Chapter 7

Kneelingon the gazebo’s floor, Kayla divided her attention between her beloved godmother and the dark garden. Her heart sat heavy in her chest as she waited for Ash to reemerge. The thought of him meeting the same fate as Vicky made her stomach tangle into a mass of writhing snakes.

Ash wouldn’t like it when he found her at Vicky’s side again, but she couldn’t leave her alone. Couldn’t reconcile the woman’s still warm hand and the absence of her beating heart. The entire time, she waited for the vacancy to leave her godmother’s eyes and for her to focus on Kayla’s face.

The bullet wound in Vicky’s head mocked her for a fool.

Ford stood outside, guarding her and Gordon, or the crime scene, or maybe both. Neither Ford, nor her father, had been successful in keeping her from Vicky’s side.

Kayla’s heart sank at the thought of her mother’s reaction to learning about her friend’s violent death. She closed her burning eyes. Sweet Mary, she would have to notify the other aunties, too.

The powerhouse quartet had been friends for nearly four decades. They’d supported one another through the trials and triumphs of each of their lives. But death among them? How would they survive it?

The heavy weight on her chest became crushing. Her breathing more difficult. It was then that Ash returned, extending his hand in her direction.

“All clear,” he said in the gentlest voice he’d ever used with her. “Come, you shouldn’t be here.”

She grasped his hand, and the heat of his skin penetrated her chilled fingers. Noticing the temperature difference, he shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. She hadn’t realized she was shaking until that moment.

He pressed the backs of his fingers against her clammy neck, and Kayla leaned into his touch, seeking more of his warmth, his comfort.

But he lifted her chin and flashed the bright beam of a Maglite across her eyes. She reared back, blinking away the echo of his light. “Why’d you do that?”

His brows slashed together, and he gently pried her hand from the governor’s and ushered her over to the chaise longue. “Lie down,” he ordered, pointing to the raised end. “Put your feet up on the arm—back—whatever you call it.”

Police and paramedics filtered into the gazebo.

“I’m fine,” she said through chattering teeth.

“No. You’re not.” He forced her to sit down. “Your body is going into shock, which means your organs aren’t getting enough blood and oxygen. We need to get your feet up.”

“I’m just chilled from sitting on the floor for so long. I’ll warm up in a few minutes.”

Her head suddenly felt bloated, and two frustrated Ashes wavered before her eyes. She reached out to stop her world from spinning. Heard his oath and shout to the paramedics. Then . . . nothing.

Two hours later,Kayla sat in the corner of a large plush sofa located in her father’s study. Still wrapped in Ash’s jacket, she watched Gordon pace and Jillian wipe away tears that wouldn’t stop falling. Sybil and Elsie sat nearby, equally distraught.

A governor’s apparent murder was no small thing. State and local law enforcement officials of various expertise and standing cluttered the house and front lawn of her parents’ home. Thanks to Ash, the garden and gazebo had been secured before the curious could trample precious evidence.

Kayla experienced a twinge of guilt, but consoled herself that she’d been careful to retrace her steps back to Vicky.

After collecting the guests’ contact information, the police had shooed them away. As for Kayla, she was now giving her eyewitness account for the umpteenth time. Exhaustion was shutting off the lights in every cell of her barely functioning brain.

“Ms. Krowne,” the forty-something detective said. “I’m sorry to put you through this again, but I need to record your statement.”

“I understand.” Her gaze flicked up to the silent, dark-haired man looming above the seated APD detective. Ash’s features were set in grim lines and his hands were fisted beneath his crossed arms.

Ash had tried to postpone this latest interview, but the detective had been adamant about talking to her while the incident was fresh in her memory.

As if it would ever go stale. The image was seared into her mind.

At least the detective had agreed to taking her statement here, instead of the police station. She refocused on her interviewer. An attractive man, with sandy-blond hair, brown eyes, and wide shoulders. He wore a gray pressed shirt, a black tie, and slacks.

