The Devil She Knew Read online

  The Devil She Knew

  Rena Koontz, author of Love’s Secret Fire

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2013 by Rena A. Koontz

  Previously published by F+W Media

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by AmazonEncore, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonEncore are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  eISBN: 9781503942219

  This title was previously published by F+W Media; this version has been reproduced from F+W Media archive files.

  For Ron,

  Always my twin

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Preview: Love's Secret Fire

  Acknowledgments

  As always, I thank —

  My husband, Jed, for keeping the romance alive;

  My friend, Shirley, who keeps my stories on track;

  My family and friends, for their support;

  And police, fire, and law enforcement personnel everywhere.

  Chapter One

  Black rivulets swirled in the white porcelain sink, gurgling in the drain as it swallowed her old identity. Her head under the faucet, Cassidy Hoake watched the waves of dark liquid fade while she continued to massage her scalp under the warm water. The box said to rinse until the water ran clear. Just a few more minutes.

  She grabbed a towel, draped her head, and stood, rubbing vigorously with her eyes closed. Ready or not, she looked at her reflection in the mirror behind the sink.

  The new look surprised even her. Gone was the thick, auburn mane her mother had often bragged about. She’d replaced the shoulder-length locks she’d worn since high school with a lustrous black, short haircut that she planned to spike up and out and fringe to frame her face. She stared wide-eyed at herself, then walked barefoot into the bedroom and retrieved a pair of burgundy-framed eyeglasses from the bureau. Thank goodness she’d discovered that year-round costume store. Buying items for a disguise was easy.

  Standing in front of the mirror again, she took a deep breath and carefully edged the eyeglasses up her nose. Her eyebrows raised in surprise at the result. She barely recognized herself. Surely, he wouldn’t.

  • • •

  Clay Cestra gently laid his nephew in the crib and switched on the overhead mobile. Four stuffed bears in football jerseys and helmets began to circle slowly around a plush football in the center. Softly, the Ohio State fight song played, making him smile. He checked to make sure the baby monitor was switched on, then quietly walked out of the nursery, leaving the door halfway open. With the portable phone in his hand he walked to the bathroom.

  He knocked on the open bathroom door. “I’m going in to work early, Sis, and relieve Dan. Are you sure you are okay? Do you want Dan to bring you anything?”

  Maggie Armstrong sat beside the toilet, her back against the wall and a white washcloth molded to her forehead. She opened her eyes and inhaled tentatively. “I think it’s stopped. Remind me to never order bleu cheese dressing again. Just ask Dan to come straight home. I’ll be fine, go.” A weak hand wave punctuated her words.

  Clay stepped into the bathroom and leaned over to kiss his younger sister on the forehead. “Jack’s asleep.” He handed her the phone. “I will call and check on you when I get to the station.”

  He retrieved his gun from the top of the china hutch and tucked it into its holster as he walked to the car. Opening the car door, Clay smiled. Who would have ever thought when he introduced his partner to his sister they would end up together? Maggie said the minute she looked into Dan’s eyes, her heart lit up with stars. He turned his gaze to the sky. It shone tonight with a thousand different lights. That must be how she felt.

  He drove to the Stakron police station, the full moon casting everything below in a hazy shadow. The midnight shift was his favorite. The city looked softer in the dark and usually, by mid-shift, would be quiet except for the stray drunk, burglar, or speed demon.

  Hopefully, tonight would be no exception.

  • • •

  Cassidy loved the chimes on her mantel clock, one of the few treasures she had left of her mother. It chimed in the other room and she counted twelve bells. Midnight and she was wide awake. Tomorrow, she started her new life, or at least would try again to forget her old one. The gold clock under its glass dome stuck out in the dowdy room like a rose in the desert. She had no furniture except for a folding card table and two chairs she bought at a garage sale. Her bedroom was just as sparse, with only a recycled full-size mattress and box spring on the floor in the corner and a scratched and worn nightstand and lamp. She’d cleaned the two rooms as best she could, but the carpet still looked filthy and the windows seemed permanently stained.

  A dozen second-hand throw rugs she laundered twice protected her bare feet from the dirt-packed carpet and marked a path through the apartment, like the yellow brick road leading the way for Dorothy. She tiptoed along the rugs to the apartment door, knowing it was latched, but needing reassurance. She checked the deadbolt, patted the door chain, and then made sure the two windows in the front room and the one in the bedroom were locked. She’d rented here for two weeks now and still the noises of the other tenants unnerved her. How long would it take to get used to that?

  Fully clothed, Cassidy pulled the blankets back and slipped into her make-shift bed, longing for the soft cotton comforter on the four-poster she used to own. That was another thing she would have to get past, sleeping with her clothes on. Always ready to run.

