Dangerous Lies (Badge of Honor #2)

Chapter 9

NINE

Jax tightened his hold on the steering wheel as he maneuvered through an intersection, past a farm truck loaded with hay bales and a family sedan packed with kids dressed in karate uniforms. His turret lights strobed, alerting other drivers that he was in a rush, but he hadn’t activated the siren since no one was in physical danger. At least, not at the moment. Megan’s grandparents were fine. Officers were already at the house. Chief Garcia and Noah were en route.

For better or worse, the stalker was fixated on Megan. Whatever message he’d left was meant for her.

The road cleared, and Jax punched the gas harder. He spared a quick glance at his passenger. Megan sat stiffly, one hand gripping her purse, the other clutching the overhead roll bar. Her complexion was pale. Wisps of blonde hair covered the stitches in her scalp, and a faint bruise marred the delicate curve of her jaw. A thin cut etched across her top lip.

He’d made a terrible mistake.

Jax had been so fixated on blaming Megan for Oliver’s death, he’d never considered the alternative—that she was telling the truth. His shortsightedness had cost him valuable investigation time and placed a target on her back. Questions crowded his mind, but one was more important than the others. “Who wanted Oliver dead?”

She gripped her purse tighter. “I don’t know anything for certain.”

His fingers flexed against the steering wheel and he shot her a warning look. “You and Oliver hadn’t spoken in months, but you were friends. Good friends. For almost a year. You have a suspicion. I need to know who wanted Oliver dead. Who hates my family enough to kill one brother and frame another for a crime he didn’t commit?”

“All I have are suspicions. A gut feeling. Before I share what I think, I need your word. As a Christian.”

“Now’s not the time for games.”

“You’re right. It isn’t.” Her gaze slanted his way and her eyes narrowed. “You’re asking me to trust you. Until half an hour ago, you were convinced I’d killed Oliver. I refuse to toss a name to the police without some assurance that the person will be treated fairly.”

Jax swallowed down his pride and his temper. Megan was right. After the way she’d been treated, it wasn’t an unreasonable request. He gave a sharp nod. “You have my word. All I want is the truth.”

She was quiet for a moment and then said, “Zeke Russell.”

“Who is that?”

“Zeke and his brother, Cody, owned a gym called Bodybuilders. Zeke’s the one who hooked Oliver into drugs, supplying him with oxy and steroids. Eventually, Oliver started fighting for Zeke in illegal competitions to pay for his habit. Their relationship was volatile. Sometimes violent. Zeke had a temper, and I suspect he was also abusing drugs.”

“When you say violent, what do you mean exactly?”

Megan winced. “He threw a chair at Oliver once. Punched him in the face. I know there were other incidents, but those were the only ones I witnessed. Oliver put up with it because Zeke supplied him with drugs and paid him to fight in the competitions. It wasn’t a friendship, per se, more like two men using each other. If Oliver did or said something that set Zeke off…” She shook her head. “I could see it going badly.”

“When’s the last time you saw or spoke to Zeke?” Jax slowed and turned into her tree-lined driveway. A patrol car was already in front of the house, but there was no sign of the officer who went with it.

“I cut everyone from that part of my life out when I got sober, Zeke included.”

Jax opened his mouth to ask another question, but Megan was already out of the truck. She hurried to the front door. Sunshine picked up the red highlights in her hair and the tension riding her shoulders. The cab of his truck still carried the faint scent of her perfume, a faint vanilla that reminded him of warm cookies.

He quickly followed Megan into the house. She was hugging her grandparents and the relief on the elderly couple’s faces was clear. Officer Tucker Colburn also stood in the living room. His expression was grim, and he greeted Jax with a head nod.

“Report.” Jax kept his voice low to prevent Megan and her grandparents from overhearing.

