Page 23 of Shadowed Witness (The Secrets of Kincaid #2)

Allye awoke with a start, chased into consciousness by frightening images of her attacker squeezing the breath from her as green smoke billowed behind him.

But he wasn’t here. She was in her bed, blessedly alone.

And everything ached. Her head was the worst offender by far—until she stretched and triggered a charley horse in her left calf. She yelped and instinctively curled into a ball, massaging the area until it relaxed.

Well, she was fully awake now. And by the light streaming through her window, she guessed it was nearing noon. So much for an early start to her day.

Ignoring the temptation to give up and remain where she was, she slipped on her glasses, then sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Dizziness joined the pounding fury in her skull. She was so tired of this.

“Get used to it,” she muttered as she stumbled to the bathroom. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and for once was glad she lived alone. Talk about looking like death warmed over.

Desperate to dull the migraine, she retrieved her prescription and popped one of the pills, ignoring the instruction to take with food. She’d eat in a few minutes.

She pushed through the absolutely necessary parts of her morning routine, minus the shower she probably needed after the hike yesterday. Despite the energy it took, having a clean face and brushed teeth did help her feel slightly human again.

That done, she moved to the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry, but she knew better than to let the meds wreak havoc in her stomach. And she really needed some caffeine. That was nonnegotiable.

By the time she settled in at her desk with the curtains drawn to shut out excess light, it was after one o’clock.

She practically melted into the amply padded chair.

She was already bushed, and the migraine meds had hardly made a dent in the pain.

Staring at a screen would be torture. But she had to make headway on these projects.

Wool Fest was a hard deadline. Technically, she had more wiggle room with Jayden’s photos, but the sooner she got them done, the sooner she would get paid. So there was that.

She swapped her everyday glasses for a pair with rose-tinted migraine lenses. Hopefully, they would provide enough protection to allow her to get some work done. She jiggled the mouse to wake the computer and braced herself. The brightness still made her wince.

This was a bad idea.

“But what else am I supposed to do?”

She didn’t bother answering herself. If she waited to work when she felt good, she might never get anything done. She’d push through as long as she could. Pay the price later if she must.

Praying it would work, she inserted the recovered memory card and waited for the computer to read it. As the photo previewer popped up, she released the breath she’d been holding. There they were. Uncorrupted. Perfect. Well, as perfect as raw photos could be.

Now for the fun part.

For the next hour or so, she lost herself in the world of photo editing. The distraction did as much as the meds and caffeine to bring the migraine to a manageable level—or at least a level she could pretend to ignore.

As she edged up the vignette effect on a shot of Jayden with the lake in the background, the doorbell rang. Her hand jerked, sending the effect to max. Ugh. She quickly undid the action and pushed from her seat. Too fast. Dizzy. Ugh. Ugh.

The bell rang again.

“Coming,” she mumbled. She finally reached the door and threw it open. “I heard you the first time.”

Eric paused, his finger on the doorbell. “Sorry.” He didn’t return her smile.

“What’s wrong?” A hundred scenarios went through her head. Was Bryce okay? Corina? Mom?

“May I come in?”

She stepped aside and let him pass. “What’s going on? Is my family okay?”

“Yes,” he was quick to reassure her. “They’re all fine. It’s just...” He sighed and motioned her to sit, but she wasn’t ready to do so until she knew what this was about. His gaze landed on her glasses, and his brows drew together.

“They’re for migraines,” she said in answer to his unspoken question.

“They help?”

“A little.” Get to the point.

He nodded and took a deep breath. “The reason I’m here is that we found a body this morning. The autopsy hasn’t been done yet, but the initial assessment is consistent with your description of what you saw behind your studio the other night.”

She sank into her recliner. “A body? As in, dead?”

“Yes. Would you recognize the victim you saw?”

“No.” She didn’t even have to think about it. “It was starting to get dark, and I wasn’t at a good angle to see him. I only got a good look at the attacker.” She’d seen him all too well.

