Beth Andrews - Not Without Her Family

The house was quiet, the air thick and permeated with the coppery scent of blood.

He turned slowly and took in the stark room. White walls. White carpet. White furniture. A small black end table and a matching coffee table in the center of the room. Black-and-white photos of city skylines were framed in black and lined up with military precision on the wall behind the love seat.

The only splashes of color came from a few shiny red pillows on the sofa, a dozen long-stemmed roses on the end table and the bright red apples in a black bowl on the coffee table.

And the pool of blood staining the plush carpet beneath Shannon Crandall’s head.

Jack crouched down. The position of the body—facedown between the sofa and coffee table, left leg slightly bent, arms splayed to the side—indicated she’d been hit from behind. Had she known she was in danger? Been trying to run away from her assailant?

It was obvious she was naked beneath the short, silky black robe she had on. Her pale hair was wild and tangled, matted with blood and brain matter. Jack shifted and forced himself not to cringe at the extent of damage done to Shannon’s once lovely face. He scanned the area around the body, noting several streaks of mud and a partial muddy footprint on the floor.

He straightened. “What happened?”

Officer Ben Michaels wiped a trembling hand over his mouth. “I received an emergency call approximately thirty minutes ago. I arrived at the residence and found…” His gaze dropped to the dead body on the floor, his face losing color.

“Deep breath, Michaels,” Jack commanded and physically turned the kid away from the body. Why did it seem like the least competent person in the department was always the first to arrive on the scene? “Who called it in?”

“The victim’s husband.” Michaels’s light-brown hair stood on end as if he’d repeatedly run his fingers through it. Sweat dotted his forehead and upper lip. But at least he no longer seemed in danger of puking or passing out. “He’s in the other room.”

Jack glanced at the doorway that led to the brightly lit kitchen. “Did you discover any signs of forced entry?”

“No, sir. Mr. Crandall let me in. He said he spoke to his wife on the phone around one-thirty to let her know he was coming home early from a business trip. He said the door was locked when he arrived. He used his key to gain entry, found the victim and called 911. The EMTs arrived a few minutes after I did.”

“Did anyone touch the body?” he asked, hoping no one had compromised the crime scene. “Did anyone move the body? Touch anything in the room?”

Michaels shook his head and shoved his hands into the bulky pockets of his police-issue Windbreaker. His gaze once again strayed to Shannon. “No, sir. Once the EMTs arrived and it was obvious Shan…I mean the victim was…gone…the EMTs escorted Mr. Crandall into the kitchen while I waited for backup.”

Jack nodded. Considering this was undoubtedly Michaels’s first murder scene, he’d done surprisingly well. Poor kid was taking it hard, though. Hell, the entire town was going to take the murder of one of their own hard. Serenity Springs was known for skiing, tourism and small-town charm. There was hardly a bevy of criminal activity.

Which was why Jack had returned here to raise his daughter in the first place.

Thank God Emma was with her grandparents. Knowing she was being taken care of, knowing she was safe, made it a hell of a lot easier for him to focus on his job.

Especially when his job was to track down a murderer.

“Good work,” Jack told Michaels. “Now I need you to go outside and help canvass the yard. Don’t overlook anything, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”

“Yes, sir,” Michaels said, clearly relieved.

“Medical examiner’s on his way, Chief,” Officer Nick Pascale said as he joined Jack. Unlike Michaels, the burly, gray-haired Pascale barely looked at Shannon’s body. He handed Jack the department’s camera kit. “State police have been notified as well.”

“Good. Who’s in the kitchen with Crandall?”

“Flick and the EMTs.”

Jack turned on the digital camera and recorded the date, time and his location on the front page of his notebook. “Make sure they all stay in the kitchen. I don’t want any foot traffic in this room unless it’s absolutely necessary. And if Crandall so much as has to take a piss, he’s escorted, got it?”

“Will do.” Pascale nodded toward Shannon. “Terrible thing to happen to such a pretty girl.”

Jack’s stomach twisted as he looked down at her lifeless body through the camera’s viewfinder. “Terrible thing to happen to anyone.”

Pascale lowered his voice. “The husband seems pretty shook up. You think it’s an act?”

“That’s what we need to find out, isn’t it?”

Pascale made a grunt of affirmation. Clicking the shutter, Jack flashed back to when Shannon had come on to him at The Summit. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Shannon fooled around on her husband, or that Mark preferred to turn a blind eye to his wife’s infidelities.

Had that changed tonight? Had Shannon’s unfaithfulness pushed her husband to do the unthinkable?

And what about the man Shannon had left the bar with? Had the ex-convict lost control of the violence Jack sensed lurked just beneath the surface? Dillon Ward had killed before. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think he was capable of taking a woman’s life.

As he methodically snapped pictures, Jack couldn’t help but remember the kiss he and Kelsey had shared.

He lowered the camera fractionally and clenched his jaw. Damn it, he never should have touched her.

Didn’t matter, he assured himself as he raised the camera. By the time he was through processing the scene and went to question Ward, Kelsey would be long gone.

KELSEY SMOOTHED A HAND over her jittery stomach before inhaling deeply and knocking on the door to Dillon’s apartment. She’d almost left town, had made it as far as the highway before deciding to try one more time to get through to her brother. She needed to tell him how sorry she was for her part in sending him to prison.

And she needed him to listen. But, even if he did blow her off again, she wasn’t giving up. She’d simply go back to Manhattan and regroup.

Lifting her hand to knock again, she heard footsteps and the door opened. Her heart sank. Dillon looked like hell. Heavy stubble coated his cheeks and chin, his eyes were bloodshot and he had a serious case of bed head.

He looked like their stepfather used to after one of his many benders.

She swallowed her disappointment. God, how she wished his life had turned out differently.

It would have turned out differently, she reminded herself, if it hadn’t been for her.

“I thought you were gone.” Dillon’s voice was husky, as if she’d woken him up. Possible, since it was barely seven-thirty on a Saturday.

“I’m leaving,” she said, pushing past him, but her entrance was ruined when she stumbled over a pair of work boots by the door. She kicked them to the side and stepped over several small clumps of mud littering the floor.

“Come on in,” he said wryly as he shut the door.

Kelsey crossed to the small, round kitchen table. “I just need ten minutes.”

“I told you yesterday—”

“Please, Dillon. I swear, after ten minutes, after you hear me out, if you still want me to leave, I’ll go. You’ll never have to see me again.”

She held her breath while he studied her. Time had matured him. Besides his broader shoulders, his face was much leaner. But his eyes, those incredible hazel eyes of his, were the same.

This was the same brother who had loved her.