When Fall Fades (The Girl Next Door Series Book 1) (29 page)

Chapter 28

H
e couldn’t have planned it any better. Oh, he’d hoped. But ultimately had no way of knowing if his efforts would hit pay dirt or simply create more problems.

What a waste. That body, and all that fight, would’ve made for an unforgettable ride, but the chips had fallen just right for once. Right at that perfectly treacherous bend in the road.

The windshield wipers whipped furiously as he carefully rounded the sharp curve where only seconds ago the girl’s Jeep had disappeared over the edge.

With no brakes the squeal of the tires had been minimal. The water on the road and the heavy pound of the dumping rain drowned out the commotion until the faint but guttural crunch of steel signaled the crash.

That had to be a long way down, and going that fast …

He drove past, tuned to a local radio station, and drummed his gloved fingers against the steering wheel. That was one problem down. Without her interference, things would go so much smoother.

Finding a gas station, he pulled under the shelter and ran inside to find something to take the edge off. He sat in the front seat and took a swig of the crappy bourbon, letting the fire burn through the cracks and solder over his guilt until all that remained was determination.

It shouldn’t have had to come to this. But the truth came at a price. And it was time to pay the piper.

He started back on the road, his nerves stroked into submission by the pleasant buzz of the whiskey. Hmm, she would’ve gone well with the fire and spice of the spirit wetting his tongue. Pity.

A flash of light strobed just ahead, and his palms grew slick inside his gloves as the vehicle came into view.

Gritting his teeth, he gripped the wheel hard as the truck raced past.

A tow truck.

Not an ambulance.

No freaking way.

The injustice of it ripped through him, like all those years of his repressed childhood bursting from its staid prison and revolting with flare. She was really starting to piss him off. This was his playground. His.

He kept driving. A new plan formulating with each dizzy mile.

If she was still alive, she would live to regret it.

Chapter 29

Sadie Carson

T
here was another knock at her door. Sadie remained in a boneless heap on her couch with the remnants of a box of tissues. “Go away, Mom.” Apparently all cried out, her glazed eyes stared at something absent. This time it wasn’t Ryan, it was some other illusive untouchable drifting just beyond the present realm.

“Sadie Cakes, open the door please … I’m not leaving … I will call your father and have him bring me the spare key if I have to.”

Sadie was stubborn, but she’d learned from the best.

With painfully slow execution, she managed to put her feet under her to trudge to the front door. Flipping the lock, she dragged her sorry self back to the Kleenex-covered couch. Lorelei let herself in and propped her umbrella against the wall.

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have even called you.”

“You ran your car off the side of the road. If you hadn’t called me I would’ve been furious.” Her mom brushed away a few used tissues and folded in next to Sadie.

“If I hadn’t called you, you wouldn’t have known. It was very anticlimactic. The towing company pulled my Jeep out of the ravine and dropped me off here.”

Except that wasn’t exactly true. If not for the very large fallen tree that formed a crude sort of landing pad, the outcome of that slide down the drop-off would have been very different.

It’s not a big deal.
Sadie chanted the words to herself over and over. It was just an untimely mishap. Brakes occasionally went out, didn’t they?

Sadie’s father owned a small chain of local auto body shops. She’d never done any real work on cars other than a little tinkering with her dad, but she knew enough to know that fluid had leaked from her brake line.

But had it been nicked somehow, slowly leaking over time?

Or … had someone punctured the line on purpose?

Her mother sighed, like everything else about her it was overly dramatic. Sadie felt no need to fuel the fire with her unfounded suspicion, so she kept it to herself for now.

“Well, you don’t look too banged up.”

“Nah. My big, strong Jeep took the beating for me. He can be easily replaced.”
Unlike some people.
Sadie fought back a shiver, pulled the blanket up to her sore neck still aching from the snapping force of the airbag that had saved her life. Well, the airbag and the tree. And probably her angel of mercy that had prompted her to put her phone in the cup holder instead of in the clutch that went flying, allowing her to call for help.

“Maybe we should talk about something else.” Lorelei shrugged casually. “Like why you decided to vamoose and leave your handsome man alone on the dance floor.”

She’d lasted all of three minutes. Impressive.

“He’s not
my
man.” Though for a few hours there, it’d sure felt like it. The whisker-burn he’d left on her neck might as well have branded her. And if anyone asked, she’d blame it on the airbag.

But this wasn’t about Archer, it was about Ryan.