“That’s what I was afraid of. Any idea what the victim was wearing?”

She thought a moment. “Jeans and a dark T-shirt, I think. Couldn’t tell you what color.”

“Did you notice anything on the shirt? Logo, text?”

“I don’t remember. But he was half curled up, like he’d been trying to protect himself from the blows.” Her voice shook, and she wasn’t sure he heard the last few words. She twisted her hands. “But his head didn’t look right, and he wasn’t moving.”

“I’m going to need you to walk me through everything again.”

“Okay.” God, please help me remember any pertinent details. She shot the silent prayer upward as she reached for her knitting bag. But it wasn’t by her chair. She looked around and spotted it in the pile of bags she’d left just inside the door last night.

Eric pulled out his pen and notebook. Notebook!

“Hold on!” She launched from her chair, remembering too late to take it slow.

Unwilling to let on about the wave of dizziness, she kept going and made it into the kitchen and out of Eric’s sight before having to grab on to a chair back to steady herself.

While she waited for the spell to pass, her gaze roamed the table.

There. As soon as the dizziness was manageable, she grabbed the spiral-bound notebook peeking from under yesterday’s breakfast plate that she’d missed when she loaded the dishwasher.

Notebook in hand, she returned to the living room and thrust it into Eric’s hands. “Friday, before I went to bed, I wrote everything down that I could remember. I was afraid with my—” She cut the words off before she admitted too much. “I was afraid I might forget something important.”

“That was a good idea.” He looked pleased, and she felt her cheeks warm. He flipped the cover back and began reading.

She felt herself sway slightly. Better not just stand here. She retrieved her knitting, then sat next to him on the couch where she could see the pages as well. She hated that her writing was shaky, but it was still legible. That was the important thing.

Eric reached the last page, which only contained a few lines.

He paused there for a moment, then flipped backward as if searching for a detail.

He clicked his pen a few times. “There was a third man present at the initial attack. And your attacker had someone with him at the park as well. Same guy?”

Not something she’d considered. She worked a few more stitches of the nearly finished glove she hoped to sell at her festival booth.

As her fingers flew automatically through the familiar motions, she pictured the man who’d been leaning against the back wall of the building.

He’d been in the shadows, and her focus had been on the attacker and victim.

When the attacker turned toward her, she’d run.

Her needles slowed, and she sighed as she lifted her eyes to Eric.

“I want to say no. My impression of the guy behind the building was that he was older—not old, but an adult. I’m not positive of that though because I didn’t get a good look at him and I didn’t hear his voice.

The guy at the park sounded like a teenager.

” She hesitated. “And there’s something else. ”

“What?”

“The one in the park? His voice sounded a lot like Dion’s, and he was wearing the same shoes as Dion was yesterday.”

Eric’s spine straightened, and he stared at her. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“I didn’t recognize his voice that first day. It’s changed since the last time I saw him. When we found him yesterday, it dawned on me, but I didn’t know how to bring it up then. Not when he was right there and nobody believed me about last week anyway.”

He didn’t quite wince at that last sentence, but his cheek twitched. “I would have preferred to know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And for the record, I do believe you.”

“Now that you have a reason to?”

He didn’t answer that immediately.

She sighed and resumed knitting. “I shouldn’t have said that. With how crazy everything sounded, I don’t blame you for being skeptical. Especially after the break-in.”

His gaze shifted to her notebook, and he flipped to the last page with writing and checked the next as well. “You didn’t document that.”

“It happened after I wrote down the first two encounters. I never got around to adding it.” She’d been too preoccupied with everything else, not to mention her discouragement over the police’s reaction to her statement.

“Tell me again what happened that night.”

Her hands began to tremble, and she dropped a stitch. She tried to reclaim it, but her hands weren’t steady enough, so she set the project aside before she could do more damage.

“Are you all right? You’re pale.”

