-seven. In all the chaos of last night she had forgotten to set the alarm, and now they’d overslept. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept until eight-thirty on a weekday. Of course, she hadn’t expected to sleep at all, and couldn’t remember dropping off. Exhaustion must have finally caught up with her. Lizzie bounced once more before settling on the mattress beside her. “Is it Cartoon Day?” At three years old, Lizzie had yet to learn the days of the week. She knew she went to her babysitter’s house on workdays, and on Saturday she was allowed to spend a couple of hours in front of the television watching her favorite cartoons. Susanna shook her head. “No, sweetie, it’s not Saturday. It’s Friday, a workday.” Although, after what she’d been through, nobody would blame her for taking a day off. They could lounge around the house in their pajamas and watch one of Lizzie’s favorite Disney DVDs. Filling her mind with images of princesses in beautiful dresses sounded far more appealing than the somber faces she would encounter at Ingram Industries today. Guilt immediately flared. The employees would be shocked when they showed up for work to discover Mr. Ingram had been killed. Everyone loved him, and they’d all be saddened by his loss. They’d be worried, too, about the status of the company and their jobs. Plus, the board members would need to make some decisions. No doubt there would be an emergency meeting to organize. As Mr. Ingram’s executive secretary, she needed to be at work today. With a resolute hand, she peeled back the blanket and slid out of bed. Lizzie bounded after her, then caught sight of the chair wedged against the door. The room filled with childish giggles as she pointed. “Susu, you brought a chair to bed with you.” “Silly me, huh?” In the light of day, her paranoia of the night before did seem a little absurd. But only for a moment, until she remembered the horror of that rattling doorknob and the unlocked car trailer. Before falling asleep, she’d come to a decision about the Corvette. It couldn’t stay here. She wanted no part of the kind of attention a car like that attracted. Selling it to Jack’s father without talking to Mr. Ingram’s daughters was out of the question, but it had to go to storage or something until they could decide what to do with it. That was at the top of her To Do list this morning. On her bedside table lay her cell phone, the key to the trailer and Jack’s business card. He expected her to call when she knew whether or not Mr. Ingram’s daughters were willing to sell the Corvette. Would he mind transporting it to a storage facility instead? Probably not. Regardless of his father’s reputation, he seemed like a nice guy. Certainly friendlier and more helpful than… She steeled her thoughts away from the direction they wanted to take. The little girl jumping with glee on the mattress provided a constant reminder that she couldn’t be too careful when it came to rich bachelors like Jack Townsend. Still, she had no choice. Much as she hated to do it, she needed to ask him for a favor. Resigned, she reached for her phone. FIVE “I really think that trailer was locked when I left here last night.” Jack stood in Susanna’s driveway, at the rear of the car trailer. Her call had interrupted a slow morning at work, so he’d jumped at the chance to leave. He placed a gloved hand on the chrome handle and jerked downward, but the lock held fast. “I remember doing it after I secured the car inside.” Susanna looked every inch the cool executive secretary this morning. He had no trouble picturing her side-by-side in a conference room with Alice, his father’s long-suffering assistant, though Susanna’s dark blue suit somehow accented her feminine shape in a way Alice’s clothing never had. Yesterday at the auction Susanna’s hair had swung free, but this morning she’d smoothed it back from her head and captured it in some sort of twist that made her look both elegant and professional. Not a hint of the vulnerability he’d glimpsed last night was in evidence in her cool demeanor. In fact, Jack found this version of Susanna a little intimidating. She folded her arms. “Maybe the teenagers picked the lock.” Jack inspected the lever. No damage, and no telltale gouges in the metal. “It hasn’t been broken or anything. You wouldn’t think teenagers would be expert enough to pick a lock without damaging it.” He looked up in time to see her eyes go a tiny bit rounder as she raised them to his. “You don’t think it was teenagers?” Was that a note of fear in her voice? Well, Jack could hardly blame her if it was. She’d seen a gruesome sight last night, and then been scared half out of her wits by someone trying to get into her house. Even hysteria would be understandable. Doubt about the police officer’s explanation plagued him. If the events she’d described were related to Ingram’s murder, she was right to be afraid. On the other hand, teenagers were notoriously curious, and the appearance of a car trailer in a driveway where one had never been was certain to attract their attention. