Joanna Wayne - A Clandestine Affair

The man’s tone didn’t match his words.

“Thanks. I’m Jaci Matlock, the new tenant.”

“Yeah, I know.”

So this was the caretaker. He didn’t look that bad for a recluse who’d spent half his life on a secluded island. He was as unfriendly as she’d expected. She’d have to play this just right to get him to talk to her about the past, or even let her into the boathouse.

“Follow me,” he said.

An icy tremble slithered down Jaci’s spine as she started up the shadowy path toward the house. The crimes might have occurred thirty years ago, but the air seemed alive with dark and possibly deadly secrets.

The situation was a forensic student’s dream, unless…

Unless it turned into a nightmare.

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To Amanda Stevens and B.J. Daniels who, as always, were a ball to work with. And a special thanks to Denise Zaza, our wonderful editor, who puts up with all three of us and whose editorial insight and guidance is invaluable.

And, of course, to all of you readers who help us keep writing the stories we love by buying our books of intrigue, passion and happy endings.

When not creating tales of spine-tingling suspense and heartwarming romance, Joanna Wayne enjoys reading, traveling, playing golf and spending time with family and friends.

Joanna believes that one of the special joys of writing is knowing that her stories have brought enjoyment to or somehow touched the lives of her readers.

Jaci Matlock—The cold murder case is just a project until she becomes obsessed with finding the truth about what happened that murderous night on Cape Diablo thirty years ago.

Raoul Lazario—He’d expected a challenge when he came to the island to see Carlos, but he wasn’t prepared for Jaci Matlock or the danger that threatened her.

Mac Lowell—He is the investigating officer who’d made detailed photos of the crime scene and blood splatters the night the Santiago family had disappeared.

Bull Gatlan—The man who delivers visitors and supplies to Cape Diablo.

Enrique Lopez—Friend of Carlos and Alma, but his interest seems to lie in seducing Jaci.

Ralph Linsky and Jack Paige—Detectives from Everglades City.

Carlos Lazario—Raoul’s great-uncle, a friend to Andres Santiago and caretaker of Cape Diablo. A man with secrets of his own.

Alma Garcia—She’d been the Santiago children’s nanny until they’d disappeared. Now she’s delusional and wanders the island in a tattered white dress.

The Santiago Family—Andres had run a smuggling operation and built the once-beautiful Spanish villa that dominates the island. Medina was the daughter of a fallen Central American dictator and Andres’s second wife. Their two daughters, Pilar and Reyna, disappeared alongside them thirty years ago.

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

Epilogue

Jaci Matlock could look at crime scene photos by the hour and never once get bored. But after a half hour in a Naples, Florida, art gallery with her mother, she was all but climbing the walls. Even the flute of bubbly the gallery owner had pressed into her hand didn’t help, though she’d have hated to face the evening without it.

Her mother stopped in front of an abstract that looked as if it had been painted by a menopausal chimpanzee. She stared at it for a minute. “I hate to imagine what the artist was thinking when she painted that.”

“Another night of reruns?” Jaci offered.

“Or when will my daughter come for a real visit?”

“I’m standing right next to you. That feels like a real visit to me.”

“Two days and one night is not a real visit. Are you sure you can’t stay longer?”

“If I did, I’d be rambling through the house alone. You’re leaving for a month’s cruise Wednesday.”

“You could use a vacation yourself. We could go to Europe for a couple of weeks when I get back, just the two of us. Paris is lovely in the fall.”

“Or we could have lunch at that new French restaurant you were telling me about. I can possibly spring for the tip.”

“I’m not kidding, Jaci. You spend far too much time wallowing in the morbid. Clarence and I could give you the trip as an early present for earning your graduate degree.”

Her mother’s husband, Clarence Harding III, could definitely afford it. And to give the old fart credit where credit was due, he was generous with his darling wife, Evelyn and Jaci as well.

But Jaci was far too independent—and stubborn—to live on her stepfather’s handouts. Thankfully, her father had started a college fund for her before he’d died. That, a part-time job waiting tables and the small inheritance she’d received from her dad’s parents had let her earn her undergraduate and Master’s degrees with a minimum of loans.

Almost. She still had one major hurdle to pass.

“If I don’t complete my thesis project this semester, I won’t be getting the degree,” she said, omitting the fact that spending two weeks stalking Paris boutiques with her mother would be far more punishing than any assignment Professor Greeley could dream up.

“I know you have your paper to write, but surely you could work on that just as well in Paris.”

“It’s not a paper. It’s a project.” They’d had this conversation before, and if her mother didn’t consider forensics an F word instead of a science, she’d have remembered that.

Actually, the project should already be half-finished, but Jaci had run into a major complication. After six years of literally getting away with murder, the killer in her research crime had found religion and confessed to everything.

The family of the slain woman was thrilled to have closure. Jaci was back to square one as far as her project was concerned. Not a lot of hypothesizing she could do on a case that was solved by the killer’s confession, and she hadn’t found another cold case that spurred her interest the way that one had.

“Oh, look, there’s Mrs. Baxter and her son, Matthew. He’s a surgeon,” Evelyn crooned. “Nice looking—and single.”

Which meant her mother had dreams of match-making dancing in her head. Jaci sized up the guy as he approached with an overweight, middle-aged woman dripping diamonds. He was Caucasian, just under six feet, medium build, dark hair, lighter mustache. No visible tattoos or distinguishing marks.

She groaned silently. Maybe she had spent too many hours buried in evidence. Actually, the guy was cute, but then so were beagles. Dogs required a lot less energy than a relationship, and she didn’t even have time for them.

She half listened while her mother and Mrs. Baxter exchanged greetings, then met Matthew’s eyes briefly when her mom made the introductions. Jaci put out her hand, and from the second his closed around hers, she was mesmerized—by the painting hanging just beyond his right shoulder.

“It’s the Santiago house.”

Matthew let go of her hand. “Excuse me?”

“That painting,” she said, walking around him to stand in front of it. “It’s the house where the Santiago family was living when they disappeared.”