She wasn’t sure how to answer that. She didn’t want to dig into those memories right now. Not after the nightmare she’d woken up from. But she knew she needed to. Maybe she could approach it clinically. If it meant they might be able to catch this guy, she’d do whatever it took.

Eric placed his hand over one of hers, surprising her.

But his touch calmed her too and gave her the courage to launch into her memories of that night.

She recited everything she could remember—from waking up to that ghastly green glow to finding the door locked after she’d been abandoned on the porch.

When she finished, she stole a look at him.

She couldn’t read his expression. He’d said he believed her about the first two encounters with her attacker.

Did his confidence extend to this one too?

She knew how bizarre it sounded. If she hadn’t experienced it, she wasn’t sure she’d believe it either.

He released her hand and began writing in his own notebook. The absence of his touch left her feeling chilled. That was just weird.

She rubbed her hands together to warm them—and maybe to distract herself from the awkwardness that Eric seemed oblivious to. Maybe she should offer him tea. That would give her something to do while he puzzled through the information.

Before she could voice her offer, his pen clicked twice, and he spoke. “So he was wearing a mask? Why? You’d already seen his face.”

She stilled. That hadn’t occurred to her. But Eric had a point. Why bother to wear a mask? Her attacker likely knew she lived alone. He also knew she knew what he looked like, and he clearly wanted her to know it was him.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “He wasn’t trying to hide his identity.

” No, he’d taunted her with it. “But then again, nothing he did made sense. I thought he was going to kill me or...” She couldn’t finish the thought, but judging by the way the notebook bent under the pressure of Eric’s grip, he knew exactly what she hadn’t said.

“And you’re sure it was him?”

“Yes.”

“You recognized his voice, then?”

“Yes. At least, I think so,” she corrected.

“You think so?”

“He was whispering,” she admitted. “So I guess I didn’t hear his true voice. But his actions and words made his identity obvious.” She could almost feel his hand on her skin, and her stomach turned.

Click. “Okay. What else was odd about his behavior?”

“Besides the way he locked me outside and then disappeared?”

“Yes. Is there anything else he did—even something small—that was off?”

She searched her slightly fuzzy memories.

Between how frightened and caught off guard she’d been, she wasn’t sure she would have noticed anything else off.

She hadn’t even processed the fact he’d been wearing gloves until afterward.

The gloves made sense. He wouldn’t have wanted to leave fingerprints behind.

But the mask? Maybe he hadn’t wanted to risk being seen as he entered or exited?

He didn’t seem the type to be overly afraid of that. After all, he’d murdered a man behind her studio, before nightfall, and he hadn’t bothered to wear a mask then. So why had he worn one in her house?

Focus. Was there anything else odd? She replayed the moments in her mind, allowing herself to feel his hand over her mouth, his breath on her cheek. The sick knot in her stomach grew.

Eric’s hand closed over hers again, snapping her back to the present. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go there again right now.”

She sucked in air. “Sorry. I don’t know why thinking about that night is so much harder than remembering the first time.

I mean, he tried to kill me when he caught me by my studio.

At least, I think he did.” She rubbed her neck but quickly lowered her hand when she realized she’d drawn Eric’s attention to the lingering bruises.

The flash in his eyes betrayed his anger on her behalf.

“But he didn’t hurt me Saturday night, even though he could have.

” Pushing her down hardly counted, despite the few hidden bruises she sported from the fall as well as from the way he’d ground the barrel of his gun into her spine.

“Both were traumatic,” he said quietly. “But the second attack was more personal. He came after you in your own home. Invaded your private space and threatened to harm you.”

“But then he just ran off. He didn’t warn me not to talk, and he didn’t follow through with the things he implied.

” She heard the frustration in her own voice.

“I’m so, so thankful he didn’t, but I don’t understand why.

Why go to all that trouble and then leave me behind?

He didn’t get anything out of it besides the satisfaction of seeing me scared.

So what was the point of putting me through all of it? ”