If You See Her (23 page)

Those looks only increased when she parked in front of the sheriff’s department and got off her bike.

She was five foot ten and most of it was leg. The boots she wore added a good two inches to her height, so she stood a good six feet even. Add to that the fact that she knew she wore her anger and grief like an ugly, red scar, and she knew she’d have people looking at her. She knew many of them would probably be whispering about her behind her back and wondering what kind of trouble she was looking to cause.

Well, she
was
here to cause trouble.

For a few specific people.

Starting with Sheriff Dwight Nielson.

She pocketed her keys and started up the concrete sidewalk.

No news.

Oh, the good sheriff was keeping in touch. She had to give him credit for that.

But he didn’t have anything new to tell her.

There
was
nothing new.

Actually, there was
nothing
.

And Nia was fucking
tired
of it.

There had to be something.

Something.

And damn it, she wasn’t leaving until she knew something.

The one day Ms. Tuttle arranged to take off turned out to be the one day Nielson desperately needed her.

“You can’t honestly expect me to
believe
that you think
both
of them are
innocent
,” Deb spat.

She said it like the words themselves tasted bad or something, Nielson thought.

He kept his hands folded on his desk, kept his face impassive, kept his voice mild as he responded, “Deb, if I thought they were guilty, I’d look for proof. And even if I didn’t think they were guilty, I’d look for proof. And I have. I’ve had several deputies assigned to this. Detective Jennings has spent hours on this. I’ve spent hours on it. There
is
no proof. We have no interest in either Law Reilly or Hope Carson for the crimes. And unless you actually have something other than … dislike, you need to let this go.”

“Let it go?”

She stood up straight as board, pressed a hand to her chest. The look on her face was one of complete, utter moral outrage. Nielson would have laughed, if he hadn’t known just how much worse it would have made things.

If only he had known just how bad things were about to get …

“Excuse me, Sheriff.”

He glanced up.

Nia Hollister cast a long, lean shadow.

She didn’t share much in common with her cousin, other than her name.

But he could see how grief weighed down on her, see the anger she carried like a weapon.

It vibrated around her and his office felt ten times smaller—a dangerous combination.

Her eyes zeroed in on Deb Sparks and Nielson found himself remembering the last time Nia had been in his office.

Deb had also been here.

Going on about almost the exact same thing.

Nia’s light gold eyes narrowed.

That sharp mind of hers started to whirl.

Staring into Nia’s eyes, Nielson said softly, “Deb, if you don’t mind, I need to speak to my guest here.”

Deb’s spine stiffened. Even without looking at her dead-on, he could see her outright indignation. Glancing away from Nia, he dredged up a smile. “She drove a long way—recently suffered a loss. Surely you understand.”

If nothing else, he knew how to play this woman.

Deb’s mouth pinched tight, but she inclined her head.

“Oh, certainly. But we’re not done discussing this.”

Of course, they weren’t.

Just as long as she left
now
, before Nia Hollister got it in her mind to ask the biggest gossip in town—

“So. I’m kind of curious. Just who is it that you keep bitching about?”

Nia folded her arms across her chest and stared at Deb as the older woman started for the door.

Deb came to stop and met Nia’s gaze. “Excuse me?”

Lifting a shoulder in a negligent shrug, Nia said, “The last time I was here, you were here, too. Yelling at the man over there about something. Seems to me it’s the same sort of something. Just has me curious.”

“If you really want to know—”

“Deb.” Nielson shoved up from his desk.

She shot him a dour look over one skinny shoulder. “It’s my duty as a concerned citizen to warn people, Sheriff. As
you
aren’t taking your job seriously.”

Then she looked back at Nia. “We’ve got two cold-blooded killers in this town—a man by the name of Law Reilly, and his mistress, Hope Carson. They are a piece of work—murdering savages, the both of them. They killed a girl, just over a month ago. He even had the brass to leave the woman’s body on his own property and then concoct some
insane
story that the sheriff here believes. They also killed a deputy. But nobody is doing a damn thing about it.”

