In Plain Sight (Otter Creek Book 7) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  About the Author

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  About the Author

  IN PLAIN SIGHT

  Rebecca Deel

  Editor: Jack Williams

  Cover Design: Melody Simmons

  Copyright © 2016 Rebecca Deel

  All rights reserved.

  To my amazing husband.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Darcy St. Claire stood in the center of what was supposed to be a large living room. With so much junk everywhere, she couldn’t tell the dimensions of the room. Anywhere from the size of a closet to a townhouse. Towers of newspapers, books, and magazines littered the space. Piles of clothes. Box after box of shoes, both men’s and women’s, which was odd since the lady who’d owned the house had been a widow at the time of her death. Why would she buy that many men’s shoes? And Darcy was only ten feet from the front door. What did the rest of this monstrosity hold? She shuddered to think about cleaning out this place. Months of work, especially if she had to do it alone.

  She turned to stare at the real estate agent, an older woman with an overly bright candy-apple red smile curving her mouth, her expression hopeful. “I thought you said this was a fixer-upper, Mrs. Watson. It would be simpler to burn the place and start from scratch.” This dump had to be a serious fire hazard.

  “We’re experiencing a housing crisis in Otter Creek. So many people have moved into the area, we don’t have much available housing. I could find you some land and introduce you to contractors.”

  “How long to build a house for me?”

  “Six months, at least. Dunlap County is in a building boom. I might be able to find you an apartment to rent in the meantime.” From her expression, though, the chances of that were slim.

  Six months, provided there were no delays which was an impossibility. Darcy sighed. She didn’t have the luxury of waiting that long. Living in an apartment? Not in this lifetime. She was finished living the nomadic lifestyle of the past 20 years, whether she wanted to be or not.

  Anger tinged with disappointment boiled inside her. Darcy shoved the dark emotions down into a deep well. Wallowing in self-pity wouldn’t change anything except to make those around her miserable. It was no one’s fault her health wouldn’t allow her to continue on the same career path. Her brother, Trent, didn’t need to worry about her when he was on a mission with Fortress Security, and he would if she didn’t get her act together and reinvent herself. The last thing she wanted to be was a distraction that might cost her brother his life.

  She focused on her surroundings, trying to be objective. The outside would be beautiful once it was painted, the shutters and roof replaced. The inside, though. She blew out a breath. She didn’t know what would be required to fix the house. This room was filled with wall-to-wall clutter except for a small path to another part of the house. There might be holes in the walls big enough to drive a semi through. Until all the piles of items were cleared, she wouldn’t know if the wallpaper was hideous or if great swaths of wall were missing. The small path through the room revealed scuffed hardwood, bound to be gorgeous once restored. At the moment, the hardwood looked tired and scarred.

  Three floors to this Victorian nightmare. Did all the rooms look like this one? If so, how many Dumpsters would be necessary to clear the chaos? Too many to count. Worse, she couldn’t tackle this project by herself now. Good thing Trent was here, at least until his next mission. If she took on this project along with the shop on the town square, she’d need his help and wasn’t sure she could count on him. His job sent him all over the globe at a moment’s notice.

  The real estate agent’s cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen. “I have to take this, dear. Look around.” She scurried through the door into the cold December afternoon.

  Darcy scowled. Mrs. Watson couldn’t fool her. She was getting out of this place before one of the towering disasters toppled over on her. She continued following the path through the room and emerged into a large kitchen. At least, she thought it was large. Even at five-eight, she couldn’t see much. In this room, every available flat surface was covered with glasses, plates, utensils, napkins, napkin rings, and candle holders, including the deep stainless steel sink.

  The floor space resembled a mini warehouse of boxed and canned food. Incredulous, she counted. Who needed 25 boxes of crackers, 50 of macaroni and cheese, 30 of rice mixes, 100 of instant mashed potatoes? She lost count of the boxes containing canned food.

  Her gaze stopped on the refrigerator. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. Surely not. With so many items piled in front of it, there couldn’t be food in the fridge. If she was wrong, science experiments grew in there, a truly scary thought. Her lips twitched. Perfect job for Trent. Somehow she’d con him into
checking the appliance for her while she was out of the house. Just in case she was wrong. He was a tough military man. He could handle a bad odor or two.

