The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,129
phone beeped again.
On the small screen, she saw Pierce Reed’s name.
Again.
Great. Just . . . effing great.
Delacroix didn’t need to deal with him, either.
Not tonight. Not when everything was finally coming together.
He would only get in the way.
She ignored the call as she passed by the Cravenses’ cabin.
A shame about Bronco. He shouldn’t have died. But then, he got curious, snooped around and . . .
She thought about texting or calling Reed.
Lying again.
But then they’d get into it.
And then she might expose herself.
Not yet.
She held on to that mantra as hard as she gripped the steering wheel.
Not yet. Not yet. Not yet!
According to the indicator on her GPS screen, Nikki Gillette’s car was parked nearby, so she drove into a spur that dead-ended not twenty yards from the country lane, parked at the base of a live oak, where scrub brush partially hid her vehicle, and climbed out. Snagging her backpack from the passenger seat, she felt the weight of her pistol at her waist, then set off along the side of the road at a brisk pace.
The night was quiet aside from the hum of insects and the lapping of the river.
Undisturbed.
Serene.
But it wouldn’t be for long.
* * *
No one was answering!
Reed jammed his phone into the cup holder of the SUV.
He’d called his wife multiple times.
Something was wrong. Really wrong.
He knew it and tasted fear rising in the back of his throat.
What the hell was Nikki doing at the Marianne Inn?
He saw the turnoff for Settler’s Road and hit the gas, cutting in front of a huge semi heading the opposite direction and getting a loud, angry honk from the driver.
Too bad.
The SUV slid a little, then held and he thought about hitting his lights and siren, then held off. If she was in trouble, he didn’t want to warn anyone who might want to harm her that he was coming.
“Son of a—”
He rounded the corner and spied the spur leading to Bronco Cravens’s cabin and whipped past. The Marianne Inn was less than a quarter of a mile ahead and he slowed. Nikki’s last text came to mind:
Be careful!
This, from the most careless woman he knew. Oh, God, what had she done? His mind flashed to the other times he’d thought he’d lost her, how she’d barely escaped with her life. Too many times to consider and just recently in the river near the Beaumont manor where she’d nearly drowned, how he’d watched her sink below the surface, how Sylvie Morrisette had given up her life while trying to save Nikki. His jaw clenched and his heart was cold as ice. He recalled Nikki in the hospital and how relieved he’d been that she’d been saved, only to hear that his partner had died. Wasn’t that enough?
And now? Now, dear God, he knew that Nikki was in danger again. He might lose her all because of her reckless need to ferret out the truth.
His phone rang and he snagged it from the seat. “Reed,” he spat out irritably as the call hadn’t come from Nikki.
“Yeah, this is Austin Wells.” Owen Duval’s attorney. “You called me.”
“Right.” He nodded as if the lawyer could somehow see him through the connection. “I’m looking for my partner. She’s not answering her phone. Thought I could catch her through you if she’s still at your place.”
“Your partner?” Wells repeated.
“Detective Delacroix. I need to talk to her.”
A beat.
In that instant Reed felt a new, unnamed dread.
“Detective Delacroix?” Austin said. “She was supposed to be here?”
“To discuss Owen Duval’s will.”
The attorney snorted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen anyone from the police department.”
The concerns Reed had been having about Delacroix congealed. Dear God.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Been here all evening. You all have got your wires crossed.”
“Thanks,” Reed said automatically, but his mind was racing, his jaw set, guts twisting. Where in God’s name was his partner?
And more importantly, why the hell had she lied to him?
* * *
A floorboard on the old porch squeaked loudly as Nikki reached a window on the back side of the lodge’s great room, a window that was open slightly, as if it didn’t seal correctly. When she dared peek over the sill, she saw the cavernous great room of the Marianne Inn. The ceilings soared two full stories with a balcony visible on the second floor. A rock fireplace dominated one end of the room and faced a staircase at the far wall. She was able to see all this because of