“That’s enough,” Nielson said.

“They even—”

“Enough.”
Nielson came out from behind the desk and stormed over to Deb’s side. He tolerated her, because generally, she meant no harm. She was a gossip and although she needed,
craved
attention, as long as she got it, she was fine.

But this wasn’t just malicious—it was dangerous. And cruel.

He could see the fury glinting in Nia Hollister’s gaze and he had no idea if Deb was even aware of it.

Fury … and grief. They were a bad, bad mix.

Staring into Deb’s nearly colorless eyes, he said, “I repeat, that is
enough
. Not only are you overstepping, you’re coming dangerously close to what could be considered slander.”

“Oh, no, it couldn’t. I’m entitled to my opinion.”

“Not if you’re stating it as fact, which you are. And there’s no damned proof. There is actually
evidence
to the contrary,” Nielson snapped, shoving between Deb and Nia.

Nia’s pale brown gaze drilled into the back of his
neck, but he ignored it, because right now, he needed to get this viper out of his office, before she caused any more problems. What in the hell had Law done to piss her off so bad?

“Now, if you would, can we discuss this later?”

Deb’s eyes narrowed at him, glittering with outrage. “Why won’t you listen to reason, Sheriff Nielson?”

“Because it’s not reason,” he snapped. “And I’m done discussing this. You either remove yourself, or I’ll remove you, Ms. Sparks. My patience has reached its limit.”

Without waiting to see if she would listen, he turned his back to her and listened as her solid, square, sensible shoes thudded dully on the floor. Nia Hollister stood, her pale eyes narrowed, watching him closely.

Her face, a clean, elegant oval, was unreadable.

Although there were circles under her eyes, in that moment, no emotion showed on her face.

She had one hell of a poker face, he decided.

Too good of one.

And that was what warned him. What worried him. She was keeping too much bottled up inside and after what she’d been through, that wasn’t good.

“You’ll have to excuse her,” he said, keeping his voice mild and low. “She gets excited, and very often, she gets excited about things she has no reason getting excited about.”

“She was talking about my cousin,” Nia said, her voice low and even. She had a lovely drawl, deeper than even those in Ash, slower, softer.

She came from Virginia, he remembered, Williamsburg, he thought.

When he didn’t respond, a black brow arched over her expressionless eyes. “Was she or was she not talking about my cousin?”

“She was. However, she has no idea what she’s talking about,” Nielson said.

He hoped she’d believe him.

But he suspected he was hoping for too much.

This woman had lost too much. And he had nothing to offer her.

Sometimes, when a person had nothing, even speculation and pure bullshit was better.

Nia curled her lip. “She sounded pretty damn certain to me.”

“Well, I’ve also had her in my office, on numerous occasions, and the stories have ranged from her niece kidnapping her dog, to the local kids trying to poison her cat, and about every other month, she reports seeing a serial killer van.”

Nia’s brows dropped low over her eyes. “A serial killer’s van?”

“No.” Nielson said, “A serial killer van. That’s exactly how she phrases it. According to Deb,
every
white work van is a serial killer van. She once reported the local phone company’s van.”

“So because she’s a routine complainer, you’re dismissing her complaints.”

“No.” Nielson shook his head. “I don’t dismiss complaints. But her suppositions don’t hold any water. What she was ranting about has been investigated, completely and fully. The man she’s accusing has a rock-solid alibi. Trust me, Ms. Hollister, if you really want me to find who took your cousin from you, then don’t make me waste my time on Deb Sparks. There’s nothing
there
.”

“So you’re saying you investigated both of them … inside and out.”

“Yes.” Nielson met her gaze and held it.

She looked away before he did, but in his gut, he knew it wasn’t because she was ready to concede a damn thing.

She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck, moving to stare out the window.

Nielson wondered what it was about that window that drew the attention of his visitors so much. Almost every single person ended up in just that spot, staring outside.

