Page 64 of In Her Memory

She had no idea what to expect tonight—whether their killer would take the bait, whether the plan would work, whether they’d emerge from this confrontation unscathed. As she slipped beneath the covers of Ruth’s bed and adjusted the pillows to support her back, she found an unexpected comfort in knowing —

Piper was on her way home.

Whatever happened in the hours ahead, that thought would carry her through.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Jenna woke with a start. The darkness around her was broken only by thin bars of moonlight that slanted through a gap in the window curtains. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was—then Jake’s voice whispered in her ear.

“Are you awake?”

She pressed on the earpiece. “Yes,” she whispered back, heat rising to her cheeks though no one could see her embarrassment. She’d dozed off, despite her best intentions. Too little sleep the night before—her lucid dream with her father and Pete Shannon had left her drained.

The room took shape around her as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Ruth McElmurray’s bedroom, with its high ceiling and Victorian furnishings. The four-poster bed beneath her, the closed closet door where Jake was hidden, watching and waiting. The antique dresser against the far wall, its mirror reflecting nothing but shadow.

And opposite the bed, almost invisible in the gloom, the ornately carved wall panel that concealed the passageway entrance.

Jenna shifted carefully beneath the covers, feeling for her service weapon under an extra pillow that no one was using. Her flashlight lay at her side, ready if needed. She wasn’t planning to use lethal force—not unless absolutely necessary. She also had pepper spray and handcuffs ready to restrain their suspect, once they had him.

If their trap worked.

“The walls,” Jake’s voice came again, low and urgent. “I’m hearing something. Like someone’s moving through them.”

Jenna held her breath, straining to listen. At first, nothing—but then she heard it too: a faint rustling, like cloth brushing against wood. It seemed to be coming from the direction of the wall panel.

“He’s here,” she whispered into her earpiece.

Their plan was simple. When the killer entered the room and moved close to the bed, Jenna would hit him with pepper spray while Jake burst from the closet to help subdue him. Together, they’d make the arrest—and finally put an end to the threat that had already claimed two lives.

Assuming everything went according to plan.

Jenna kept her breathing slow and even—the picture of an elderly woman sleeping peacefully. The rustling continued, growing gradually louder. Then, with a faint scrape of wood against wood, the panel slid open.

She could see it through slitted eyes—the dark rectangle appearing in the wall, a shadow there in the opening. Jenna fought the urge to tense up, to reach for her weapon.

Patience.

They needed the suspect fully in the room before they moved.

Jenna waited for the sound of footsteps that would tell her the intruder had entered the room. But there was nothing—no creak of floorboards, no footsteps on the carpeted floor. She realized he wasn’t wearing shoes and was moving in almost perfect silence.

But not quite perfect. Soon she could hear his breathing directly above her—close enough that she could almost feel the warmth of it against her face. It was time.

Jenna gripped the pepper spray. In one swift motion, she sat up, arm extended toward the shadow looming over her. Her thumb pressed down on the trigger—but the figure moved faster, already backing away. The spray cut through empty air, missing its target by inches. Jenna fumbled for her flashlight, switching it on to illuminate the room.

The beam fell on a face that stopped her heart mid-beat.

It was the face in the portrait Nolan had showed them. He had a full head of dark hair parted in the middle and a thick mustache, a high-collared Victorian shirt and waistcoat that might have been lifted from a museum display.

Pete Shannon.

For one frozen moment, the intruder stood in her flashlight’s beam. Then he turned and bolted for the passageway, dropping something to the floor as he went.

“Now!” Jenna shouted for Jake to hear, already scrambling from the bed.

The closet door flew open as Jake burst out, gun in hand. But the suspect was already at the panel, slipping through the narrow opening with the ease of long practice, then deftly sliding it shut behind him. From inside came the faint sound of retreating footsteps—soft and quick, almost inaudible.

For a split-second, Jenna’s flashlight beam glimpsed the object he had dropped—a framing hammer, the intended murder weapon. Jenna was on her feet in a single bound, Jake close behind her. She threw off the nightgown, grabbed her gun, then used her flashlight to find the onyx button nestled in the grape design on the wall. But when she got the passageway open it was silent and their flashlights revealed nobody in sight.