Hidden Target (Otter Creek Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  About the Author

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  About the Author

  HIDDEN TARGET

  Rebecca Deel

  Editor: Jack Williams

  Cover: Melody Simmons from ebookindiecovers

  Copyright © 2015 Rebecca Deel

  All rights reserved.

  To Mom who taught me to knit.

  CHAPTER ONE

  More dead flowers.

  Not again. It had been almost two years. How did he find her? Madison Cahill Ryder slammed the lid back on the floral box and shoved it aside.

  She drew breath into lungs that didn’t want to expand. Maybe the deliveryman left it in the truck too long. Right. Anybody can overlook a purple box baking for a week in Tennessee heat.

  Flowers from her brother, father or Nick always arrived with a card nestled among the stems. She dragged the box across the counter and lifted the lid. The three flowers were still dead. She loved white roses. What a waste of beauty.

  Pushing aside the green floral paper, she spotted a small envelope almost hidden by brittle leaves and stems. She smiled. Perhaps her brother had sent the flowers. After Josh opened the box of murder mysteries and thrillers she’d sent last month for the guys in his unit, he’d promised a special, hand-delivered thanks.

  Grabbing the envelope, Madison pulled out the neatly printed card. Her smile faded.

  YOU CAN’T RUN.

  Her heartbeat pounded in her throat, the printed words swimming in front of her eyes. She blinked and brought the words back into focus. Definitely not from Josh or his military unit in some Sand Box country. What should she do? She wouldn’t place her sisters or parents in danger. And she couldn’t risk anyone else’s life to protect her own.

  In the last few months, she’d finally reached the point where she looked forward to waking up each morning and going to her knitting shop, The Bare Ewe. Now, sweater designs filled her first waking thoughts instead of the aching loss of Luke and the baby. Despite both of her sisters’ teasing about trying to knit her life back together, her passion for knitting made the long hours seem short. Madison had been healing—until now.

  She crushed the card and jammed it into the pocket of her jeans. Long-buried fear surfaced, threatening to become full-blown terror. A shudder wracked her body. She couldn’t live through that horror again. Almost hadn’t survived the last round.

  The bell over The Bare Ewe’s door jingled. She jerked, crammed the envelope inside the box and mashed the lid. Madison’s automatic smile turned genuine when she recognized her customer. The perfect person to take her mind off dead roses. “Ruth, what a nice surprise!”

  Ruth Rollins removed her sunglasses and settled them on top of her white hair. “Since Ethan and Serena’s wedding is in a few weeks, I thought this might be a good time to buy some yarn for an afghan as a gift.”

  “That’s a great idea.” Madison slid off her stool. “I received a shipment of yarn this morning Serena will love.” Madison moved with an uneven gait from behind the counter, her hip stiff again from sitting too long. One day she’d follow the doctor’s advice, if she found a way to exercise without sweating.

  She led Ruth through aisles of bins and baskets filled with colorful yarn to a row of cubbyholes along the far wall. Madison wrapped trembling fingers around a fat skein and handed it to Ruth. “It’s a thick wool blend, so it works up fast. Thanksgiving’s not far away.” Had she noticed Madison’s hand shaking?

  Ruth fingered the soft, thick strands. “How did you know I have a book deadline snapping at my heels? I’ll take any help I can get. What color would your sister like?”

  The ball of ice in her stomach began melting. “Lime green, orange, hot pink. Her favorite color is yellow, like her car.” Madison’s lips curved. “I have a feeling your nephew would prefer a more muted color, though. What about a rich burgundy?”

  “Sounds like you’ve been in his apartment since he bought the new couch.”

  “I helped Serena cook and freeze meals for Ethan last week.”

  Ruth put down a forest green skein and stared at her, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Just how much helping did you do? Should I get Ethan a stomach pump instead?”

  “Okay, I confess. I cut up a few vegetables. I didn’t actually cook anything.” Did Ruth have to mention her legendary kitchen disasters? Heat rose in Madison’s face. “I hoped Serena’s cooking magic would rub off on me.”

  “I imagine a lot of that magic comes from hours in the kitchen and culinary school.” Ruth selected several skeins of burgundy yarn. “Do you have an easy pattern? I would pull my hair out with a complicated pattern and I don’t want to attend Ethan’s wedding in a wig.”

  Madison rang up the sale. She handed Ruth a receipt, and noticed the woman staring at the floral box on the counter.

  “Someone sent you flowers?” Curiosity danced in Ruth’s blue eyes.

  Madison’s gaze dropped to the box, her pulse racing. She lifted her shoulder in what she hoped imitated a casual shrug. “It’s nothing.” Before she could stop her, Ruth raised the floral box lid. “Wait!”

  Nick Santana pushed open the squad room doors. He extended his hand to the tall, red-haired man watching his approach and introduced himself. “I need to see the police chief.”

