Bourbon Creme Killer: Book 9 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Page 8

  Exhausted, she plugged her phone into the charger without even looking at it, still berating herself for being “caught” so easily in the act of following Tommy Mancino. Tomorrow was another day, and she’d be heading to southern Illinois, to check out Stanton Vincenzo’s lake house.

  ***

  Chas let himself into his wife’s room, only to find that she was gone. There were no signs of struggle, and nothing that gave him any indication of where she might be. He searched the room thoroughly and found only two things, the name of a local accounting firm, and directions to a place called Kaufman Lake. He’d begin with the accounting firm, then follow the directions to Kaufman Lake if he didn’t hear from Missy in the meantime.

  ***

  Missy slowed her little rental car to a halt when her GPS announced that she had arrived at Vincenzo’s lake house. She sat with the engine running, staring at the metal gate which was currently barring access to the property, pondering what her best move might be. There was no room on either side of the gate to bypass it because of heavy vegetation, and the gate itself was chained and padlocked shut. She wasn’t a vandal, and didn’t have the means to cut the chain anyway, so she was stymied for a bit. Her determination overrode her lack of resources, however, and she swiveled in her seat, looking for a suitable place to pull off the road.

  Spotting a break in the trees a few yards ahead, Missy pulled the rental car off into a patch of tall grass and weeds, got out, and locked it. If she couldn’t drive down the private road which led to the lake house, she’d walk it. Glancing down at her cell phone to silence it, she noted that the little “No Service Available” icon had appeared on her screen, but she switched the phone over to silent just in case, rather than taking the chance that it might chime or buzz at precisely the wrong time if she happened to wander into an area where it picked up a signal again. Thankful that she had worn comfy jeans, running shoes, and a close-fitting tee shirt, she climbed the metal pole gate, swung her leg over, and dropped onto the other side of it without much effort at all.

  Missy didn’t bother trying to hide the fact that she was approaching the house, walking right down the middle of the private road, because the house was apparently quite a distance from the gate. She hadn’t caught sight of it even after having walked for at least ten minutes. Sweat trailed a path down her spine, ending at her jeans; and pesky insects buzzed around her, seeming to stick to her skin when they made contact. She pressed on, knowing that the house would be there eventually, and thinking that she might just go wading in the lake for relief after she checked out the house.

  When she caught a glimpse of the stunning contemporary home made of glass and wood and boasting attractive angles everywhere, she slipped into the trees at the side of the road, making her way more carefully toward the expensive structure. There weren’t any cars in the drive, so when she neared the lawn, first looking in every direction at least twice, she stepped out of the cover of the trees and approached the house. Feeling more than vulnerable, she walked right up to the front door and rang the bell, then knocked. If anyone answered, she’d make a bogus claim of car trouble and ask to use the phone so that she could pretend to call for assistance. If no one was home, which she really hoped, she’d be able to look around for clues to see if it looked like perhaps Jeanette was being held here.

  When there was no initial response, she rang again, calling out, “Anybody home?” Silence greeted her inquiry, for which she was profoundly grateful, so she moved to her left to peer into the living room windows. Vertical blinds obscured her view, but she saw enough to know that the main house was dark inside. Thinking that the more logical place to hold someone captive would be in a basement or outbuilding, she went around to the back of the house, where a walk-out basement led to a trail that meandered toward the lake. When she stepped onto the back deck by the french doors which led out of the basement, she heard a scrabbling sound above her. Heart pounding, she dashed for cover behind a stand of ornamental grass.

  Crouching low, she circled around behind the grass, looking for the source of the sound that she’d heard. Relief flooded through her, and she actually laughed aloud when she saw a chipmunk family on the deck that had been directly above her. Glad that the sound hadn’t been an indication of something sinister, she stood up straight, and felt something brush against her foot. Instinctively she flinched and nearly fainted on the spot when she looked down and saw the beady eyes and flickering tongue of a snake that had been coiled up in front of the clump of grass. Shrieking, she took off in a full sprint toward the house, not stopping until she was snugged up against the basement door, looking frantically around her feet to see if any more reptiles lurked. As scared as she was of humans with evil intentions, she’d rather face a psychopath than a snake any day.

