The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,124

of the road. Night had descended. Aside from the silvery glow of the moon reflecting on the river, the area was dark and thick, the noises of the night surrounded her. Crickets chirped, mosquitoes buzzed and a breath of wind whispered through the pines, all normal. All unsettling as she realized how alone she was. She thought about calling Reed but dismissed the thought until she was certain about what was going down. She wasn’t going to call her detective husband because Ashley Jefferson had come to the lodge by herself as some sort of personal journey in dealing with her grief over the death of Owen Duval.

Though Nikki expected Ashley to be meeting someone and she believed that whoever it was had something to do with Owen’s and possibly his sisters’ deaths, she had to be certain. This could, possibly, end up being a wild-goose chase, though deep in her heart, she didn’t believe it.

No, she thought, circumventing a branch protruding into the lane, this hastily made journey was about Owen and his siblings. She knew it. She could feel it. Whatever meeting was so hastily convened was to do with the Duval girls and what had happened to them.

But cops, her husband included, didn’t run on instinct or intuition. They needed cold, hard facts. Evidence.

Well, tonight, if her gut feeling was right, Nikki planned to serve that evidence, those cold, hard facts, up to them, on the proverbial silver platter!

She smiled to herself, her curiosity, ambition and need to uncover the truth propelling her on.

A bit of moonlight reflected on the puddles as she rounded a wide curve and suddenly the old inn came into view, a dark, looming structure rising two stories. A flat parking area stretched from the massive front door, a wide clearing rimmed by the woods. Nearby, visible through the stands of oak and pine was the river, a wide waterway glinting as moonlight danced over its surface. The roof and chimney were intact, the siding weathered, a wraparound porch encircling the lower level.

Nikki paused, hiding behind the bole of a huge live oak and peering beyond the drape of Spanish moss shifting with the breeze. Though the windows on the upper story were dark, an eerie glow emanated from those on the first floor, and in the unnatural light she spied two vehicles parked near the front door, their bumpers nearly touching the porch rail.

Ashley’s white Bentley gleamed with the silvery moonlight and next to it, a large gray pickup with darkened windows.

Nikki’s heart dropped.

She’d seen that vehicle before, remembered spying it following her upon occasion. It crossed her mind that she should leave now and text Reed, tell him to come out here, but still, nothing illegal had happened.

Yet.

But they have to be in cahoots. This has to be because of Owen’s death.

She still needed more evidence. So get it. What’re you waiting for?

Pushing all her doubts aside, she inched around the tree, and avoiding the patches of light cast from the windows, she, crouching, made her way quickly to the far side of the inn. Anticipation fired her blood. Who was Ashley meeting?

She considered trying to sneak inside but decided it was too risky. At least at this point.

Maybe she should leave now. Call Reed. Admit to what she’d done. Tell him her suspicions.

Of what?

That Ashley Jefferson after hearing the news about Owen Duval had gone to meet someone at the old lodge? So what?

First, she needed proof that Ashley and whomever she’d come to meet knew far more than they’d admitted.

Finally, Nikki felt, she would have some answers.

* * *

You’re not going to thwart me any longer, Nikki Gillette.

My thoughts are with the damned reporter as I drive through the night, my nerves tight as bow strings, my breath uneven. There is little traffic, which is a good thing, because I pay little attention to it, don’t see the oncoming headlights, brake by rote, the countryside fleeting by, my heart a drum.

I’m not letting you get in my way. I’m coming for you now.

With my foot on the accelerator I glance down at the GPS tracker’s screen and smile to myself. “I see you,” I say out loud, “and I know where you’re going. To the Beaumont estate. How fitting. Where it all started and now, it will end.”

I try to calm myself as I’m itching for this confrontation. I’ve waited far too long. All of my life seems to have led to this one decisive moment. I lick my