“Call came in at eighteen hundred hours. Clay Ingles and his wife returned from running errands and spotted an intruder on the property near the lake. They locked themselves in the house. I arrived on scene at eighteen-oh-seven and swept the property.” Tucker’s expression darkened. “Detective Graham arrived at eighteen-oh-nine. He was nearby and came to assist. The perpetrator was gone, but he left behind an explicit threat.”

Jax glanced out the window and spotted his colleague Detective Dawson Graham walking near a dilapidated boathouse, partially shrouded by trees. Dressed in a hoodie and blue jeans, Dawson was off duty, but must’ve heard the call on the radio. He’d already roped off the area with yellow crime scene tape and was taking photographs. Whatever message the stalker had left wasn’t visible from the house.

“How long were the Ingles out running errands?” Jax asked.

“About twenty minutes.”

“Did they get a look at the trespasser?”

Tucker shook his head. “Not enough to identify him. Mr. Ingles said he saw a dark shadow down by the boathouse, but when he opened the back door to get a better look, the guy took off. He didn’t follow because he was worried about leaving his wife alone in the house.”

“Okay.” Jax had more questions, but they could wait. “I’m going down to look.”

Megan appeared at his side. “I’m coming with you.”

“That’s not a good idea.” Clay stepped forward, a scowl creasing his mouth.

“Pops, I appreciate that you’re trying to protect me, but it’s unnecessary.” She turned back to Jax. “I’ll stay out of your way and do what you tell me to, but whatever is down there was left for me. I want to see it.”

Her grandfather met Jax’s gaze and gave a small shake of his head, his disapproval clear. Had Clay seen the message? Possibly. The old man was tough and didn’t rattle easily. If he didn’t want Megan to see the threat for herself, it must be bad.

Indecision warred within Jax. She was a civilian, and it would be a simple matter to bar her from the crime scene, but Megan had a point. The threat had been left for her. She had a right to see it.

Jax shot Clay an apologetic glance before nodding. “Okay, Megan. Let’s go.”

Megan followed him into the backyard. The property was secluded, the nearest neighbors hidden behind a dense wall of trees. Sunlight glinted off the lake. Ducks swam past, tucking themselves among the reeds close to the shore. It was peaceful and serene. But Jax’s attention was drawn to the boathouse.

Unlike the rest of the property, the building perched next to the dock was battered and weathered. It listed to one side and was missing several boards from its north wall. “Do you use the boathouse for anything?”

“Just to store the lawn mower and tools. We don’t own a boat.”

Jax ducked under the crime scene tape, stopping Megan with a raised hand. “Wait here. Let me get a better sense of what we’re dealing with before you come closer.”

For a moment, it looked like she would argue, but then Megan nodded. “Okay.”

Jax met Dawson near the entrance of the boathouse. His childhood friend greeted him with a head nod, his expression grim. Over six feet tall and built like an ox, Dawson cast a commanding shadow on the grass. A cowboy hat shaded his eyes, and despite wearing a bright orange hoodie with a tear along the pocket, he exuded a quiet confidence—the kind that came from a man who knew exactly where he belonged in the world.

“Bet this wasn’t how you intended to spend your evening,” Jax said in lieu of a greeting.

“Nope. I’m supposed to be fishing. Was headed to the north side of the lake when the call came in. Tucker was the closest patrol unit, but he was alone, and considering the attack on Megan a few days ago, I didn’t think it was wise to leave him without backup.”

Jax accepted the pair of gloves Dawson extended. “Where are the other patrols?”

“Handling a bar fight at The Broken Spur. An ugly one. Several wounded, three arrested.”

“At six in the evening?” Jax shook his head. “Used to be people waited until midnight to act like fools.”

“Lots of shift workers get off at two and start drinking. One guy thinks he’s invincible after two beers, another’s had a bad day at work and is looking to pick a fight, and suddenly you’ve got chairs flying and somebody’s taking a whiskey bottle to the face.” Dawson’s gaze drifted to Megan, who was still standing near the crime scene tape. She’d forgotten her jacket in the house and stood with her arms crossed around her midsection. “What were you and Megan doing together?”

