She Can Kill (She Can Series) (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Mike turned into a tidy suburban neighborhood. Minivans and SUVs lined the curving street. Snow coated the lawns. He cruised past Troy’s house. When Sarah lived there, the place always projected a cheery, homey image. But now that she’d moved out, the house looked abandoned.

The porch fixture was dark. A light glowed in the living room window, but the drawn blinds blocked Mike’s view inside. Troy’s truck sat in the dark driveway. Even in the scant moonlight, Mike could see damage to the front end of the truck and corresponding dents in the garage door, as if the pickup had rammed into the house. Several times.

So much for anger management classes.

Mike had handled Troy’s temper in the past, but the smashed truck and garage door made the hair on his neck dance. Knocking on the door without backup wouldn’t be a smart move.

He steered around a street hockey net and parked his vehicle at the curb a few house away. He picked up his cell phone and called dispatch. “Where’s Ethan?”

There were only five officers on Mike’s tiny force. Ethan Hale was on night shift.

“Out at the high school investigating a vandalism complaint. Do you need something?” the dispatcher asked.

“No.” Mike didn’t want to wait for Ethan. Who knew what Troy was up to? The texts he’d sent Sarah disturbed Mike, and it sounded
as if the phone calls had been worse.

He ended the call and stared at the house for a few seconds. The thick scar on his thigh ached, and he massaged it through his jeans. He dialed Sean. “Busy?”

“Just finished putting the girls to bed. What’s up?” Sean asked.

“I’m at Troy Mitchell’s house. He’s been harassing Sarah. I have a weird feeling. Want to come sit at the curb in case Troy does something stupid?”

“In case? This is Troy Mitchell we’re talking about.”

Mike sighed. “Can you help me out or not?”

“Leaving now. Be there in ten.” Fabric rustled over the line. Keys jingled. “Wait for me.”

“I will.” Mike waited.

Sean was a little protective since Mike had been stabbed and
nearly died back in October. Ten minutes later, Sean parked his SUV
behind Mike’s vehicle. They both stepped out and met in the street.

“What’s the plan?” Sean asked.

“I’m going up to the door. You stand here and look threatening.”

Sean scowled. “We should have killed Troy ages ago.”

“So you’ve said.” Mike was almost certain Sean was kidding. But just in case, he said, “You wait here.”

Sean leaned against the truck, his arms crossed over his chest, his scowl directed at Troy’s front door.

Mike stopped on the stoop and listened. He could hear the television through the front window. Angling his body to one side, he knocked on the door. No one answered. He knocked again. “Troy, I know you’re in there.”

Footsteps approached, and the door opened. Troy stepped out onto the stoop, leaving the door open. Over his shoulder, Mike could see through the living room and beyond into the kitchen. Broken bits of dishes and glasses covered the floor. The curtain over the sink hung in sliced tatters, and it appeared Troy had taken a sledgehammer to the cabinets.

“What do you want?” Troy folded his arms and glared. His eyes were clear and mean. Maybe sobriety wasn’t his best option.

“I heard you visited Sarah tonight.”

Troy cocked his head. “Where did you hear that?”

“From Sarah.”

“Oh, from Sarah.” Troy’s tone turned condescending.

“Troy, you can’t go there.”

“I’ve been here all night.”

“Sarah says differently.”

Troy’s words were clipped and cool. “Then I guess it’s her word against mine. Frankly, I think the word of a cheating slut shouldn’t weigh much.”

Anger simmered in Mike’s chest. “I’m not getting involved in your marital problems.”

“Considering you’re marrying her sister, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.” Troy laughed without smiling. He leaned closer. His lip curled and fury narrowed his eyes. “Be careful, Chief. Those Parker women are lying little whores.”

Mike clamped his molars together. Listening to Troy always sent his teeth into grinding overtime. “I’m just trying to prevent a problem.”

“No problems here.”

“Anyone see you here tonight?”

Troy waved to the house behind him. “Do you see anyone else here?”

Mike’s gaze strayed to the demolished kitchen. “Can I come in?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“No.”

“Then no.” Turning his head Troy followed Mike’s gaze to the demolished kitchen. “I’m doing some renovating.” His lips parted in a creepy smile that would make Jack Nicholson proud. Was Troy losing it?

