A storm blew in after midnight, and a loud clap of thunder awakened Nikki with a start. She fluffed her pillow and pulled the covers up to her chin, but she couldn’t fall back asleep.
Rolling to her back, she watched shadows dance across the ceiling, hoping the hypnotic motion would lull her back under. She only grew more and more anxious. Finally, she kicked off the quilt and rose to wander restlessly through the house. After pouring herself a glass of water, she went out to the back porch, where she could watch the storm through the screen door.
The wind chimes clanked in the gusts and the rain deepened the scent of roses and wet grass. In the flare of a lightning strike, Nikki could have sworn she saw a tall man dressed in dark clothing standing just inside the back gate.
She straightened with a gasp, her heart flailing against her rib cage as she peered through the darkness. For a split second only, she thought about going out to investigate, but a voice that sounded suspiciously like her grandmother’s froze her in place. Girl, are you stupid or just plain crazy? Don’t go out there alone. He could be an ax murderer, for all you know. Go inside and call the police.
But the figure she’d spotted in one lightning strike vanished in the next, leaving Nikki to wonder if she’d seen nothing more than a small tree that grew along the fence. She stood behind the latched screen door and scanned the yard until her pulse finally settled and she managed to convince herself the lightning and her imagination had conjured the intruder. No one had been in her yard earlier. No one was out there now. Go back to bed.
She closed the wooden door and turned the dead bolt, then checked all the windows on the porch before padding back off to bed. Climbing under the covers, she lay wide-awake as the flickers of lightning gradually grew dimmer and thunder faded in the distance. She was just growing drowsy when she heard a car start up down the street.
Nasty night to be out so late, she thought. The vehicle seemed to slow as it approached her house.
She got up and glanced out the window. A truck lumbered by, splashing water to the curb. The back was enclosed like a delivery vehicle of some sort, but who would be getting a package at this hour?
Nikki told herself the driver was just being cautious in the storm. He hadn’t intentionally slowed for her house. She really was letting her imagination get the better of her. No one had been in the backyard watching her house. No one had waited behind the garden gate for her lights to go out. She’d summoned the boogeymen of her childhood so she wouldn’t have to succumb to her grief. But it was coming. Sooner or later, she would have to deal with another loss.
She snuggled deeper under the covers and closed her eyes on a shiver.
When she awakened again it was to sunshine streaming across her face. Birds chirped in the tree outside her bedroom window and she could hear the normal, everyday sound of traffic on the street. Relieved to have another bad night behind her, she crawled out of bed, showered and dressed in her usual uniform of jeans, sneakers and T-shirt. Then she headed to the lab, where she changed into scrubs, lab coat, goggles and mask.
Dr. Ramirez came in a few minutes later, and they began the autopsy on Dr. Nance’s remains. Nikki tried to distance herself from the process as she assisted in examining, removing and weighing the internal organs and in collecting blood and tissue samples. The procedure took little more than two hours. Only when the Y-shaped incision had been stitched did she step out into the hallway for a moment to catch her breath and steady her emotions.
As she feared, the preliminary findings were inconclusive. She delivered the results later that day to Sheriff Brannon in person.
He motioned her to a chair across from his desk while he took a moment to scan the report. “Says here the findings are consistent with drowning.”
Nikki nodded. “We found froth in the mouth, nostrils and trachea, and that, along with the elevated lung weight and pleural effusions, would suggest death by drowning. We’re waiting for some of the other test results before we reach a consensus. The toxicology screen could take a couple of weeks. Once everything is in, Dr. Ramirez will provide a more detailed analysis in his final report.”
Tom got up and closed his office door. “You’re satisfied with these findings?”
“If you mean as coroner, am I ready to rule the death an accidental drowning? No, not yet. I still want to know why and how he ended up at the lake when he was supposed to be at a conference in Houston. Something doesn’t feel right to me, Tom. Despite that, I find it hard to believe anyone would want to harm Dr. Nance. What would be the motive?”
“Motive will sometimes surprise you.” Tom sat back down and picked up the report. “I haven’t been able to track down the conference coordinator to confirm a cancellation, but we did find Dr. Nance’s Jeep at the cabin. The house was locked up. Dessie Dupre gave us a key to get in. No sign of a forced entry or struggle inside. We found his closed suitcase on the bed and his wallet, car fob and phone on the nightstand. There was cash in the wallet, along with his driver’s license, credit cards and insurance information. He cleaned out his pockets but didn’t take time to unpack before going out in the boat.”
