Silenced (Alaskan Courage Book #4)

  Landon looked up from lifting fingerprints off the iPod. Thankfully Thoreau had been smart enough to put on gloves before turning it off. “What do you think her next move is?”

  Jake pointed to the picture of him and Kayden dancing, the bull’s-eye on them. “To pick up where her husband left off. To hurt me by hurting the people I love. But I won’t let that happen. I’ll stop her—one way or another.”

  Jake rapped on the fire chief’s door. Strange that Angela would choose a property right next door to someone with close connections to the police. Maybe she hadn’t known, or maybe she’d hoped Ralph was a talker—which both he and his wife, Mabel, were—and she could get some juicy information out of him.

  Ralph answered the door. Mabel stood in the hall not five feet behind him.

  “Afternoon, Jake.”

  “Ask him what’s going on,” Mabel said.

  “Shh, Mabel. He’ll get around to it.”

  Mabel crossed her arms over her chest with a huff.

  “I assume you noticed the activity next door. I need to ask you some questions about the woman who rents there.”

  “Carol? Sure. Nice lady.”

  So she had them all fooled. But he knew the depth of her evil, prayed he’d already seen the worst of it. “What can you tell me about her?”

  “Pleasant sort.”

  Mabel pushed past her husband, propping open the screen door. “She is an absolute doll.”

  A doll who had nearly killed Kayden.

  He would eventually explain the truth of who Carol was to Ralph and Mabel, but he wanted to get their unbiased impression of her first.

  “When did she move in?”

  “Oh, I’d say at least five months back,” Ralph said, rubbing his chin.

  “Yes. Arrived in Yancey just after New Year’s,” Mabel added.

  New Year’s. She’d been spying on him and the McKennas that long?

  “Did she say where she moved from?”

  “Anchorage,” Mabel answered before Ralph could.

  “Did you ever see her with anybody? Did she have any repeat visitors?”

  Mabel twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Can’t say that I ever noticed anyone.”

  And Mabel, being the busybody she was, would have noticed.

  “What about you, Ralph?”

  “No. Can’t say that I did. Wait. I did see Kirra Jacobs over there once. She didn’t stay long. Looked like she was dropping something off or picking something up.”

  “Carol volunteered over at Kirra’s shelter,” Mabel said.

  “Yes. I’m aware.” Angela had used the shelter as a way to get closer to Kayden.

  “What else can you tell me?”

  “What else do you want to know?” Ralph asked.

  “Anything. Everything.”

  Mabel’s eyes narrowed. “Why the interest in Carol?”

  Jake exhaled. Time to explain.

  Ralph was clearly shocked. and Mabel seemed as if she half didn’t believe Jake, like it was all some sort of mix-up. Carol was too kind to be a killer’s wife.

  Jake knew better. He knew the cold heart that beat inside Angela Markum, and there was nothing kind about it.

  “Ma’am, you can’t go in there,” Deputy Earl Hansen said outside Kayden’s hospital room.

  Reef stood, moving for the door. He needed to protect his sister at all costs. Had Carol been foolish enough to return? Reef shook his head. Angela. Carol Jones was Angela Markum. How bizarre. And he’d thought this trip home would be a calm one.

  “I’d feel a whole lot better with my rifle,” Kayden said, propping herself up straighter in bed.

  Taking a deep breath, Reef opened the door to find Kirra arguing with Earl.

  Of course she’d barge in demanding answers.

  He half considered letting Earl haul her away.

  “Reef, tell him it’s okay for me to come in.”

  Earl looked to him.

  “Reef!” She huffed at his hesitation.

  “She’s fine,” he finally said.

  Earl narrowed his eyes. “You sure?”

  Reef nodded, and Earl stepped aside, letting Kirra pass.

  “Thanks,” she said, pushing past him into Kayden’s room.

  “You’re welcome.” Could she be more abrasive?

  “Hey, Kayden.”

