The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,107

been a crime scene. Evidence of the police having been there was visible though the basement was still packed with old furniture and boxes and old clothes.

The floor was covered in mud, drying in some spots, wet and gooey in others, the sound of dripping water breaking the silence. With a quick look around, she discovered the area that had been cleared away from an outer brick wall and the dark, gaping hole with its hiding place.

The Duval girls’ tomb.

Her throat went dry at the thought of what had happened here, how the girls may have suffered, how they’d been laid to rest and hidden from their family and the world. She shined her light in the cavern, now clean, whatever evidence had been inside meticulously extracted by the police.

She took pictures, best as she could, the flash on her camera flaring like lightning in this basement with its low ceiling and dark secrets. She stepped closer to the wall and then stopped at the sound of a voice.

That was crazy. No one was here. But . . .

Was that a female voice? For a second she thought of Nell, the girl who had drowned here, Baxter’s sister, the rumored ghost. The hairs at her neck lifted and she froze.

It couldn’t be.

The voice was getting louder.

Seriously?

She couldn’t be found here.

No one could suspect she’d been on the estate or in the house. She thought of the open window over the kitchen sink and the overturned bucket on the porch. Oh, crap, oh, crap, oh, crap! She backed up slowly, toward the stairs. If she could sneak out before anyone came down here—

Clunk!

The back of her legs hit something—God knew what—as she inched her way backward, the voice louder.

“I know, okay? I’ll check it out. But we can only rush things through as fast as we can . . .”

Nikki recognized the voice.

Definitely not a ghost. She slid around what felt like a chest of drawers and hid behind it as she heard a key in a lock.

That stopped her cold.

Who had a key?

The person who killed Bronco Cravens? Had he . . . no, she found a duplicate? But why come here? Why in the middle of a rainstorm—

The door opened and footsteps sounded in the staircase.

Nikki’s heart was hammering fast, her throat dry as she tried to make herself as small as possible. She peered around the edge of the bureau.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll be back soon . . . okay. Talk to you then.”

Who is the woman?

The footsteps started descending.

Oh. God.

A flashlight’s beam swept into the basement, moving swiftly, startling a rat that scurried out of its path.

She bit back a scream.

Don’t panic.

But she was already silently freaking out and wondering why the hell she hadn’t brought a weapon of any kind.

Because you thought you’d be alone. You thought Tyson’s cameras and NO TRESPASSING signs would be enough to keep anyone from coming.

Shrinking back into the cavity beneath the stairs, she hardly dared breathe while watching the bluish glare of the flashlight’s beam as it swept over boxes and crates, stacks of bags and broken furniture.

The beam arched over the ceiling near her, exposing cobwebs and tools hanging on the crossbeam.

A hammer!

Not much of a weapon, but something. If she could just get to it.

The beam moved through the piles of trash, away from the stairs to the wall where the bodies had been buried.

Nikki thought about the hammer. Should she go for it?

It was risky and little help against a gun—

You don’t know if this person, whoever it is, has a weapon.

Still . . .

The beam slid into the cavern.

Nerves strung to the breaking point, she silently stepped away from her hiding space and reached up, her hands swiping the air wildly. Shit! She tried again, touched the hammer and it slipped off its nail, sliding through Nikki’s sweating palms. Her heart nearly stopped as her fingers tightened over the claw, feeling it slice her skin just before the hammer hit the ground.

But there was movement in the still air.

“What the hell?” The flashlight’s beam swung toward the stairs.

Oh, God.

Nikki, like a frightened snail, withdrew as far as she could into the dark alcove. She shifted the hammer, holding on to the smooth wood of the handle, wondering if she’d have to use it.

“Is someone there?” the woman demanded, harshly.

Nikki’s heart knocked crazily in her chest.

Her slick fingers held the hammer in a death grip.

Whoever was holding the flashlight started walking toward the stairs. “I know you’re