Written in Blood (Otter Creek Book 3) 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

  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

  About the Author

  WRITTEN IN BLOOD

  Rebecca Deel

  Editor: Jack Williams

  Cover: Melody Simmons from ebookindiecovers

  Copyright © 2015 Rebecca Deel

  All rights reserved.

  To my amazing husband.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Megan Cahill turned and froze. Prickles of fear crawled down her spine as a chill December wind rattled bare branches and scattered leaves along a trail that disappeared into shifting shadows.

  Her friend, Sherri, tugged on her arm. “Let’s go. Now.”

  Meg nodded and matched Sherri’s quick pace, wishing she had not agreed to meet her friend in such a deserted area at four o’clock in the morning. Meg’s suggestion for an early morning coffee shop meeting appealed even more at the moment. Twigs cracked in the semi-darkness on Churchill Trail. A deer?

  “Don’t stop.” Sherri’s voice quivered.

  Footsteps thudded behind them, footsteps too heavy for a deer. Too fast for an early morning jog, too dark to wait and see if she was wrong. Meg’s adrenaline spiked. “Move it, Sherri!” She broke into a run.

  “I’m sorry, Meg. I shouldn’t have involved you.”

  A shot rang out. The bullet skimmed bark from a tree to her left. Meg flinched and swerved right. Evasions might throw off the shooter’s aim.

  Sherri screamed and ducked, stumbling. She righted herself and plunged ahead.

  Meg dropped back a step. Just one look. She wanted a name or description to give the police. “Hurry, Sherri!” She glanced over her shoulder. Gloom and tree limbs concealed the shooter’s identity.

  Footsteps drummed closer. Meg slowed as much as she dared. Every second gave Sherri, a slower runner, a better chance to reach the car. Hair rose on the nape of her neck. The runner was gaining ground. Meg sprinted for the car.

  Legs and lungs burning, she hurried toward the parking area. As Meg approached the trail entrance, Sherri jammed her key into the door lock. Hope surged. A few more feet to safety.

  Footsteps hammered behind Meg, edging closer, until a hand shoved her headlong into the stone wall at the entrance. Stunned, she lay motionless on the dirt, the scent of molded leaves assaulting her nose.

  Sherri’s scream shattered the silence.

  Gritting her teeth, Meg told herself to get up, but her hands moved an inch instead of pushing her to a sitting position. “Move, move,” Meg whispered. She must help Sherri. A shot splintered the stillness. Meg forced weight onto her hands and knees. The ground tilted.

  Footsteps again. Coming closer. Not Sherri. Meg’s jaw clenched. If death awaited her, she wanted to face her killer. She turned her head in time to see a sneaker-clad foot arch toward her.

  Meg twisted away from the attack. Pain exploded from her back as she collapsed once more against the stones.

  Lights flashed. Someone cocked a gun and pressed it to the back of her head. Pine fragrance merged with the scent of decaying leaves. As blackness closed in, she wondered if her sisters would lay pine wreaths on her grave.

  Rod Kelter’s hand fumbled around the nightstand, searching for the ringing phone. He located the handset and, without opening his eyes, punched the talk button. “Yeah. Kelter.”

  “Dead body and an assault victim on Churchill Trail.”

  He squinted at the clock. 4:30 a.m. “Santana’s tied up?”

  “Robbery at the bar.”

  Busy night in Otter Creek. “I’ll roll in ten.” He flung aside the covers and stumbled into the bathroom. After a hasty shower, he dressed in warm clothes and slipped his badge and holstered weapon onto his belt.

  Rod swung into the parking lot at 4:47, stopped beside the ambulance and moved to the officer waiting by his cruiser. “Run it down.”

  “Looks like a robbery gone bad.” The patrol officer inclined his head toward the Mercedes coupe to his right. “DB’s on the other side of the car. No ID.”

  Rod studied the vehicle, frowning. It looked familiar. Not surprising, he supposed. Otter Creek was a small Tennessee town, after all. He knew most of the citizens by sight if not by name. “What about the assault vic?”

  “In the ambulance. EMTs arrived same time I did.”

  “ID?”

  “Megan Cahill.”

  Rod spun around, concern knotting his stomach. “Did you call Blackhawk?”

  “She wouldn’t let me. Said her brother-in-law hovers too much, and she only needed a couple of band-aids.” The officer cleared his throat. “She threatened to follow me around for weeks with her camera if I called the chief.”

  Rod scowled at the patrol officer and ran to the ambulance. How badly was she hurt? His lips curled. Meg had probably been chasing a story. The Gazette’s editor may have uncovered a lead someone preferred buried. He jerked open the door and climbed into the back.

  An EMT glanced at him and nodded in greeting.

  “How is she?” Rod asked, assessing her obvious injuries.

  “Forehead laceration, bruising, scratches, maybe cracked ribs.”

  Megan stirred. Blue eyes opened. “Tell this goober to let me sit up. I’m fine.”