“Discussing the case. I’ll fill you in later.”

Dawson grunted. “I’m gonna hold you to that.” He led the way around the side of the boathouse. “I’ve seen a lot of weird things, Jax, but this one is the freakiest. Whoever did this has a sick imagination.”

Jax’s steps faltered as he rounded the corner. A woman sat against the weathered wood of the boathouse, thick blonde hair obscuring her face. Slender. Dressed in slacks and a silk blouse. A high heel shoe hung awkwardly from one foot, the other lay in the grass. Drag marks disturbed the pine needles, leading from the lake to the boathouse, as if the body had been pulled from the shore. Blood coated her blouse, darkening the light blue fabric to a deep navy shade. A deep gash marred her neck.

It took far too many breaths to realize the woman wasn’t real.

It was a mannequin.

“Holy…” Jax caught himself before an uncharacteristic curse slipped from his lips. “It looks just like Megan.” He approached and crouched down. “From a distance, no one would know this wasn’t a real person.”

“Nearly gave her grandfather a heart attack. After we secured the property, he came out here before I could stop him.”

No wonder Clay hadn’t wanted Megan to come down to the boathouse. Jax didn’t blame him. He scanned the tree line. “How did the perpetrator get on the property?”

“A boat.” Dawson pointed to some smashed-down grass. “Slid the dinghy up on the shore over there, hauled the mannequin over to the boathouse, and arranged it. Mr. Ingles arrived and spotted someone down here just as the guy was finishing up. Then he took off.”

An icy chill touched the back of Jax’s neck. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. “This took planning, but if he had the mannequin ready, it wouldn’t have taken much time to set up.”

“Agreed. A boat is the easiest way to get on and off the property. According to Mr. Ingles, he installed new deadbolts and a security system on the house yesterday, but hasn’t hung the outside cameras.” Dawson met Jax’s gaze. “Megan’s grandparents were only gone for twenty minutes. Either this guy got lucky and came when no one was home or he’s been watching the house.”

A buzzing, like a thousand bees, hummed overhead, interrupting their conversation. Jax recognized the sound of a drone. It wasn’t unusual for amateur photographers to capture aerial shots of the lake, but this was private property. Federal law required drones to fly above four hundred feet, and this one sounded much lower.

Jax scanned the skyline, his nerves prickling. The buzzing was getting closer, but the drone wasn’t visible.

Dawson turned, also scanning the sky. “A reporter?”

“Doubtful. They know better than this.”

Still, Jax took off his jacket and draped it over the mannequin. They didn’t need anyone taking a photograph of the crime scene.

The drone appeared over the tree line. Black legs extended and propellers whirring, it resembled a large flying bug. It dipped closer to the ground as it passed the boathouse. Jax squinted against the sunlight and raised a hand to shield his eyes. His heart stuttered.

A weapon was strapped to the drone’s underside.

“Gun!” he shouted to Dawson, just as a stream of fire shot from the drone. Heat scorched the air, singeing the skin on Jax’s face as the boathouse roof erupted into flames. Dawson dove to the ground and rolled for cover. The drone ignored him, swiveling toward the house.

Toward Megan.

She stood motionless in the yard, her mouth open in shock. Wind rifled her blonde hair. She was exposed, a perfect target. Jax yanked his weapon from its holster and took aim at the drone.

Fired.

Missed.

The drone adjusted course, zeroing in on Megan. Jax yelled her name, and for a moment, their gazes locked. He ran toward her, but the distance was insurmountable. He wouldn’t get close enough to shoot the drone down before it reached Megan. His chest tightened as he pushed his legs to move faster.

Megan took a step back as the flamethrower swung toward her. Terror flashed across her beautiful features. Then she turned and bolted for the trees.

Away from the house, away from her grandparents.

The drone whirled in pursuit, spitting a fresh stream of fire straight at Megan’s retreating figure.