Her mother always had something to say on the subject. She meant well, but each pep talk would end with a relapse into depression. Talking about it was pointless. But after tonight—though it sounded about as fun as disimpacting bowels would have been if she’d taken that internship—Sadie knew she needed another perspective.

She drew in a lungful of courage, cocked her arm back and decided to let the admission fly, not sure where it would land. “I’ve, uh, been dreaming about Ryan lately. Really vivid dreams. Like I’m reliving these flashes of memory from his perspective, as well as mine.” She scraped her nails over her palms. “I’ve been trying to move past it, but just when I feel like I’m gaining ground, another one comes and … I just can’t shake the feeling that they mean something. And then tonight, that song from prom … Mom, I swear I hallucinated him standing there with me.”

Her mom scooted closer, wrapping Sadie in a soft hug. “I know this can’t be easy for you—everything all gaping and unresolved. But you do deserve to be happy. Ryan would want that for you, even if it wasn’t with him.”

Nodding, tears tumbled from her eyelids. “I know that, but the guilt still comes. I can’t stop it. I’m just stuck here, in the same place I’ve been for five years, holding my breath, afraid to move.”

With a sad smile, Lorelei gently stroked the wetness from Sadie’s cheek. “This isn’t your burden to bear, baby girl. There are big beautiful dreams waiting to be unwrapped and explored. But, sweetie, if you don’t surrender this, you’ll never have the strength to be free of it.”

Her words choked out in the slightest whisper. “I’m still not sure I wanna be free of it.” 

Lorelei pressed her lips into a thin line, seeming to weigh her words for a change. “Well, that’s up to you. But I will say one thing—I never saw you look at Ryan the way you were looking at Archer. And the way he looked at you?” She tsked. “You two are falling in love, even if you don’t know it yet. You just have to decide if you believe in second chances. If you’re lucky enough to get one, you better reach out and grab it. Because that gift, it won’t wait on you forever. It wasn’t meant to.

“And Sadie … neither are you.”

Chapter 30

Archer Hayes

S
unday hadn’t been a day of rest in years. His relentless review of the night before meant this one was even worse than usual. He’d break from the insanity of his Sadie-obsessed thoughts to comb over the dregs of the Westwick case, and then he’d inevitably end up back where he started. Thinking about the finer moments of his night with Sadie right before it all fell to pieces. The mess was overlapping in his brain, the line between business and pleasure becoming indiscernible. Chaos. He didn’t like it one bit.

So he shot down to the weight room to burn off some steam and clear his head. Unfortunately when the endorphin rush charged his tired body, his brain refused to shut down and stayed on for the ride.

Starting with dead lifts, his fingers gripped the cool steel of the hex bar, launching the tremendous weight off the ground and back with rhythmic precision. The whole thing with Reamus was bothering him, so Archer reviewed what he knew so far.

The guy manipulated the system from the inside for years—lying and conning his way out of trouble. He was caught bribing a military officer to cover up a botched operation where friendly fire resulted in the death of a young soldier under his charge. He’d been dishonorably discharged, but he’d still gotten away with murder.

Dragging his burning legs away from the tower rack, he belted up, chaining an extra fifty pounds around his waist for a set of pull-ups. It amazed Archer while some of the finest men he’d ever known had served in the military, somehow a bad egg could still slip through the cracks here and there. He knew it was true of every organization in the world, but to Archer—in the realm of the U.S. Armed Forces—it was personal. Every bit of this part of the case made him crave justice.

Making good use of a sudden bout of hulking anger, he finished four more brutal reps and stretched out his tight limbs before moving on.

When Reamus retired from the service he vanished. No credit cards, no driver’s license—the guy was completely off the grid. They still had no way to confirm that his son was the one who had threatened Westwick. And even if they could, that was years ago. Why kill Westwick now? Even if no one had known he was sick, Charlie was ninety-one years old. Killing a man at that stage in the game seemed unnecessarily redundant. All the information Archer was digging up was redundant as well. The case was at a standstill. 

Adding numerous plates to each end of the barbell, he eased down to the bench, cranking out controlled repetitions on the bench press. Having lost count, his shaky arms slowed to a stop, struggling to rack the three hundred pounds warring against gravity.

When he finally came up for air, he ran his hands over the gristly edge of his thick five o’clock shadow, then swiped the sweat cresting his lip. The night of the fund-raiser wormed back into the forefront of his mind.

He’d gone after Sadie, seriously concerned by the way she’d paled and ran. But overbearing big brother Finn had cut him off and explained—well, nothing useful actually—just that she needed some time and space to work a few things out. He also said he was sure Archer hadn’t done anything wrong.

