Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Close to twenty minutes later, Betsy ached to get out of Cain’s truck. To race across her front yard. To see for herself why every cop who walked out the front door didn’t have the nerve to look in her direction. But she wouldn’t. She’d keep her word to stay put.
Rummaging in her pocket, she realized she hadn’t bothered to check her phone messages after setting it to vibrate back at the car lot.
She scrolled down her list of missed phone calls—Sheriff Davis, JB, Marcy, Marcy, Marcy, Sadie, Marcy, Marcy, Sadie, Marcy.
Her family didn’t know the meaning of “give up.” Never had.
Never would. Betsy clicked the volume back to ring just as Marcy called again.
“You know you are being one persistent pain,” Marcy said. “And don’t try to tell me nothing’s wrong. JB got a call from Deputy Evans earlier. Went straight into the bathroom, locked the door and turned on the shower to keep me from hearing. I hate it when he does that. Hate it.”
Betsy knew there was no need to expect anything less from her sister. Heck, if the situation were reversed, she’d be just as determined to get through, too.
“Well, if you ask me, your husband always takes everything way too serious.” Betsy wouldn’t tell her that for once he had a right to be worried.
And for once she wished he were in town instead of in St. Louis, waiting to take her sisters and mama to the airport to catch a plane for New York. “Are you all at the airport yet?”
“Don’t you pull that with me, sister of mine. You are not going to change the subject.” Marcy paused. Blew out a sigh. “Betsy, JB took off back to Crayton well over two hours ago. Told us to get a shuttle to the airport. Now why did the deputy call?”
If JB hadn’t wanted to ruin the women’s trip, then far be it from her to say anything that might make them grab a rental car and head straight back home.
“How would I know what all goes on in the Crayton Police Department? Heck, did you know Cain Connery hired on at my business just so he could stake out the car lot to catch a drug runner?”
“So did he capture the guy?”
Cain stepped out the front door of her house and started toward the truck. At least he looked her in the eye.
She unlocked the truck door and slid out. “Marcy, I’ve got to go. Enjoy your trip and say hello to Broadway for me. Tell Sadie and Summer, I miss them already. Miss you, too, sister of mine. Love you all forever.”
Ending the call before there were any more questions, she headed to the front door of her house. Halfway there, she stopped in front of Cain.
“It’s not pretty in there.” He stared into her eyes with a warning look. And warmth. “You ready to go in?”
“I’m always ready.” Except when I’m not. “Let’s go.”
“Remember. Don’t touch anything inside or out,” Officer Hastings said, wearing gloves as she held the front storm door open for them. “Forensics will be here most of the day.”
“Got it. How’s my car in the garage?”
He shook his head. “Let’s just say, it’s not pretty.”
Betsy tightened her hair back in the scrunchie, straightened her stance and sighed heavily. Ready to face whatever came, she stepped into her home, the one that had been nice and neat when she’d arrived home late last night from California and the crime scene at Peyton’s.
The home had promised a welcoming respite as she raced out the door a little over an hour ago. Now all it offered was a view of what was left of her living room furniture and wine stains running down the far wall. Broken bottles littered the carpet below.
The fresh scent left behind after yesterday’s weekly cleaning had been replaced with the scent of spray paint, but there weren’t any words written on the walls so maybe her senses were flashing back to the service center.
Glancing across her open floor plan to the kitchen, the smell of pickle juice—lots of pickle juice—was easy to identify.
Her refrigerator lay tipped forward onto the floor.
The door had been opened prior to the catastrophe, and contents were broken and scattered across the floor.
That was the last straw.
“Son of a biscuit!” Bracing her hands on her hips, she briefly turned toward Cain. “This is a great how do you do. I mean, what am I supposed to make of—”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll take care of all this later.” He half grinned “But I’d say you’re going to need a new sofa for starters.”
“Really?” she sarcastically sassed as she headed toward Deputy Evans standing at the entrance to her bedroom. “You look like you’re waiting for me.”
The deputy nodded as he stepped aside and motioned her forward. “Sorry to make you do this, Betsy, and I know it won’t be easy. But I’d really appreciate your help.”
Suddenly she felt alone. All alone and vulnerable. She didn’t want to be alone to face whatever was waiting for her. “Is it bad, Cain?”
He moved closer. “There’s not a body, if that’s what you’re asking. But the thugs haven’t left any stones unturned when it comes to emotions.”
His tone was ominous, and suddenly she felt cold. Nauseous without knowing why.
The deputy stepped back in front of the door. “That’s okay, Betsy. You don’t have to do this. It’ll be easier if we take photos and review them back at the office.”
“No,” she whispered. “I’ll be okay. How bad can it be?”
She stared at the floor. Swiped the palms of her hands slowly down her cheeks. Let the memories flood her mind, then shoved them aside. Through the years, a lot of things had happened in that bedroom. She’d faced them all and survived. What was one more?
Looking back over her shoulder, she held out her hand toward Cain. “You coming with me?”
* * *
“I’m right beside you, Betsy. All the way.” Cain wrapped his fingers through hers and held tight as she gripped his in return.
His DEA background was so deeply instilled in him, he couldn’t help but still watch for her reactions.
Still keep her and Peyton’s on his Persons of Interest list. Still be wary of everything Shadow had told him that first night.
Plus, Cain planned to check with a handwriting expert, make sure surveillance videos from Crayton were able to alibi what was being said, and trace recent spray paint purchases.
Betsy had told him right from the beginning that she wasn’t who she used to be.
And neither was Crayton. That, mixed with Shadow’s warnings, had put a nagging doubt in his mind.
Everything that had happened the past couple of days screamed she was a target.
Yet his training warned him to remember that things weren’t always what they seemed.
People sometimes wore unseen masks. Verify everything yourself.