  Missy sagged against the french doors of the walk-out basement, catching her breath and trying to slow her heartbeat. The interior of the basement was dark, just as the living room had been, and she was frustrated that, no matter where she turned, she seemed to run into nothing but a series of dead ends. The silence of the empty luxury home gave her chills, and she wanted nothing more than to run far away from Kaufman Lake, never to return, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something. Maybe the answer was closer to the lake. After her reptilian encounter, she was more than reluctant to follow the trail from the house to the lake, but her curiosity would not be denied, so after peeking in a few more windows, she trudged down the slate and gravel path toward the lake, her eyes constantly scanning for cold-blooded slitherers.

  A large, sleek boat was docked in a peaceful cove, and Missy once again took refuge in the trees to approach the area, this time being much more aware of where she stepped. Peering carefully around the trunk of a massive maple, she didn’t see any signs of human occupation, so she made her way to the dock. The sunlight sparkled on the water, and in any other circumstances she would’ve enjoyed the spectacular view tremendously, but in this moment, for this purpose, her focus was on the large, powerful boat and any secrets that it might contain.

  Water lapped against the side of the boat and the dock, and fish swam in and out of the shadows as Missy gingerly stepped aboard the pristine white vessel.

  “Hello?” she called out shakily, again planning to use the car trouble story if she had to.

  She glanced around the patio area of the boat, seeing only a bottle of suntan lotion in a cup holder, and a towel spread over one of the bench seats. Moving toward the captain’s chairs up front, she noticed that the keys were in the ignition, which she found odd. She knocked on the door which led below deck to the tiny galley kitchen and bathroom, then opened it and found nothing that seemed even remotely connected to Jeanette Hammond or a kidnapping. Frustrated that she had wasted an entire day driving down here, only to find nothing, she stepped back onto the dock, shoulders slumped in defeat. It was then that she heard voices, male voices, coming from the direction of the lake house.

  Heart in her throat, Missy sprinted for the line of trees as fast as her feet would carry her, making it to cover just as two casually dressed men came into view. She recognized them as associates of Stanton Vincenzo from some photos she’d seen, but she didn’t know who they were. The men scanned the area around them carefully as they made their way toward the dock, as Missy crouched down behind a thick wall of bushes, barely daring to breathe.

  “You see anything?” one asked, still staring into the trees.

  “No, you?”

  “Nothin. Let’s check out the boat.”

  While one of the men frowned and went down to the edge of the water, looking carefully in every direction, the other trotted down the dock and peered into the boat.

  “Yo, Joey… come take a look at this,” he directed.

  Joey jogged over to the dock, hopped up onto it and looked where the other man was pointing. Missy was close enough to hear their conversation, and fervently hoped that they couldn’t hear her heart thumping.

  �
��Footprint?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Kinda small,” Joey observed.

  “Like a chick,” the man sounded baffled.

  “So who is she, where is she, and why is she here?” Joey mused in a voice that sounded the tiniest bit sinister.

  “We need guys down here to search. That rental car we saw has to belong to whoever’s hanging around here, so we need to get between here and that car so we can ‘detain’ the chick and find out what she’s about.”

  “I’ll get back to cell range and make some calls,” Joey nodded. “You don’t supposed it’s Vincenzo’s broad, do ya?”

  “Nah, Vinnie hasn’t heard from her in weeks. Said she was messin’ around with Mancino after he got outta the joint.”

  “She didn’t seem like Tommy’s type.”

  “Nope. I guess there’s just no tellin what a broad will do, ya know?”

  “Guess not,” Joey shrugged. “I’m headed out. If you find her, bring her to town.”

  “With pleasure,” the other man chuckled.