  She dozed fitfully, ready to wake the second the radio alarm filled the room with soft jazz. She bathed, applied her makeup, fussed with her new hairstyle until it was just right and put on The Packing Place’s uniform — black pants and a brown pullover shirt. Yesterday, she rode a test run on the bus to familiarize herself with the route. The seven-ten bus would get her to the store about twenty minutes early. A good way to start her first day on the job.

  • • •

  Cassidy walked in the front door of the store with her shoulders straight and her head high. She remembered an old commercial slogan that suggested “never let them see you sweat” and decided it would be her new mantra. She could do this. She had no other choice. Her funds were low and she’d been on the run long enough to be tired, really tired. She needed to fly under the radar for a while.

  The first handshake with her new boss felt
wrong. Warm, slightly clammy, yet forceful, almost clutching, sending a sensation up her arm like a band of tiny ants in a convoy. Wayne Keaseling released her hand and she raised it to the back of her neck, thinking to smooth her hair and shake away the uneasiness.

  “You’ve observed what we do here for two afternoons, so you know a little of what to expect,” he said, smiling. “I wanted Rosie to train you. She’s my assistant manager. But she is not back from vacation, so we’ll start you with someone else. Any questions you have, any concerns, you come to me.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I want you to be happy here.”

  He turned toward the front of the store and called out to his other employee. “Amber?”

  Amber Malone appeared in the doorway — flashing a bright white, even-teethed smile that said at one time she had worn braces — and inspected Cassidy from her sneakered feet to her oversized glasses.

  Cassidy likewise eyed her new co-worker. Amber had a pierced right eyebrow, a pierced tongue, and a microdot in the left side of her nose. A two-inch wide magenta streak highlighted her shoulder-length midnight black hair. Straight cut bangs hung into her eyes, which were outlined in coal black, as if she used a charcoal briquette to make herself up.

  Amber raised the pierced eyebrow and a tiny shudder jolted Cassidy’s spine under the intense scrutiny, the second time in her first ten minutes on job. It was as if Amber saw right through her disguise. Had Cassidy been more like the thug she was running from, she would have changed her name along with her looks and paid for forged documents to authenticate her new persona. But who knew how to do that? Besides, she’d had to show identification to rent her dingy apartment, so a fake name was out of the question. Did Amber recognize her? It was unlikely.

  Standing with a hand on one hip, Amber shifted the wad of pink bubble gum in her mouth, cracking it three times in the process. “Sure, Boss, I’ll train her.”

  “Get rid of the nose doo-dad and the gum first. I’m going to the bank and then to the other store. I’ll be back later.”

  He walked out the rear employees’ door and Amber stuck out her tongue at his back, giggled, and offered Cassidy a conspiratorial grin. “Welcome,” she said, extending her hand and widening her smile until it reached her eyes, immediately putting Cassidy at ease. Unlike the boss’s handshake, Amber’s was warm and firm, but not dominating.

  “I heard you just moved into town. Where’d you come from? No ring on your finger. Have a boyfriend? If you don’t, make one up or he’ll be all over you. C’mon, I’ll show you how to clock in.”

  Cassidy stood dumbfounded. “What? Who?”

  Amber strolled to the computer keyboard and began punching keys. “Don’t worry. It will take a while. He’ll be on his good behavior at first. Use your name to sign in and you’ll need a password. What do you want to use?”

  The entry bell chimed and both women looked toward the front door at the day’s first customer. Amber smiled and leaned forward onto the counter, pushing her breasts into the opening of her collared shirt.

  “Good morning, Officer Good Body. I was a very bad girl last night.” She swiveled her hips. “Don’t you think you should handcuff me and take me away?”

  Mouth agape, Cassidy watched her ball her fists, lock her wrists together, and extend her arms to the police officer standing at the counter.

  “Good morning, Amber,” he said chuckling. “You are in rare form this morning.”

  Amber winked, straightened, and began typing on the computer screen. Cassidy stepped up behind her in time to see a shipping label appear on the screen.

  “This is the new girl, Cassidy.” Turning to Cassidy, she raised her hand toward the cop. “We have a lot of regular customers. You’ll get to know them pretty quick. C.C. is my favorite.”

  Cassidy turned to the police officer. His dark blue uniform fit snugly, stretching over a broad chest and trim waist. He blushed at Amber’s words and extended his hand.

  “Clay Cestra. Nice to meet you.”

  Handshake number three. This one strong, confident, and quick. Almost enticing. Much nicer than the boss’s.

  Amber stepped to the counter with a printed label and handed Clay a pen. Cassidy watched him scrawl his initials on the bottom line and slide a small shipping bag to Amber.

  “See?” She showed Cassidy the label. “C.C. That’s the way he always signs.”

  “Good luck with the new job,” he said turning toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Amber.”