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “And who knows? Maybe I didn’t turn the key all the way when I locked it. I think I did, but it’s one of those automatic things you do and then can’t remember.” Jack was ninety-five percent positive he’d locked the trailer, but that left five percent of uncertainty. “Regardless, I think you’re right to store the Corvette somewhere else. Where would you like me to take it?” She cast a quick glance toward the house. “I found a place over on Winchester Road, but they didn’t answer their phone when I called. I thought I’d follow you over there and make the arrangements.” “What if they don’t have any inside spaces available? I don’t think you want to park that car out in the open, exposed to the weather.” Her fingers tightened on her arms. “I didn’t think of that. I just assumed they’d have room for it. I should have called someplace else, but I slept late, and then…” Even, white teeth appeared, clamped down on her lower lip, then disappeared as quickly. “Would you mind following me to the office? The weather’s supposed to be good today. We can unload it in the parking lot, so you can take your trailer. I’m sure it’ll be okay there for a few hours, and that will give me time to find a place to store it before dark. I’ll get someone to help me drive it over after I’ve made the arrangements.” Jack hesitated. A thought had occurred to him, but he wasn’t sure how she would receive the offer. “Listen, I’m not in any hurry to use the trailer. I typically haul motorcycles and camping gear in it in nice weather, so I won’t need it for a few more months. We could leave the car in it until Ingram’s daughters decide what they want to do.” “You mean store it at your house?” “No, I live in a town house, and my garage is full.” He couldn’t meet her eyes as he made the suggestion. “But my father lives in a gated community, and the end of his driveway is behind the house, not visible from the road. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we park the trailer there for a few days.” He risked a glance at her face, and encountered icy eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Your father.” All right, yes. The suggestion might look suspicious, given R.H.’s inappropriate offer to buy the car last night. Jack opened his mouth to suggest that they call the storage place again, but stopped when she placed a hand on his arm. “Thank you. That’s a nice gesture, and I appreciate it.” Her smile looked a little forced, but at least it appeared. “I’m sure the car will be safe there, and it’ll be a relief not to have to worry about it anymore.” Her shoulders heaved with a slight laugh. “I’ve got far too many other things to do today.” The front door of the house opened and a girl with golden curls appeared. Ah, the sleeping child from last night, and from the picture on Susanna’s desk. She didn’t step out of the house, but shouted toward them in a high pitched voice, “Can I watch Beauty and the Beast?” Susanna shook her head. “No, honey. I’ve got to go to work. But why don’t you put the DVD in your backpack? Maybe Miss Christy will let you watch it after lunch.” Her voice held a softer tone than he had yet heard. “Okay.” The little girl disappeared, and the door slammed shut. When Susanna turned back to him, her expression was once again all business. “So, I’ll call you as soon as Mr. Ingram’s daughters let me know something about the car. In the meantime, please thank your father for being so helpful.” Was there a hint of disdain in her eyes as she uttered the last word? Jack couldn’t be sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised. The attitude was understandable, too. R.H. was well-known in this town, no doubt by reputation as much as by name. “You have my number,” he answered. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.” “Thank you.” A touch of ice may have melted from her gaze, or it might merely have been a trick of the sunlight. In the next moment, she turned toward the house. Interesting woman. And not hard on the eyes, either. Jack watched until the front door closed behind her, then set to work hooking up the car trailer to his truck. The headquarters of Townsend Steakhouses, Inc., were located in a glass-encased building on the southeast side of Lexington. After Jack dropped off the Corvette and trailer at his father’s house, he headed there. Not that his schedule held any pressing appointments requiring his presence today. Or any day, if the truth were told. His absence would probably pass without notice. Though the sign on his office door proclaimed him to be the Vice President of Supply, he held the title in name only. Every decision