SEARCHING FOR A KILLER

  Zac shoved his fingers through his hair, his tension vibrating around him like a tangible force field.

  “This tape proves that Jude murdered Staci Gale. Probably in his brother’s morgue.”

  Rachel nodded. “And then buried her in his own grave,” she added.

  “That seems the most likely scenario,” Zac agreed.

  “Do you think Jacob was involved?”

  “My gut feeling is that Jacob helped his brother fake his death for the life insurance money, but he didn’t know that Jude intended to use the grave to dump the body of a woman he’d just murdered. Fifty thousand isn’t worth the death penalty.”

  “I wonder how many other women he killed?” She spoke her fear out loud. “Why didn’t I follow up on that fingerprint?”

  Zac grabbed her shoulders, turning her to meet his steady gaze. “Because Jude was officially dead. Why would you waste resources chasing a ghost?”

  “Yes, a ghost.” She muttered a curse. “He managed to become invisible. The perfect way to hunt his victims without concern for leaving behind clues . . .”

  Books by Alexandra Ivy

  Guardians of Eternity

  WHEN DARKNESS COMES

  EMBRACE THE DARKNESS

  DARKNESS EVERLASTING

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  WHEN DARKNESS ENDS

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  Historical Romance

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  And don’t miss these Guardians of Eternity novellas

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  DARKNESS ETERNAL in SUPERNATURAL

  WHERE DARKNESS LIVES in

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  Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  ALEXANDRA IVY

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

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  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  SEARCHING FOR A KILLER

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2022 by Debbie Raleigh

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

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  ISBN: 978-1-4201-5146-6

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-5147-3 (eBook)

  Chapter 1

  Zac Evans pulled the square plastic tray out of the microwave and headed to his desk. Once seated, he removed the clouded film to reveal the limp noodles covered in a weird red sauce and splotches of white that was supposed to be cheese. He grimaced. Was there anything sadder than spending a Saturday night at his desk, eating mystery lasagna?

  Not that his evening would have been much different if he’d been home. He was just thirty, but his days of crazy party weekends had ended when he was eighteen.

  The cost of marrying his high school sweetheart just days after graduation. And divorcing her just four years later.

  Working up his courage to take a bite, Zac was thankfully distracted by the sound of a buzzer that shattered the silence. Shoving himself to his feet, he crossed the planked floor to the monitors that were mounted on the wall over the old wooden filing cabinets. Technology mixed with history. It was a deliberate choice he’d made when he’d taken over the position as interim sheriff in Pike, Wisconsin.

  A quick glance at the monitor revealed a tall, slender man who was looking directly into the camera to reveal his golden blond hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a heavy leather jacket to combat the early November chill and black slacks.

  Kir Jansen.

  Surprised by the unexpected visit, Zac glanced at the old-fashioned clock on the wood-paneled wall. Seven thirty. Odd time for a social call.

  Pressing the locking device that he’d had installed on the front door, he spoke into the intercom. “Come in.”

  Kir disappeared from view, and Zac moved to pull open the door to his office. The sheriff ’s department took up most of the old courthouse, but he was located at the front of the building. Within a few seconds his friend was strolling through the reception area and into his private space.

  Coming to a halt in the center of the floor, Kir lifted his brows as his gaze swept the recently remodeled space. Kir’s father, Rudolf, had been sheriff in Pike until a shooting had forced him into an early retirement. Kathy Hancock had taken over and done everything in her power to wipe away any trace of Rudolf. And the temporary sheriff who’d briefly taken over after Kathy’s abrupt departure had left it, no doubt realizing there was no point in making any changes when he was going to return to Madison in a matter of weeks.

  “Wow. You’ve made some changes.”

  Zac shrugged, moving to lean on the corner of his desk. Over the past six months he’d donated the plastic and rubber furniture to the local school and removed the carpeting along with the heavy curtains that blocked the windows that offered a beautiful view of the town square. He’d also raided the storage rooms to find the previous handcrafted wood furniture that had been there since the courthouse was built a hundred years ago.

