A Deadly Reunion (9 page)

Someone had made a threat against my life,
and I was in an FBI Agent’s car about to be taken to East Lake
Police Station.

As Thorne had already confirmed this
morning, the police of this district weren’t used to dealing with
actual crimes. Lost tourists? Yes. The occasional emergency when a
fire broke out in the mountains? Of course. But corpses in the rose
bushes and threats on your toilet cistern? Hell no.

If they weren’t used to dealing with serious
crime, how quick would their response be and how efficient? Would I
be whisked away somewhere safe? Would they get me out of town?
Would they hunt down the murderer with practiced efficiency? Would
they solve this all in the blink of an eye before anyone else could
get hurt?

As I sat there listening to the tires crunch
over the gravel, my grip around my bag became tighter and tighter.
My fingers pushed hard into the leather, bending my nails back and
threatening to break them.

I didn’t care though.

My thoughts were getting the better of
me.

I would have to change my whole life,
wouldn’t I? If there were somebody out there who wanted to kill me
– and the police of this district weren’t quick enough to catch
them – I would always have a shadow hanging over my shoulder.

No more staying out late at bars, no more
peaceful walks alone in the forest – I would be in a constant and
perpetual state of paranoia.

I suddenly jerked up my hand, stuck my thumb
into my mouth, and started chewing intently on the nail.

Out of my peripheral vision, I could see
that Denver turned to me. He had a careful and calculating
expression, but he didn’t say a word.

Instead, he drove silently and quickly away
from the motel and towards the main road of town.

It wasn’t until we actually arrived at the
police station that Denver spoke to me. Clambering out of the car,
he paused with his hand on the door and stared down. “Don’t get
flustered, don’t get startled, and don’t get scared. The police are
going to do everything they can. As long as we are smart and quick,
there will be no threat. Have you got that?”

Though he was clearly trying to reassure me,
he was doing it in a particularly belligerent and arrogant way.

It seemed that Denver was a jerk no matter
what he did. But right now, I chose to see through the arrogance,
and I gave him a short nod.

Despite my nerves and his perpetually gruff
attitude, I could still appreciate he was handling this well.

He wasn’t leaning in, grabbing my hand, and
simply telling me everything would be okay. No, he was telling me
how it would be okay. If we were smart and we were quick, then
there would be no threat. If we managed the situation with the
resources at hand, then we’d manage the danger.

Feeling exceedingly queasy and in good need
of a lie down, I got out of the car.

I was dressed in a pair of track pants and a
T-shirt and the jacket Denver had grabbed out of my suitcase. It
was warm, it was comfortable, but it wasn’t exactly flattering.

I wasn’t in leopard print and high heels,
and my cashmere shawl was all the way back at the motel.

But hell, I didn’t care. There was a time to
look good, and there was a time to get the hell into Wetlake Police
Station and tell them there was somebody out there who wanted to
kill me.

As I walked with Denver up to the front
door, I unashamedly took several steps closer to him.

I liked to think I was the kind of girl who
could handle my own problems, but then again, nobody had threatened
to kill me before.

“They are just going to ask you some
questions. We’ll give them the postcard; it will be checked for
evidence. Then we’ll figure out what’s best to do next,” Denver
once again spoke with that calm authority. It let me know that he’d
done this before. Even though I was floundering, if I stayed in his
wake, then maybe I could make it to shore.

Somewhere out there was a murderer who had
already put paid to James Wood. If the postcard was to be believed,
then perhaps I was next on their to-do list.

As we wandered up to the front desk of the
police station, my mind began to whirl.

James Wood had been the most successful
person to graduate from my class. Not that I’d known that before
Denver had mentioned the Times’ article, but if James had
programmed some app that had made him a millionaire, then he really
was a cut above the rest. Sure, I was wealthy, but I’d never made
it into Times magazine.

Could somebody be...? God, it sounded
terrible, but could somebody be going through the reunion class and
picking off the most successful?