  “That would be Ethan Blackhawk. Should be free in a couple of minutes. I’m Rod Kelter. Want some coffee while you wait?”

  Nick glanced at the shield on the man’s belt. “No thanks, Detective. I’m fine.”

  Kelter’s eyes narrowed. He seemed about to ask a question when someone called him to the phone. “Excuse me.”

  Nick glanced around the busy squad room, a pang of nostalgia shooting through him. This might be a small town cop shop, but it wasn’t much different than the South precinct in Knoxville. The enticing aroma of fresh coffee made him regret not taking the detective up on his offer of
a cup. It smelled a lot better than the burnt, toxic brew served at his old station. Depending on which shift you worked, the taste waffled between runoff from the city dump and road tar.

  A burst of feminine laughter drew his attention to the office at the back of the squad room. The voice sounded like Madison. A small, blonde-haired woman reached up and caressed the jaw of a towering policeman. Nick’s whole body tensed. Was Madison involved with someone else? Had he waited too long?

  “I’ll see you later, Ethan.”

  When the woman turned to leave, Nick studied her face and released the breath he’d been holding. One of Madison’s sisters, Megan or Serena. He couldn’t tell the other two of the Cahill triplets apart, but he recognized Madison on sight, even without the scar from the accident.

  The woman pulled up short, a smile springing to her lips. “Nick!”

  He grinned. “How are you, Ms. Cahill?” He chose the safest way to address this sister, since he didn’t know which one stood two feet from him.

  “Call me Serena. After all those hours at the hospital together, I hope we’re friends.” She brushed aside his outstretched hand and hugged him.

  Nick closed his eyes. He gritted his teeth, willing his back muscles to relax.

  “Does Madison know you’re in town?”

  “Not yet,” he managed once the pain wave receded. “I want to surprise her, so don’t give me away.”

  “Serena?”

  Nick’s gaze shifted to the big policeman he’d seen with Serena. This guy had to be at least six-four and light on his feet. Nick hadn’t heard him approach.

  “Ethan, this is Nick Santana, a friend of mine.” Serena’s eyes twinkled at Nick. “Well, he’s a friend of Madison’s. Nick, this is Ethan Blackhawk, my fiancé.”

  Blackhawk’s grip bordered on painful. Nick couldn’t decide if the police chief meant to challenge him or was unaware of his own strength. Probably the latter since he looked like he bench-pressed three hundred pounds.

  “I need to talk with you a few minutes if you have time, Chief Blackhawk.”

  “It’s Ethan.” He rested his hand on his fiancé’s shoulder. “I’ll be with you as soon as I walk Serena to her car. You can wait in my office.”

  “Don’t bother, sweetheart. I’m late anyway.” She smiled at Nick. “Are you staying in town long enough to eat dinner with us?”

  “I’d like that.” He’d spent several days with the Cahills after Madison’s accident two years ago and enjoyed the family dynamics, though it had been bittersweet for him. Their camaraderie reminded him how it used to be in his own family.

  “We’ll plan on it, then.” Serena kissed Ethan’s cheek, waved at Nick, and left.

  “Coffee, Nick?”

  “It smells great. Thanks.”

  “It’s one of the coffee blends Serena uses for Home Runs, her chef service.” Ethan headed for the far end of the squad room and the coffee pot. “My office is behind you. I’ll meet you inside.”

  Nick sat in front of a desk covered with files, papers, legal pads, books, maps, and a computer and printer. He smiled. Typical administrative clutter.

  Ethan closed the office door, shutting out the squad room noise. He handed Nick a steaming mug of coffee and sat in the chair next to him. “How can I help?”

  “Madison Ryder’s in danger.”

  Ethan studied him. “She hasn’t mentioned a problem. Why do you think she’s in danger?” Like the rest of the cops Nick had worked with, Ethan betrayed no emotion.

  “How much do you know about her accident?” Nick eyed the police chief over the mug’s rim.

  “An unidentified driver ran a stolen vehicle through a four-way stop and plowed into their car. The impact killed Luke and forced the vehicle over the side of a steep ravine. Neighbors heard the crash and called for help, but didn’t see the driver flee from the scene. No witnesses.” He spoke rapid-fire report mode. “What’s your interest in Madison and Luke?”

  “Luke was my partner for eight years on the Knoxville police force.” And as close as his own brother would have been, had he lived.

  “You’re a cop?”

  “Not anymore.” Not for the past year. His back muscles spasmed, and he shifted position.

  Ethan sat back in his chair. “What happened?” He cradled his coffee mug in his hands, waiting.

  “After the accident, I spent all my time working Luke’s case. The leads dried up, but I couldn’t let it go.” Nick shifted his gaze to focus out the window on the people rushing through the town square on lunchtime errands. He forced down the sudden lump in his throat. “He was my partner, my best friend. I owed him that much.”

