Chapter 4 #2
Clay seemed to understand. He didn’t bother her, and she appreciated that.
She leaned against the door and finally allowed the sobs to overtake her.
Later, with her tears spent, she shrugged out of Clay’s coat to change her clothes.
He’d want the coat back. Besides, during the struggle with her kidnappers, she’d torn the sleeve of her shirt.
Darby changed into another then discarded the torn garment.
She wanted no reminders of this terrible day.
Her Bible sat on the nightstand, so she pulled it to her and opened it to Deuteronomy 31:6. Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.
She’d clung to this verse during the ups and downs of her marriage and then her divorce.
So many times, she’d feared she couldn’t pay the bills or buy David’s school clothes.
But today, this verse hit her differently, because she realized she’d never truly been afraid before.
She prayed for the strength and courage in this verse. She would need it to survive.
Clay listened as Darby disappeared behind the door. He didn’t go to her. She didn’t need his hollow sympathy. She needed space to work through this alone.
His gaze scanned the living room, noting it was neat and tidy but not cold.
The oversized sofa, rugs, and photographs placed around the room gave it a very lived-in feel.
It reminded him of the little apartment he and his wife Jackie had shared their first year of marriage in its simplicity.
A photo of her son took prominence on the mantle.
He was obviously important to her based on the photographs of him on the wall and the homemade drawings he’d seen on the refrigerator door.
And that made him all the more determined to ferret out this threat against her before David returned home.
He stepped into the kitchen, dialed Sheriff Malone, and lifted his phone to his ear.
“My deputies haven’t located Brent Foster yet. They went to his apartment and his dealership. His employees claimed they hadn’t seen him in days.”
Clay had been afraid of that. Once this plot had failed, he might be on the run. However, addicts don’t always think rationally. “Check the casino, the track, any gambling facility he frequents.”
“You think we haven’t?” Malone retorted.
“One of his employees discovered that Brent’s involved with some dangerous people.
I’m sending you information about a gambling ring operating in Sheraton and surrounding counties.
Lazlo Parker is the ringleader. If Foster owes him money and can’t pay, there’s no telling what they’ll do to collect. ”
That didn’t sound good for Darby. “Okay, let me know if you find him.” Clay ended the call then hit the button to phone Cooper.
“I confirmed what Darby said about her grandmother and uncle. Looks as if he convinced her to make him a signer on her accounts then dumped her into a nursing home as soon as he could and tore through her fortune. He lost her house and all her assets through bad investments and get-rich schemes. It’s not easy to track his accounts because he has a history of using shell companies to make transactions.
But it looks as if he’s running out of money fast. He inherited everything she had except an account she’d placed in a trust for Darby and changed her will to name Darby as the recipient.
When the uncle discovered the money left to Darby, he contested the will, claiming his mother was too incompetent to make changes to it.
However, the nursing home staff refuted that, insisting she was competent until her dying day.
The judge dismissed the case, but Darby’s uncle is still trying to use every legal means he can to try to reclaim the money. ”
And possibly illegal means? “He knows how to hide his money. I’d say that makes him a suspect. But how does killing Darby help him to get his money back?”
Cooper sighed. “That’s a good question. I’ll keep digging into him.”
“What about the police chief? Have you found anything on him?”
“People have filed complaints, but nothing has come of it. And her former employee, Suzanne, has a string of misdemeanor arrests but only one conviction for shoplifting. I emailed the local prosecutor’s office and asked about that video Darby claimed the homeowners turned in.
They also suspected the chief made it disappear, but they can’t prove it. ”
Clay exhaled slowly, glancing down the hallway at the closed bedroom door. “She has a lot stacked against her,” he said, more to himself than Cooper.
“More than anyone should have to face,” Cooper agreed.
Clay recalled how embarrassed she’d been to realize so many people held grudges against her. Maybe they resented her because Darby had firm boundaries in her life. Probably had to, just to survive life with an addict. And to make it as a business owner.
“Strict boundaries can create enemies.”
“There’s something else,” Cooper explained. “The neighbor you mentioned has a grandson with a record. Might be nothing, but he’s caught up in the drug life. He might have known someone who’d do the job. Could be she sicced him on Darby.”
So he couldn’t rule out Mrs. Buford just yet. He needed to ask Darby what she knew about her neighbor’s grandson.
He placed a delivery order for pasta and sandwiches, and it arrived as Darby finally emerged from her bedroom. She had changed clothes but her cheeks were splotchy from crying.
He’d been using the table as a desk so he put his laptop away and spread out the food then grabbed them each a bottle of water.
“Help yourself,” he said as she pulled out a chair and sat down.
She flashed him a grateful smile. “Thank you for this. I hadn’t even thought about food.”
“No problem.”
They ate in silence for several minutes before she brought up the case. “Have you found anything?”
“Not much,” he admitted. “It does look as if your ex-husband might be in bed with some bad people. Sheriff Malone sent over some information about a gambling ring operating in the area. If your ex-husband got himself involved with these men, he could be in deep. They’re backed by a powerful broker.
