Billionaire’s Quarry: A Billionaire, Bad Boy, Romance (An Alpha Billionaire Romance Boxed Set) (118 page)

‘It would be irresponsible of us to rule out anyone at this point, you understand? Whilst we’re pretty sure the killer is a male, and a lot taller than yourself, no offense, we can’t afford any missteps.’ Cabot smiled kindly at her. ‘Sarah, do you want to stop for a while? We can, you’re not under arrest, you’re free to go. We can start again in the morning.’

Sarah rubbed her eyes and shook her head. ‘I’d rather get it all done. Could I have some tea or water though please?’

‘Of course.’ Cabot got up to leave and Finn opened the door.

‘Sarah, Isaac’s here, you want to see him?’

She nodded and smiled when Isaac came into the room. He hugged her and kissed her forehead.

‘They treating you okay?’

‘Of course. You don’t mind waiting? I might be a while, I don’t know.’

He tightened his arms and smiled down at her. ‘I’d wait all night.’

There was something in his expression she couldn’t read but the comfort of his arms was too soothing for her to consider it.

Cabot returned with a cup of tea, and Sarah saw now, the female doctor from the Medical Centre who smiled at her. Isaac winked at her as he went out of the room. Cabot waited while the doctor took her swabs and samples then saw the doctor out. Sarah took a sip of the hot tea, feeling the warmth spread through her body. Her hands felt icy cold, her chest tight. Cabot returned and took a seat across the table from her.

‘
Mr.
Quinn seems like a nice guy. Finn tells me you’ve only just met him?’

Sarah nodded. ‘Just a few months ago.’

‘When did your husband disappear?’ Cabot asked as Finn returned. She told him and he exchanged a glance, a nod with Finn. Cabot cleared his throat.

‘Sarah, I want to give you a couple of dates over the past couple of years and I’d like you to tell me where you were on the evenings of those dates. If you can’t remember, don’t worry, this is just to follow up a line of investigation.’

‘Okay.’ She frowned, looking between the two men. Finn passed Cabot a piece of paper, gave Sarah a reassuring smile. Cabot read through the list and nodded.

‘Okay then. December thirtieth?’

She relaxed immediately, her shoulders slumping with the relief. ‘Oh, that’s easy. That’s my birthday, I was here, with Molly having a girl’s night. We started out at Hank’s bar. Nancy and George dropped by as well.’ Her chest was loosening up now and she let out a shaky but grateful sigh. Finn smiled back at her.

‘July third?’

A look of pain crossed her face. ‘I don’t remember.’ She looked away from Finn’s gaze.

‘Sarah? What is it?’

There was a long silence. ‘July third is the anniversary of my mom’s death.’

Cabot cleared his throat. Finn leaned across the table and put his hand over Sarah’s. ‘One more then I’ll let Isaac take you home.’ He looked at Cabot who nodded.

‘Okay, Sarah, last one. May sixteenth.’

Sarah shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I don’t understand, what are these dates?’

Finn reached over and took her hand. ‘Sarah, honey…there have been other murders of
women
across the country, starting within the last two years. Sweetheart, they all look like you – not just because they were of Asian background but they actually could almost be your siblings. They were all gutted. Sorry,’ he said as Sarah flinched.

Cabot cleared his throat. ‘Sarah? May sixteenth? Please?’

Hot tears
dropped
down her cheeks. ‘May sixteenth, eight years ago. I wore a little white dress and Dan wore jeans with a bowtie over a blue button down. May sixteenth was our wedding anniversary.’

***

‘So what did the bitch do?  Did she cut Buddy up?  It does run in the family, after all.
Slicey
dicey Sarah Bailey.’

Finn finally had enough and whirled around.  Ever since he’d gotten home, Caroline had been at him to tell her what happened, not bothering to conceal her enjoyment of Sarah’s pain. He stared now at the redhead in front of him.

‘You know what, Caroline? Go fuck yourself. You’ve lived a life of hatred, and spite and malevolence and now all that ugliness
has
written itself all over your face.  You know why your parents rarely come to see you?  Because they hate you. Your own parents. I know this because I talk to them all the time, on the phone, via email.  You broke  their hearts a long time ago. Now, I’m going to sleep – on the couch.  Then I’m moving out as soon as I can find somewhere else.  We are done.’

And he walked out of the room, leaving a dumbstruck Caroline to stare after him.

***

Isaac greeted Stan as he arrived at the small diner. Stan, a tall, broad African American smiled at him. ‘Hey,
Mr.
Quinn, good to see you.’

Isaac shook his hand. ’You too, Stan. You ordered yet?’

‘Just coffee.’

As Isaac removed his jacket, a punk waitress came over. Her name tag said ‘
Yo’
. Isaac grinned at her.

‘Seriously?’

She grinned showing very even white teeth – except for one gold incisor. ‘Nah. It’s just what everyone calls me – the nickname kinda stuck. What can I get
you
handsome fellas?’

After they ordered, Stan gave him a knowing smile and pulled a file from his briefcase. ‘You wanted me to check out who Dan Bailey was screwing. Well, I got it and it’s a doozy. I’ll let the photos speak for themselves.’

Yo was back with their coffee and for a moment, they chatted easily with her, the file burning a hole in Isaac’s hand.

When, finally, they were alone, Isaac opened the file. He looked through the photos in silence then looked up at an expectant Stan.

‘Is it possible to be both astonished and not at all surprised at the same time?’

Stan nodded. ‘Yep.’

The woman in the pictures, the woman who was sleeping with Daniel Bailey, was Caroline Jewell.