Mike got to the point. “You can’t go to Sarah’s house and frighten her. It’s harassment.”

Troy’s eyes glittered. “She’s easy to scare.”

“So you were there tonight?” Mike prompted.

“I didn’t say that. But a man should be able to see his kids whenever he wants.”

“That’s not how it works, Troy, and you know it,” Mike said. “You have court-ordered visitation. If you want to see your kids more, alterations to that schedule have to be mandated by the judge.”

“I guess I’ll have to get my lawyer on that then.” Troy leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, his expression shuttered.

“Where are your buddies tonight?”

“I’ve given up my friends as part of my AA commitment. They jeopardized my recovery and enabled my addiction.” Troy sounded like he was reading from a script.

Mike sized him up. He’d thought a drunken Troy was bad enough, violent and prone to impulsive outbursts of temper. But intoxicated, Troy was easy to predict. Sober, he seemed much more dangerous, capable of thinking, planning . . . “How was that anger management course?”

“I’m practicing finding constructive outlets.”

“Good, as long as one of those outlets isn’t Sarah.”

“You own the house Sarah is living in, right,
Chief
?” Troy asked.

“Yes.”

“And after you get married, Sarah will be your sister-in-law.” Troy’s brows knitted. “Sure seems like your role is a conflict of interest.”

“That’s no excuse to break the law.” Mike tamped down his frustration. “Stay away from Sarah, Troy. I know you were there tonight.”

“It’s a shame you can’t prove it.”

“I saw the texts you sent to her.”

The cords at the base of Troy’s neck tightened. He knew he’d made a mistake. “Private communication between a man and his wife should be kept private.”

“Unless one of them is breaking the law,” Mike pointed out. “She’s no longer your wife, and that house is private property. My private property. Setting one foot on the lawn is trespassing. Don’t do it again.”

Troy backed into the house and shut the door. The deadbolt slid home with a deliberate click. Rubbing his thigh, Mike went back to his official SUV.

“You all right?” Sean asked, his eyes tracking Mike’s hand.

“Fine.” But every time he faced a threat, his thigh ached.

“How did that asshole ever talk Sarah into marrying him?”

“Sarah needed somewhere to go.” Unfortunately, she’d traded a drunken, abusive father for a drunken, abusive husband. Mike told him about the trashed house.

Sean frowned. “Sounds like Troy is on a downward spiral. His wife left him. His father went to prison. His business is struggling.”

“He can’t drink or hang with his friends,” Mike added. “He has no outlet for his frustration.”

“And he can’t handle it,” Sean finished. “What are you going to do about it?”

Mike opened his vehicle door. “The only thing I can prove is that he sent her a couple of nasty texts. Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do until I can catch him in the act.”

“Cameras,” Sean suggested.

“You read my mind.”

“I’ll pick up some cameras tomorrow. I can put them in at the end of the day.” Sean got into his truck. “We’ll catch that little bastard.”

“I hope so, Sean. I have a bad feeling. Troy is unraveling.”

At the top of an aluminum ladder on his front porch, Cristan tightened the final screw in the mounting bracket. He eyed the angle of the new surveillance camera and made an adjustment. The camera had a wide-angle lens with a seventy-five degree viewing arc and could capture images at night up to a hundred feet away. No more surprise visitors to his mailbox or driveway. He’d be able to see every car that drove past his house. He climbed down and carried the ladder back to the garage. Inside, he set the alarm before settling in his office.

He added the new camera feed to his existing software. The wide-angle was perfect, giving him a clear view of the entire front yard.

He should go to bed. Lucia had retired hours ago, but he knew attempting to sleep was pointless. With the massacre anniversary approaching, events that would normally be considered flukes, had put him on edge. Lucia was keeping secrets. He’d walked into a convenience store robbery. A private investigator had followed him. He’d been dragged into a domestic dispute. And someone had given Lucia a gift that looked remarkably like the one she’d cherished and lost as a baby.

Too many coincidences.