If so, why? What kind of twisted mind would
do such a thing? What would they get out of it?

High school was full of bitching,
backstabbing, and bullying, but what was going on here was
psychotic.

I stood behind Denver as he spoke to the
officer at the front desk, and I continued to chew on my
fingernails. By the time this weekend was over, I wouldn’t have any
left. Then again, by the time this weekend was over, I could
possibly be dead anyway.

“Patti, you’re early,” someone said from
behind me.

I turned to see Thorne walking in through
the front door.

There was that rugged smile of his and those
beautiful cheekbones and that handsome sparkle in his eyes.

It reminded me about our date tonight.

A date we would likely cancel on account of
me running for my life.

His expression quickly changed, and his eyes
flicked to the left and locked on Denver.

Denver turned slowly.

“What are you doing here? I already told you
we have this investigation under control,” there was an edge to
Thorne’s voice. It wasn’t particularly friendly, and it sure as
hell wasn’t brotherly.

It was challenging.

I had two brothers of my own, and I knew
full well that while they could be best friends one moment, they
could lock horns the next and tear up the living room carpet as
they fought to the death.

“I remember,” Denver answered plainly, “but
I think we have more evidence for you.”

“And I think I’ll be the judge of that,”
Thorne walked straight past Denver and behind the front desk.

I very much felt like I was suddenly being
squeezed between a rock and a hard place, or at least a Thorne and
a Denver.

I shifted my gaze down to my feet, and then
I locked my hands against my stomach and twiddled my thumbs over my
wrists.

“Patti Smith found this in her room,” Denver
carefully brought the postcard out of his pocket. He’d found a
plastic bag in his car, and he’d already wrapped it up in there.
The scrunch of plastic wasn’t that loud, but in that moment, I felt
it filled the room.

Neither Denver nor Thorne said a word, and
the other officer and I were obviously smart enough not to get
involved.

There was clear animosity sparking between
the two brothers, and anyone intelligent enough would know not to
be caught in the crossfire.

“What is it?” Thorne grabbed up the piece of
plastic.

“It is evidence, so treat it carefully.”
Denver clamped one hand on his hip and rested the other on the
counter. “She is ready to give a statement,” he added.

I was? I didn’t feel ready to give a
statement. In fact, what I wanted to do was get the hell out of
this room so Thorne and Denver could have it out between
themselves. Instead, I stood there and stared mutely at my
hands.

“About what? What’s going on?” Thorne nodded
down at the plastic bag.

“Why don’t you open it and have a look?”
Denver suggested.

As Thorne plucked open the plastic and
picked the card out, I gave an unpleasant shudder.

Though I really liked to think I was over
that damned football game, I didn’t like the idea of Thorne staring
at a postcard of my most inglorious moment.

Fortunately, he didn’t stare at it. He took
one look, his eyebrows crumpled down, and then he turned it
over.

His lips thinned and tucked down into a
frown in a move that was instantly recognizable. Denver had done
the exact same thing upon reading the back of the card.

Thorne looked up sharply, glanced only at
his brother for a second, and then turned to face me.

“What happened? How did you come across
this?”

“Somebody put it in her bathroom while she
was in the shower. The window was open, and they could have easily
lowered it down.” Denver answered for me. Even though I was fully
capable of answering the question, I was quietly thankful he’d
taken the lead. I was in no mood to discuss facts now; all I wanted
to do was sit down, bury my head in my hands, and pretend Wetlake
didn’t exist.

Oh why, oh why, had I listened to my mother?
I should never have come back here, because if I hadn’t come back
here, then presumably this wouldn’t have happened... or maybe it
would have. I had no idea who the killer was, and I had no idea if
they were actually after me. Yet if for some reason they genuinely
wanted me dead, then not showing up to the reunion probably
wouldn’t have been much of a deterrent.

At least this way I’d been warned, and I’d
had help on hand when I had needed it most.