  “Kirra,” Kayden said with a smile, clearly anticipating what was about to go down.

  Kirra whirled around on Reef, hands firmly planted on her hips. “Explain yourself?”

  “Still bossy, I see.”

  “I think I deserve an answer.”

  Of course she thought she was deserving. Always had.

  “You call me out of the blue and tell me one of my volunteers is in trouble and wanted by the law, and you think you can just leave it at that. No way! I want an explanation. What do you think Carol did?”

  “First of all, her name isn’t Carol Jones. It’s Angela Markum.”

  Kirra frowned. “What?”

  Reef looked over at his sister, dark splotches under her eyes, and then back to Kirra. “Let’s take this outside.” His sister needed her rest.

  Kirra looked at Kayden and nodded at Reef. “Fine.”

  They stepped from the room.

  “All right. Time to explain.”

  “Why do you think I owe you anything? Maybe it’s none of your business.” Okay, he was being rude, but she had a way of getting under his skin.

  “None of my business? Carol volunteered at my shelter for months, was a trusted volunteer, and now you’re claiming she’s someone else? Trust me, if someone’s not who they appear to be, it is so my business.”

  Nothing had changed. Kirra still assumed everyone else’s business was her own. Just like in grade school, when she’d caught him and his buddies playing an innocent prank and she busted them to their teacher. He’d spent more hours in time-out and detention because of Kirra Jacobs. The woman may be beautiful but she was still Killjoy Kirra.

  Relief and worry wrestled inside Jake as Gage helped Kayden, or attempted to help Kayden, back into her house. Doc Graham had given her the all clear, but Jake feared it was too soon. He preferred she stay in the hospital with a deputy posted at her door. At home, out in the open, he feared what Angela had planned.

  She swatted at her brother as they crossed the front porch. “I got it.”

  Gage lifted his hands. “Suit yourself.”

  She hobbled on her crutch. With her right leg broken and casted and her left shoulder swollen from the fall, it made an awkward combination for moving, but Kayden, as always, insisted on doing everything herself, despite the pain. All Jake wanted to do was jump up and help her, but he resisted the urge, knowing she’d only shoo him away.

  A wonderful aroma greeted them as they stepped inside. Piper and Gage had spent the day making a delicious meal for Kayden’s homecoming.

  Fettuccine Alfredo with shrimp, along with lemon-steamed broccoli, homemade seven-grain bread, and organic cobbler for dessert—it was made with sugar in the raw and steel-cut oats, all the healthy things Kayden loved and the rest of them tolerated, but tonight was for her. If Jake had his way, the rest of his life would be for her. Now Angela was threatening any fledgling hope he had of him and Kayden one day building a life together.

  He hadn’t realized how much hope he’d actually had of it really being a possibility, of it really happening, until Angela threatened it.

  “I still can’t believe Carol was a total fake,” Kirra said, settling in Piper and Kayden’s family room after the meal. “How could I not see that?”

  “You had no reason to doubt what she claimed,” Gage said. “Stop beating yourself up.”

  She sighed. “It’s just that, since everyone who works at the kennel is a volunteer, there’s no reason to fill out employment records or tax forms. I’ve never even asked to see an ID. I guess that’s pretty naïve.”

  Reef shifted in his seat. “I’d say.”

  Piper
gave her brother a stern look before turning to Kirra. “No it’s not. We live in a small, close-knit community. It’s only natural to be trusting.”

  Kirra swallowed, painful memories nipping at her. “It’s never wise to be too trusting.”

  Reef arched a brow.

  “Is there anything you can think of, anything Angela said or did that seemed odd to you?” Jake asked.

  She started to say no, but then . . . “Well, there was this one time she said something about having to ship her good face cream all the way across the country, that she couldn’t find good stuff way out here.”

  “So?”

  “So she said she was from Anchorage. That’s hardly across the country.”

  “What else?” Jake asked.

  “That was it.” Kirra shrugged.

