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Authors: Debra Webb, Regan Black
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thoughtfully and carefully nurtured her paranoia to the point that she didn’t trust anyone.
“Find out who he is. I want everything you can find on him.”
“I’m on it.”
What could she be thinking? The idea of his trophy, his reward, spending her time with one of the temporary workers passing through town, set his temper blazing. He didn’t fight it, letting it burn, vaporizing the haze of his misplaced esteem and affection for Abigail Jensen. She was now his enemy with no potential for redemption.
“Updates every hour. I want pictures, as well.”
“Already handled.”
“Really?” Deke knew better than to ask how. It was satisfying to have something going right. The people he hired quickly learned about his zero tolerance for failure. He supposed he owed the man some encouragement. “This afternoon’s vandalism was good work.”
“Thank you.”
“You can trust them to keep quiet?” Deke wondered about the misfits the man had hired to deface the town’s historic welcome sign.
“I don’t trust anyone that much.”
“Good.” It was the tacit confirmation he wanted that the vandals were dead. Dead men didn’t tell tales. “I’ll leave you to it.”
The call ended and Deke walked to the window that overlooked the water. It was a worthy view of the quaint little town when the moon was full. Tonight it was dull and gray, the sky full of clouds. Mother Nature seemed all too willing to accommodate Belclare’s hope for a fresh blanket of picturesque snow to kick off their annual event.
The only good thing about the tourist season was the potential for more victims and even more suspects. The police department would have no rest until the next shipment was safely through. And when he was done with Abigail Jensen, when she was thoroughly ruined and dead at his feet, Deke promised himself he would move from this insipid place. He wanted to find somewhere with more space and more sunshine to go with his anonymity.
With his endgame in mind, he called in his assistant and gave the next orders. Yes, a fresh blanket of snow would fit perfectly into his plan. That way the spilled blood would show up a vivid red.
Chapter Seven
Belclare Police Station
Thursday, December 1, 9:15 a.m.
Abby rushed through the back door toward her office, already an hour behind schedule and her mind a jumble of details that needed to be handled swiftly. Checking on her neighbor this morning had taken longer than she’d expected, but it had been necessary. Calder was a friend, and now, a victim. Learning who might have wanted to hurt him to get to her was essential.
Then she’d discovered someone had broken into her garage last night. Nothing appeared to be missing or damaged—except her pride, which was exactly why she had no intention of making a formal report on it. If the chief of police couldn’t protect her own home, how was she going to protect the town? She shook her head. The feds would holler again about protection and security. Maybe they had a point. The extra patrols would have to be enough—the people she was responsible for in this community took priority. With any luck they’d catch the troublemaker before a security system could be installed. Maybe she was losing it? Her mind and her ability to get the job done.
No time to debate the latter. This morning’s delays had cost her valuable mental prep time going into today’s meeting with Mayor Scott and Martin Filmore. Sadly, she couldn’t put off this potential minefield. Both men were waiting for her and came to their feet as she walked in. Their easy presence in her office made her want to shoot something.
“Good morning,” she offered, not even trying to smile.
“You’re fifteen minutes late,” Mayor Scott said.
“I hope the sergeant made you comfortable.” Based on the two cups of coffee on her desk, it looked as if they were comfortable enough.
She put her coat on the rack and set her purse to the side before taking her
“Find out who he is. I want everything you can find on him.”
“I’m on it.”
What could she be thinking? The idea of his trophy, his reward, spending her time with one of the temporary workers passing through town, set his temper blazing. He didn’t fight it, letting it burn, vaporizing the haze of his misplaced esteem and affection for Abigail Jensen. She was now his enemy with no potential for redemption.
“Updates every hour. I want pictures, as well.”
“Already handled.”
“Really?” Deke knew better than to ask how. It was satisfying to have something going right. The people he hired quickly learned about his zero tolerance for failure. He supposed he owed the man some encouragement. “This afternoon’s vandalism was good work.”
“Thank you.”
“You can trust them to keep quiet?” Deke wondered about the misfits the man had hired to deface the town’s historic welcome sign.
“I don’t trust anyone that much.”
“Good.” It was the tacit confirmation he wanted that the vandals were dead. Dead men didn’t tell tales. “I’ll leave you to it.”
The call ended and Deke walked to the window that overlooked the water. It was a worthy view of the quaint little town when the moon was full. Tonight it was dull and gray, the sky full of clouds. Mother Nature seemed all too willing to accommodate Belclare’s hope for a fresh blanket of picturesque snow to kick off their annual event.
The only good thing about the tourist season was the potential for more victims and even more suspects. The police department would have no rest until the next shipment was safely through. And when he was done with Abigail Jensen, when she was thoroughly ruined and dead at his feet, Deke promised himself he would move from this insipid place. He wanted to find somewhere with more space and more sunshine to go with his anonymity.
With his endgame in mind, he called in his assistant and gave the next orders. Yes, a fresh blanket of snow would fit perfectly into his plan. That way the spilled blood would show up a vivid red.
Chapter Seven
Belclare Police Station
Thursday, December 1, 9:15 a.m.
Abby rushed through the back door toward her office, already an hour behind schedule and her mind a jumble of details that needed to be handled swiftly. Checking on her neighbor this morning had taken longer than she’d expected, but it had been necessary. Calder was a friend, and now, a victim. Learning who might have wanted to hurt him to get to her was essential.
Then she’d discovered someone had broken into her garage last night. Nothing appeared to be missing or damaged—except her pride, which was exactly why she had no intention of making a formal report on it. If the chief of police couldn’t protect her own home, how was she going to protect the town? She shook her head. The feds would holler again about protection and security. Maybe they had a point. The extra patrols would have to be enough—the people she was responsible for in this community took priority. With any luck they’d catch the troublemaker before a security system could be installed. Maybe she was losing it? Her mind and her ability to get the job done.
No time to debate the latter. This morning’s delays had cost her valuable mental prep time going into today’s meeting with Mayor Scott and Martin Filmore. Sadly, she couldn’t put off this potential minefield. Both men were waiting for her and came to their feet as she walked in. Their easy presence in her office made her want to shoot something.
“Good morning,” she offered, not even trying to smile.
“You’re fifteen minutes late,” Mayor Scott said.
“I hope the sergeant made you comfortable.” Based on the two cups of coffee on her desk, it looked as if they were comfortable enough.
She put her coat on the rack and set her purse to the side before taking her
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