  Nick shifted in his seat again, and turned his attention to the silent, watchful cop. “After months of dead ends, the captain ordered me to work on other cases. I handed him my gun and badge and walked out.”

  “How did you injure your back?” Ethan’s dark eyes seemed to miss nothing.

  The corner of Nick’s lips curved upward. Guess he’d failed to hide the stiffness in his back. “Working Luke’s case.” He extracted a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to the police chief.

  Ethan’s eyebrows rose. “You’re a private investigator?”

  “Gives me a legitimate excuse for nosiness. I must have made somebody nervous because I ended up with a bullet in the back.”

  “Any chance one of your other cases led to the shooting?”

  “None of the background checks, spousal surveillances, or missing dogs warranted a bullet.”

  “What about grudges from your days as a cop?”

  “A friend on the force ran a check. Everybody’s accounted for except one man.” Nick’s jaw tightened. “Luke and I arrested Scott Bates for murder three years ago. He blamed us when his wife divorced him and took the kids. The jury acquitted him and the judge released Bates a few weeks before the accident.”

  “You think Bates targeted Luke?” Ethan set his mug on the desk and reached for a legal pad and pen. “Knoxville PD didn’t have enough evidence to pin responsibility for the accident on anyone. The case is still listed as an unsolved hit-and-run.”

  Nick’s respect for Ethan climbed another notch. The police chief had investigated Madison’s accident on his own. “Someone who looked like Bates questioned the neighbors in Madison and Luke’s old apartment complex, hunting for her.”

  Nick finished his coffee and set his mug aside. “Before the accident, someone terrorized Madison. Luke fingered Bates, but he couldn’t find proof. After Luke died, the harassment stopped. I thought she was safe. Then someone shot me, and now Bates or his lookalike is tracking her.”

  Ethan looked up from his notepad. “How long ago was this guy looking for her?”

  “These flowers will need water soon.” Ruth’s voice trailed off. She stared at the contents of the box. “Never mind. Looks like it’s already too late. What’s going on? Is this someone’s idea of a poor joke?”

  “Maybe the florist forgot to deliver them.” Madison flushed. The excuse sounded lame even to her.

  “Forgot to send them for a few weeks by the looks of them.” Ruth’s tart tone caused Madison to squirm. “Who sent you dead flowers? Is there a card?”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” She closed the lid again and stored the box under the counter. She longed to toss it into the nearest dumpster, but her future brother-in-law would be furious if she tampered with evidence. She grimaced, wondering what he would say when he learned this delivery wasn’t the first.

  “Nothing? You used to be a cop’s wife, Madison. You can’t ignore a threat like this.”

  She used to be a cop’s wife, now she was a cop’s widow, one determined to keep the remnants of her family safe. Madison wished eagle-eyed Ruth Rollins had for once missed something. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” She forced a smile. “Will dead flowers appear in your next Olivia Tutweiler mystery?”

  Ruth stared at her with glittering eyes. “If you don’t tell
Ethan what’s going on, I will.”

  Madison’s smile faded, acid churning in her stomach. Why wouldn’t Ruth drop this? “I’ll tell him.”

  “I want your word that he’ll know today, Madison, or I’ll march over to his office right now and tattle.”

  She would, too. Once Ruth made up her mind to do something, no one stood in her way. The irritation roiling in her stomach diminished. No wonder Serena loved her spitfire soon-to-be aunt so much. Ruth fit right in with the protective Cahill clan. “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “According to Ethan, mules could learn a thing or two from me.” Determination gleamed from Ruth’s eyes. “Now, do I have your word or am I visiting my nephew?”

  “All right, Ruth. You win. I’ll tell him today, but I’m blaming you if he accuses me of having an overactive imagination.”

  “I can live with that. I’ll check in on you later, dear.” Ruth grabbed her bag of yarn, gave a jaunty wave and walked out into the blistering September heat.

  After the door closed, Madison’s smile dimmed. Ethan wouldn’t think of those flowers as a joke any more than she did, but at least now his aunt wouldn’t feel compelled to get involved. She picked up the phone and punched in the first six digits, hesitated over the last number, then hung up.

  She didn’t want to talk about this on the phone. One of her customers might overhear. Madison wrinkled her nose. Another few hours wouldn’t make any difference to the roasted blooms. The delay might give her a chance to talk to Georgia Shannon, a friend who owned the only floral shop in town. Would Georgia remember who placed the order?

  The phone rang under her hand. She yanked her hand away, waited a beat for her heart to settle into a steadier rhythm, and lifted the receiver. “The Bare Ewe. This is Madison.”

  “Ready to accept my offer yet?”

  Madison squeezed her eyes shut. Could this day get any worse? Fried flowers, Otter Creek’s version of Miss Marple, and now Charles Howard, her landlord. “It’s nice to hear from you, too, Mr. Howard.” She didn’t attempt to mask the sarcasm in her voice.