  Joey ran back up the trail toward the house and the other man headed for the stand of trees where Missy was hiding. She was terrified and froze, not knowing what to do, as the man moved closer and closer. Suddenly, a shadow darted in behind the man, tackling him and taking him down, with an MMA-style choke hold. When the man had been subdued, his assailant stood up.

  “Missy?” he called in a low voice that she recognized instantly, and tears of relief sprung to her eyes.

  “Chas!” she replied, standing up and heading toward her beloved husband.

  “Do you have any idea the kind of danger that you were in?” he mumbled into her hair as he held her tightly to his chest.

  “How on earth did you find me here?” she asked, her voice muffled by the front of his shirt.

  “We’ll talk about all of that later,” he said urgently, releasing her. “For right now, we’ve gotta get you out of here. I found a way to get through the woods and back to your car without having to take the road, but we have to be fast. They realize that someone is here, so we don’t have a second to lose,” the detective began propelling her back toward the gate, through the woods.

  “Who knows we’re here?” Missy whispered, dodging limbs and stepping over bushes.

  “You really don’t want to know,” was the grim reply.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite Marine,” Joyce Rutledge looked up with delight when Spencer Bengal entered the candle shop.

  “Hey, Joyce, how’s life?” he asked, trying to smile.

  Spencer had precious few reasons to smile these days. His girlfriend Izzy had left him without looking back. She wouldn’t even answer his texts. He knew he would have to fulfill an obligation to his government that he’d successfully deferred for quite some time in order to protect Chas Beckett, so he would now have to entrust Chas and Missy’s safety to another operative. He also knew that chances were better than average that he wouldn’t return from his next mission. He had no idea what Steve Arnold, the dark ops watchdog, had in store for him, but knowing Steve, the likelihood was that whatever the mission, he wouldn’t return from it in one piece, or at all.

  “I’m all right, but what’s up with your gloomy handsome face?” Joyce saw right through his sad attempt at a smile.

  “Just a lot on my mind right now,” he shrugged, avoiding her eyes.

  “Mmmhmm…” was the skeptical reply. “Well what brings you to my paradise on earth?” she rested her elbows on the counter and smiled up at him.

  “Echo asked me to check in with you occasionally and make sure that you’re okay. She said you could just close down for a while if it was too much for you to handle.”

  “Pshh… too much for Joyce Rutledge to handle? Honey, I don’t think so. I’m doing just fine, thank you very much,” she grinned. “Now you, on the other hand, look like a man who could use some chocolate cake.”

  That made him crack a slight smile. “I don’t usually indulge.”

  “Clearly,” Joyce replied, deliberately eyeing his abs. “But, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Healthy, sometimes you just gotta have yourself some good old-fashioned comfort food. Mark my words,” she nodded sagely. “I happen to have a slice of devil’s food with fudge frosting at home with your name on it,” she tempted, raising an eyebrow.

  “You do know that I’m spending all day in a cupcake shop right now, right?” he asked.

  “Mmmhmmm… and as awesome as Ms. Beckett’s cupcakes are, you haven’t lived until you’ve had a piece of Joyce’s Sour Cream Chocolate Cake,” she challenged, folding her arms.

  “I’ll think about it,” Spencer nodded with a smile.

  “Well don’t strain yourself, honey, it’s an easy decision,” she teased, picking up her phone from under the counter. “What’s your number, sourpuss? I’m gonna text you later and bug you ’til you wise up and come eat some cake so you’ll feel better,” she looked at him expectantly.

  Knowing when he’d been beaten, Spencer gave her his number.

  “Is there anything you need?” he asked, on his way out.

  “A dinner companion,” she looked at him pointedly, and he chuckled at her brash approach.

  “That could happen,” he nodded.

  “Two words, Spencer… barbecued ribs. You just let that marinate for a little bit, cuz I’m gonna text you later.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” he grinned, giving her a wave on his way out the door.

  “Mmm, mmm, mmm, that boy is delicious,” she pursed her lips, watching him go.