  Relief swept aside his concern. For once, he appreciated her sassy response. “You’re supposed to cover news, Cahill, not make it. Want to avoid an ambulance ride? Get up and climb out under your own steam.”

  Determination morphed into a grimace and groans as Meg strained to rise. Rod shook his head. “Enough. You need medical attention.” He eased her back against the stretcher.

  The EMT maneuvered passed Rod. “We should get her to the hospital.”

  “Hold on a sec.” He refocused on Meg. “What happened?”

  “Met a friend at the half-mile bench. Somebody chased us, shot at us.” Her gaze latched onto his face. “Nobody will tell me about Sherri. Is she okay?”

  Dread pooled in Rod’s stomach. Now he re
membered who owned the Mercedes. “Sherri Drake?”

  “Is she all right?” Meg gripped his arm with surprising strength. “Tell me the truth, Rod.”

  He patted Meg’s hand, maintaining a bland expression. “I haven’t checked on her yet.”

  “Tell me as soon as you know. Please.”

  “Want me to call your family?”

  She jerked her hand away. “When I’m ready to leave the hospital.”

  He grinned. “Tough reporters can handle overzealous family members, Cahill.”

  “Not when my head feels like a nuclear explosion in progress.” She eyed his pocket. “Hey, I need a couple sheets of paper from your notepad.” She yanked a blue pen from her jacket. “Your cop co-hort confiscated my notebook and I need to write all this down.”

  He rolled his eyes, but did as she asked. “No interviews with reporters or other Gazette personnel until I talk to you at the hospital.”

  A half snarl formed on her lips. Rod squeezed her hand and climbed from the ambulance. After the vehicle left, he moved toward the Mercedes, motioning to the patrolman. “Set up a barrier at least 500 feet away. I don’t want civvies breathing down my neck. No press either, not until we make a positive ID and notify the family.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rod retrieved his crime scene case from the SUV and approached the body with a growing sense of reluctance. He aimed his flashlight at the body and knelt to examine the woman’s face. His stomach clenched. Rod dreaded telling Ty Drake his wife had been murdered.

  The patrolman returned. “Can you ID the vic?”

  Rod stood. “It’s Sherri Drake.”

  “Drake?” He gaped. “She related to Senator Drake?”

  “His daughter-in-law.”

  “Oh, man, it’ll be a media circus around here.”

  “We need to keep a lid on this for a couple of hours. Otherwise, we’ll have reporters crawling through the woods, trampling clues.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He tossed his keys to the patrolman. “Park my SUV behind Meg’s Corvette. Her parents live near here.”

  Rod grabbed his cell phone. He needed help locking down the crime scene, fast. He flipped open the phone and punched his speed dial.

  A deep growl answered his ring. “Ethan, I need you at Churchill Trail. Don’t say anything to Serena yet, but someone assaulted Megan. We found another woman murdered.”

  One word came over the line. “Who?”

  “Sherri Drake.”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  Rod’s mouth curved. Before Blackhawk married Meg’s sister, he arrived at crime scenes within ten minutes. Marriage had slowed him down.

  Ignoring the ache in his heart, he scrolled through his phone list and punched the number for Otter Creek PD’s other detective, Nick Santana, Megan Cahill’s other brother-in-law. Rod’s crime scene extended half a mile down the trail, too large to process in an expedited manner without assistance.

  “Santana.”

  “I need another pair of hands.”

  “Where?”

  “Churchill Trail. Nick, Meg’s in route to the hospital.”

  “What happened?” Cold fury seeped from Santana’s voice.

  “Somebody attacked her and killed Sherri Drake. Meg didn’t want your wife or the rest of the Cahill family to know yet, but I need help processing this crime scene before the media descends.”

  “I’ll be there in two minutes.”

  Rod tugged on latex gloves and returned to the body. One shot in the back, center mass, the white wool coat soaked with blood. Sherri had been running away. He hoped the coroner could retrieve the bullet intact.

  Tires squealed as Nick Santana’s SUV swung into the parking lot. He climbed from the vehicle, cell phone pressed to his ear. “A few more hours, baby. I’ll bring you breakfast at the knitting shop. Love you, Madison.” He ended the call and shoved the phone into his carrier. “What have you cleared, Rod?”

  “Right side. The path is marked.”

  Santana approached the body, stepping between the markers. “Did you talk to Meg?”

  “Briefly. She met Sherri. Shooter fired and chased them down.”

  “Robbery?”

  “Meg didn’t say.”

  The other detective stared at Sherri’s back. “One shot. A .38?”

  “Possible.”

  Backing away from the body, Santana said, “How can I help?”

  “Meg met Sherri at the half-mile bench. Take a patrol officer and work your way to the bench.”

  Santana retrieved his crime scene case, waved over one of the rookies, and walked down the path, flashlight in hand.

