Chapter 11

11

W ith a heavy heart, Elsie disconnected the call with her mom and welcomed the cool, night air. Bistro styled lights hung over Jenna and Calvin’s patio at their century-old farmhouse. A fire flickered in the stone pit, sending whirls of smoke heavenward. Stars blanketed the sky, mirroring the pretty lights, and a shadow of the Smoky Mountains provided the most beautiful backdrop.

Dean sat with Calvin at the round patio table. They ducked their heads together as they studied whatever was on the computer screen.

“Am I interrupting?” she asked, hesitating by the sliding glass door that led to the kitchen. She didn’t want to sit alone with her darkening thoughts, and Jenna was putting Oliver to bed. A sacred routine Elsie was smart enough not to disturb.

“Never,” Dean said, sliding a chair out next to his own. “How was your call?”

Exhausted, she fell into the seat. “Tough. I told my mom about the break-in at the store.” An image of the destroyed shop flashed in her mind, burying her in fresh anger and fear.

Dean winced. “I’m sure that was a hard conversation.”

“She wants me to stay with her and Dad until things settle. She’s afraid I’m putting myself in danger.” Her mom’s frantic pleas rang in her ears. She hated that her mom was so worried but no way she could abandon ship and do nothing to help Mila.

Not to mention the thought of not being next to Dean made her skin itch, but that was a problem she’d have to solve another time.

“I’m sorry to hear you were targeted,” Calvin said, bringing her attention back to the matter at hand. “I agree with what Dean already said. Someone doesn’t like you snooping around their business. And if I had to guess, the cash you found stashed under Justin Pauly’s bed is connected to whatever that business is.”

“Justin’s friends with the bar owner. Could the bar be involved in something illegal?” she asked.

“You’re thinking like an investigator,” Dean said, resting his arm behind her on the back of the chair. “We’re digging into Malcom Miller right now.”

She wasn’t sure if it was his praise or the rush of excitement at his touch that made the heat rush to her cheeks, but she enjoyed both.

Enjoyed his touch a little more.

Which confused the hell out of her. He’d stayed so close, casually placing a hand on hers or providing comfort anyway he could, but he’d clammed up when she’d asked him personal questions. She should put distance between them until she figured out what he wanted—if anything—from her. Maybe he was just being a good friend, even if she’d never had a man make her feel the way he did with just a simple brush of his palm on any part of her damn body.

It didn’t matter. She had more pressing issues than figuring out if a man liked her.

“Am I too optimistic to hope you find he’s a criminal mastermind who takes women and puts them somewhere safe and warm until they can be rescued?”

Dean tucked in his lips and let his fingertips drop to the top of her shoulders. “A little. But we have found some interesting information.”

“Such as?”

Calvin turned the computer so she had a better view of the screen. A picture of a man with ginger hair and a thin mustache stared back at her. “This is Malcom Miller. Does he look familiar?”

“Not at all,” she said.

“I’ve never seen him either,” Calvin said. “Which I find pretty odd considering I actually live in Water’s Edge. Turns out he bought the bar not long after the fire. Everyone in town was thrilled that someone wanted to invest the money to get such a well-loved community staple back on its feet.”

The back door slid open. Jenna stepped outside and sat in the chair between Elsie and Calvin. “Who haven’t we all seen?”

“The new bar owner,” Calvin said, resting his hand on her knee. “The guy Dean’s looking for has been at Town Tavern talking with him at closing time. Sounds like he only shows up at the end of the day and doesn’t do much work.”

Tilting her head to the side, Jenna scrunched her nose. “Now that you mention it, I don’t know if I’ve ever met the new owner. I mean, we don’t go in there very often. Not exactly the best place to take Oliver for a meal, but I pop by occasionally to grab food to go. The staff is pretty much the same as before. If the boss isn’t in to help, how can he keep the business going?”

Elsie rubbed her closed eyes as her mind spun. She wanted to scream and yell and ask why it mattered if the bar owner worked a nine-to-five shift or not. Hell, they needed to find Justin Pauly, not Malcom Miller. But it seemed like as soon as they found one lead, it did nothing but produce a tangle of knots that needed untied.

“You okay?”

The concern in Dean’s velvety voice opened her eyes. “I’m overwhelmed. I trust you and Calvin. You two have tons of experience with investigations, but it’s hard for me to follow your train of thought when I feel like everything around me is falling apart. I’m just struggling to keep afloat.”

“We’re all here to lift you up,” Jenna said. “Any way you need.”

“Thanks,” she said.

Leaning back in his chair, Dean scratched the dark whiskers on his jawline. “As far as Malcom and his work habits are concerned, it may play a key part in figuring out where Justin is and why he’d take Mila—if he’s the one who has her.”

Elsie frowned. “How so?”

“Remember that bag of cash?” Dean asked. “If Justin and that money are linked to Malcom, then we need to understand why.”

A headache pulsed against her the back of her head. She wanted to throw her hands in the air and demand the men just give her the damn answers instead of stringing out questions like she was on a stupid trivia game.

But then a lightbulb went off in her brain. “If Justin has a bag full of money, chances are he didn’t get it legally. And if he didn’t get it legally, he needs to do something with it to make it look like he earned it in a legitimate way.”

