You Betrayed Me (The Cahills #3) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,31

heart soared. He was home! She caught a glimpse of the woman with the red hat hurrying out the front doors.

She’d been waiting for James.

As Sophia had suspected.

A quick flash of jealousy cut through her—and then a deeper emotion as she finally remembered where she’d seen the woman. On TV.

“Crap,” she whispered under her breath.

Ms. Whiskey Straight Up was really Charity . . . Charity Spitz, no, Spritz, like wine spritzer. She was occasionally on TV as a local reporter whenever a station in the tri-cities to the east, or Seattle and Tacoma in the west, needed local talent to report on a story, usually weather.

Sophia had only seen her a couple of times, but she recognized that face and, more importantly, the questions lurking in her eyes. Maybe the men in their thirties hadn’t recognized her, but Charity Spritz certainly had.

And now she was going to talk to James.

“Hey! How ’bout another?” Bruce asked. “We’re getting thirsty.”

“Right away,” Sophia said automatically and pinned her for-the-customer smile on her face. “The same?”

“Si, si,” he said. “Another shot of Jose for me and my amigo!”

They both laughed uproariously, and it was all she could do not to spit in their drinks.

* * *

This was crazy, Rebecca thought, shivering in the night. Certifiably crazy.

And illegal.

And possibly emotional suicide.

Nonetheless, Rebecca trudged through the snow along the lane to James Cahill’s house and managed to keep her footsteps in the already packed-down trail, her breath a cloud. As the drive opened to a clearing, with a rise upon which the farmhouse had been built, she still kept to the deep ruts that had already been broken by the footsteps of cops and rescue workers, reporters and curious neighbors who had wandered over before the place had been cordoned off. With any luck, the new snowfall would cover her tracks, and she wouldn’t be exposed. Inside the pocket of her jacket, she crossed her fingers, then glanced over her shoulder for the umpteenth time to assure herself that she wasn’t being followed.

In the dark of the night, with snow everywhere, she imagined she saw a figure hiding behind a tree or lurking just on the other side of an outbuilding, but no one appeared, and she told herself she was just letting her nerves get to her. Despite all her mental berating, her heart was beating crazily, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Just keep going!

She plowed forward and wondered if anyone would spot her vehicle, hidden within the crowded parking lot at the hotel. If someone checked license plates against those guests registered . . .

Don’t think about that. You’ll be fine. This shouldn’t take too long. Just in and out.

She picked up her pace, her own doubts chasing her through the night. This was probably a wild goose chase, but she had to do something.

James was a liar. And worse.

But a murderer?

That seemed a little—well, make it a lot—far-fetched. But who knew? At the clearing where vehicles were usually parked, she cut to the back gate and, following a previously broken path, made her way to the woodshed, out through the dark, dusty-smelling room and to the attached back porch. It was long and broad, with several doors opening off it to what, Megan had told her, were an old root cellar and oversized closet, past a laundry area to the back door. She tried it, but the knob wouldn’t turn in her gloved hands. She’d expected as much and, praying that James’s dog wasn’t on the premises, leaned over and let herself into the kitchen by crawling through the large dog door cut into the lower panels. It was a tight fit, but not impossible, and she squeezed through without too much difficulty. Once standing, she didn’t move—and strained to listen.

She heard the hum of the refrigerator over the rumble of air being forced through old heating ducts, but no click of toenails on hardwood, no low growl from the darkened rooms.

No dog.

Good.

She let out her breath, but her heart was pounding, and that stupid little voice in her head was screaming: What the hell do you think you’re doing? Slowly, using the flashlight app on her phone, she picked her way through the rooms, sweeping the bluish beam over the mess.

When she’d left James at Valley General, he’d been determined to be released, so there was a chance he was already on his way back here. She didn’t have much time.

What she expected to find at his home she didn’t know, but