“But why?” Nikki fell silent as she pondered the possibilities. Something occurred to her. “Did you find his journal at the cabin?”
Tom glanced up. “He kept a journal?”
“For as long as I’ve known him. He’s the one who persuaded me to journal when I was younger. I kept one faithfully for years, but it got to be too much work.” And too dangerous. Nikki paused, thinking about her secret hiding place at the Ruins and wondering again who may have stumbled upon her confession. “Anyway, if we can find his notes, maybe some of our questions will be answered.”
“I’ll run by his house later and see if Dessie knows anything about it. She may have remembered something else, too, since we last talked. What about his medical history? Anything there?”
“We had his records sent over before the autopsy. He had a physical last year. Other than mild hypertension, he was in good health for a man his age.”
“So that brings us back to his mental state.”
Nikki winced. She hated thinking about Dr. Nance out on the lake, perhaps lost and confused. Or in a moment of clarity, contemplating what might lie ahead of him. She tried to shake off a creeping despair. “As I said before, he seemed fine when I saw him last week.”
Tom glanced up. “You also said you were in a hurry to get back to work and may have missed something.”
“Your point?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I spoke to Dr. Wingate this morning. She told me there’d been some problems at the clinic lately.”
Nikki frowned. “What kind of problems?”
“Memory issues. Forgotten appointments, duplicated tests. He even mixed up two prescriptions. The mistake was caught in time, but when Dr. Wingate brought the error to his attention, he couldn’t remember writing either prescription. After that incident, she said he began referring most of his patients to her. He planned to phase out his practice altogether when he returned from the conference in Houston.”
“That’s strange,” Nikki said. “He never said anything to me about retiring.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to worry you. Or maybe he just needed time to process the idea before he made an announcement.”
“Why go to a medical conference if he planned to retire?”
“To see old friends, maybe. Who knows? Maybe that’s why he changed his mind and went to the lake instead.” Tom paused thoughtfully. “How well do you know Dr. Wingate?”
“I’ve met her a few times. She’s what my grandmother would have called a cold fish. Not exactly a desirable bedside manner in a family physician. Why do you ask?”
“I picked up a vibe when we talked. She seemed guarded and evasive. Did she and Dr. Nance ever have any trouble?”
“Not that I know of. What are you getting at?”
He swiveled his chair toward the window and glanced out at the street, taking a long moment to answer. “I just want to make sure we don’t overlook anything. Once a death is ruled an accident, it’s hard to go back from that. Evidence gets lost or contaminated. Witnesses forget what they saw. I don’t want to make any mistakes.”
Nikki stared at him for a moment. “Tom. Are you telling me you think his death wasn’t an accident?”
“No—the opposite, in fact. The most likely scenario is accidental drowning, but that’s why I’m being cautious. I don’t want to get tunnel vision or jump to any conclusions before we have all the facts. But I also can’t ignore what people are telling me.”
“People other than Dr. Wingate?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Dessie told me she’d also had some concerns about Dr. Nance’s recent behavior. She said he almost always had a drink out on the porch before dinner. Or sometimes he’d take a dip in the pool. Lately, though, he’d go straight to his study and close the door as soon as he came home from the clinic. Sometimes Dessie would have to knock several times to get his attention. When she asked what he was working on, he told her he was trying to put together a puzzle.”
“A puzzle? What did he mean by that?”
Tom shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Like I said, I’ll go over and talk to Dessie again later, see if she knows anything about the journal. Maybe she can help clear up a few other questions, too. She was pretty upset when we talked yesterday.”
“We’re all upset.” Nikki had been so distraught she’d imagined someone standing in the backyard, watching her house.
“It’s got to be especially hard on her,” Tom said. “She’s not only lost a friend, but also her whole way of life. Not much call for live-in housekeepers in Belle Pointe.”
“I’m sure Dr. Nance left provisions in his will. The two of them were always close.”
Tom pounced. “How close?”
“What exactly are you asking?”
He picked up a pen and fiddled with the cap. “I think you know what I’m asking.”
Nikki gaped at him. “Dessie and Dr. Nance? You can’t be serious.”
He tossed aside the pen. “They were all alone in that big house, night after night, year after year. Neither of them attached. Human nature is what it is, Nikki.”