***

The week since Buddy’s body had been found had been a nightmare. She’d gone over and over and
over
her story with Finn and Isaac, then with Cabot Marin, had been so kind to her. As far as she knew she was in the clear, but…there were the stares, the whispers, the secretive nudges. Word had spread across the island and she knew people were looking at her and in her reasonable mind, she knew it was ridiculous, nothing new to her. She’d had that all her life. The daughter with the murderous mother - who’d blame her if she flipped out?

But she could feel her peace of mind slipping, her trust, her stability. Everything she’d ever fought for, worked for. Paranoia was creeping in and she didn’t know how to stop it. The dates that corresponded to the murders of the girls in the city. Cabot and Mike had reassured her she wasn’t a suspect, her swabs and prints had come back clean but still a sense of dread remained.

Perhaps, they’d suggested, the killer had returned to the scene of the crime and had verbally abused her to evade detection. She’d wanted to believe that, wanted to so much.

I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart…

Her mommy singing in broken English. So sleepy, seeing her mommy’s tears, feeling the sharp, quick pain in her wrists, her mommy screaming…and the awful sudden silence.

Sarah stopped, trying to not to throw up.
No,
she thought,
I am not insane. I heard the song. Whoever it was in that trailer knew me.

She waited for
the nausea
to pass, forcing her mind to focus on something else. It wasn’t just that…Isaac had been working later and later at the office and she wondered if he’d finally reached his limit of her drama. Sarah didn’t feel worthy of him; she wouldn’t blame him if he walked away.

God.
She stopped, almost bent double with the pain of the idea of losing Isaac. Whatever happened, she would not let that happen.

But every day, her paranoia had increased, the sense that somehow something malevolent was coming and she couldn’t stop it.

Even here, at home, she didn’t feel safe. Anger raced through her. No. This was her home, her island. Suddenly she remembered something. Scampering up the stairs, she pulled down the ladder from the attic room and climbed up into the dusty room.

She flicked on the overhead light, the bare bulb swinging, disorientating her. So many shadows. She ignored the dark corners;
instead,
she went to the huge trunks of Dan’s stuff that George had packed up for her when Dan went missing. She opened the first one. It had Dan’s old books, yearbooks and she flicked through them.

That was weird. Dan had the yearbook for his senior year in high school – but he was nowhere in it. Sarah frowned. Why would he keep a yearbook like that? She poked deeper in the box and found a few more. All the yearbooks were from the same year but from schools all over the country.

The envelope was at the bottom of the pile, her heart leaped as she read the address. ‘
Mr.
Raymond Petersen’…It was their home address. She frowned. Who the hell was Raymond Petersen?

She pulled out the letter and unfolded it. It was a thick, heavy, cream paper, good quality and at the
top,
the header was in an elaborate cursive:
William Corcoran & Associates, Family Attorneys
. New Orleans, she noted as she read the note.

Raymond,

I have tried to contact you numerous times since we last met. If you don’t call me by Friday, I shall be forced to come to Seattle to see you. I will also place a hold on your father’s estate until such time as you inform that you have contacted me and your brother.

I hope these measures will not necessary.

William

Raymond Petersen? Brother? All the breath
was knocked from her lungs
, her legs trembled and she gripped the wall to steady herself. Surely Dan hadn’t lied about who he was, on top of everything else…
no, no, please.

She moaned then shook herself.
Think.
A lawyer. A connection to Danny’s past.
Sarah dug in the trunk and found a pen, scribbling the lawyer’s name and number down on her palm. She would call him, get this straightened out.

She opened another trunk. More
yearbooks
and as she pulled them out, a stack of photographs fell into her lap. She looked through them.
At first,
they seemed to be normal family photos then she realized…Dan wasn’t in any of them. They were all of her – and most of them had obviously been taken without her knowledge.

Sarah felt her skin start to prickle. ‘You fucking creep,
Raymond
.’ At that moment any residual love for Dan left her; all that was left now was a burning hatred. Who the hell was this man that she’d lived and loved and slept with all those years?

The last photo was hidden inside a notebook. The notebook was blank except for two words: Sarah – when? She frowned at that then turned her attention to the photo. She was wearing an old t-shirt, jeans, hair was down, flying around her face and she was laughing at something just out of the picture
but her face looked a lot younger, fuller.
An innocuous shot. Another photo she hadn’t known was being taken.
She squinted at it, trying to remember where she had been that day. It wasn’t on the island, she could see that but…she shook her head. She squinted at the background…something so familiar and yet…she sighed in frustration, shoved the picture into her pocket. She didn’t know how long she studied the photos – moments of her life stolen.

Then, a thump from downstairs. She froze. Another thump. Her stomach lurched.
It could be a branch, it could be a branch hitting the outside of the house.
She steadied her breath, trying to remain calm. She went to the window, peering out into the gloom of the early evening, expecting to see the
trees
bending and swaying. But the evening was still. Nothing. A door slammed and the house shook with the impact. The fear was a stabbing knife in her gut. She crept to the top of the stairs and paused, listening.

Someone was in the house.

***

Isaac stared out of the ferry boat’s window. The skies were dark, the water choppy. He loved his hometown but damn – he needed to get away. He wondered if he could persuade Sarah to go away with him – it wasn’t like she didn’t need the break too but would she leave Molly again so soon after her attack?  Selfishly, he wished she’d get someone in to run the business for her; then he remonstrated with himself. 
What are you, a caveman?

He thought about that night after Sarah had called him to say they needed to talk. After he’d brought her home from the police station, they had sat at her kitchen table, drinking scotch from china mugs and talking.