He was willing to put his life and reputation on the line for her, but he wished like hell she hadn’t put the doubt in his mind.
This case was only going to get worse, but no matter what happened in the next few days, they’d face everything as one.
Good or bad. Real or staged. All the way to the final chase, bullet or breath.
After that, only time would tell. She wasn’t asking for the future. He wasn’t expecting anything specific in return. Right now, keeping her safe was all that counted. That and keeping himself alive.
They followed the deputy into her bedroom where Officer Kennett was directing others on evidence documentation. Betsy nodded to them, then scanned the room, pausing at the words on the wall. The same words that had been left back at her dealership office were sprayed on her bedroom walls.
“Looks like I’ll need a new mattress, too.” She shook her head at the clothes from her closet, now scattered on the floor along with the contents of her dresser drawers.
Cain grunted. “I’ll put that on the list.”
Releasing his hand, she walked over to the ensuite and glanced in the half-open doorway. “Well, at least they didn’t touch this room.”
Deputy Evans cleared his throat as he stepped forward and pushed the door open with his elbow.
“They left you a message on the mirror. I just need you to tell me if you recognize the writing.” He cleared his throat again.
“I’m sorry, Betsy, but this will really help us work on identifying the culprit. ”
Cain’s gut told him to be quiet. Stay out of the police business.
After all, the deputy was just doing his job.
Many a time he’d been forced to ask a victim to do something to help in his own DEA cases.
Things that solidified the evidence or clue.
He’d thought nothing of it. But this was the woman he cared about, and the idea of her walking into the bathroom punched him to his core.
He lightly touched her shoulder. “Take a breath, Betsy. I’m right here.”
“Is it bad?”
“It’s a threat. But it’s also a clue.”
Her half-smile reaction stilled any nerves he’d been having. And the upward tilt of her chin as she straightened her stance showed him she was ready for anything. He wasn’t so sure. People always had lines not to cross.
“Okay then…” She clenched her jaws. “The jerk wants to play games with me, he’s met his match.”
She stared straight ahead as she walked into her newly remodeled master bath. The one she’d paid extra to have an eight-foot double-sink vanity, eight-foot slab of hand-picked marble and the matching eight-foot mirror on the wall.
Scrawled across the mirror now was:
CLOCK IS TICKING, BETSY! Give me what I want—
I’d hate to see you end up like Phillip—
Bang!Bang!CRASH!
Betsy paled. Shivered. “Cain… I can’t—”
“I’ve got you.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her tight against his side. Forcing her to take a step, he got them out of the bathroom. “Deputy Evans, Betsy and I are leaving. She’ll be at my house if you have any more questions.”
The deputy didn’t try to stop them, but followed close behind. “Betsy, do you recognize the handwriting? Does any of it make sense? Betsy! I need to know.”
Cain kept hold of her, guiding them to the front door. “I said we’re leaving.”
Out the door. Down the steps. Crossing the yard, headed for his truck.
“Betsy!” Deputy Evans shouted from a few steps behind. “Yes? Or no?”
She raised her hand for Cain to stop. “Phillip. It looks vaguely like Phillip’s handwriting.”
“What do you mean?” the deputy asked.
“Believe me, I know that’s not possible. We buried him in the church cemetery two years ago. You were even one of the pall bearers, Deputy Evans.” Sighing, she slowly shook her head. “But there’s something about the last line that bothered me.”
“It’s just part of the threat.”
“No, it’s something else. Something I can almost put my finger on,” Betsy said, “and then it’s gone before it’s clear in my mind. But even though it looks like Phillip’s handwriting, it isn’t. Phillip is dead.”
The deputy shook his head and shrugged. “Don’t you worry, we’ll get this all figured out. Now go home with Cain and get some rest.”
Deputy Evans headed back to the house as Cain helped her into the passenger seat of his truck and clicked her seatbelt into place. As if in shock, she sat there staring straight ahead. A second later he opened a protein bar from the glove box and pushed it into her hand.
“Here, Betsy. Eat.”
When she didn’t budge, he tapped her on the shoulder then pointed to the bar once again. “Take a few bites for me. Okay?”
She nodded and complied as he closed the door. A few seconds later, as he buckled into his own seatbelt, she started to get a little color back in her face. And she’d eaten the entire bar.
“I can’t stay at your house, Cain.”
“Of course, you can. It’s all torn up with the remodeling, but there’s lots of room.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she said. “Being around you makes me feel…”
“Yeah. Me, too. And we can talk about that later.” For a brief moment he covered her hand with his.
Then started the truck and drove toward his house.
“Right now, I want you to stay because when you first agreed to let us use Peyton’s as a sting setup, you said you could risk yourself but never your family. Do you remember what I said?”
“Yes.” She lightly touched his arm. “You promised to keep us all safe.”
“Right now, this is the best way for me to do that. Agreed?” He arrived at his house and turned off the truck, waiting for her answer before opening the driver’s side door. Wasn’t far between the carport and the back door, but the less time they were out in the open, the better he’d feel.
The silence in the truck was as thick as the chill rapidly overtaking the interior since he’d shut off the engine. He waited. He could wait as long as it took her to make the decision she was wrestling with in her mind.
From the pinch of Betsy’s brows, she was intensely focused on something.
The downturn of the corners of her lips could mean a lot of things, but from the way this day had turned out, he couldn’t blame her for being down on life.
Depending on her answer, his ability to protect her might get easier.
Might not. Either way, he’d be there for her no matter what.
“There’s someplace I want to go if you don’t mind,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Sure.” He started the truck and pulled out of the driveway. “Anywhere in particular?”
“I want to drive around the lake.” After pressing a few buttons on her phone, she laid it on the seat between them. “Just follow Siri’s directions. She knows the way.”