He’d start with the easiest of the incidents to cross off his list. The PI firm was supposedly hired by Sarah’s ex. Cristan’s virtual private network provided him online anonymity by hiding the IP address of his computer. Even if his inquiries were detected, no one would be able to locate him. Basic research on A-Plus Private Investigations yielded interesting results. The firm specialized in cheating and infidelity cases and appeared to be legitimate, although their reputation seemed somewhat sleazy. An investigator for A-Plus had recently been charged with impersonating a police officer. The firm had faced previous charges of trespassing and harassment. Most private investigators did not continue to follow their subjects once their presence was discovered. In all likelihood, the firm would cease surveillance. If not, then Cristan would deal with them. For now, it was enough to know that he hadn’t been followed by one of Aline’s men.

He moved on to the robbery. There wasn’t much he could do without forensic evidence or access to law enforcement databases. As hard as it was, he was going to have to trust Mike to do his job.

He had only one avenue left to investigate. His past.

His inquiries yielded few results. He knew from previous reports that Maria didn’t often leave her Mendoza vineyard. Her location would have to be verified by a local. Aline, though, was elusive. Tonight was no different. Relocating to the US had distanced Cristan from Aline’s threat, but the move also put him at a disadvantage in obtaining information. But money helped to close that gap.

With an anonymous and untraceable e-mail account, he sent a message to the individual he paid to conduct quarterly investigations
on Aline Barba and Maria Vargas. Payment for services rendered would be conducted through one of Rojas Corporation’s offshore accounts. Cristan knew his contact broke laws getting information and thought it ironic that the person who provided the data that made him feel safe couldn’t be trusted.

Unsatisfied, he logged off his computer.

He had no concrete reason to think his location had been compromised. But instinct didn’t listen to reason, and every cell in Cristan’s body was telling him to pack up his daughter and flee.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sarah stared down at the flat tire on the minivan. Troy or accident? She didn’t have time for this. She set Em down on the cold ground. At the end of his leash, Bandit sniffed his way to a bush and lifted his leg.

“I’m sorry, kids. Mommy has to change the tire.”

Alex dropped her backpack. “Can I help?”

“The best way for you to help is to keep Bandit away from the car so he doesn’t get hurt.”

Alex choked up on his leash. “I’ve got him.”

Sarah knew how to change a tire, but she’d never changed one on this vehicle. The spare wasn’t under the cargo mat, and she spent ten minutes reading the manual to figure out how to lower the tire from the car’s undercarriage.

Could they make this any more complicated?

When the spare was on the ground, she followed the instructions to use the retrieval tool and pulled the tire out from under the van. Once she had the actual spare in hand, changing the tire was simple, though not easy. She stifled a curse as she leaned on the tire iron with all her weight to loosen the lug nuts. She really needed to work an occasional push-up into her calendar.

With effort, she hefted the flattened wheel into the cargo area, and added
drop tire at auto service center
to her to-do list.

“We’re all ready.” She used baby wipes to clean her hands and then strapped the kids into their child seats. Using the hands-free setting on her phone, she called her boss and explained that she’d be late.

“I’ll get things started,” he said.

“Thank you.” Sarah ended the call.

The flat tire was the last thing she’d needed this morning. Herb was kind and patient, but the restaurant needed to function. How long could he afford to employ her?

She dropped the kids and dog at Mrs. Holloway’s house, turned around, and drove back to town. At the inn, she stowed her coat and purse and thoroughly washed her hands before entering the kitchen a solid thirty minutes late.

Herb stepped away from a chopping block and untied his apron. He tossed it into a hamper and rubbed his hands as if they were painful and stiff.

“I’m so sorry, Herb.”

He nodded. “Is everything all right?”

“Just a flat tire.”

“You’ve had a tough week.” His blue eyes said he knew more about her situation than she’d admitted. But then, everyone knew everyone else’s business in Westbury. One meal at the diner was more informative than the local news coverage, and Troy was hardly discreet.

Sarah smiled, but behind her happy face, nerves churned. How long could she keep faking it? Troy was dismantling her life.

She hustled to catch up on prep. At two thirty, she raced to the police station to sign her statement, then dropped the tire at the auto center. She stayed at work thirty minutes late to square away her paperwork and discuss the following week’s menu with Jacob.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Jacob said as he sautéed shallots and bacon.

“No.” Hating what she needed to say next, Sarah tossed her soiled apron in the hamper with more force than she needed. “I need to switch shifts with someone on Monday.”