” He pulled out his phone and opened a photo Malone had sent him of Lazlo Parker.
“Do you know this man?”
She eyed the image then shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before. Who is he?”
“Lazlo Parker. It’s doubtful he’s had any contact with your ex, but a network of men work for him. It’s possible Brent owes money to one of them. Sheriff Malone is getting your ex’s financial records. He’ll send them to me after he reviews them.”
She picked at her food. “I doubt you’ll find anything meaningful.”
“You might be surprised. Still, we have to look.”
She nodded then pushed away her food. “You might not like this, but one of my employees called and said she can’t come in tomorrow. I covered all her houses except one. I’ll have to clean it myself. I know it’s inconvenient, but it’s too close to Christmas to cancel on a client.”
He held up his hand to halt her justification. “It’s not a problem. We need you to continue your normal daily routines. It’ll lure the killer into thinking your guard is down.”
“I can’t bring a stranger into their house with me.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll follow behind you and park on the street. I’ll keep a watch out for trouble. And I know how to be discreet.”
“Ican’t afford to lose another client.”
Once they’d finished eating, they cleaned up then she went to check on the dogs while Clay did another check of the house and walked the perimeter.
In mid-yawn, she went back inside ahead of him. She tried to laugh off her fear, but he saw the toll the day had taken.
“You’ve had a long day. Why don’t you turn in? I’ll take the couch, and if anything happens, I’ll hear.”
She brought him a blanket and pillow then hurried back to her room. He tossed them on the sofa. It wasn’t the worst place he’d ever slept, but he didn’t expect to get much sleep tonight. Not with his attention on high alert.
Morton and Winters might be dead. But the person who’d hired them was still out there, and more threats still loomed.
Darby awoke to the sharp aroma of coffee and the comforting crackle of bacon. Her eyes fluttered open as her stomach grumbled. For a moment, she just breathed it in, forgetting all that had happened to her. Then, it all came rushing back.
She pulled on her robe then hurried barefoot toward the kitchen.
Clay stood at the stove, sleeves rolled, fork in one hand, bowl in the other, scrambling eggs as if he belonged there. Her tiny kitchen somehow looked smaller with him in it. Warmer, too.
“Morning. I hope you’re hungry,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, his smile making her chest flutter.
She tried not to stare. He’d showered, changed, and now smelled like cedar and clean soap.
Like strength and safety and something she didn’t want to want.
She slid past him to the table, snatched a strip of bacon, tore a piece off then popped it into her mouth, if only to avoid blurting something stupid. But she was hungry too.
Clay chuckled then joined her at the table, scooping eggs onto her plate and then his own. They ate in quiet rhythm, the kind of easy silence she’d never had with anyone else. Having Clay across from her, sleeves pushed up, jaw flexing as he ate felt disarmingly … normal.
She almost forgot someone had tried to kill her yesterday.
Almost.
After breakfast, Darby slipped into jeans and a hoodie and headed outside to take care of the dogs while Clay followed without a word, his presence a steady shadow behind her. He stood by his truck, scanning the neighborhood, a quiet sentinel.
She loaded cleaning supplies into her van then climbed in and headed across town. A quick glance in her rearview confirmed Clay following in his truck. Knowing he was there soothed the tight knot in her gut. She didn’t want to admit how shaken she still felt.
The Holmes family lived on the far side of town in a manicured cul-de-sac.
Darby parked in their empty driveway, noting the absence of both cars.
Good. She preferred working alone. She had a key and the alarm codes for just such occasions.
Still, she shot Mia Holmes a text to confirm she was there before unlocking the back door and stepping inside.
Bandit, their Yorkie, barked once and then, recognizing her, flopped into his usual chair with a huff.
While Trudy was their regular housekeeper these days, Darby had only recently turned it over to her employee.
Before that, Darby had regularly cleaned the house herself, and Bandit still recognized her.
She keyed in the alarm information then got to work.
Darby cleaned the kitchen, using muscle memory—washing dishes, wiping counters, scrubbing the floor until it gleamed. Her thoughts spun in the quiet. Cleaning calmed her. Always had. The repetition, the order—it made sense in a world that rarely did.
She moved upstairs with Bandit padding behind her, the vacuum trailing in her wake. Room by room, she restored order, piece by piece.
Maybe someday she could do the same with her own life.
As she vacuumed the front bedroom, a sharp electronic chime rang out. Then the rising woo-woo of the house alarm.
She froze.
Bandit barked, stiff-legged and snarling at the doorway.
Darby’s pulse slammed into her throat.
She had armed the alarm. She was sure of it. It triggered only if someone came in.
She dropped the vacuum handle and ran to the window, yanking aside the curtain. Clay’s truck sat parked across the street.
Empty.
Her breath caught as she spotted him sprinting across the side yard, jaw clenched, hand near his waistband.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
She whipped it out.
Clay’s voice came through, clipped and low. “Someone just broke in through the back door. You need to hide. Now.”