  “No. I mean what other conversations did you two have?” Jake scooted forward.

  “Mostly basic stuff. The weather, the dogs . . . Kayden.”

  His eyes widened. “You two discussed Kayden?”

  Kayden frowned. “What about me?”

  “Well, she asked about all of you at one point or another, but I guess she just showed more interest in you. Not weird, at least it didn’t seem so at the time. Just casual conversation.”

  “Like what?” Jake pressed.

  “I’m trying to remember. We’ve talked a lot over the past few months.”

  “Take your time,” Jake said. “Anything you can think of. You never know what might be helpful.”

  “I guess she seemed interested in how Kayden spent her time when she wasn’t at the shelter.”

  “And what did you tell her?” Kayden asked.

  “That you enjoyed rock climbing and spending time with your family. I’m sorry. I was just making conversation.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I told her as much myself,” Kayden said.

  Angela had worked at the shelter for months, interacting with her and Kayden on a daily basis. Kirra shuddered to think how much Angela had learned about the McKennas during that time. It was staggering.

  34

  Kayden hobbled down the pier, frustration searing inside. She hated being on crutches, hated feeling weak and dependent on anything or anyone.

  It was chilly and starting to get dark, and Jake’s home—a forty-two-foot converted trawler—sat moored at the end of the dock, a light shining inside.

  She tried to tell herself she was there because she was interested in the case, and she was, but that wasn’t the real reason she was approaching his houseboat at ten thirty on a Thursday night. It was him. She missed him, and it’d only been a day. Pathetic.

  As she hobbled down the gangplank, her foot caught on a raised board and she went tumbling, her jaw colliding with the wood. Heat and embarrassment flushed through her. She scrambled for her crutch and pulled somewhat to her feet as Jake came running out.

  “Kayden?” He squinted in the dim light. “Is that you?”

  She blew the hair from her eye, horrified by how she must look. “Hi.”

  “What are you . . . ?” He stepped toward her. “Are you all right? I heard a thump.”

  “Yeah.” She ignored the stinging along her right arm. “I’m fine. Just tripped.” Embarrassing as it was.

  He inspected her more closely, and she tried not to revel in the warmth of his intent gaze.

  His eyes filled with worry. “You’re bleeding.”

  “What?” She gingerly touched her bandaged head wound.

  “Your chin.”

  “My . . . ?” Her fingers skimmed it. Ow. It must have busted open on the planks.

  “Come on, I’ve got a first-aid kit inside.” He moved to help her.

  She instinctively pulled back. “I’ve got it.”

  “I’m resanding and revarnishing the planks, and I’m only halfway done. The surface is uneven. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll be okay.” The last thing she wanted was Jake viewing her as helpless.

  He lifted his hands in surrender but watched with a tense jaw as she made her way inside. Her jerky movements would never be deemed graceful, but at least she’d made it on her own.

  The inside of his houseboat was warm and welcoming. White paneling covered the walls instead of the traditional darker wood.

  “Here.” He moved some files off a futon couch. “Take a seat. I’ll grab the first-aid kit.”

  She lowered herself onto the futon, amazed at how plush and comfy it was. What appeared to be case files were strewn out on the old trunk serving as a coffee table in front of her.

  She leaned forward, lifting a picture of Joel and Angela Markum. Their clothes were fancy, and they appeared to be at some sort of high-society event. She never would have pegged the man as a murderer.

  “It was taken at a dinner to benefit the college where Markum was president,” Jake said, returning with the first-aid kit that looked like it’d seen its share of wear. “I first interviewed him that night. Not as a potential suspect, but as the college president.”

  She shook her head. “I’d never guess he was a killer.” He was dapper with a rather charming smile.

  “I don’t think Joel intended to kill her—Candace Banner, the co-ed.”

  Kayden shifted as Jake sat beside her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, he liked things rough in the . . .” Jake cleared his throat.

  “Oh.”

