Chapter 2
Pierce Reed’s cell phone rang through the warm Georgia night.
His wife heard it. Even over the buzz of conversation and the music flowing from inside the house, Nikki caught its distinctive tone.
Oh, great.
Here they were, at his best friend’s daughter’s sweet-sixteen party, dancing on the veranda under twinkling fairy lights strung overhead, and his damned phone had the nerve to ring.
“Don’t answer it,” she said, as he reached into his jacket.
“Yeah, right.” His gaze caught hers, and one corner of his mouth lifted.
He had a point there. As an independent crime reporter, when had she ever ignored a call?
“But—”
He held up a finger to quiet her arguments, then wended through the dancers, away from the crowd and around a corner.
She waited a couple of minutes, but when he didn’t return, she cut across the lawn toward the garage side of the house, where Pierce had disappeared.
She nearly ran into Naomi, who was walking rapidly toward a kitchen door and away from a tall, lanky man who was just climbing into the crew cab of a large, black Ram truck.
His features were illuminated momentarily, dark hair catching in the light, square jaw rock-hard, thin lips set in a grim line.
He sent an angry look toward the house, where Naomi was disappearing through a door near the kitchen.
Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he yanked the cab door shut, and he was shrouded in darkness until he turned on the ignition; the big truck’s engine roared to life, and the driver’s sharp features were visible in the glow from the dash lights.
As Nikki watched, he executed a quick three-point turn, then, with a roar of the big truck’s engine, sped down the long drive.
Odd, Nikki thought, just as she caught a glimpse of Pierce rounding a corner.
She took off after him, cutting around a waiter carrying a tray of drinks, following her husband to a brick patio where a waterfall splashed into the large pool and moonlight danced upon the water’s smooth surface.
Stars glimmered overhead, and the soft hoot of an owl came from the woods surrounding the Kittle estate.
As she reached Pierce, she heard his end of what seemed to be a terse conversation. “… Yeah. I’ll be there …” He checked his watch. “Twenty, maybe thirty minutes.”
Nikki’s heart sank.
Since the birth of their daughter, Chloe, nearly three years earlier, she and Pierce hadn’t enjoyed many nights out alone. Between his job as a homicide detective with the police force and hers as a freelance writer, they were both busy. Lara Kittle’s birthday celebration had been the exception.
And yet, she understood.
More than that, she was intrigued, as always, with her husband’s work.
As Pierce cut off the call, she asked, “What’s that all about?”
“Oh, so suddenly you’re interested?” he said, though he wasn’t really teasing. His jaw was set.
“Someone was murdered.”
“Someone is dead,” he corrected.
“But if you’re involved,” she pointed out.
“There’s a possibility of homicide.”
“Possibility?”
“Could be an accident.”
“Someone from the department called you,” she clarified, not about to be put off, “so it’s got to be suspicious.”
“I don’t know yet, but I’ve got to go.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Nikki, please …” This was their long, ongoing argument.
He wanted to keep his work close to his vest. Police procedure and all that.
And she, being naturally curious and a crime writer to boot, was always pushing.
He thought she was nosy. She told herself she was just inquisitive. Well, and eager for the next story.
“And how am I supposed to get home?”
“You can get a ride with …” His voice trailed off. “I’m sure Jamison has a friend who lives in town and they wouldn’t mind dropping you off.”
“Forget it.” She wasn’t about to be pawned off on one of Jamison Kittle’s buddies or their stuck-up wives. No way. No how. Though she, herself, was the daughter of a judge—God rest his soul—and her own mother was a known social climber, Nikki had no use for all that nonsense. “I’m coming with you.”
“Jesus, Nikki, for just this once—”
“Let’s go.” She shot him a look, and he clamped his mouth shut rather than continue the argument as they walked through the veranda, where adults were still dancing or sipping drinks, then into the huge recreation room, where most of the teenagers had gathered.
Nikki recognized a few, including her niece’s horseback-riding instructor, Annabelle Van Camp.
Inside, the music was rap and hip-hop, the kids playing pool or lounging in groups on leather couches and probably drinking on the sly.
A long bar ran down one side of the room, and on the opposite wall was a display of weaponry any mercenary would envy.
Jamison Kittle’s collection of rifles, bows, swords, and knives ran the gamut from historic, with his great-great-grandfather’s shotgun, to state-of-the-art semiautomatic rifles.
He boasted all types of weapons, from Revolutionary War muskets to a World War II Luger supposedly taken off a fallen German soldier and a more recent AR-15, all gleaming behind locked glass panels.