related to their suppliers was made exclusively by the company’s CEO, and everyone knew it. He stepped off the elevator on the third floor, where the executive offices lined the windows overlooking an ice-covered pond with a fountain that, during the summer, sprayed blue-green water into the air. Instead of turning right toward his office he strode down the carpeted hallway to his left, toward the extralarge corner office from where his father dominated an important segment of the casual dining industry. Alice Lester sat behind an immaculate desk, her fingers alive with near-silent activity as they danced over a keyboard. In the world of administrative assistants, Alice was considered among the best. Jack knew of multiple job offers she’d received from executives who had hoped to lure her away with high salaries and exclusive perks, but to everyone’s amazement she had refused them all. She bore the brunt of R.H.’s temper with an unruffled manner that was nothing short of amazing. Jack had no idea how much his father was paying Alice, but it must have been a lot. Why else would she put up with him for over fifteen years? Jack couldn’t help comparing her to the other executive secretary he’d just left. Instead of Susanna’s blond twist, Alice hacked off her thick dark hair, which was veined liberally with steely gray, just below her ears. Her charcoal suit was no less stylish than Susanna’s, but it hung shapelessly from rounded shoulders that hunched slightly forward. Only a faint peachy blush on her lips betrayed any evidence of makeup. And yet, Alice was one of the things that made the atmosphere on the executive floor of this building tolerable. Her unflappable composure played a consistent and dramatic counterpoint to R.H.’s hot temper. She pulled her gaze away from the computer monitor at his approach. Concerned creases instantly appeared in her brow. “Jack, your father told me about Tom Ingram’s death. I’m so sorry you had to see that. It must have been terrible.” Jack refused to allow the scene from last night to replay in his mind. “It was pretty awful. Even worse for his secretary, though.” She shivered. “The poor girl. I can’t imagine.” Jack nodded toward the closed office door behind her. “Is R.H. available? I need to talk to him a minute.” “Richard is in there with him, but I don’t think they’re doing anything that can’t be interrupted.” Richard Stratton was his father’s chief of staff, his henchman on virtually any project related to personnel. Everyone in the company had expected R.H. to appoint Jack to that role last year, when the previous chief of staff resigned to take a job with a competitor. The announcement that R.H. had hired an outsider over his son had been an obvious slight, and more embarrassing than Jack would have thought possible. Still, Richard seemed competent enough, and Jack didn’t hold his position against him. “I’ll just be a minute,” Jack promised as he headed for the office. He rapped on the door twice, then pushed it open. R.H. was seated behind his desk, a drawerless oval that would have been impressive if the thick glass top were kept clear. Instead, only the center was empty. Stacks of paper lined the outside edge, not messy but certainly not neat. Taller piles littered the carpet around the desk, and even one of the guest chairs contained a stack of past issues of Restaurant Magazine. Richard stood beside R.H.’s chair, leaning forward to read from a sheet of paper in his boss’s hand. When Jack stepped into the room, he straightened with a faint smile of greeting. R.H. slammed down the paper. “There you are. I looked for you earlier, but your office was dark.” He made a show of studying his watch. “How much am I paying you to work half days?” Jack forced his facial muscles to remain relaxed. “I was here at seven this morning, but I had to run an errand. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Richard stepped out from behind the desk. “I’ll leave you two alone.” “That’s not necessary,” Jack told him. “It’s all right. I’ve got some things to do.” He paused as he passed Jack in the doorway, and looked back at R.H. “I’ll get back with you on that by lunchtime.” R.H. dismissed him with a wave, then began straightening the stack of papers in front of him. Jack stepped up to the front edge of the desk. “I got a call from Tom Ingram’s secretary this morning. Someone tried to break into the trailer in her driveway last night. She wanted to move the Corvette into storage, but I told her it would be safe at the house for a few days. I just ran over there and dropped it off.” R.H. paused in the act of tapping the edge of the papers on the desk. “The Corvette is at my house?” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/virginia-smith/a-deadly-game/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. 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