But he wasn’t done yet. “Why’d you run?”
The smile faded. “I realized it wasn’t going to end. Ever. Too many people knew bits and pieces and would eventually put it together. I couldn’t silence them all, so I left work and went home to get Wylie. I planned to just—” She waved a hand in a flourish. “—disappear.”
“Except I got there before you could leave,” Baronick said, his voice laden with rage.
Tears again gleamed in her eyes. No regret for anything she’d done, but for being caught.
“How did you find out that Abby was investigating your hitman and that Zoe suspected someone other than Dustin?” Pete fought to keep the fury from his own voice.
“That reporter. Lauren somebody? She kept asking me questions for the story she was doing on Dustin’s retrial. But I managed to get more useful information from her than she did from me.”
Pete closed his eyes. Lauren Sanders. He’d be livid with her except he’d been as much of an idiot as she had. One last question surfaced in his consciousness, and he opened his eyes. “You said you got the idea for having Maurice shoot Elizabeth while you were visiting friends?”
Jenna leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “Like I said. I was visiting friends in Morgantown. While I was there, a guy killed a girl in a car in a lonely parking lot and got away clean. I thought the same plan would work for Maurice. And it did.” Her gaze, hard and cold as ice, locked onto Pete’s. “As it turns out, the man from Morgantown has killed quite a few other girls over the years.”
The knowledge that something awful was coming sat in Pete’s gut like a block of lead.
“I’m actually quite good at keeping secrets, Chief Adams. I kept my own all this time, but I also kept one for someone else. You see, I knew that guy. The one who killed that girl and all the others. And I never told anyone.”
“Give us the name,” Pete growled.
Jenna smiled. Not the vulnerable girl-next-door smile that had suckered Pete for so many years, but a smug, triumphant one that chilled Pete’s blood. “Now I want that attorney. Someone who can make me a deal. My life in exchange for the identity of the Deserted Lot Killer.”
Thirty-Five
Most of the chairs in the country church’s basement nursery were toddler-sized, so Zoe, bundled in a fluffy robe she swore her mother had stolen from some fancy hotel, perched on the edge of a table while Rose Morales held a mascara wand aimed at Zoe’s eye.
Rose, Zoe’s best friend, matron of honor, and current makeup artist, had arrived from New Mexico in time for last night’s rehearsal. “Look up.”
Zoe obeyed, hoping to avoid being jabbed in the eye. “I can do my own makeup, you know.”
“Look at your hands.”
Zoe lowered her gaze to her trembling fingers and had to admit, she’d no doubt botch the job.
“I said look up.”
“You also said look at my hands.”
“I didn’t mean right at this moment.”
Zoe sighed, kept her gaze on the ceiling, and tried not to blink as Rose did her thing.
The door crashed open. Zoe didn’t have to shift her eyes to know it was Kimberly.
“You stay right here and guard this door,” she said to some hapless guest. “Don’t let anyone in without my approval, especially the groom. He must not see the bride before the wedding.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Zoe recognized Logan’s voice—Rose’s eighteen-year-old son.
The door slammed and Kimberly, attired in a gold lame dress and jacket, bustled toward them. “Aren’t you done yet? The photographer’s here and no one wants to see wedding photos of a bride in a bathrobe.”
Rose lowered the mascara wand. “There. Finished.” She turned to Kimberly. “What do you think?”
Zoe cringed, expecting a harsh review.
But Kimberly nodded as she inspected Rose’s handiwork. “Very nice. I can’t remember the last time I saw makeup on my daughter’s face. Good job.” She snapped her fingers at Patsy who was poking at her sprayed updo, the result of an early morning trip to the salon—something Kimberly had arranged for all four of them. “Bring the dress over here. We need to help Zoe into it, so her hair doesn’t get mussed.”
Minutes later, Zoe stood in front of the full-length mirror while her mother clipped her veil in place. All she’d need were glass slippers to complete the Cinderella fantasy. She already had the dress and Rose, Patsy, and Kimberly flitting around like woodland birds helping her get ready.
Kimberly huffed an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know why you didn’t listen to me and let your hair grow out. You’d look lovely with an updo.” She touched her own highly sprayed blonde chignon.
Patsy elbowed her. “She looks lovely just the way she is.”
Kimberly added one final hairpin to anchor the veil to Zoe’s short curls, stepped back, and smiled at the mother-daughter reflection. “Yes. She absolutely does.”
The rare compliment brought a rush of heat to Zoe’s eyes. She reminded herself—no crying before the wedding. No streaking Rose’s makeup job.
There was a knock at the door, and Logan opened it a crack. “Zoe has a visitor.”
“Who?” Kimberly demanded.
Lauren squeezed past the teen. “Me.”
“Let her in,” Zoe said, contradicting her mother who ordered the reporter out. Kimberly glared at Zoe in a silent game of chicken, but Zoe held firm.
Kimberly threw her hands up in dramatic defeat. “Fine.”
Lauren entered and looked at the other women. “Would you mind giving me and Zoe a minute? Alone?”
Zoe made a shooing motion. “It’s okay. Go make sure everything is okay upstairs.”
Kimberly opened her mouth to protest. Zoe gave her “the Look.” The one Kimberly had given her many times
