Chapter 10
For a second, he thought he was dreaming.
No. Not dreaming. Front door. Someone was trying to beat it down.
He grabbed his sidearm and hustled through the dark apartment. Squinting through the kitchen window, he identified the figure illuminated by the porch light—Lena. With little Nutmeg flopping around in the crook of her arm.
She was calling his name. And panic-banging the door. The terror in her voice jolted adrenaline into his system. He gripped his weapon and flung open the door.
She fell into the apartment, then popped back onto her feet, cuddling Nutmeg, who looked frazzled but uninjured.
Nash kept his weapon raised toward the porch, half-expecting to see an armed pursuer. No one materialized, but he kicked the door shut in case someone was en route.
"What happened?" he asked.
"There's . . . there's . . ." Panic was an understatement. She was hyperventilating. She'd go into shock or pass out if he didn't calm her. Fast.
Not ready to lay down his weapon, he gripped her upper arm with his left hand. "Lena, is someone outside?"
"Huh?"
"Was someone chasing you?"
She shook her head. "No. No. I didn't see anyone."
He guided her to the sofa and set his gun on the end table.
She collapsed onto the sofa and loosened her grip on Nutmeg. The furball camped himself next to her on one side, and Nash sat on the other.
Her body trembled, eyes focusing and unfocusing.
Concern for her burned through him. He needed answers.
"Lena, look at me." He placed both his hands on her shoulders. "Did someone hurt you?"
She shook her head.
"What happened?"
Her words hurtled over erratic breaths. "Cassidy. I think it's Cassidy." Several quick breaths. "I think I saw Cassidy."
If she'd seen her cousin alive and well, she'd have had a different reaction. Something was very wrong.
"Okay, you saw Cassidy. Where?" he asked, keeping his tone calm and even.
Her face contorted. Yes, something was very wrong.
He had to get her calmed down before she passed out. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. "I've got you, Lena. You're okay. I've got you."
She leaned into him, still gasping for air.
"Slow breaths, Lena. Slow breaths. I've got you." He rubbed her back until he felt her breathing regulate. "Lena, I promise you're safe. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. But what did you see?"
She eased out of his arms and looked him in the eye. "I think I saw Cassidy."
"You think?"
"I . . . Nutmeg needed to go out. To do his business.
So I put him on the leash and we just walked around the side of the house.
I didn't want to go far in the middle of the night.
He did what he needed to, and he was sniffing around the flower bed, and he started going crazy.
He pulled so hard I let go of the leash.
He started pawing around the flower bed and . . ."
Her body froze. He had a sick feeling he knew where this was going. But he needed her to confirm.
"Nutmeg found something in the flower bed?" he asked.
"I saw . . ." Her hand flew to her mouth as if saying the words would make it true. Her fingers slid down her face. "I saw blond hair and a hand. A woman's hand. I . . .I . . ." She hiccuped.
He tugged her against his chest again, holding her with one arm and rubbing her back with his free hand.
After a few seconds, he lowered his mouth to her ear.
"I need to go check it out. You're going to stay here.
" He leaned back to look her in the eyes.
"You need to concentrate on slow breaths.
I can't leave until I know you're not going to pass out. It's going to be okay."
She shook her head. "No, it's not. It's not. Nothing's going to be okay."
He knew what she meant. That was a stupid thing to say. If Cassidy was dead . . . He didn't have to go there yet.
He rubbed his hands up and down her forearms. "Stay here with Nutmeg. I'm locking the door. I'll use the code to let myself back in, so don't open the door for anyone. Or any reason. Okay?"
Her head bobbed. "Okay."
"I'll be back in less than five minutes. Which flower bed was Nutmeg digging in?"
Her arms trembled, but she stood a little straighter. "The one with the hibiscus on the side of the house."
Thankfully, that was specific enough. Only one of the beds near the house had hibiscus.
He stepped away from her just long enough to shove on his shoes. He'd been sleeping in jogging shorts and a T-shirt. That was good enough for this investigation. He wasn't going to leave his gun behind though.
Lena sat on the sofa, hugging herself, Nutmeg at her feet.