  ***

  Izzy Gilmore was deeply engrossed in writing her latest horror novel, a light little piece about a monstrous serial killer who liked to torment his victims for months prior to capturing, torturing and killing them. She’d just described a gruesome scene, involving a dentist’s drill and a straightjacket, when her doorbell rang, startling her.

  The phenomenally successful author lived in a cute little pink and white cottage in Calgon that, while located in a typical upper-middle-class neighborhood, was set back far enough from the street to ensure her privacy; therefore, she was surprised to hear her doorbell ring out of the blue. Except for Missy, Echo, and until now, Spencer, Izzy had no friends in town and she liked it that way. Solicitors and surveyors tended to just skip past her house rather than wind their way through the delightful landscaping, past the white picket fence gate, and up the driveway. The sleepy little beachside town allowed her to hide from her fans and publisher and write in peace.

  Annoyed at the interruption, Izzy sighed and went to the door, half expecting to see Missy or Echo, despite the fact that both women always called or texted before coming over. When she peered through the peephole, she saw a gleaming red sports car parked at the curb and a tall man with thinning brown hair on her doorstep.

  “Yes?” she opened the door a few inches, frowning at the man on the other side.

  “Hi Izzy,” the man grinned. “I’m Steve Arnold, and I’d like to speak with you for a moment about a Marine named Spencer Bengal, if I may.”

  Alarm bells went off in Izzy’s mind. Very few people knew who Spencer was, and even fewer knew that he lived in Calgon and had dated her. He’d told her that there were dangerous people who were looking for him, and for all she knew, this man, who looked like a professional golfer, might be one of them.

  “I’m sorry, I have no idea who you’re talking about,” she said, as sweetly as she could manage, and moved to shut the door.

  Steve had his foot in between the door and the jamb in a flash and put his hand against the thick wood slab to arrest its progress as well.

  “I must not have made myself clear, Miss Gilmore,” he said with the same smile that didn’t even come close to reaching his eyes. “I’m here in the interest of national security and I need to speak with you about Spencer Bengal.”

  “Get your foot out of the way, and get off of my property before I start screaming bloody murder,”
Izzy threatened, not daunted in the least by the man’s authoritative manner.

  “Funny you should put it quite that way,” Steve let out a humorless chuckle, and shoved against the door in a lightning-fast motion that had Izzy on her backside and him in her foyer before she knew what was happening.

  “You get out of my house this instant,” she screeched in fury and reached for her phone, which had skittered away from her on impact.

  “That’s not going to happen,” Steve replied calmly, after he executed a series of ninja-like moves that had the author lying on her stomach, arms between her shoulder blades, immobile. “It would have been so much easier on you if you had just played nice and let me in,” he sighed with mock regret. “I suppose I should’ve expected no less from someone who had the poor judgment to associate with the likes of Bengal.”

  “I’m not associated with Spencer Bengal,” Izzy growled between her teeth. “And if you’re from the government, you’d better believe I’m going to be reporting this to whomever needs to know about it. I hope you’re familiar with the unemployment line.”

  “Oh, little kitten… it’s adorable that you’re trying to threaten me, it really is, but I’m afraid I don’t have time to waste on arguing with you, so we’re just going to have to handle this a different way.”

  Steve pulled a vial out of his pocket, unscrewed the cap, holding it away from his face, and saturated a cloth with it. He placed the sweet-smelling cloth over Izzy’s nose and mouth, and despite thrashing and struggling to avoid it, she succumbed and lay still within minutes. Steve slipped the saturated cloth into a plastic bag, which he placed back in his pocket, along with the empty vial, for disposal later, and hoisted the limp author to her feet as though she weighed nothing. He used her hand to turn the doorknob to let them out of the house, then used it to close it behind them. Swinging her up into his arms, he laid her head on his shoulder, and began laughing loudly. As he walked with her to his car, he held up what looked like his half of a conversation.