The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,136

prey in the predawn hours and deep into the twilight. He knew the feel of the forest, the woods, could almost sense another predator, and tonight he was itchy, felt something was off, something he had to right.

“No.” Ashley was shaking her head, a new worry appearing in her gorgeous eyes as she understood what he was getting at. “Wait a second. Tyson, what are you saying?”

“Oh, for God’s sake. It’s pretty simple, Ash. Nikki Gillette needs to be stopped. Permanently.”

* * *

Nikki bit back a gasp.

She’d stayed too long.

Intrigued by the conversation, by the confessions, she’d lingered on the porch, her phone recording the exchange as Tyson Beaumont had admitted to the murders of the Duval girls, his own sister, Nell, Bronco Cravens, and Owen Duval.

Nikki had what she came for. More than she’d expected. Now, though, it was time to leave.

“Gillette’s onto us,” Tyson was saying, his voice rising again as he straightened. “That’s why she showed up at your place tonight.”

“You don’t know that.” But Ashley’s protests sounded weak.

“Yeah, I do.”

Nikki reached for her phone and caught another glimpse of the couple inside. Ashley was trying to shake another cigarette from a pack and, finding it empty, had crushed the small box and tossed it into the cold grate. But where was Tyson? He wasn’t visible in the room.

Oh, God.

She took a chance and straightened, surveying the interior. Pistol in hand, Tyson was striding to the French doors leading to this very porch, less than six feet from where she was standing.

Crap!

Nikki’s heart started beating double time. She didn’t dare grab the phone for fear she would drop it. She stared at the window, saw his nose press to the glass. Oh. Dear. God. Swallowing hard, she shrank back against the wall, silently praying he couldn’t see her.

“No one followed me,” Ashley insisted, her voice floating through the crack beneath the panes. “Not Nikki fucking Gillette, not anybody.”

A minute passed by. Stretched endlessly.

Nikki held her breath. Saw movement in the glass of the doors.

She nearly sprang from the old plank decking but knew he would see her. Would hunt her down.

Counting her heartbeats, ignoring the irritating buzz of a mosquito flying near her head, she waited.

After what seemed an eternity, he disappeared from her field of vision as he walked away from the French doors. Nikki chanced a look through the window again and saw Tyson striding closer to Ashley before he slowly turned, his eyes skimming over the cavernous room, as if he expected to see someone in the shadows. “How do you know you weren’t followed?” he asked Ashley.

“I was careful!”

“Nikki Gillette’s husband’s a goddamned cop!”

Nikki’s stomach dropped. He wasn’t giving up on this.

“She could have called him. Texted him.”

Oh. God. Time to go.

“No one followed me!” Ashley insisted.

“Let’s hope to God you’re right, but if you’re not”—he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small black pistol—“use this.”

“What the fuck? Are you crazy?” Ashley cried, recoiling. “You brought another gun.”

“I thought we might need a couple of backups.”

“A couple?”

“You can never be overarmed.”

Ashley was shaking her head. “No . . . no, I do not need a gun.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re nuts,” Ashley accused, but took the small weapon from his hand.

Nikki had to leave. Now! Could she sneak across the deck, let the dark forest swallow her? Race back to the car in the darkness?

No! Just get far enough away and text or call Reed. You have a phone! Just be careful!

“You know how to use it?”

“Do I know how to—are you nuts?” Ashley asked. “Let me think. Point and shoot,” she mocked. “Have I got that right?”

Nikki felt a new fear. Now they were both armed. If they found her . . . Oh, Lord. She flattened herself to the weathered siding again.

“You really think I’m nuts?” Tyson demanded, an amused, evil smile in his voice.

Ashley didn’t back down. “Paranoid for sure.”

“Is that right?”

“Okay, then.” Nikki heard the sharp, distinctive click of a clip being shoved into a gun’s magazine. “Let’s find out.”

CHAPTER 33

“Just send backup,” Reed ordered, his voice low as he jogged toward the abandoned inn, his cell pressed to his ear. He cut the connection to the department and slipped his cell into his pocket as the night closed around him. A full moon was on the rise, offering a shadowy silver light, and stars winked bright in the vast sky above the tree line, but dread filled his soul. What the hell had the Marianne Inn to do