Jack of Diamonds Page 2

  And their greatest day will also be mine.

  They will know the utmost joy.

  And poor Jack Stratton will know the pain of losing everything.

  3

  As Jack paced at the bottom of the steps, Sheriff Robert Morrison stood on the top stair with his arms crossed and a sympathetic look on his face. The tall African-American man in his late fifties used to be Jack’s boss—and was still his friend. He wore the tan uniform of the sheriff’s department, minus the hat. His curly black hair was short and graying at the temples.

  Jack stopped pacing and glared up at him. “I just want to go in and see if there’s anything on the back of the invitation.”

  “I can’t do that, son. Not until Castillo is done processing the scene.” Morrison’s voice lacked conviction, but Jack knew he would hold firm.

  “Technically, it’s my invitation.” Jack was grasping at straws. “I’m retrieving stolen property.”

  “It’s a crime scene. Period. You know the deal, Jack.”

  “There’s a picture of Alice in there, Bob. My Alice!” Jack was close to yelling. He wasn’t angry with his friend. He knew Morrison was doing his job. But seeing the sketch of Alice’s smiling face inside that room had sent a surge of fear through Jack that still held him in its grip.

  “I’m aware of that, and right now Detective Castillo is working on figuring out why.”

  Jack ran his hands through his thick, dark hair, turned, and marched toward his car. He didn’t stop, though Morrison called out after him. He could just about tolerate Ed Castillo on a personal level, but professionally . . .. The man tried hard, but Jack always felt he was not so much an actual detective, more like a man playing the part of a detective, wandering around in a costume with a badge. It didn’t help that Castillo had been harboring a grudge against Jack ever since Jack caught the man known as the Giant Killer.

  Being sidelined with Castillo in charge only added to Jack’s fears; he felt the knot in his stomach tighten. He had to do something and was wondering what that would be as he slid into the Charger. Lady stood up in the backseat and laid her head on his shoulder. Jack scratched behind her ears as she whined. She pointed her muzzle at the house and barked.

  “I know, girl. I want to get inside, too. But what am I going to do? Push Bob out of the way?”

  Lady’s head bobbed up and down.

  Jack stopped rubbing her fur. If he didn’t know better he’d swear she understood him. “You know”—he grabbed the sides of Lady’s face and gave the top of her head a kiss—“that could work. Let’s go.” He opened the car door and Lady hopped out. He whispered in her ear, and she trotted for the house.

  Morrison’s eyes widened. “Hey, Lady. Whoa. Stop. Lady, stop.”

  Jack beamed as Lady trotted straight up the steps to the porch.

  “Get your dog, Jack!” Morrison backed up as Lady climbed the stairs.

  “Sorry, Bob. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

  Ed Castillo emerged from the open front door, took one look at the enormous dog coming up the stairs, and slammed the door shut behind him. His light-gray suit looked as if it would’ve cost a month of Jack’s pay, and his brown hair was gelled and styled.

  Morrison continued to back away until he was standing beside Castillo. Both men had their backs to the door as Lady stopped on the porch and faced them.

  “Hey, Jack.” Castillo waved and cast a nervous eye at the huge dog. “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “Great.” Jack nodded. “Let’s talk inside.”

  Castillo shook his head. “No can do.” He pointed at Jack. “Civilian.” Then he jerked his thumb at the house. “Crime scene. End of story.”

  “Get off your high horse, Ed,” Jack snapped, jaw clenched. “I was first on scene and I’m a witness. I’ve already been in the crime scene, so I won’t be introducing DNA that isn’t already there. Besides, I can point out details when we go inside. You’re not violating any rules.”

  Castillo shrugged. “You can give your statement right here.”

  “Lady,” Jack said.

  His furry partner pinned her ears back and growled.

  “This is not funny—or fair, Jack.” Morrison kept his voice light, for Lady’s sake, even as he glared at Jack. Morrison and Castillo both remained pressed against the house.

  “Lady is very protective of Alice, Bob. You know that.” Jack crossed his arms, standing his ground, a smirk threatening to tug the corners of his mouth up.