  He didn’t ask himself why he’d been determined to create a style that suited his taste when he was just the interim sheriff, especially when he hadn’t done a damned thing at his parents’ farmhouse in the eight years he’d lived there, but he was glad that he’d gone to the effort. There was a sense of comfort each time he walked into this room.

  “I wasn’t really into the whole Ikea vibe,” he told his friend.

  A wistful smile touched Kir’s mouth. “It looks like it did when my father was sheriff.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Perfect.” Kir turned to face Zac, his brows arching at the sight of the steaming container on the desk. “Am I interrupting dinner?”

  “If you wanna call it dinner.” Zac smiled wryly. As tall as Kir, he had thicker muscles from his years of working on his father’s farm. Even after he’d sold off the dairy cattle and rented out the fields to his neighbor, there was an endless number of chores that demanded physical labor. His hair was also a darker shade of blond and his eyes were green with flecks of gold. His mother claimed the gold was the result of being blessed by a fairy when he was a baby. Of course, his mother also said that God had given her only one child because he was so special, so her belief system was suspect. “My father would have called it hog slop.”

  “He wouldn’t be w
rong. That’s . . .” Kir shuddered. “Disgusting.”

  “Not all of us have the Kir Jansen’s magical skills in the kitchen,” Zac pointed out. The older man had made a fortune in Boston by creating a company that would take care of any tedious task. Washing a car, picking up laundry, cleaning gutters, or cooking dinner. Which meant he had a wide variety of talents, including the ability to create a cordon bleu meal.

  He’d recently sold his multimillion-dollar corporation to marry the local vet, Lynne Gale, and settle down in marital bliss.

  “My skills aren’t just in the kitchen.” Kir wiggled his brows. “Just ask Lynne.”

  Zac held up his hand. “Hard pass.”

  “You know, if you want to learn a few basic skills I’ll be happy to stop by and give you a cooking lesson,” Kir offered.

  “A true friend would invite me for dinner.”

  Kir smiled. “You can feed a man a fish or you can teach him to fish . . . something like that. Anyway, you can have a fish for a night or fish for a lifetime.”

  Zac folded his arms over his chest, the heavy utility belt that went with his uniform rattling at the movement. “Yeah I can fish, I just can’t cook it.”

  “You don’t want to cook it.”

  “That too.”

  Kir glanced back at the lasagna. “Does your mother know you’re eating cardboard dinners at your office?”

  Zac’s mother had moved into a small house in Pike after his father had died five years ago, but she still stopped by the farm to keep his freezer filled with home-cooked dinners.

  “My aunt Val in Omaha broke her leg, so Mom is there taking care of her for the next few weeks.”

  “Ah.” Kir dipped his head in a wise nod. “That explains it.”

  Zac grimaced, realizing that Kir assumed he was helpless without his mom. And worse, he couldn’t argue. He’d been so busy over the past six months that he’d come to rely on his mother taking care of his day-to-day needs.

  “Christ,” he muttered. “I thought I felt awful eating crap at my desk. It’s worse knowing I’m one of those guys who depends on his mother to survive.”

  Kir shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with being a good son.”

  “It’s pathetic.”

  “No.” There was a harsh edge in Kir’s voice. “Count each day with her as a blessing. I wish I had.”

  Zac understood Kir’s fierce reaction. He’d recently lost his father, and he still blamed himself for the years he’d spent away from Pike.

  “You’re right,” he agreed, although he silently assured himself that he was going to spend fewer hours at the office and more hours taking care of his home.

  The smile returned to Kir’s face. “And you know there is another solution.”

  “Don’t say takeout,” Zac warned. “There’s nothing in town that delivers and I’m not driving to Grange.” He mentioned the town fifteen miles away. It was the nearest place with fast food.

  “I was going to say you should find a wife who loves to cook,” Kir said dryly.

  “I have a wife.”

  The words left Zac’s lips before he realized they were even there. As if they’d been formed in the depths of his primitive brain.

  Kir blinked, as if puzzled by Zac’s response, then hastily cleared his throat. “Okay.”

  Embarrassed, and uncertain why he’d claimed a wife he’d divorced eight years ago, Zac pushed away from the desk. “Is there a reason you stopped by?”