“Before you begin,” Kayla said, “can you tell me if the governor’s daughter, Linda Collier, has been notified?” Vicky’s husband had died three years ago, and she never remarried, nor did she have any romantic attachments, as far as she knew.

“Several attempts to reach Ms. Collier have been made,” Detective Damon Morgan said, “with no success. We’ll keep trying.”

Kayla frowned. Linda was notorious for never being far from her phone, especially at this time of the night. A thought occurred to her. “She’s seven and a half months pregnant. If you continue having trouble reaching her, you might try the hospital.”

Detective Morgan nodded at his rookie partner, whose sole role seemed to be taking notes.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Morgan said, turning his attention back to Kayla. “How did you and Governor Stokes come to be in the gazebo tonight?”

“I received a text from her, asking to meet with me.”

“What time?”

“Eight thirty-three.” She’d confirmed the time during her first interview.

“What did she want to meet with you about?”

“The message didn’t say.” Sharing her thoughts on what Victoria might have wanted to speak with her about wouldn’t do anyone any good. Speculation on her part could send the police on a wild goose chase. “She never got an opportunity to tell me.”

“How did she seem to you?” Morgan asked, interrupting her rabbit hole of unknowns. “Upset? Happy? Scared?”

“I would say more anxious.”

“About what she wanted to discuss with you? Or being seen meeting with you?”

A jolt went through her body. “I-I’m not sure.”

“Do you remember seeing anyone else in the garden, on your way to the gazebo.”

She paused to think. “No, not that I recall.”

“Hear any unusual noises?”

“No.”

“Walk me through what happened the moment you entered the gazebo?”

Kayla’s stomach clenched into a tight ball, shielding itself against another emotional punch. “When I first entered, I didn’t immediately spot Vicky. She was standing against the far wall, almost as if she were?—”

She cut the thought off. The events of the night were stirring up her imagination.

“Were what, Miss Krowne?” Morgan prompted.

“Nothing, I . . . ”

“Listen to your instincts, Kayla,” Ash said in a quiet voice.

“As if she were hiding. She wouldn’t allow me to turn on the gazebo’s lights.”

“Any ideas why?” Morgan asked.

She shook her head.

“You entered the gazebo, then what?”

“I went to greet her, but my shoe caught on the area rug, and I stumbled.”

The detective glanced down at her stilettos, where they lay haphazardly on the floor beside her. The pointed, rhinestone toe glittered in the study’s bright light.

“Go on.”

“When I straightened, I saw the—” She touched her own forehead, unable to say the words.

Instinct had her lifting her gaze to Ash, almost as if looking at him would give her the reassurance, the courage she needed to continue. Which was ridiculous. She barely knew the man.

Why hadn’t she looked to her parents instead, two people who had never let her down?

Then she’d recalled Ash’s gentle care with her after finding her huddled on the floor. His fierce protection.

“Are you of a similar height to the governor?”

“Nearly the same. Without heels, she’s an inch taller.”

Ash and Morgan shared a meaningful glance. The agent’s jaw turned stone hard.

Despite the warmth of her borrowed coat, anxiety tacked down her spine.

“What?” she asked.

“Did the governor say anything to you, prior to your stumble?” Morgan asked.

There’s something I need to tell you. Something you must keep to yourself.

Her fingers toyed with the coat’s button.

Promise me. Not even your mother.

A promise Vicky wouldn’t have exacted lightly. Her godmother knew how close she was to Jillian. Requesting she keep something from her mother was a big ask.

Kayla needed to figure out what Vicky wanted to tell her. It might not have had anything to do with her murder. Maybe it concerned one of the other aunties or even Jillian.

The last thing they needed right now was the police nosing around into their private affairs.

“Nothing outside of a greeting,” she said.

“Can you think of anyone who would want to kill you, Miss Krowne?”

“Me? I’m not the one you should be worrying about.”

“You might be right, but based on what you’ve told me, I suspect you were the intended target. If you hadn’t tripped on the carpet when you did, the bullet would have assuredly hit the back of your head.”