A jukebox straight out of the fifties glowed in one corner, and a poker table was off to one side.
There were two steps up to the kitchen, where Jamison’s wife, Naomi, petite, blond, and in charge, was organizing the servers, making sure the refreshments—sliders and mini pizzas and burgers—were arranged on silver platters.
Through an archway, Nikki spied the dining room, where the table was festooned in pink and silver, a huge cake displayed in the center, while around it were silver platters of cupcakes, confections, and gleaming jars of candy.
At that moment, Lara Kittle swept through the kitchen in a gown of frothy pink. Her hair, piled loosely on her head, was dark, her eyes a deep brown, and her glossy lips were turned down into a pissy frown. “Is this good enough?” she demanded of her mother and poked a finger at her outfit.
Naomi glanced away from a bowl filled with melon balls and eyed her eldest daughter. “It’s not how Shirley would have done it, but it’s okay, I suppose.”
“You suppose?” Lara rolled her large eyes. “Jesu—Geez, Mom, I’m in the damned dress. Isn’t that good enough?”
“For the pictures, dear.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Lara blew out her lips. “Let’s get them over with.”
“Your sisters aren’t ready.” Naomi sent a sidelong glance toward Nikki as if to silently convey: See what you’re in for?
Lara picked up her skirt and, back stiff in indignation, dashed down to the rec room and her friends.
“Where’s Jamison?” Pierce asked as Naomi fretted over some prawns displayed on a mound of ice and lemon wedges.
“Who knows?” She stepped away from the counter, where a server was waiting.
With a broad sweep of her hand, she indicated that the trays were to her liking and could be whisked away.
Yet she was obviously perturbed, her glossy pink lips pinched.
She glanced up at Pierce as the waitress scurried off with two trays of appetizers.
“He knows we want pictures of all of the girls! Maybe in his office?” With a huff, she said, “That would be just like him! In the middle of Lara’s big night, if you can believe it.
” Then spying a platter of refreshments that didn’t meet her standards, she said, “No … no, that’s not right!
Mini pizzas by themselves. Mini burgers on a separate tray! What’re y’all thinking?”
Rather than question her further, Pierce peeled off and went through a door to the main hallway, where streamers and fairy lights decorated a wide staircase.
Two girls in matching silvery gowns were giggling as they descended, nearly tripping on their skirts.
Jamison and Naomi’s younger daughters. Shana, the redhead, eleven-ish, was in front, while blond Michelle, the youngest, tumbled after her.
Somehow neither tripped as they slid in glittery sandals on the hardwood and rounded the corner, careening into the kitchen.
“Naomi’s not going to like that,” Pierce said and crossed the foyer to the closed French doors of the den. Through the sheer curtains, Nikki spied Jamison, his chiseled face tense as he talked on the phone. Pierce rapped on the doorframe, and Jamison nodded curtly and motioned for him to enter.
“Got it,” he said into the phone. “Be there as soon as I can.” He clicked off and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. “You heard. About Billy Huber?” he said without preamble.
Pierce was nodding. “Just got the call. On my way there now.”
Jamison glanced at Nikki. “And you?”
“I’m tagging along.” At the furrowing of Jamison’s brow, she held up a hand. “I’ll stay in the car.”
He didn’t seem convinced, and really, it was probably a lie. She couldn’t imagine watching from the sidelines.
“She’ll wait until we sort out what happened.” Pierce was talking to Jamison, and the fact that he wasn’t addressing her directly got under Nikki’s skin.
“We don’t want another incident,” Jamison said, and Nikki sucked in a swift breath.
Pierce’s jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed.
They both understood, and a hot surge of guilt swept through Nikki when she thought of Sylvie Morrisette, once Pierce’s partner, now deceased.
The Texas-tough detective had died while trying to rescue Nikki, who had been investigating a case where she hadn’t been wanted, where she shouldn’t have been, at least in the minds of the local cops.
To this day, many officers in the police department blamed Pierce’s pushy wife for the loss of one of their own.
It hadn’t been easy for Nikki.
It was much worse for her husband.
“I said, ‘I’ll wait,’” she clarified, trying and failing to hide her annoyance.
“Good.” Jamison turned his attention to Pierce. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, but I have to deal with the party. Naomi’s insisting on family pictures since the girls are all dressed up.” Irritated, he shoved a hand through his hair. “So far, it’s been one helluva night.”