Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(37)

Gregory messing with the gas connection.

Cecilia watching from the edge of the hill, fearing, hesitating.

Gregory lifting the pickax over Kellen’s head…

Cecilia covered her head with her arms, trying to hide from her memories. The explosion of blood. The explosion of fire. The explosion of life and hope. And that moment when Gregory looked up and saw her.

Cecilia was a coward. She was running from a terrible murder, performed by the husband she had allowed to abuse her—because that was the truth, wasn’t it? Gregory had undermined her confidence and her abilities. But seeing Kellen standing tall and strong, Cecilia was all too aware of her frailty and knew she should have fled. At the very least she could have stood at the top of the cliff and flung herself onto the rocks.

Not on my watch. Kellen had been afraid Cecilia would do just that.

*

A key rattled in the lock.

Cecilia’s eyes popped open. She rested on the couch, curled up on the cushions with the throw over her. Sunshine rolled through the windows.

The door opened, hit the end of the chains and bars.

A woman’s voice said, “Kellen, you’re back. It’s Brenda. Thank God. Let me in.”

Terrified, Cecilia stared at the door, open at two inches.

“Why haven’t you been answering your phone? Why haven’t you called me? Darling, I know what happened.”

Darling? This was Kellen’s lover.

“I know you. You loved your little cousin. You always protected her. I’m sorry she died.”

Cecilia pushed the throw aside.

The person at the door must have heard, for her voice grew more urgent. “Kellen, please! I know we fought, but I love you. You said you loved me. Darling? Talk to me.”

Moving as quietly as she could, Cecilia sat up. She didn’t know what to do. She hated for this woman to think Kellen was ending the relationship. But what would happen if she knew the truth? Brenda would be grief-stricken. She would tell someone and give away Cecilia’s hiding place. Cecilia would be drawn into the investigation. She would have to confess her own weakness.

Brenda shoved at the door. The chains rattled. The bars held. “Kellen, are you hurt? Do you need help? Please! I’m afraid for you. I’m going to call the cops!”

“No!”

“Kellen?”

Cecilia had to speak. “No. I’m fine. Go away. Go…away.”

The awful silence from outside the door stretched out for long seconds.

Cecilia held her breath. Had Brenda recognized the differences in their voices? Was Brenda going to call the police?

“All right, then!” Brenda’s voice was both tearful and furious. “I’m leaving. I supported you through your coming out. You used me—now you don’t want me. I won’t be back. Damn you, you bitch. You’ll never find anyone else who will love you as much as I do. I hope you die alone.” She slammed the door as hard as she could, a muffled thud accompanied by clanking chains.

Cecilia ran over to the window and looked out, watching the sidewalk, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kellen’s lover.

A beautiful black woman came out of the building and walked away, wiping her eyes on her shirttail.

My God. Kellen had gone home, admitted she was gay and in love with an African American. She was not just gay; she loved across racial bounds. Cecilia’s aunt and uncle were prejudiced against any person of color, and Cecilia’s admiration for her cousin’s courage rose—and her own cowardice broke her. Cecilia sank back onto the couch, pulled the throw over her head and wallowed in guilt and darkness.

The darkness was growing…

*

Kellen woke.

She was still in her clothes in the chair beside the bed, tense, sweaty, cold and cramped beneath the patterned throw.

The darkness was not growing. In fact, the room’s automatic night-light provided enough illumination to see the outlines of the furniture and walls. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, checked for internet, and when she saw it pop up, she sighed in relief. She stretched her stiff muscles. In the daytime, the window looked away from the resort and the cottages and toward the dock and the Pacific Ocean. Now, on this rainy, moonless night, she saw nothing. Nothing.

Then one single bright light shone in the dark. A flashlight? A lantern?

It blinked off.

She blinked, too. Was that the remnant of a nightmare?

No, someone was out there. Lost? Alone? Looking for the body they had lost? She flipped off the night-light and moved through utter darkness toward the window.

The light outside came on again and swung in a circle on the ground, then up in the air.

Kellen stepped back to avoid being spotted.

Ridiculous, but automatic.

She glanced at the time. Two forty-five a.m. Whoever it was either wasn’t afraid of being seen or wanted to be seen. Or their meeting hadn’t occurred as they expected and they were desperate. Or…or she didn’t know.

She did know the night was pitch-dark, rain rattled against the window like sleet and today they’d found a decomposing body out on the flats. Had someone found another one?

The light flashed around again.

Damn it. Annie left and less than twenty-four hours later, Kellen was up to her ass in alligators and it was hard to remember that her directive was to drain the swamp. She watched that light, willing it to go out permanently, and when that didn’t happen, she cursed as only an Army officer could curse, got her Glock and strapped it into her shoulder holster, pulled her rain gear on over her clothes and headed out.