  Rod searched the parking lot in a grid pattern, bagging items which didn’t belong, working toward Sherri. A few feet from her body, the flashlight beam illuminated a round, metal object. He bent closer. A button with an initial “D” engraved in script.

  He recognized the distinctive Drake monogram. Did the button come from Sherri’s coat? Maybe she lost the button while struggling with the shooter.

  Headlights bounced across the tree line. The police chief’s SUV slid to a stop behind Rod’s. Ethan climbed out and zipped his jacket. “Talk to me.”

  Rod gave him a brief run down, ending with the bagged button in his hand. While he talked, Ethan scanned the crime scene, a grim expression on his face.

  “Show me where the EMTs found Meg.”

  Rod walked with him to the stone entrance and pointed to the disturbed earth and blood-stained leaves. “Found her unconscious, head against the base of that wall.”

  Ethan crouched and studied the ground. “She fell or was pushed off the path right here. Looks like she tried to get up.” He pointed at the depression and scuff marks in the dirt. “Overlapping shoe prints.” Ethan glanced up. “Did you check the EMTs for print patterns?”

  Rod shook his head. “No time. They were in a hurry to leave with Megan.”

  “How bad is she?”

  “Cut on her forehead might need stitches. Otherwise, the injuries look minor. Possible internal injuries, though.”

  “You’re positive about the vic’s ID?”

  “Yeah. I was an usher at Ty and Sherri’s wedding.”

  Ethan stood. “You okay on this or should I give this one to Nick?”

  “I’m fine. If it becomes a problem, I’ll step aside.” He owed it to Ty to track down his wife’s killer.

  “I’ll notify the family, then, and return to help.”

  Megan frowned at the nurse checking her blood pressure for the millionth time. “Can’t you copy the last reading on the chart and skip the rest? I’m all right. When can I get out of here?”

  The nurse cocked an eyebrow. “You’re free to leave after the doctor releases you, Ms. Cahill.”

  “And when will that be? Christmas?”

  “Early afternoon if he doesn’t keep you for overnight observation.”

  Meg glowered. Spend the night here? Not with an immovable deadline looming in 36 hours—press time. “Why?”

  The nurse smirked. “High blood pressure.”

  Meg settled against the raised mattress, eyes narrowed. The Gazette went to press tomorrow night, and she still had four articles to write or farm out and edit. J.J. was holding the front page for Meg’s story, but learning Sherri’s condition ranked first on her priority list. Second was sending Madison or Serena for her laptop.

  A light tap sounded on the door. Rod Kelter flashed his badge at the nurse who nodded, removed the blood pressure cuff, and left.

  The red-haired detective paused beside the bed, watching her. “How do you feel?”

  She touched the white bandage on her forehead. “Like Frankenstein’s wife, thanks.” Her gaze scoured his face. “How’s Sherri? The medical staff wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  Something flashed in Rod’s eyes. Sympathy? Meg’s heart sank. “Rod?”

  “I’m sorry, Megan. Sherri didn’t make it.”

  Sharp anguish struck deep. Meg close
d her pooling eyes, not wanting to lose it in front of a man who had suffered so much sorrow himself. Tears trickled down her cheeks. A warm hand rested on her shoulder. Who hurt Sherri? What about her husband? How would he stand the loss of his wife? She swiped at the tears. “Does Ty know?”

  “Ethan told him.” Rod shoved his hand into his pocket. “Tell me what happened this morning, in detail.”

  “I know. Every minute counts in murder investigations.” Meg sighed and shifted her weight off the bruised ribs. “Sherri called around midnight and asked me to meet her.”

  “Why?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Said she didn’t want anyone to overhear.” Had Sherri been afraid of a family member? What scared her enough for a meeting away from the house after dark? “We agreed to meet at 4:00 a.m.”

  “Why the trail? Of all people, you should have known better than to meet in an unsecure location at night. Why didn’t you suggest a restaurant?”

  She scowled. “Just because both brothers-in-law are cops doesn’t make me immune from mistakes. Besides, I suggested the coffee shop, but Sherri refused.” Meg blinked away more tears. “I don’t need grief from you, Rod. I know if I’d pushed harder for a populated meeting place, Sherri might be alive.”

  “Don’t go there, Cahill.” Rod’s sharp tone brought her gaze to his. “Decisions come with consequences. We live with them because nobody gets do-overs.” He waited a beat, then said, “So why did she insist on meeting at the trail?”

  “She didn’t want anybody to know she talked to me. We didn’t have much time before . . . .” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Before the shooter arrived.”

  “How did she seem? Upset, worried, afraid?”

  Meg thought through those few minutes with her friend. “Agitated, afraid. Sherri started to tell me about overhearing the Senator’s phone conversation.”

  “Do you know the name of the person talking to the Senator?”

  Meg shook her head, cringing when pain increased with the movement. “It always took Sherri forever to tell a story or a joke. Before she gave details on the content, we heard noises behind us.”

  Rod’s hand patted hers. “You’re doing great, Cahill. What happened next?”