“She had her own place over the garage. Besides, she was at least twenty years younger than he was.”
“So?”
“You’re way off base. I was in that house a lot as a kid. Sometimes I’d help Dessie cook and clean for a little spending money. When I was finished, I’d sit out on the porch with Dr. Nance while he told the most hilarious stories about his med school days. Dessie would serve us sweet tea and gingersnaps. Sometimes she’d linger to hear one of his yarns, but I never sensed anything remotely romantic between them.” Nikki gave him a dubious look. “Is this still your way of making sure you don’t overlook anything? Because it sounds a lot like grasping at straws to me. You can’t possibly think Dessie had anything to do with Dr. Nance’s death. She was devoted to the man.”
Tom answered her question with another question. “What do you make of Adam Thayer?”
“I... What?” He’d caught her by surprise.
Tom didn’t seem to notice her stammering hesitation. He plowed on without waiting for a response. “According to Thayer, Dr. Nance called him early last week and asked him to come to Belle Pointe. He said something strange was going on down here. Something dark.”
“I know. Adam told me the same thing.”
He lifted a brow at her use of the man’s first name. “Like Dr. Wingate, he was worried about Dr. Nance’s mental state. Three people voicing concerns about his behavior can’t be dismissed out of hand.”
Nikki nodded. “It’s just so distressing. After everything Dr. Nance did for me, how could I have let this happen? How could I have talked to him last week and not sensed something was wrong? If I’d been more attentive, maybe he’d still be alive.”
“Don’t take that burden on yourself,” Tom advised. “People hide things. Sometimes even from themselves.”
She smiled forlornly. Yes. She knew all about keeping things hidden.
IT WAS A strange turn of events, Adam decided. Nikki Dresden had been on his mind all morning as he’d worked around his grandmother’s house. She was still on his mind when he’d taken the boat across the lake to search for the embedded bullet in the pine tree and then later when he’d driven into town to replace his phone. Now, as he approached the front entrance of the county sheriff’s office, there she was in person. Head slightly bowed, her brow furrowed.
Deep in thought, she walked out the door and bumped right into him. She quickly stepped back, looking unaccountably flustered. In the split second before she moved away, he could have sworn he smelled the scent of roses wafting from her hair.
What struck him more forcefully were her eyes. They were a deep, rich brown. No gold or green flecks, just dark, fathomless pools. He could see a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and a tiny indented scar at her jawline. Not perfect, not beautiful, and yet, like before, he found her enigmatic. Dangerously intriguing.
“I’m sorry,” they both said at once.
“No, it was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Her cheeks colored as she self-consciously tucked back her hair. She wore it loose today. The ends turned under at her shoulders, gleaming like a raven’s wing in the sun. She got a good look at him then, her gaze taking in the cut above his eyebrow and the bruises on his cheekbone. “What happened to you?”
“Let’s just say I ran up against a tank.”
“A tank?” Her gaze dropped to his taped knuckles. “That must have been some collision.”
He didn’t comment. “I’m glad I ran into you this morning. You’re just the person I’ve been wanting to see.”
Something flashed in her eyes. Hesitation? Curiosity? “What about?”
“I’d like to talk to you about Dr. Nance, if you have a minute.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the station entrance. “Weren’t you going inside?”
“Yes, but maybe I could swing by your office afterward.”
A frown flitted. “I’m not going into my office today. Why don’t you just tell me what this is about?”
“I’d rather not get into it on the street,” Adam said. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? The diner is just a few blocks over. It’s an easy walk from here.”
Her expression was easy to read. She wanted to turn him down but not as much as she wanted to hear what he had to say about Dr. Nance.
“There’s a coffee shop just down the street. That’s more convenient. I only have a few minutes,” she warned. “There’s someplace I need to be.”
“Not a problem. This won’t take long.” His phone rang and he glanced at the screen, noting the name with a scowl. Meredith Cassidy was the police psychologist assigned to his case after the shooting in Dallas. Stress debriefings and trauma intervention following a major event were routine in large police departments, or so Adam had always thought. He wondered how he’d remained so naive all these years. A decade with the Dallas PD and he was just now learning how politically motivated psych evaluations could be.
“Trouble?” Nikki asked.
He realized he was still frowning at his phone and he gave her an apologetic glance. “No, but I should probably take this. I’ll make it quick.”