Dean grinned. “Exactly. He’d need to clean the money. Which could make Malcom a pretty big player in whatever scheme Justine’s involved in. So we not only track down Justin, we get as much dirt on Malcom as we can.”

“You think they may be using the bar to launder money?” Jenna asked.

Calvin shrugged. “It’s a possibility, and one I plan to run past the sheriff’s department.”

“What does this guy look like?” Jenna leaned forward for a better glimpse at the computer and her face went white.

“What is it?” Elsie asked, her nerves stretched tight.

“I’ve seen him before.”

Elsie frowned. “I thought you said you’ve never met the new bar owner.”

Jenna bounced her gaze between Dean and Calvin before settling on Elsie. “I didn’t see him at the bar, it was at the hospital. He came into the emergency room a few weeks back. I didn’t tend to him, but I heard murmurs. He said he’d been in an accident but that wasn’t what the doctor who treated him thought really happened.”

Elsie’s throat went dry. “What did he think happened?”

“I can’t tell you,” Jenna said, wincing. “All I can say is it wasn’t an accident, and it appeared this man must have really pissed off the wrong guy.”

Disappointment weighed down every step Dean took toward Elsie’s house. They’d spent the last hour at Town Tavern, but Justin Pauly never showed.

And neither had Malcom Miller.

Elsie sank onto the porch stairs, looking out into the quiet neighborhood, as if unable to even make it the rest of the way to the door. She leaned her head against the white pillar and sighed. “I’ve never felt so defeated in my entire life.”

He plopped down beside her. He’d experienced his fair share of setbacks—both in work and in life—but the stakes had never been so high. The constant countdown hanging over his head ticked away precious seconds. “The good news is Calvin talked to Owen, and Owen is heading into the sheriff’s station to pick up where we left off.”

“Do you think he’ll find more than you and Calvin already did?”

Dean scrubbed his palm over his face and winced at his longer than normal whiskers. “Hopefully. Calvin and I are damn good at our jobs, but a sheriff’s deputy still has more resources and can get results quicker. Especially when that deputy is the son of the county sheriff. In the meantime, I’ll work on pinning down an address. The one Malcom has on record is bogus. If he’s the front of whatever the hell this money laundering operation is, then he needs to maintain a somewhat clean appearance. Can’t stand out too much.”

Elsie sighed. “How can I help?”

“You can rest.” They’d been going a hundred miles an hour since they’d woken that morning. Not to mention the emotional stress of both Mila’s disappearance and her store being vandalized.

Elsie straightened and looked him in the eye. Her jaw was clenched, and eyes narrowed. “I’ll rest when you rest. No reason for you to be up burning the midnight oil while I cozy up in bed. Besides, I don’t think I could sleep even if I tried.”

An image of her cuddled up to him in bed the evening before turned his blood to molten lava. Shifting, he cleared his throat. They hadn’t spoken one word about the night they’d shared. Maybe that was for the best.

She frowned. “What is it?”

“We’ve, uh, been so busy today that we never discussed last night.”

“A lot happened last night,” she said with a small snort. “Can you be a little more specific.”

“Us spending the night in the same bed.”

“Oh, that.” She wrinkled her nose and jumped to her feet. “Sorry. I was so tired and something about the wine and you making me feel safe just knocked me out. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He stood and reached for her, but she busied herself by searching in her purse. “No. I didn’t mean?—”

She found her keys and flashed him a tight smile. “Seriously, there’s no need to make a big deal of it. Nothing happened. I understand you’re here because you’re being a good friend and you’re concerned about Mila. Besides, that’s where our focus should be.”

Her instant reaction to brush aside the intimacy that had meant so much for him was like a dagger to the heart, but she was right. Their attention should be solely on figuring out what happened to Mila. He swallowed the words that had sat on the tip of his tongue all day and waited for her to unlock the door.

Her hand stilled on the doorknob. Her body went rigid.

Alarms went off his head. “What’s wrong?”

She took a step back, bumping against him, and glanced over her shoulder. “The door’s not locked.”

“Okay.” The fear etched on her face told him he was missing something.

“I locked it before we left.”

“Are you sure? Things have been hectic. Is there a chance you forgot?”

“No way I forgot. Not with everything going on right now. What do we do?”

He grabbed the gun tucked in his waistband at his back. Adrenaline zipped through his body, and he swept Elsie behind him. “I need to clear the house. Stay close.”

She fisted the back of his shirt and held on tight.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The house was dark, shadows cloaking corners of the living room where anyone could be hiding. “Where are the lights?”

Elsie leaned to the side and flipped a switch. Warm light washed over the room and chased away the threatening darkness.

Inch by inch, he looked at every nook, every cranny in the living room and connected kitchen before heading down the hallway. His pulse beat against his temple, and he kept his breath steady even though anxiety knotted his gut. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” she said, although the quiver in her voice told a different story.

He ducked into the bathroom, checking inside the linen closet before moving across the hall to Jimmy’s room. Once he was certain no one was inside, he led the way to Mila’s room.

Nothing.

“Maybe I was wrong,” Elsie said.

“Maybe,” he echoed. “One more room to clear.”

He pushed open the door, flipped on the light, and his gaze landed on a butcher knife stabbed into Elsie’s pillow.