Chapter Twelve

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“Jordana,” Caroline grumbled when she saw the woman approach the gate in her silver Mercedes.

And Caroline’s mind began to whirl with one big question.

Had Jordana been the one to fire those shots?

She certainly had the training for it, and she was obviously close by. The woman could have shot at them, ran when she spotted the van coming at her, then ditched the motorcycle and driven here to the gate.

But for what?

To try to finish what she’d started by shooting at them. Maybe. Caroline wouldn’t put it past her since Jordana had already spouted how much she loved her husband, and if the love was true blue, then Jordana might indeed be willing to carry out this attack for Bodie.

“Oz, put the camera feed from the gate on the dash and open audio,” Nash instructed. “I won’t be letting in our visitor, but I definitely want to hear what she has to say.”

So did Caroline, though if Jordana had enough nerve to have orchestrated that attack, she probably wouldn’t be blurting out anything that would incriminate her. Or Bodie. But maybe there was something else that could be used to prove she was guilty.

“Can her clothes be checked for gunshot residue?” Caroline asked as she watched Jordana inch her car closer and closer to the gate.

“She can be, but since the shots came from a rifle, there might not be any,” Nash said. “The barrel of the rifle is far enough away from the hands to keep them clean from the GSR.”

“And she would have likely worn gloves,” Slade pointed out. “Along with changing her clothes.”

Yes, she would, especially if she’d had her car stashed near where that motorcycle had been left. Jordana likely would have also discarded any clothes that could possibly incriminate her.

Jordana drove up level with the intercom box and lowered her window. “Nash, I need to talk to you,” she insisted.

Her tone was more than a little frantic. Then again, that had been her default mode back at Caroline’s house. That and some anger. Caroline wasn’t seeing much anger now, but the woman looked…shaken.

From what though?

The shooting?

Or was this because the cops were after her?

Maybe there was nothing the cops could use to arrest her if there was no evidence to link her to Bodie’s escape and the attacks. However, Jordana had left the scene shortly after the fire at Caroline’s house, and the cops might be able to charge Jordana with something related to that.

But Caroline immediately rethought that.

Her daddy’s lawyers would fight such a charge. She was positive about that. But walking away a free woman didn’t mean she was innocent.

“Nash?” Jordana called out again and used the back of her hand to wipe away tears. Judging from the mascara streaks on her cheeks, these weren’t the only recent tears the woman had shed. “Please answer. Please.”

Nash did something to the settings on his phone. “She’ll be able to hear us but not see us,” he let Slade and her know, and he answered the woman’s please. It probably wasn’t the answer Jordana wanted to hear, though. “Did you just try to kill us?” he came out and asked.

“No,” she was quick to answer, and she added a fair amount of shock to her expression. Fake shock perhaps. “No, of course not,” Jordana insisted. “Did someone try to kill you?”

Nash huffed. “What do you want, Jordana? Why are you here?”

A sob tore from her throat. “I got a call from Bodie, and he said someone was trying to kill him. Oh, God.” More sobbing. “He was so scared that someone might try to kill him. I can’t let him die. I have to try to save him.”

Even though Jordana couldn’t see him, Nash aimed an eyeroll at the monitor. “The cops are indeed after him,” Nash verified. “Maybe your father, too. So, yeah, he has a right to be worried that someone might end up shooting him. He could always just turn himself in to prevent that from happening.”

“That’s what I’m going to try to talk him into doing,” Jordana quickly agreed. “Giving himself up so he can live. That’s why I need to find him. Has he been here? Has he contacted Caroline?”

Caroline saw the debate that Nash was having with himself as to what to say. He could withhold info about that text and video. Or he could lay it out there and see how Jordana reacted.

“Bodie texted Caroline,” Nash finally said. “He called her darlin’.”

Well, that got a reaction from the woman, all right. Jordana let out a loud shriek, and she bashed the palm of her hand against the steering wheel. “He promised me he was over her, that she meant nothing to him. It’s not right. It’s not fair. He’s married to me. He’s my husband.” By the time she reached that last bit, she was screaming out the words.

“I’m surprised you’re so jealous of him,” Nash commented. “I mean, since you had an affair with your husband’s best friend.”

Jordana’s head whipped sideways, and her stony gaze fired straight into the camera. “That sonofabitch Eddie. He told you we’d had an affair. We didn’t,” she spat out.

“I have a photo of the two of you kissing,” Nash added. “The cops have a copy of it, too, and they’ve questioned Eddie about it.”

She shrieked again and did more hand banging against the steering wheel. If she kept it up, she was going to risk breaking some bones.

“It’s all falling apart,” Jordana cried out. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Bodie and I were supposed to be…somewhere else.” Unlike before, her voice got softer as she continued to speak until she was trailing off into a barely audible whisper. “We were supposed to be living our lives together.”

The crying picked up pace, and Jordana was now gulping in large, hiccupping breaths. But that stopped when there was a sound in the distance.

Police sirens.

The fire returned to her eyes and expression. “You called the cops on me?” Jordana growled.

“No, I called the cops on the shooter who tried to kill us,” Nash clarified. “If that happens to be you—”

“Fuck off,” Jordana snapped.

“The cops will want to speak to you,” Nash pointed out, but he was talking to the air because Jordana was already turning the car around.

“Want me to go after her?” Slade asked.

“No.” Nash didn’t hesitate either. “The cops will do that. I don’t want the gates open until I’m sure she’s gone.”

After what’d just happened to them, Caroline was relieved about that decision. But it did lead her to another of those big questions. Where would Nash and she go? They couldn’t stay here because, like her place, it was now a crime scene where things would have to be searched and processed.

“I don’t want to go to my mother’s,” Caroline threw out there as a preemptive strike.

Nash turned to her but then just as quickly turned back to the screen when Oz spoke. “A county deputy is at the gate, and the drone has detected something. Footage is loading to monitor now.”

“The cop will have to wait,” Nash told Oz. “I want to see what the footage is.”

“Maybe the drone is following Jordana,” Slade muttered.

But when the feed appeared, Caroline saw it wasn’t of the driveway to Nash’s house or the nearby road. Not of Jordana’s car or the motorcycle in the ditch either. This was a small clearing in a heavily treed area.

And there was something dark in the center of it.

“Where is that?” Caroline asked.

Nash continued to study the feed. “I’m not sure. Oz, ask the drone operator for coordinates of the location of this image.”

It didn’t take long for Oz to obtain that info, and Nash pulled up a map on his phone. “It’s a half mile from here and a quarter of a mile from the motorcycle. And it’s not easy to access because of some deep gulleys and a mineral spring. The only way to get there is on foot.”

The person operating the drone did some maneuvering, adjusting the camera and dropping down lower to zoom in on the dark object.

Caroline saw it then. Saw what it was.

A body.

Sweet heaven. It was a body.

The person was sprawled out and turned to the side so she couldn’t tell who it was, but judging from the size, it was a man. One wearing all black and with a rifle next to him.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the shooter,” Nash commented.

“Yes,” Caroline muttered, and she pinned her attention to the monitor as the drone did another adjustment, moving closer, going to the other side of the body. “Is that blood on the side of his shirt, or is it just wet?”

“It’s blood.” Nash touched the image pointing to the person’s neck.

Where there was some kind of injury. A bullet hole maybe.

“Oz, instruct the drone operator to zoom in on the person’s face,” Nash said.

It took several moments, but the drone responded, dropping down until it was practically eye level with the body.

Oh, God.