  Kir nodded, trying to hide his relief at the change in conversation. “I came into town to meet with a potential buyer for Dad’s old house,” he told Zac. Kir and Lynne had recently built a house on his father’s land a few miles outside Pike. “I was headed home when I noticed a truck parked on the side of the road near the entrance to the cemetery.”

  “Was someone inside it?”

  “Nope.”

  Zac wasn’t sure what had alarmed Kir. Pike was small enough that people parked wherever they wanted. Hell, sometimes they stopped in the middle of the street to chat with a friend. If he gave out tickets to everyone who violated the parking rules, he’d never get anything else done.

  “Are they blocking traffic?” Zac asked. “Or broke down?”

  “I’m not sure what’s going on,” Kir admitted. “The engine was running with the headlights on bright and the driver-side door was open. I stopped to see if they needed help, but there was no one around.”

  Zac frowned, searching his brain for an explanation. “They could be looking for a lost dog.”

  “Could be.” Kir held up his hands. “It just seemed odd and . . .”

  “What?”

  Kir hesitated, as if not sure he wanted to reveal what was on his mind. “That spot has a dark history,” he finally forced himself to say. “That probably made it seem a bigger deal than what it really is.”

  Zac nodded. Last year, Pike had gone through some troubled times, and Kir had been at the heart of the evil. It was no wonder he was a little antsy.

  “No problem. I’ll run over and check it out.” Zac nodded toward his dinner, which had congealed into a red, gooey mess. “It gives me an excuse to avoid that.”

  Kir frowned. “Don’t you have a deputy to deal with it?”

  “It’s Lindsay and Greg’s weekend off. And Anthony called in sick,” Zac told him, referring to his deputies. “Again.” Zac rolled his eyes. At some point he was going to have to deal with Anthony. Unfortunately, the younger man had served as deputy the longest of the three, and he was a second or third cousin to Zac. Firing him was going to take an effort he wasn’t willing to put in. Yet. “It’s just me.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Kir instantly offered.

  “There’s no need,” Zac assured him, moving to grab the brown jacket that matched his uniform. Being sheriff wasn’t about being stylish. Actually, he was a walking fashion disaster. But hey, he had his weapon strapped to his hip and his official ID clipped on his shirt. That was all that was important. “Go home to your beautiful wife.”

  Kir wrinkled his nose. “She called just before I arrived. We were supposed to meet for dinner but she has an emergency farm visit.”

  “You’ve been stood up for a goat?” Zac teased, leading his companion out of the office and to the front door. Once they were standing outside, he locked the door and set the alarms.

  “Nope, for a bloated cow,” Kir corrected him, walking down the shallow cement steps to the sidewalk.

  “That makes it so much better.”

  “The hazards of marrying a vet.” Kir shook his head. “They have worse hours than cops.”

  “Hard to believe.” Zac glanced around the town square and nearby city park. The stores were dark and Main Street was nearly empty. The good citizens of Pike were home with their families or out of town enjoying a movie or nightclub.

  Zac headed to his black truck with a sheriff’s star painted on the side, while Kir climbed into a shiny SUV that no doubt cost more than Zac’s yearly salary.

  Together they pulled away from the courthouse and headed toward the cemetery on the edge of town. There wasn’t much in the way of traffic, and they were soon turning the corner onto the street. Instantly, Zac caught sight of the pickup and pulled behind it.

  Climbing out of his truck, he waited for Kir to join him and together they circled the abandoned vehicle. It was just as Kir had described. The engine was still running, although there was a distinct sputter that warned it was running on fumes. The headlights were blazing. And the driver-side door was wide open.

  Zac paused at the back of the beige truck, examining the rust and grime that coated every inch of it. Not the usual layer of dust that came from living in an area with gravel roads. No, this had taken years, maybe decades to accumulate.

  “Do you recognize it?” he asked Kir.

  “No.”

  “Neither do I.” Zac would have noticed this vehicle if it’d been driving around town. He glanced down at the dented bumper. “No license plates. It might be stolen.”

  Kir moved to stand next to him. “Who would steal it? It’s a piece of junk.”