“Let me know if you need to return.”
“Will do.” Mendoza flipped up the hood of her jacket while skirting puddles on the way to the Jeep. Rivers thought he heard her mutter, “Fat chance,” under her breath, but he couldn’t be certain.
As he slid behind the wheel and Mendoza strapped herself into the seat belt, he asked, “So, what did you think?”
“Not sure,” she admitted as the buckle snapped into place just as Rivers started the engine. “Everything checks out.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I don’t know . . .”
“Too much of a coincidence that her brother works for James?”
“She seemed to think so.”
“But—?” He drove onto the side street and flipped on the wipers.
“But Riggs Crossing is a small town. James Cahill is a major employer in the area. It’s not that odd.”
He squinted against the headlights from oncoming traffic. There was something about the conversation that nagged at him, scratched at his brain, but he didn’t know what. Maybe it wasn’t so much what was said as how it was said.
As he turned onto a main road leading east out of the city, he wished he could’ve had a few minutes alone in Jennifer Korpi’s classroom, to stand amid the jingle bells, paper angels, and Bible verses, to delve deep and pick up any dark images submerged beneath all the Christmas cheer. Something didn’t feel right in there, but he doubted if the gatekeeper of St. Ignatius Elementary, Sister Rosemarie, would allow him inside or give him free rein in the classroom, and he wasn’t about to break in.
He didn’t have to.
He had her tension ball in his pocket.
CHAPTER 32
Willow summoned her strength.
Then quietly, holding her breath, slipped through the back door of James’s house.
Her heart pounded, and her pulse was jumping as she stood in the kitchen, straining to hear even the smallest of noises, any sign of life within the darkened interior. Not from James; she knew he was at the hospital because of Gus’s accident—the news of him nearly cutting off his hand had spread like wildfire through the shop, inn, and Christmas tree farm. But what about the dog?
Biting her lip, she stepped noiselessly across the hardwood. She half-expected the shepherd to come barking and snarling from some hidden corner of the house, but she heard no sound of toenails clicking rapidly on the floor, no low menacing growl, just the hum of the refrigerator and the soft rumble of an old furnace pushing air through the ancient vents.
She eased into the kitchen and through the dining area.
Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the half-light, a bit of illumination from a front porch light seeping through the windows to give the interior a ghostly glow.
She had a right to be here.
Earlier, she and that obnoxious Sophia had been here, cleaning the place—washing, scrubbing, vacuuming, even changing the bedding. Sophia had been in charge. Bossing her around. God, that woman could be a bitch when she wanted to be. Some of the time, she was actually easy to get along with, but cross her and you awakened a monster. And she was secretive. Willow had seen her with her sister when the sister had dropped her off at work one day, but Sophia never wanted to talk about her. Usually chatty, she just clammed up. A real Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. She was beautiful, of course, but other than that, Willow couldn’t fathom what James saw in her. Willow had said as much to Zena, which had probably been a mistake, because Zena was always running off her mouth and Zena knew that Willow was in love with James. Oh, well, soon the world would know.
It turned Willow’s stomach to be so subservient to Sophia, to allow Sophia to boss her around, but she told herself it was temporary. Willow just had to bide her time. Besides, she had a secret. She’d been in this house before. A few times. But always by herself. Always when James and the dog were away.
He’d never known.
She just wanted to spend a little time alone in James’s home, to fantasize what it would be like if she were his lover—no, more than that, if she were his wife. Even though he barely knew her, that would change, she would make certain of it.
And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t played out this fantasy before.
That will change, my love.
Except now there was another problem. She had to deal with not only Sophia, but Rebecca Travers as well. Willow had hoped that since Megan wasn’t around, James might finally notice her, but of course that had backfired. Sophia was all over him, and James had this odd fascination with Rebecca.
Willow frowned at that, felt bile rise up in her throat. Sophia had let it slip that James had once, fleetingly, dated Rebecca. Had he fucked her? Probably. Just like he was still doing with Sophia. It made Willow sick, but she reminded herself that Rebecca and Sophia were just passing fancies. Just like Megan. Once they too were out of the picture . . .
Scraaape.
Her heart leapt to her throat.
What the hell was that?
So close!
So damned close!
She froze.
Maybe she should leave . . .
Scraape!
Again, the horrid sound.
Her heart knocking wildly, she looked over her shoulder and—
Scraape!
Startled, she jumped, then noticed a branch moving against the panes, grating across the glass.
Oh. God.
She tried to calm herself, then kept going, easing up the stairs, which seemed to creak loudly with each of her footsteps. What if she were wrong about being alone here? What if James had returned and parked in the garage—she hadn’t double-checked there—and even now was resting in his bedroom?
But the dog—the dog would have heard her, she reminded herself, every one of her nerves strung tight. No, she was the sole person here. The weird vibe she was feeling, that someone was watching her, that someone was actually in the