  “Jack wanted to see the back of the wedding invitation,” Morrison explained to Castillo. “It’s a good idea. There could be something written on it.”

  Castillo scowled, but Lady growled again. “Fine. But no dog.”

  Jack nodded and climbed the stairs. “Lady, sit. Stay.” He patted Lady’s head.

  Morrison and Castillo went inside, and Jack turned his body camera back on and took out his phone as he followed the men through the living room and into the room where Jack had found Donald.

  “This is a huge overreaction on your part, Stratton,” Castillo said, stretching out Jack’s name. “There’s nothing sinister going on here.”

  Jack opened his mouth to retort, but Morrison cut him off. “I have an unconscious officer on his way to the hospital, Ed. Explain to me how exactly Jack’s overreacting.”

  Ed stopped in his tracks. “I did not mean to make light of the situation with Officer Pugh, but I don’t think it was an ambush.” He cleared his throat and pointed to an object beside the door. The lights had been turned on and now it was easy to see the metal kettlebell on the floor amidst the dust floating in the sunlight. “It’s a five-pound kettlebell,” Castillo continued. “They use them in CrossFit.”

  “I’m aware of what a kettlebell is, Ed. What I don’t know is why you think this wasn’t an ambush of one of my officers.”

  Castillo pointed to a nail sticking out of the wall about seven inches above the doorframe. “See that nail? They call this setup a ‘redneck alarm.’ You rest a weight on the door. When Donald opened the door . . . bam! The kettlebell hit him in the head. I’m not minimizing what happened, but that’s just what it was.”

  “And what fairy tale did you come up with to explain the Charles Manson art wall?” Jack said. He slowly turned, his camera capturing the sketches taped to the wall, and at the same time, he held his phone low, covertly snapping pictures like a crazed paparazzi. He would have liked to check out the rest of the house, too, but there was no way Castillo would allow that.

  Castillo bristled. “You know what your problem is, Stratton? You love drama. It can’t ever be anything ordinary to you. The guy’s obviously an artist. There’s art stuff all over the house. Maybe he likes to draw women, simple as that. Creepy and strange, but not illegal.”

  “The guy has a sketch of my fiancée taped to his wall, with an invitation to my wedding pinned next to it, and I’m being dramatic? Look at all the empty spots! He had three dozen pictures up there but rips half the sketches down and just runs out of the house?”

  Castillo held up his hand. “We’re trying to locate the homeowner now so they can identify who rented it. The tenant probably panicked when their kettlebell trap ended up clobbering a cop. Once they calm down, I bet they turn themselves in.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why there’s a picture of Alice on his wall.”

  “Isn’t that a copy of the picture that was just in the paper? Maybe the guy thought she was . . . particularly attractive.”

  Jack pressed his lips together. He wasn’t buying Castillo’s theories, but he knew that letting his own fear turn into anger wouldn’t do anyone any good. “Can I see the invitation?” he asked as calmly as he could manage.

  Castillo pulled on a set of gloves and removed the pin holding the invitation from the wall. “Don’t touch it.” He held it up and turned it around so Jack could see the blank back. “Nothing. No name.”

  Jack scowled. “We didn’t put names on the invitation
s, just on the envelopes. Erica insisted it wasn’t necessary.”

  “Erica?” Castillo asked.

  “The wedding planner.”

  Castillo raised an eyebrow.

  Jack was about to point out that having a wedding planner and a lavish wedding wasn’t his idea, or Alice’s for that matter, but their billionaire friend Pierce kept insisting and gifting . . .

  “We’re going to find the homeowner,” Morrison said. He placed a restraining hand on Jack’s shoulder. “As soon as we get an explanation, we’ll let you know.”

  Jack was about to protest when a police officer called from outside, “Hey, Sheriff. You’d better come out here.”

  Morrison strode out onto the front porch, followed by Castillo and Jack, who was suddenly grateful for the fresh air. A news van was parked behind the police cruisers, and a brunette reporter strutted forward. A harried-looking cameraman, wearing a red baseball cap turned backward, hurried to keep up with her, despite her cumbersome heels.