  She laughed softly. Yep, she was officially a sucker, already making plans for this wreck. Darcy hoped Fortress didn’t deploy her brother anytime soon. She couldn’t make this hovel livable without help, especially the kind with bulging muscles. That described Trent, bulging biceps and triceps, a broad chest heavy with muscle, handsome. Too bad some awesome lady didn’t value him as much as she did.

  Hearing Mrs. Watson’s laughter spurred Darcy to continue along the path through the house. From room to room she wandered, incredulous at the number of empty pill bottles, cotton balls, Q-tips, toothpaste, toothbrushes, and hair brushes.

  She knelt to examine a collection of music boxes in a room on the third floor. One in particular caught her eye. A grand piano. While she examined the music box closer, the floor creaked to the right of her position.

  Darcy froze. Had to be the old house settling. Then why did she feel as if someone were watching her? Ridiculous, Darcy, she told herself. No one was up here but her. She focused her attention once again on the miniature piano. Such exquisite handiwork. Maybe the relatives of the former owner would allow her to buy this from them.

  Another creak sent chills racing down her spine. The only way to quit spooking herself was to check that side of the room. Her lips curved. If she could find a path over there. As she shifted her weight, preparing to stand, a wall of junk cascaded down on her head.

  Darcy gasped, hugging the little piano against her stomach to protect it. While waiting for the flood to stop, she heard someone running away from the room. Oh, man. There had been someone inside this room with her. Mrs. Watson? Though she longed to believe that, she couldn’t. The real estate agent was wearing cute spiked heels. The footsteps she heard had been made by something other than heels. Boots, maybe.

  She listened for some indication that the intruder was still there, but heard nothing. Maybe it was a kid playing hooky from school.

  In any case, she needed to finish the house tour. Music box still in hand, she continued the quick scan, staying in doorways to prevent another cave in. The only room not inundated was on the second floor in what was probably the former owner’s bedroom. At least here the floor was clear. Against the walls, though, were stacked hundreds of candles.

  She knelt beside the closest stack of candles, chose one with swirls of blue and white. Darcy sniffed, eyebrows rising. Blueberry. Sweet. She wondered how many scents were represented by all the candles. Whatever else the former owner had collected, this stash was one she’d keep. After all, who knew when she might need candles?

  On the first floor again, Darcy pushed open the door to the downstairs bathroom and shook her head. Box after box of bath soap, bottles of shampoo, piles of towels and washcloths. A cold wind blew through the room. Was the window broken? Frowning, she picked her way to the window. Not broken, open. Why was the window open on such a blustery day? Maybe the real estate agent wanted to let in fresh air. On tiptoes, she peered through the opening to the backyard. Only one gorgeous tree. At least there wasn’t a junk heap in the back. She’d need a bush hog or a herd of hungry goats to take down the forest back there, but thankfully no junk cars or more trash littered the lot.

  As she dropped back to her heels, she noticed dirt on the linoleum in the shape of a footprint. Someone had been in the house. Chill bumps surged over her body. After ordering a dozen super-sized Dumpsters, the first order of business would be installing a security system. Wonder if she could train the goats to be guard dogs? Yeah, probably not. She couldn’t subject a dog to these conditions, either. No telling what a pet would get into. Nothing good, that was for sure. Besides, she didn’t have a handle on her own life right now. She’d like to adopt a dog in the future, though.

  “Ms. St. Claire? Where are you?”

  “Walking down the hallway toward the living room.”

  “Oh, good. I’ll just wait here for you, then.”

  Right. It was fine for Darcy to risk life and limb in this place, but not the real estate agent. To be fair, she was several years younger than Mrs. Watson. A fall for Darcy meant trips to the chiropractor. If the agent fell, she could break a bone, not something Darcy wanted on her conscience.

  The older woman waited near the front door. Bet she planned for a fast escape if the piles began shifting. Couldn’t blame her, not after her experience on the third floor. Darcy eyed some of the more unstable piles as she passed, praying nothing shifted and buried her. “I found a music box that I’d like to have. Do you think the owners would sell it to me?”

  “I don’t see why not. The family has washed their hands of the house and its contents. Take it with you. Now, this house has good bones, doesn’t she? What do you think?”

  It would be cheaper to light a match than rehab this place. She knew zip about repairing a house. What was she thinking? “You should cut me an excellent deal. This house will take a lot of money to bring her back to life.”