Jacob stopped. His wooden spoon hovered over the pan. “Again?”

“I have to go to court. There isn’t anything I can do about it.” Helplessness paralyzed her for a few seconds. Getting control over her life was proving impossible. Tension constricted her lungs, making her next breath rasp.
Not here.
She reeled in her emotions and exhaled hard.

He frowned. “I’ll cover your shift.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said. Frustration curled her hands into fists tight enough to feel the bite of her fingernails in her palms. Damn Troy. If his interference continued, she’d lose her job. It didn’t matter how hard she worked if she wasn’t reliable. She needed that restraining order. Not to keep Troy away. No piece of paper could do that. But the order would allow the police to arrest him for violations. He wouldn’t be able to stand outside her house or leave nasty text messages without experiencing consequences, and the cameras Sean was installing would give her evidence if he showed up at the house again.

With a shiver, she remembered the tone of his last message. He didn’t seem to be overly concerned with repercussions.

Resigned, Sarah drove to the auto center. The manager rang up her charges while a mechanic swapped her spare for the repaired tire.

“What caused the flat tire?” she asked as she swiped her credit card.

“Nail,” he said. “Happens all the time.”

Her tire could have picked up a nail at any time. Troy could be innocent. Though the doubt in the bottom of Sarah’s gut didn’t let her believe it. She vowed to clean the garage over the weekend so she could park her van inside.

She and the girls were having dinner with Mike and Rachel, so she went home for a quick shower and fresh clothes. Since Mrs. Holloway’s house was just down the road from the farm, there was no point driving out there twice. She pulled into her driveway. A blue van sat at the curb at the edge of her property line. It was a commercial-type vehicle, with no windows on the sides. Rust laced the back fender and bumper. Had it been there this morning? Sarah got out of her minivan and scanned her neighbors’ homes. Was someone getting work done on their house? On a Saturday? Sarah’s next-door neighbor on that side was on a fixed income. Sarah’s friend, Kenzie Newell, lived in the house kitty-corner. She hadn’t mentioned anything when Sarah spoke to her the day before.

Kenzie waved from her mailbox, then started across the street. She gave the van a suspicious look. “Do you know who owns that van?”

Sarah shook her head. “No.”

“Me either. It’s been parked there all day.” Kenzie wrapped her thick, knee-length cardigan tighter around her body.

“Has it? This morning was such a blur, I didn’t notice.” Sarah walked closer. “Maybe someone on the street has company.”

“Maybe Mrs. Hill?” Kenzie nodded toward the house across the street from Sarah, Kenzie’s next-door neighbor.

“Mrs. Hill’s male friends drive nicer cars.” Sarah laughed. Their mature neighbor had a reputation as a man-killer. “She could be getting something done in her house, but it doesn’t look like she’s home.”

Something about the van set her nerves on edge.

Clutching her mail in one fist, Kenzie hugged her waist. Dark circles underscored her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Sarah asked.

“Delaney is sick. I’m tired and a little jumpy,” Kenzie admitted. “I wish Tim wasn’t away.”

“You’ve been alone since the robbery?” Guilt swamped Sarah. She knew Kenzie’s husband traveled. She should have checked on her neighbor.

“Yes.”

“You’re welcome to stay with us tonight. I’m running out to my sister’s house for dinner, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be OK.” Kenzie turned back to the van. “What is that on the door?”

A dark, red-brown substance was crusted on the driver’s door, around the door handle. Sarah stepped back.

“Rust?” But as she answered, she knew she was wrong. Fear gathered beneath her sternum, pressuring her lungs. Her breathing grew tight. Colored lights danced in her vision.

“No.” The color drained from Kenzie’s face. “It’s blood.”

“It can’t be.” Sarah walked to the back of the van. More brown-red smeared the handle on the rear door. Without touching the vehicle, she shielded her eyes and peered through the back window.

No!
She squeezed her eyelids shut and reopened them.
Oh, dear God
.

“What is it?” Kenzie stepped up next to Sarah.

“Don’t look.” Sarah tried to block her. Kenzie didn’t need to see what was inside the van.

But she was too late. Kenzie’s eyes rolled back in her head. She pitched forward as she uttered two breathless words. “They’re dead.”