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A familiar voice yanked Jane from a sea of sweet nothingness into a beam of too harsh light. She blinked rapidly, attempting to shoo away the unwanted illumination. The opposite occurred, more and more shadows thinning. Soon she became cognizant of a dull ache in her head. Ow, ow, ow!
A face crystalized in front of her, and she frowned. Uh… Why was Christopher Wellington, her fireman ex-boyfriend, decked out in full uniform, hovering over her as she sprawled on the floor? And why were they inside the secret Treasure Room hideaway?
“Can you hear me?” he repeated. Concern knitted his brows together. A well-worn helmet perched atop his head, and the scent of smoke clung to him, as if he carried evidence of the past fires he’d tamed.
She tried to sit upright, but he held her down as gently as possible. “Whoa. Easy, Jane.”
Still, she struggled. “What…how?”
“You must’ve passed out when you found the–” He went quiet and breathed deep. Being the professional he was, he quickly rebounded. His striking hazel eyes assessed her for injury. “You were unconscious when we arrived, and there’s a nasty bump on the back of your head. At least the rest of you seems to be in good working order.” His relief was palpable. “We’ll get you to Pinetum Regional, though, where they can run tests and scans to make sure nothing’s out of whack.”
She’d passed out? But why? Jane darted her gaze, taking everything in, trying to put the clues together. Broken cups and saucers. Flower petals strewn across the floor. A toppled Queen Anne chair.
A second firefighter stood off to the side, filming the scene with a cell phone. He made sure to focus on her and Christopher. A third fireman snapped pictures of the only table where Hannah Thorton slumped— Hannah!
Memories punched Jane in the throat. Finding the body. Spotting Lucy, a former friend who’d stolen fifty thousand dollars during a case they’d worked on as a team. Then pain. Darkness.
Jane’s hand flew to the back of her head, and she winced at the flare of discomfort. “I didn’t pass out. I was clobbered from behind.” Emotion clogged her voice. Had once sweet as sugar Lucy returned to town to kill Hannah? And go after Jane? But…
No. Lucy wasn’t the one who’d struck her. Jane had noticed the other woman before falling. Of course, that didn’t mean the former bank employee hadn’t killed Hannah. Lucy could’ve worked with a new partner to do the deed, heard Jane’s entrance and hid. After distracting Jane, Lucy waited for said partner to take out the only obstacle to escape.
No, there had to be more to it.
“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Jane added, resolve straightening her spine. “I’m fine.” She needed to be out there, solving this. Poor Hannah Thorton. Killed in her own shop when all she’d ever wanted to do was to make amazing tea for her neighbors to enjoy.
Merciless, Christopher shone a spotlight in Jane’s eyes, observing her pupils. “I hate that you were injured, but unless you were aided in your fall, it’s possible you sustained further damage than you realize. See a doctor,” he intoned.
Hmm. Had the attacker caught her and eased her down before fleeing the scene? No, that seemed too far-fetched. Except she detected no other wounds. Maybe she’d gracefully lowered herself thanks to cat-like reflexes. No, that also seemed far-fetched.
“How are you here?” she asked.
“We received a call about an unconscious woman.”
Had Lucy dialed 911 while running? Because no one but Lucy and said clobberer had witnessed the event. Right? And really, now that Jane thought about it, her former friend had appeared panicked before the unhinged assailant struck, as if she’d attempted to shout a warning. Forgive Lucy for lying to her in the past? Done.
Christopher timed her pulse. “We didn’t expect to find Miss…” Sadness overtook his expression as he glanced toward Ms. Thorton. He cleared his throat.
“Yeah. Me, either.” That sadness proved contagious, washing over Jane. Focus. You can’t solve the murder if you’re emotionally involved. When her gaze grazed the bowls of food and water in the corner, she asked, “Have you found Hannah’s cat?”
He shook his head. “We haven’t seen one.”
The little darling must be in the shop somewhere. Jane hated the idea of a pet seeing its beloved mother dead. Rolex would be devastated at her death, but at least he’d have Tiffany, Fiona, Beau and most importantly, Conrad. And dang it, she wanted Conrad now! Needed to feel his arms wrapped around her. Yearned to hear his husky voice demand she be all right.
“I’ve got to contact the sheriff,” she stated, easing up before the fireman could stop her. A wave of dizziness struck, but it didn’t knock her over. Winning!
“He’s been notified.”
Excellent. “Then he should arrive any?—”
“Jane!”
“Second,” she finished, her heart leaping.
Conrad raced over and knelt at her side. More heart leaping occurred as she gobbled up the most beautiful man in history with her gaze. Usually restrained dark locks now stuck out in spikes, as if he’d plowed his fingers through the strands again and again. Eyes the color of her Pops’s favorite whiskey glinted with frantic concern. Tension pulled his tan skin taut and compressed his soft lips into a thin, grim line. He wore a crisp white button down and black slacks, his new badge dangling from a lanyard secured around his neck.
“What happened?” he demanded from everyone in the room.
“She fell,” Christopher began.