  “Sheriff, Paula Thompson, Channel 5 News.”

  Morrison smiled but held up his hand. “Nice to see you again, Paula.” He pulled the front door closed. “I’d be happy to give you a statement in just a moment. Over there, please.” He pointed toward the cruisers. “There’s no need to broadcast this address, you know that.”

  “I’m just covering the facts.” Paula ignored Morrison’s request and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The cameraman handed her a microphone and stepped back as she positioned herself to film in front of the house.

  Morrison looked incredulous, but the last thing the sheriff’s department wanted was to be accused of stepping on press freedoms.

  Jack leaned down to Lady and whispered, “Meany face.”

  The huge dog bared her teeth and barked ferociously, spit flying from her mouth as she clawed at the porch.

  Paula almost bowled the cameraman over in her dash for safety by the news van.

  Morrison covered his laughter with a coughing fit. Jack patted Lady’s back, and the dog gazed happily up at him.

  Morrison lowered his voice. “Thanks for the assist.”

  Jack smiled as he clicked Lady’s leash onto her harness. He had started the practice of wearing the leash around his shoulders like the K-9 handlers. Alice liked the look, an added bonus. “I wish I could have gotten you out of it altogether, Bob. You’re still going to have to give a statement.”

  Jack understood his friend’s reticence. Channel 5’s reporting on the sheriff’s department was not always the fairest, and they had just recently run a story on the department’s increased training expenses, with extra spin that made Morrison look bad. The story had failed to consider that the increased training was to get accreditation for the department—which would, in the long term, lower equipment costs across the board as well as cut down on expensive lawsuits.

  “Pray I don’t put both feet in my mouth this time,” Morrison said.

  Jack gave him a sympathetic salute.

  Morrison started down the steps, stopped, and turned back. “Look, Jack, believe me, I think the world of Alice, and I would never let anything happen to her. But right now, until we talk to the homeowner and get in touch with the renter, it looks like Castillo’s theory is the most likely. A redneck alarm and a spooked artist. Nothing more.” Jack started to protest, but Morrison cut him off. “As soon as I have anything, I’ll tell you about it. Okay?”

  Jack nodded. He didn’t agree with Castillo, but he knew Morrison was doing all he could. “Thanks, Bob. Do me another favor? Let me know when I can talk to Donald. As a friend,” he quickly added.

  “Will do. Time to face the press.” Morrison rolled his eyes and headed over to Paula Thompson and the cameraman, who had now taken up a position that would show the police cars and not the house.

  Jack walked Lady over to the Charger and let her inside. He stood staring back at the house, his heart thumping wildly, the knot in his gut twisting further. He closed his eyes and took three long breaths, but his heart refused to yield.

  Slowly, he opened his eyes and focused on the front door. A feeling of dread washed over him. His fingers tightened into a fist. Castillo was wrong. He was sure of it.

  The weight over the door might well have been a do-it-yourself alarm, but whoever had been living in that house had left behind more than sketches. It was as if their presence had contaminated the home . . . and it felt evil.

  4

  Jack let Lady stretch her long legs in the newly fenced-in backyard while he hurried upstairs to talk to Alice. He had no clue how he was going to break the news to her that some psycho had drawn a picture of her and taped it to his wall and might very well be coming to their wedding.

  He stopped on the second floor, hesitant to enter the apartment. The stress of wedding planning was weighing on Alice and she was unusually skittish. She wanted a simple wedding, but when Pierce Weston learned they were getting married, he insisted on paying for the nuptials—and the boy billionaire could not be talked out of it, no matter how hard Alice tried. Jack and Alice had saved Pierce’s life—and his company—and he wanted to repay them. Finally, they’d agreed, but neither of them had foreseen what it would entail—the best wedding planner in the Northeast, a custom-designed bridal gown, a photographer recording Alice’s every move, menu tastings . . . Pierce spared no expense.