Fortune had seen a real FBI Agent book a
room at the motel I was staying at, and chance had booked me a date
with the local police officer. If there were ever a time to be a
victim of crime, now was it.

“Alright, come on in. We’ll make you a cup
of tea and get your statement.” Thorne nodded my way and gave me a
commiserating yet still strong smile. “It’ll be okay.”

I damn well hoped he was right, but I found
myself flicking my gaze over to Denver nonetheless.

While Denver hadn’t held my hand and
promised me everything would be fine, he had told me not to get
startled and not to get scared. And while Thorne’s smile was
something you could get lost in, Denver’s advice sounded like it
would keep you safe.

I mutely followed Thorne through a door into
the business side of the police station. When Denver moved to
follow, Thorne turned on him and offered him a steady and
challenging look. “Thank you, Agent, but we’ll take it from here.
It is the jurisdiction of the Wetlake Police Department, after
all.”

“Yes it is,” Denver agreed, and then he
turned. Shifting his head slightly over his shoulder, he added “for
now.”

Thorne shot him a deadly look.

“I’ll hang around in my car, Patti, and I’ll
drive you back to the motel once you’re done,” Denver called out to
me.

“That’s fine,” Thorne jumped in, “you go
ahead and leave. I’m more than happy to take Patti home afterwards.
Plus, we might just head out to Vietnamese after this – bring
forward our date a little maybe?”

Denver turned slowly at that.

Eyes narrowed, he glanced at me then over to
Thorne.

“So you go on and head home. I hear they’re
having drinks at the local pub. It’s an informal reunion. Though it
will probably turn formal as soon as Annabelle hears about it. Why
don’t you head there and catch up with the people you left
behind?”

With that, Thorne turned around and ushered
me on.

Christ. If I’d had the inkling I was
slipping into a love triangle before, it had just been confirmed in
style.

Thorne had brought up dinner at the
Vietnamese restaurant with such a pointed tone that it was obvious
what he was doing.

It was also a bit...
presumptuous.

Yes, of course I wanted to go out with the
guy; we got on well, and he seemed genuinely nice while being
absolutely smack-down attractive. However, I didn’t see how going
out to dinner was going to fix anything. Hello, I’d just come
across a potential murder threat on top of my toilet, and right
now, going out on a date was the least of my concerns. I wanted
someone to do something; I wanted someone to assure me that
everything was under control. More than that, I needed someone to
take steps to assure my safety right now. Vietnamese could
wait.

“Sorry about my brother,” Thorne said under
his breath once Denver had trundled out of earshot. “He can be kind
of a jerk sometimes.”

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t know whether I should be pissed off
at the fact Thorne had brought up our date in front of Denver, or
just wholly and entirely concerned at the possibility someone was
out there trying to kill me.

I felt itchy, hot, scared, and irritated all
at once, and it was a volatile mixture.

Thorne led me into a room, sat me down, got
me a cup of tea, and talked me through what had happened.

There wasn’t much I could add. I didn’t have
the eagle eyes of Denver; I hadn’t noticed the pinhole in my
yearbook photo. All I knew was that the postcard had arrived on my
toilet while I’d been in the shower.

I had no insight, no hints, and no leads.
When Thorne delicately asked me whether I had any enemies, I
snorted, unattractively, and snapped at him that of course I
didn’t.

We were done quickly, and soon enough Thorne
gestured to the door, and he told me I could leave.

I stood up nervously, putting my hands onto
the table for support.

We couldn’t be done.

I needed to be told exactly what was going
on. I wanted Thorne to share every single detail of the ongoing
investigation with me, because I needed to be assured everything
was under control.

“We’re going to do everything we can, Patti;
you’re going to be absolutely fine, trust me.” He nodded my
way.

This wasn’t a matter of trust; I already
thought Thorne was a genuinely nice and affable man. This was a
matter of security. This was a matter of somebody doing something
now.

“It will probably turn out to be nothing at
all,” he tried.

Nothing at all?