  “I think things got out of hand with Candace and she ended up dead.”

  “It doesn’t make it any less horrible.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” He shifted to face her. “Let me take a look at that chin.”

  “It’s okay. I can take care of it. Just need a mirror.”

  He rested his hand on hers. “Stop being so stubborn. Let me wipe up the blood.”

  Before she could argue, his hand was on her chin, wiping delicately at the blood with an antiseptic towelette. “This might sting.”

  It did, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelming tingling jostling inside her at Jake’s tender touch.

  He took great care cleaning out the wound and then applying antibacterial cream, his fingers firm yet gentle.

  She studied him as he worked, his strong jaw and soulful green eyes. She’d always considered him handsome, but she’d never let herself take pleasure in viewing him—to really see him. He was gorgeous, masculine, and kind.

  “There,” he said, topping off her wound with a Band-Aid. “All good.”

  She sat back with a jolt. Had she just let someone, let Jake, take care of her? What was wrong with her?

  She stiffened. That couldn’t happen again.

  Jake put everything back in the kit and shut it. “I’m glad you came by.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I just thought I’d see how everything’s coming with the case.”

  He smiled, seeing right through her. As always. It was so annoying.

  “You’re really hooked, aren’t you?”

  She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I beg your pardon?”

  “On the case. It’s got a hold of you.” He set the kit up on a shelf.

  Something had gotten ahold of her, all right.

  He stepped back toward her. “Do you want to stay awhile and . . . ?”

  “I . . .”

  He stepped closer still. “. . . work through the case files with me?”

  She swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

  “Great. Would you like something to drink? Juice? Ice tea?”

  “Ice tea, if it’s unsweetened.”

  “You got it.”

  She settled back in, wondering what she’d gotten herself into.

  Angela stood on the dock, watching. Weren’t they sweet, huddled over her husband’s case files.

  This was going to be even better than Jake’s wife and unborn child. He’d been too young then to truly realize what he had.

  Now . . .

  She shifted the binoculars to rest on Kayden’s face. He’d soon know the depths of what he’d los
t, and it would be exquisitely painful.

  Jake refilled Kayden’s ice tea, pretty sure he’d never been happier in his life. The time alone with her had been amazing, even if the time had been spent looking through files of the case that had nearly broken him.

  Was this God’s way of giving him a second chance? Was catching Angela this time going to finally lay his demons to rest? Could he rise from the ashes and begin again with Kayden? It seemed too good to be true, and until it actually happened, he wouldn’t dare believe it.

  “So how did you know she was involved?” Kayden asked, lifting Angela Markum’s photo.

  “I didn’t, at first.” Jake sat back, resting his hands behind his head. “Not until Joel Markum killed himself.”

  “How did that change things?”

  “It showed us that someone else with strength and ingenuity was involved. If Markum was too cowardly to stand trial, I questioned whether he had been in it alone.”

  Kayden stretched beside him. Her neck was stiff, hurting, tired from bending over case files for the past two hours. He could tell by her tentative movements.

  “Here.” He gently placed his hand on her neck, praying she didn’t bolt. He started rubbing as she started to protest, and she fell silent after a moment, leaning into his massage.

  Jake focused on taking care of her and the tightness in her neck, not on the sensations or emotions racing through him.

  “You were saying?” she asked.

  “Right.” He tried to refocus his thoughts. “Angela Markum. I took some time away from the case after Becca’s . . . death. And when I returned, we were close to proving the alibis Angela had provided for Joel for both the night of Candace’s murder and Becca’s hit-and-run were false. Joel must have learned we were closing in and decided to take his own life rather than face the consequences.

  “When we arrived to arrest him and found him . . . let’s just say the maid showed more distress than Angela. Her lack of compassion and emotion led us to reconsider whether Joel would have been solely behind the ingenious burial location and the strategic moves that followed the murder—and suddenly it all pointed to her. Luckily the evidence did too.”