  With the lavish wedding only a week away, Alice and her small, motley entourage found themselves being whisked all over town by Erica, the wedding planner, who was an odd mix of army staff sergeant and football cheerleader. The woman’s high-pitched voice, ever-present grin, and brisk efficiency grated on Jack, so he’d taken to avoiding the peppy dictator at all costs.

  Jack hated to add to Alice’s burdens. But he had no choice. She had to be aware of the situation and start taking precautions for her safety. Deciding on the direct approach, he stepped forward, opened the door—and froze.

  He hadn’t expected to see her again—ever. Yet here she was, standing in his living room, admiring her own artwork. Marisa had her back to him and her arms crossed as she gazed at the painting hanging above the couch, which she had given Jack and Alice after they had saved her life. It was a painting of a young girl running through a field, her long hair flowing out behind her, her arms outstretched. You could just make out her face and a hint of her hidden smile. The only color in the piece was the blue in the girl’s eyes. It was truly stunning.

  Jack had seen an early sketch of the painting on a cocktail napkin the night he first met Marisa. Her raven hair was dyed blonde now and somehow the tattoos that had covered her arms were gone, but Jack would know that voluptuous body anywhere.

  “Hello, Jack,” she said without turning, her voice warm and smooth.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Jack shut the door behind him.

  As he marched across the room, she slowly pivoted to face him. Marisa Vitagliano was tall for a woman, at five-ten, and her four-inch heels brought her to eye level with Jack. Her green dress showed off her curves and fit her impeccably.

  “It’s not safe for you to be back here.” He had to stop himself from rushing over to the window and drawing the shades. “I thought you were safe and hiding in plain sight in Hope Falls.”

  “It’s good to see you too,” she whispered as she studied his face. “The last time I saw you, I didn’t know if you would live. You sacrificed yourself for me.”

  Jack’s brows knitted together. “Which is why I’m really confused that you’re back in Darrington.”

  Marisa’s Mona Lisa smile rose on her lips. “Alice needed gloves for the photoshoot.”

  Jack rubbed his forehead. “You’re not making any sense.”

  “It’s simple, really.” She reached for his hand but stopped with her fingers a breath away. “I’m tired of running. I have no plans to move back, but I’m done hiding. This is my life and I will live it. Besides, you invited me to your wedding.”

  Jack opened and closed his mouth. The truth was
, he hadn’t invited anyone to the wedding. He’d rattled off a short list of people to Alice, who relayed it to the wedding planner. He was quite certain there was no way he’d mentioned Marisa’s name.

  “I would have invited you, but . . .” Jack cleared his throat. Marisa possessed an uncanny ability to get into his thoughts like no other. As a result, he found himself being more truthful with her than anyone. Even Alice. He felt a pang of guilt at that thought.

  “Inviting you wouldn’t be safe for you,” he finished. “I kept you away to protect you, and . . . .”

  “And?”

  “And Alice. I thought it would be really awkward having you, my . . .” Jack wanted to say “ex-girlfriend,” but the word was such a poor expression of what Marisa had meant to him.

  “Ex-lover? Ex-soulmate?” Marisa leaned in. Jack took a step back, but she followed, her face only inches from his. “Is that possible?”

  “Is what possible?” Jack swallowed.

  “For two souls that were entwined like ours to ever really come apart?”

  Jack started shaking his head, then changed it into a nod. “You know that . . . what we had was . . . I’m getting married in a week. I’m in love with Alice.”

  The Mona Lisa smile reappeared. “And that’s why I’m here. To help Alice.”

  Jack exhaled and took another step back. “I still don’t think it’s safe—wait. Where’s Alice now?”

  “She’s getting fitted for her bridal gown. The photographer insisted she get her gloves, and I offered to come back to get them for her. She gave me the key to let myself in.”

  “How did you even find her?” Jack asked, instantly wishing he had asked why she had tracked Alice down. “Even I rarely have any idea where she is these days.”

  “You do know that your entire wedding itinerary is online, right? The wedding planner has a detailed calendar of events on your wedding web page. You should check it out.”