He scooped up Nutmeg and deposited him in her lap, which seemed to comfort both of them. She wrapped her arms around the little dog and held him to her chest like a child hugging a teddy bear, which was exactly what Nutmeg looked like anyway.
"I'll be right back. Remember, don't open the door."
"I won't."
He hated leaving her, but he needed to see this for himself.
He set the alarm and sprinted to the main house.
When he found the flower bed Lena had described, he turned on his phone's flashlight and shone it around the ground.
It didn't take him long to find a disturbed area.
If Nutmeg hadn't alerted Lena to his find, no one would have looked behind the flowering bush in the narrow space between the bush and the house.
He knelt in the soft earth and immediately saw part of a hand exposed, likely female. A foot away, blond hair protruded from the freshly disturbed soil.
He hated what he was about to do. But he absolutely had to do it.
The task sickened him. Not because he had a weak stomach, but because it broke his heart. No way on earth he wasn't looking at a murder victim. And by the look of the hair and the hand, it was a young woman. But he had to get a positive ID.
To describe her resting place as a shallow grave was a gross understatement. This was done in haste. Desperate haste. Which is why Nutmeg had uncovered part of her so quickly. He brushed away just a few inches of soil, guessing where the face was. He examined the woman with his flashlight.
He didn't know who she was, but he'd studied enough pictures to know the woman lying in Emil Van Horn's hibiscus bed was not Cassidy. Relief flooded through him.
He'd have good news for Lena, but this poor soul was still a murder victim. And she'd been killed in the last few hours. Right under his nose.
He took several pictures of her face from different angles for WhiteRock to use for identification. Calling the police on this island wasn't a good idea. Jason had explained how things worked around here when he first hired Nash. The authorities could be on the murderer's payroll.
WhiteRock would ID the woman and get justice for her if they could.
He took the pictures he needed and carefully replaced the soil over her body. It wasn't a proper burial, and he would do his best to rectify that later, but right now his main objective was making sure whoever put her there did not realize she'd been discovered.
He erased his tracks, Lena's tracks, any evidence that Nutmeg had been there. Which took longer than he had intended. He jogged back to his apartment, disabled the alarm, and went in.
Lena sat rigid on the sofa, still clutching Nutmeg, eyes red and swollen from crying. Her gaze locked on his when he walked in.
"It's not her, Lena."
She blinked, but showed no sign that she had processed what he said.
"Lena, I'm telling you the truth. I checked. It's not her, I promise." He held up his phone. "I even took pictures to send to my team."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Are you sure? You're sure?"
He sat beside her, laid his phone on the coffee table and took her hands in his. "I'm positive. I don't know who she is yet, but she is not Cassidy."
She opened her mouth and closed it again. "Wait, what do you mean you took pictures?"
"I removed just enough soil around her face to get the pictures we would need to make an ID. Then I reburied her."
Her eyes bulged. "You what?"
"Lena, whoever that is, she was obviously murdered in the last twenty-four hours and hastily buried on this property. We don't need to let whoever put her there know that we found her. That would put us in danger."
He watched fresh fear slice through her.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he said. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I'll keep you safe. I promise."
"But . . .but who murdered her? And why? We don't know what's going on. How are we safe here?" Her voice rose at least two octaves, panic pulsing in every syllable.
He squeezed her hands trying to anchor her. "All good questions. I'll find the answers. You get some rest. I need to make some calls."
"There's no way I'm going back to sleep in that house."
"No, you're not. You'll stay here. The apartment is secure. I don't want to have to clear Emil's entire house right now." He inclined his head toward his bedroom. "Take my room. I'll take the couch after I've talked to WhiteRock."
"Do you think whoever killed her is still here, on the property?"
"I doubt it. But no reason to take chances tonight. Get some sleep. Do you need anything?"
"Do you mind if Nutmeg sleeps in your bed too? He likes to sleep with me. He's used to sleeping with Victoria."
"Sure," Nash said. He rubbed Nutmeg's head. "The little guy's had a rough night too. I wouldn't want him to have to sleep on the floor like an animal."
She didn't smile at his attempt at humor. But appreciation shone in her tired eyes. "Thank you."
He watched her walk into his room and shut the door.
Dear God, please help me keep them safe.