Perilous Homecoming. Sarah Varland

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       Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

       FIVE

       SIX

       SEVEN

       EIGHT

       NINE

       TEN

       ELEVEN

       TWELVE

       THIRTEEN

       FOURTEEN

       FIFTEEN

       SIXTEEN

       SEVENTEEN

       EPILOGUE

       Extract

       Copyright

ONE

      Kelsey Jackson felt the way she always did at the first rumbles of thunder on a too-hot day during tornado season. The electricity in the air was almost palpable, but not in a good way. Everything about being here tonight in this stifling room gave her one of the deepest senses of foreboding she’d ever felt. But tonight was too important for her career to let all that stop her, and Kelsey was Southern, born and bred—she could put on a fake smile, laugh lightly and be pleasant, even to her worst enemy, when the occasion called for it.

      That was exactly what she was going to do tonight. No, these people weren’t exactly her enemies, but they certainly weren’t friends, not after they had all turned their backs on her when she left the police force and the town under a cloud of undeserved suspicion.

      Just three or four more hours’ worth of this prelaunch party for the Treasure Point History Museum, and she’d be almost home free. The rest of the work she’d been hired to undertake could be done in relative solitude, then she’d be back to Savannah, back to the life she’d been carefully creating there for the last six years.

      “You look lovely tonight, Miss Jackson,” Jim Howard, the head of the historical society, said to her as he walked past. He had a woman on his arm whom Kelsey didn’t recognize.

      “Thank you.” She smiled as she moved away, toward the edge of the room. She’d ended up in the middle as she was walking, but being the center of attention wasn’t exactly her thing. She was eager to get to the edge. That should help her feel less anxious.

      But, Kelsey discovered quickly, even being at the edge of the crowded room where people in black-tie attire were mingling and celebrating wasn’t relaxing. Maybe she should step outside. Get some air.

      Gemma O’Dell, a former classmate who was now the museum’s marketing manager, had shown her a private porch off one of the rooms on their tour of the museum earlier that day. Kelsey was fairly certain she remembered how to get to it, and from there she could step out into the cool darkness of the summer night and see if she could relax enough to get her shoulders to loosen up.

      The din of voices and laughter grew quieter as she moved out of the main gallery, though there were still small clusters of people here and there in the hallways and side rooms of the museum. The way the place was set up lent itself to small conversation groups like this—it had been built to look like the antebellum plantation home that had stood on this very site for well over one hundred years, until it had been destroyed in an explosion several years before.

      Kelsey moved past the library, toward the room with the porch. As she approached, she heard voices. Low. Angry?

      It didn’t look like she’d be alone. She should turn around, make herself go out and be social, show the town she’d made something of herself, that she had nothing to be ashamed of.

      She took a deep breath, started to swivel on her new heels and walk back the way she’d come, but...

      Once a law enforcement officer, always a law enforcement officer.

      Four years at the Treasure Point Police Department had honed the observational skills, the attention to detail, that she’d already possessed. Voices like these deserved to be checked out.

      So she didn’t turn around. Instead, she walked slowly into the room, like she was just another party guest—which was true.

      Her heels clicked loudly on the floor, which would have been a liability if she was still a police officer. The door to the porch stood open, and she could make out shapes, just barely, in the shadows. Kelsey swallowed hard as the muscles in her neck tightened and she began to feel her pulse pounding. What exactly had she planned to do without a badge and a gun?

      She glanced down at herself, but sure enough, she had nothing on her that even came close to passing as a weapon. Her cerulean-blue halter dress with the swishy skirt was definitely not dangerous, and neither was the silver bracelet she always wore on her left wrist.

      Kelsey hesitated a moment too long.

      She heard a crash, followed by a thump, and squinted to try to make out what was happening in the dark. The shadows weren’t there anymore...wait, one was. One person was climbing over the porch railing.

      Where was the second?

      She thought of the thump she’d heard, a sick feeling swirling in her stomach. Had that been the other person landing on the ground? The red clay on the ground was anything but soft, and even though this was only the second story of the museum, the ceilings were tall and it would be a good fall from this height.

      No more investigating for her—she needed to go get help and discover what was happening outside the museum.

      Her heels clicked down the hallway, and Kelsey glanced back once to make sure no one was following her. The hallway seemed clear, but she still shivered.

      The noise of the party grew louder and Kelsey searched the crowd of guests to see if any of them were officers she knew from her time on the police force. There. Clay Hitchcock—one of the guys on the force who had continued to show confidence in her as an officer even when СКАЧАТЬ