  The door chimed again when he exited.

  “The police drop off these packages every morning to go to the lab. Some poor drunk got busted last night. These are the swabs. All we have to do is generate this label,” she said, pointing to the button on the computer screen, “and get them to initial it. It’s usually C.C. coming off the midnight shift and he knows the drill. It’s only when he’s off or on the afternoon shift that someone else comes in.”

  Amber pointed her forefinger at Cassidy. “Make sure you get this label initialed or it fucks up their chain of evidence. Your initials will show up in this corner. C’mon, I’ll show you where this goes.”

  Through the course of the morning, Amber explained how to work the computers, how to pack and ship items, and how to operate most of the office equipment designed to provide printing and copying services for customers. She had an easy way with the regulars, calling most of them by their first names and openly flirting with the men.

  Cassidy gasped when Amber offered to cook spaghetti for an elderly man and promised a special dessert. He left the store chuckling.

  “You wouldn’t really go out with him, would you?”

  “Nah, he knows I don’t mean it. But it makes him feel good to think I might give him a tumble. And I love men. Who knows? If I were drunk enough I might.”

  The look on Cassidy’s face made her laugh.

  “You might as well know right up front. I drink. I smoke weed. I like to party. I have a good time. Life is too short not to. Most of the girls who work here call me a slut behind my back. I don’t give a damn what they think.”

  “How long have you worked here?”

  “Four years. The boss keeps threatening to fire me, but he won’t. I always get to work on time and I’m good at my job. I do what he asks me to do. Everything he asks.”

  The day passed quickly. By the end of her shift, Cassidy felt comfortable processing the basic shipments, called drop-offs because they had preprinted labels on them. Under Amber’s guidance she also processed ground, air, and high value shipments and performed multiple copying tasks. Amber proved to be a good teacher, letting Cassidy think through the process and correct her own mistakes. They clocked out together. Amber waved cheerfully and said she’d see Cassidy the next morning.

  Cassidy flopped into the back seat of the bus for the ride home. Her feet hurt, her back ached, and she’d broken two fingernails. Each time she bent to pick up a heavy package, Amber reminded her to use her legs, but the throb in her lower back screamed she’d have to do a better job tomorrow.

  Chapter Two

  Clay clocked out the next morning and called his sister on the way to ship the night’s saliva samples to the crime lab. He wanted to make sure she’d fully recovered from her suspected food poisoning episode, and if she was still dragging, he’d offer to babysit for the day. He could sleep when Jack napped.

  Since his sister had gotten married, the department separated him and Dan Armstrong, giving each man a new partner and, most of the time, keeping them on different shifts. Maggie said she liked it that way. She only had to worry about one man at a time.

  Clay often wished he still partnered with Dan. This month, Clay was on the midnight shift and Dan worked the four to midnight slot. Their shifts overlapped, giving them time for “police talk” outside of Maggie’s earshot. Last night, he’d come close to menti
oning the new girl at The Packing Place, but he wasn’t sure why. What was there to say except she was a new face at the counter?

  As partners, they were already close, but Maggie had strengthened that bond. Dan was more of a brother than an in-law. They both loved Maggie more than their own lives and the instinct to watch each other’s back had intensified.

  Maggie assured Clay she was fully recovered from her episode of intestinal distress and urged him to get some sleep. That afternoon, she had a list of minor repairs that needed done in several tenant’s apartments.

  Clay and Maggie had inherited two five-story apartment buildings from their parents, who were enjoying their retirement years in Florida. That their parents were still together was like the eighth wonder of the world in his mind. He remembered the day they sat at the kitchen table, each with a pen in hand, poised over divorce papers. He and Maggie had huddled in the hallway, terrified. Their parents hadn’t known they were there.

  Maggie buried her face in his chest, muffling her tears, and whispering “Please God. Don’t do this to us.” He’d merely watched horrified. The nightly arguments had escalated, and through the thin walls of the three-bedroom ranch Clay had listened to months of arguing and cursing until finally, the discussion about divorce. He was to live with his father, wherever that was going to be. Maggie would stay with their mom.

  He and his sister stood clinging to each other, spying on their parents. Clay heard his father say, “I don’t want to do this. Not really.”

  “Me neither,” his mother whispered.

  “We have two kids in the other room. If for no other reason, we should stay together for them.”

  His mother nodded and tears spilled down her cheeks. Clay gulped as he watched his father reach across the table and shake hands with his mother.

  In one swift movement, his dad took the divorce papers, ripped them in half, and tossed them in the trash.

  Maggie was jubilant. He was doubtful. He remained doubtful for years, watching them interact with each other, waiting to see something more than obligation. He supposed it happened sometime during his teen years when he was obsessed with cars, girls, and sports. One day he saw them kiss. It was brief but tender.