  The woman’s face lit up. “I think we can come to an agreement.” She quoted a figure and waited anxiously for Darcy to respond.

  She fought to keep her expression neutral, but the figure was a good deal less than she was expecting. The real estate agent must want to unload this white elephant, which made Darcy suspect something else was wrong with the place that she couldn’t see. “I don’t know. This place will take months to make into a home, not to mention I’m setting up a new business at the same time. It’s a lot to take on.”

  Mrs. Watson dropped the price by $10,000 and waited.

  She could obtain a price lower, but didn’t have the heart. Everybody needed to make a living. “Deal. Will you take a check?”

  “Yes, of course. Oh, you won’t be sorry, my dear.”

  Darcy had a bad feeling the real estate agent was wrong. She foresaw nothing but sore muscles and sleepless nights in her near future. Grabbing her check book, she filled in the amount, signed it, and handed over the paper. “When will you have the paperwork ready?”

  “Tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you here at ten and hand over the keys. Congratulations, my dear.”

  Back in her car, Darcy waved at the agent as she drove away. One last glance at the huge old house had her questioning her own sanity. Taking on a house was a big responsibility. A home as old as this one was sure to be a money pit and require constant maintenance. She knew a hammer from a wrench, but that was as far as her home repair expertise went.

  The more she thought about the house, though, the more determined she was to breathe new life into the place. She would reinvent this home much as she now had to reinvent herself.

  She hoped her brother saw the house’s potential. She wanted this new life to work. Darcy was tired of big cities and could no longer travel ten months a year. Trent recommended Otter Creek, a small town where her new dream could germinate and flourish. From what she’d seen, this town was the perfect place to begin her life over again. Now she wanted to give the rundown house the same opportunity. They both deserved a new life.

  A last glance in the rearview mirror. Her thoughts shifted to the muddy footprints in the downstairs bathroom and the mysterious footsteps. Uneasiness twisted in her gut. She hoped the prints belonged to a curious teenager, not an adult with a hidden agenda.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rio Kincaid shook his head at the mess his bodyguard trainees had left behind. His friend and teammate, Quinn Gallagher, had hustled this new class out to the shooting range for a weapons session. This group of trainees was impressive. Fortress Security CEO, Brent Maddox, would be pleased.

  Approaching footsteps drew Rio’s attention to the far side of the room. He paused in gathering the medical debris from his field medicine training session in Personal Security International’s gym and grinned at the fellow Fortress Security operative crossing the large wooden floor in his direction. “Trent St. Claire, what brings you to Otter Creek?�
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  “My sister, Darcy. She’s opening a new shop in town.”

  His eyebrow rose. “What kind of shop?” He envisioned dresses or a hair place.

  “Something with food.” Trent shrugged. “Not sure what, to tell you the truth. Darcy loves experimenting in the kitchen when she has time.”

  Didn’t sound as though food service would be a wise career choice, though he hesitated to say anything to his friend. Maybe she’d worked in the food industry at an earlier time. For her sake, he hoped that was true. “You’ll have to introduce me to her. I’d love to meet Darcy.”

  His friend grinned. “She’s not bad, for a kid sister.”

  Rio chuckled. “That sounds like a statement to use for blackmail, St. Claire. I’ll be sure to pass that along to her at the most appropriate time. How long are you in town?”

  “Not sure.” His friend grimaced. “I’m expecting a call from Maddox any time. Zane sent me a text a few minutes ago.”

  Zane Murphy was Fortress Security’s communications and research guru. In Rio’s experience, the only person better at communication and research was Navy SEAL Jon Smith, another Fortress operative. “Does she know you’ll be deployed soon?”

  “I promised her I’d help her settle into a house and open the shop. I’m afraid I’ll be breaking that promise.”

  “Can Maddox send another team?”

  “No one else is available and there’s a hostage situation in Colombia. Three little kids were taken from their beds. They’re the grandkids of a U.S. ambassador.”

  Rio whistled. Talk about a political hot button. Even without the connection to the ambassador, Trent wouldn’t pass on the opportunity to rescue innocent children. He didn’t blame his friend. Rio loved kids, too. “How can I help?”

  Trent helped him gather discarded medical supplies. He cleared a small area of debris before answering. “Do you know anything about Sjogren’s Syndrome?”

  He frowned as he tossed trash in a bag he held. “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “It’s an autoimmune disease, one Darcy’s been diagnosed with.”