Reunited By Danger. Carol J. Post
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Название: Reunited By Danger
Автор: Carol J. Post
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Короткие любовные романы
Серия: Mills & Boon Love Inspired Suspense
isbn: 9781474069953
isbn:
Once you were bound, but now you’re free.
The kids all adore you, their referee.
A sworn public servant, you’ve answered the call.
His brow creased. A line was missing, the final word rhyming with call. But no one else had received a note. He and other law enforcement had asked the question of everyone at the reunion.
He reached for the mouse. Ramona Freeborn. The sixth friend. Had she received a mysterious message, making up the last line of the poem? He leaned forward and, after a couple of clicks, started typing.
During the next several minutes he found two Ramona Freeborns, one much older and the other slightly younger. When a third one came up, his pulse quickened. The date of birth matched. And she’d lived in Fort Lauderdale. As he read, a lead weight settled in his gut.
Ramona Freeborn had been murdered.
Investigative records provided details. Her body had been found in the woods five miles from where she’d lived. She’d disappeared late in the evening from her home, where she resided alone, having been divorced for nine months. There’d been no sign of forced entry. She’d either known the killer or had stepped outside and been abducted.
He moved on to the evidence list. Nothing of significance had been found at the house. In the woods, about ten feet from the body, lay a bloody wooden baseball bat. He’d seen some gruesome things in the line of duty, but the pictures that followed sent bile surging up his throat. Someone had beat Ramona to a bloody pulp.
More reports came after the initial one. Interviews with neighbors who’d seen nothing. Statements from coworkers saying they couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her. Even her ex had nothing negative to say, claiming their divorce had been amicable, a fact supported by several of her friends.
There was another piece of evidence—a sheet of paper, apparently carried by the wind and lodged in some underbrush outside the initial crime scene perimeter. As he read the words, a cold blanket of dread covered him.
The missing line of the poem.
He reached for the phone but hesitated. Amber would be asleep. But first thing tomorrow, he’d make the call. He had to warn her and her friends.
Because this final line changed everything.
Amber poured dry cat food into a large mixing bowl, the sound of kibbles hitting metal echoing through the house. Two gray streaks zipped into the kitchen, followed by a yellow tabby and a solid black cat. It didn’t matter that they’d had their fill of moist food before she’d left for her morning run. Having spent too much of their lives perpetually hungry, they still acted as if each meal might be their last.
Except Tippy. She lay on the kitchen table, proud and regal, working on her after-breakfast bath. She resembled a chocolate point Siamese, but white tipped her feet, face and tail. A snowshoe, according to someone at Sheltering Hands, the Williston cat rescue. Amber had brought in pictures and gotten the official opinion shortly after Tippy had joined the Kingston household.
A ringtone interrupted her thoughts and she jogged into the living room, ponytail swishing against her neck. She retrieved her phone from the coffee table and frowned at the unfamiliar number before giving a tentative hello.
“Are you up?” It was Caleb.
“Just finished my morning run. I’m having breakfast then heading to Walmart in Chiefland.”
“At seven thirty in the morning?”
She strolled into the kitchen and Tippy stopped midlick, ready for the petting she knew would be forthcoming. Amber had halfheartedly tried to train her but had given up. That was one of the joys of living alone. There was no one to tell her cats don’t belong on the table. Or that five was too many.
“I have to be at work later this morning. But I’ve got friends coming for pizza and movies tonight, and my TV croaked.”
“How about meeting me for breakfast?”
Was he asking her out? She eyed the green concoction waiting in the blender on the kitchen counter: her breakfast smoothie. “I’ve already got it made.”
“Coffee then? We need to talk.”
The seriousness in his tone killed the possibility the call was anything but professional. An irrational twinge of disappointment passed through her. “Is everything all right?”
“There are some things you need to know.”
Her stomach tightened. “Where do you want to meet?”
“Huddle House in Chiefland.”
“Give me forty minutes.” Date or not, she wasn’t meeting him in a ponytail and Spandex. After pouring her drink into a quart-size Mason jar, she hurried down the hall to change into a pair of jeans and a scoop-neck T-shirt. By the time she’d finished, the jar was empty.
When she arrived at Huddle House, Caleb was inside. She took a seat opposite him.
“I already ordered. I hope you don’t mind. Since I came from the station, I haven’t eaten.”
The waitress approached with a plate of eggs, pancakes and hash browns and placed it in front of him. After bringing Amber a cup of steaming water and a tea bag, she left them alone.
Amber started the tea steeping. “What did you learn?”
“We don’t have anything back from the lab yet, but I uncovered some disturbing things about Ramona Freeborn’s death.” Beneath the sandy-blond hair, his brows were drawn together, and concern had settled in his eyes.
She frowned. “I’m guessing Mona didn’t have cancer.”
“I don’t know, but I can tell you that’s not how she died.”
A vise clamped down on her chest. “Murder?”
“She was taken into the woods and beaten to death with a baseball bat.”
Amber cringed at the mental image his words evoked. “Any idea who did it or why?”
“No. The case is still unsolved. But the killer left a piece of paper.”
The vise squeezed harder. “Like what the five of us received at the reunion.”
He pulled a page from the manila folder lying on the table and handed it to her. “I’ve written out all the messages and put them together.”
After a brief moment she snapped her gaze to his face. “It’s a poem.” She hadn’t recognized it before. Of course, she hadn’t seen half the lines.
Caleb took a bite of eggs before pointing with his fork. “Ramona’s line is the last one.”
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