She looked as if she regretted agreeing to their talk, but then she shrugged and nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll wait for you at the coffee shop. Straight ahead and to the right. You can’t miss it.”
“Wait!”
She’d already started to walk away, but turned when he called out to her.
“Does the number forty-seven mean anything to you?” he asked.
She looked puzzled. “What?”
“The number forty-seven. Did it have special significance to Dr. Nance?”
“Of course it did.”
Her matter-of-fact response startled him. “What does it mean?”
Her gaze dropped to his phone. “Take your call. We can talk about it when you’re finished.”
He watched her walk away as he lifted the phone to his ear.
“Hello, Dr. Cassidy. Can I assume you’re calling to tell me you’ve signed off on my reinstatement?”
“I only wish it were that simple, Adam. You’ve missed your last two appointments. You know I can’t recommend you for active duty until you come back in and talk things through with me.”
“Haven’t we already done that?” He squinted into the sun as he eyed the park across the street. A man wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses sat on a shaded bench, texting on his phone. He was a big guy and Adam’s mind instantly flashed back to the gunfire last night, to the near miss on the steps and the spray of bullets in the water. He couldn’t say with any certainty that the man on the bench was the shooter. He’d never gotten a good look at the suspect. But the stranger’s proximity to the police station made Adam wonder if he’d been followed from the lake into town.
As if prodded by Adam’s scrutiny, the man glanced up. When he saw that he’d been spotted, he rose from the bench and walked quickly away.
“Adam? Are you there?”
He’d forgotten about the therapist. Adam stepped off the curb, phone still to his ear. “Yes, I’m here.”
“Are you still having nightmares?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I’m sleeping like a baby these days.”
“And the headaches?”
He hesitated. “Better.”
“Well, these seem like significant developments,” she said encouragingly. “Why don’t you make an appointment for sometime next week? We can discuss any other changes, good or bad, you may be experiencing.”
He glanced both ways before crossing the street. A horn blared and he put up a hand as he hurried out of the way of oncoming traffic. The man in the park glanced back at the commotion. The bill of the cap was pulled low over his face, shading his features. He paused for a moment as if daring Adam to pursue him. Then he turned and headed down one of the pathways toward the wooded area of the park.
“Adam? Are you all right? You seem distracted.”
He pressed the phone to his ear. “I’m fine. I’m out of town at the moment. I’ll have to give you a ring when I get back to Dallas.”
“Where are you?”
“We’ll talk soon, Doc.”
He ended the call and slipped the phone in his pocket as he opened the park gate and stepped through. It was a busy place. Kids were out of school for the summer and looking for a place to hang out. In a quieter corner, mothers and caregivers sat reading or chatting on shady benches while toddlers and preschoolers played nearby.
Adam was acutely aware of all those soft targets. He slowed, putting distance between himself and the man in the ball cap. One thing to risk his own hide, but quite another when it came to innocent bystanders.
Only when his quarry had disappeared into the trees did Adam speed his steps, keeping an eye on his surroundings as the sound of laughter faded in the background.
The trees thickened as the paved pathway gave way to a series of dirt jogging trails. The oak leaf canopy blocked the sun so that it was cool and dim in the woods. Lots of shadows. Lots of places to hide.
He didn’t meet a single soul on the trail. He might have been in the middle of nowhere but for the occasional shriek of laughter behind him and the muted sound of traffic in front of him. He came out of the trees onto another busy street. He glanced over his shoulder. Glanced both ways down the sidewalk. The man in the ball cap was nowhere to be found.
Adam waited for a few minutes longer before he turned and retraced the trail through the woods. He came out on the other side of the park, transitioning from the shade into the brilliant glare of sunlight. He walked down to the nearest intersection to cross back over. He had the light. The truck came out of nowhere. Bigger than a pickup. A utility or delivery vehicle of some sort. An old model covered in dark gray primer.
He observed all this in the space of a heartbeat as the truck roared through the intersection. The driver swerved, and Adam stepped back up on the sidewalk, certain the maniac intended to jump the curb and come straight at him. At the last minute, the vehicle careened back into traffic and barreled down the street, barely slowing to make the next corner.
Gazing after the truck, Adam committed to memory what he remembered of the vehicle. There hadn’t been a license plate, he realized.
He waited for another light and crossed the street, keeping an eye on oncoming traffic.
Two near misses in less than twenty-four hours. Not a coincidence. Not by a long shot. Someone was coming for him.