So, then what was it that had her so spooked? One minute she was tucked in his arms and nothing had ever felt so right, the next she was hightailing it out the door without so much as a backwards glance or a glass slipper.

Archer toiled with whether he should follow Finn’s advice and give her some space or if he should drive to her house right now and soothe all her cares away. The third option was equally appealing—find who hurt her and return the favor.

The next morning he got to the office early. No new or helpful information from the team deciphering the journals surfaced, so Archer dug up some more info on the elusive Reamus. After two hours of searching he finally caught a break. “Bingo.”

Sal poked his head into Archer’s office without knocking. “Hey bro, you ready to go meet with the ME?”

“Yeah.” Archer pulled his eyes away from the computer and poured on a know-it-all smirk. “And I’ll tell you all about what I found on Reamus. Or should I say, William Canterbury.” He slipped on his suit coat and tapped out a message on his phone.

Leaving his office, Sal nudged him. “On pins and needles, bro.”

Pressing send, Archer stowed his phone and fell into step with Sal. “It turns out our Captain Reamus was a bit paranoid that his crooked ways might come back to bite him in the keister—retribution for all the soldiers he led to their deaths. The reason we couldn’t find him before is because he created a new identity to cover his tracks.”

“Man, I hate this guy. I hope it was him.” Sal snarled as much as seemed possible for a guy who was so perpetually cheerful.

Archer bit back a laugh, and Sal was none the wiser. “It wasn’t.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“Because William Canterbury ended up suffering from dementia and died in a nursing home twelve years ago.”

“You can die from dementia?”

“I don’t know what he died of, the man was seriously old. What I do know is that he’s dead, and before he kicked it, he lost all his marbles and then some. Better?”

Sal smirked, and then strutted ahead. “Much, thanks for clearing that up.”

Glancing heavenward, Archer slowed momentarily, pleaded for more patience, and then stepped into the elevator beside Sal. “Anyways, I just sent out a request, so hopefully by the time we get back we’ll have some info on Ream—er, Canterbury’s son.”

“Cool. And you did all that before nine thirty? Wow, it’s a wonder what you can accomplish when you make it to work on time.” The elevator doors opened.

His deadly look was a warning. Sal’s smug grin collapsed like a cream puff, and he quickly skirted out of reach. Archer bellowed out a laugh that felt too good to deny.

A few minutes and a short drive later when they walked in and greeted Candice at the coroner’s office, Sal barely got a word out before he started choking on his own saliva. Archer did a double take. His dark complexion looked a little rosy, and a sheen of perspiration dotted Sal’s forehead despite the intensely cool morgue temperature. Interesting.

“So, what have you got for us?”

“A juicy little tidbit that’s gonna make you both worship the ground on which I stand.”

Archer smirked. Most medical examiners were pretty stale. They spent their days with dead bodies, who wouldn’t be a little off? Candice was a refreshing change of pace. She had the ability to portray horrific findings with ease and humor, a form of detachment. But even more amazing was that she seemed to possess normal social skills. He stole a glance at a still mute Sal in time to see a pronounced chug of his Adam’s apple.
Aww,
Sal’s got a little crush. How sweet.

Drafting plans for Sal’s pending harassment, he missed the opportunity to indulge Candice’s quip.

She didn’t miss a beat. “Anyways, thanks for waiting on this one for me. It took a little extra time but I wanted to be certain because this sure changes things. The drug we found in Westwick’s blood stream
appeared
to be your run-of-the-mill medical anesthetic. But that got me thinking … it wouldn’t take much to overpower a little old man, so why go to all the trouble to track this stuff down when the killer could have just used chloroform to knock him out, if that was his intention. It’s easier to get a hold of than some fancy medical-grade anesthesia, and he wouldn’t have needed to mess with a syringe.” Candice appraised Sal’s odd stare and then raised an eyebrow to Archer in question.

Archer cleared his throat and firmly elbowed Sal in the side. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

Candice eyed them both with an almost imperceptible smirk. “What I found was that the drug wasn’t simply an anesthetic but more specifically amobarbital.”

Sal and Archer glanced at each other to decide if they should know what that was.

She rolled her eyes. “We’re talkin’ good ole fashioned truth serum, boys.”

“Truth serum?” Sal lifted a brow at Archer, not understanding the implication.

“Aha! He speaks.” She turned around to grab more notes. Tongue in cheek, Archer taunted Sal with a slow, dismayed shake of his head. Sal darted a panicked peek at Candice’s back and then glared a warning in response to the silent jest.