“Do you have anything?” Nia murmured. “Know anything?”

“No. I’m afraid not,” he said quietly. “We’re still pursuing all avenues.”

He wished he could tell her something.

As hard as it was to do this job, it was even harder to look into those unusual, pale golden eyes and keep saying no.

“All avenues,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, sad.

Then she turned around and glared at him. “Shove it up your ass, Sheriff,” she bit off. “I don’t want to hear the standard line again. I’ve heard it
enough
. What I want to hear is what you’re doing.”

“Now, Ms. Hollister. You’re a bright woman and I imagine you’ve probably been doing some research … you know I’m not going to go sharing details of this case with you.”

She sneered at him. “What case? You don’t have jackshit. Fuck it,” she muttered, shoving away from the wall. “I’m starting to think you couldn’t find your dick in the dark without a flashlight and a road map.”

He winced as the door slammed shut behind her.

She’d just take a drive out there.

That was all.

Okay, so she had placed a couple of phone calls to figure out just where this Law Reilly lived, since his phone number and his address were unlisted and she wasn’t about to go asking around town.

She wasn’t getting too over-the-line obsessive. Besides, what
was
over the line when her cousin was dead, anyway?

If she didn’t kill anybody, she figured she was within the lines.

She came to the drive and had to double-check the directions to make sure she was at the right place. It was one
long
drive, too.

A person couldn’t even see the house from the road all that well, not until after that first little dip and bend.

Then the land opened up and what a house.

She hated to admit it, but her heart gave a little skip. Then a sigh. Wistful envy burned through her for the briefest moment, quickly chased away by the rush of rage.

She’d been busting her ass for the past few years and still couldn’t do much more than an apartment halfway between Chesapeake and Williamsburg. At least not anything that suited her. And some guy who might have something to do with Joely dying had a place like this? Fuck that.

According to that woman in town, this bastard knew something about how she’d died … might even have killed her.

Nausea churned in her gut and if she’d had anything for breakfast other than tea, she might have puked.

Oh, fuck.

What if this guy had killed her? What if she was being stupid enough to go out here …

Stop it, Nia
.

It wasn’t like she was unequipped to take care of herself. She sometimes found herself in very dangerous circumstances.

And it wasn’t like she hadn’t come out here prepared for that possibility.

Pulling up in front of the house, she kicked a leg over
the bike, taking a few minutes to study the endless expanse of brick and sparkling glass.

Shit.

If Joely’s killer lived inside there, it just added one more question to the list she had for her Maker.

Psychotic murderers shouldn’t be able to live in places like that.

They belonged in shadowy, smelly hellholes.

Period.

L
AW HEARD THE ENGINE
.

Vaguely.

But he tuned it out.

He was on a roll—the story was coming solid and strong. It hadn’t come like this in … weeks. Probably longer. Hope was somewhere working on whatever she was doing to make his life easier.

It wasn’t Lena, because she’d call first. It wasn’t Ezra, because he was with Lena and Lena would make
him
call first.

So, basically, it wasn’t anybody important.

That was all the information he needed to tune the world out as the story unfolded before him.

It was tricky, trying to talk the story free, instead of type it.

The damn voice-to-text software was a pain in the ass, even though he knew he needed to get used to it.

Still, today, for once, it was coming easier and he wasn’t about to stop. At least not until the low, throaty rumble of a motor drew closer, closer … closer.

A chill raced down his spine.

He tried to ignore it.

But as he went to talk out the next passage—it had
just been in his head—the words froze in his throat and he found himself staring out the window.

He couldn’t see anything then.

Not a damn thing.

But still … he stared, waited, listened as the engine abruptly cut off.

Forty-five seconds later, there was a knock on the door.

Scowling, he saved and finagled the laptop off to the side, scowling at the cast that still immobilized his right forearm from just below the elbow. He shoved up out of the chair and was already halfway to the door when Hope appeared in the hallway.