Archer was grateful to not be the one acting like an idiot and thoroughly enjoyed giving Sal a taste of his own medicine.

“So based on the typically nonfatal dose we found in his blood stream, I’d say whoever did this was jonesing for some information.”

Nonfatal dose of truth serum.
“The attack was planned, but Charlie’s death might have been accidental.” Archer voiced his conclusion out loud. “Did you check the contents of his stomach?”

“I did. No coffee or evidence of the amobarbital in his digestive tract.”

“Track with me for a second.” Archer grabbed ahold of the floating pieces of the case, testing a theory of how they might fit. “Say the killer laces Westwick’s coffee to loosen his lips, but it’s late so Charlie doesn’t drink it. He’s impatient, desperate, so he resorts to plan B and jabs the truth serum into Charlie’s neck, inadvertently rendering him unconscious. Maybe the killer is worried when Charlie wakes up and he’s searching Charlie’s place the drug might not be in effect—or Charlie might try to get away—so, say, he binds Charlie’s wrists. But he doesn’t want it to look like anything ever occurred—which would explain why he wrapped washcloths under the duct tape. Charlie would be none the wiser after the serum wore off. He’d probably just think he fell asleep or bumped his head.”

“Fits with the evidence.” Candice shrugged. “So then, what? He can’t find what he’s looking for, checks back on the old man to find he’s dead?”

Sal nodded in agreement, and finally chimed in. “He freaks and tries to make it look like Westwick died at the wheel.”

“Yeah, but why not just leave him in the house? Why go to all the trouble of putting him in the car and risk being seen?” Untangling the mind of a killer was always a thrill, but in this case, seeing the cogs mesh together when it was too late made Archer feel like he’d failed Charlie all over again.

“We know the guy was looking for something, right? So, perhaps he moved the body to move the crime scene. That way he’d have an easier time getting back in to Charlie’s place to continue his search.” Sal stole a glance at Candice before looking back to Archer to confirm.

“Maybe. But it seems like we should have more evidence to work with if this crime was as careless as it seems. Then again, maybe when he went back the second time he found what he was looking for and covered up his tracks.”

Archer’s cell phone rang, and he excused himself. “Hayes.”

“Hi Agent Hayes, it’s Cara … Mackenzie.”

“What can I do for you, Agent Mackenzie?”

“I went by your office to drop of the information we pulled on the son of that Reamus-Canterbury guy. This James Canterbury is the one we think wrote the death threat. Not a good guy. Served a couple stints for various violent crimes. He was released last month and get this? They found his fingerprints all over a medical lab that was broken into about 120 miles west in Columbia last month. His parole officer said he went AWOL, hasn’t heard from him since. But check it—because there was still a BOLO on him, cops in Carbondale, Illinois, caught him passing through. They just picked him up for violating his parole, and for the B and E. I’m sending the info to your phone.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Mackenzie replied in a flirty tone, and he ended the call. 

Interrupting some extremely small talk Sal was attempting with Candice, Archer nudged Sal’s arm. “New lead. We gotta go.”

They left Candice, and the site of Sal’s embarrassment, and walked out to Archer’s car. “We’ve got to work on your game buddy. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was entertaining, but that had to be rough for you.”

Sal strode ahead with overblown confidence. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve
got
game.”

“Oh
yeah
. By the time you progressed to full stuttering sentences, I’m sure she had to fight the urge to take you right there on the autopsy table. The bumbling idiot act works like a charm, does it?”

“And you’re one to talk. Every time you hear mention of the name Sadie you get all glazed and goofy eyed.”

“I do not—”

“Dude, you’ve got it right now.”

“At least I’ve done something about it. I don’t just geek out and stare at her like some sweaty super fan. Girl’s gonna think you’re not all there, pal.”

“Oh-ho, really? You’ve done something about it, huh? You and Sadie?” Sal whistled. “Hayes, you lucky dog!”

Archer raked his hand through his hair and stared out at the road. “Something like that.” 

“I guess I underestimated you.”

“Feel free to take notes.” Archer grinned to conceal the hypocrisy of that statement. Sal rolled his eyes.

Man, it felt good having a partner—having a friend. Shooting the breeze about everything and nothing. Still seemed reckless and indulgent though. He’d admit that time spent with Sadie, and even with Sal, sure had more flavor than what he was used to. But how long would it last until it all blew up in his face? “All right, now back to business. We’re driving to Carbondale to question Reamus’s son.”