Jacob shrugged. “We’ll look into that. Maybe she was in financial trouble and wanted the insurance money.”
Griff mulled over that possibility. He didn’t remember Joy having financial problems, but small businesses were a tough go. Hers could be suffering.
“Does she have family to notify?” Jacob asked.
“No, just the ex.”
A pinched look marred Jacob’s face as he examined Joy’s body more closely. “Look at that.” Jacob pointed out bruises on Joy’s neck.
Griff’s blood went cold. “Dammit, this was no accident. She was murdered.” And the fire had been set to cover it up.
Two hours later
GINNY CHECKED OVER her shoulder as she unlocked the door to her Asheville apartment. She’d driven a different route home from the gym today and kept alert. Varying her routine had become a necessity for survival.
Stalkers studied behavior patterns. Robert had certainly learned hers. Even after she’d tried to break it off with him, he’d watched her from the shadows. He’d known where she shopped, ate, the trails she liked to jog, her friends, even the drugstore she frequented. She’d even caught him combing through her trash.
She’d never considered he’d hurt Tess, but she’d learned her lesson. Since her sister died, she hadn’t allowed herself to get close to anyone.
She couldn’t live with another person’s death on her conscience.
She twisted the main lock on the door as she entered the foyer, then the two dead bolts. Still, she kept one hand on the .22 in her pocket as she searched the rooms. Satisfied no one was inside, she stowed her pistol in the drawer by the sofa, then poured herself a whiskey and carried it to the table.
She opened her laptop and once again searched the internet and social media, hoping to find a picture of Robert somewhere. He’d hunted her like a dog that last month.
It was time he learned what it felt like to be hunted.
An hour later, her muscles ached from fatigue, and she flipped on the TV to watch the evening news just as she did each night. The weather report aired, then national news, then a special breaking story.
A fire in Whistler, NC.
She clutched her glass with a white-knuckled grip as the reporter interviewed Sheriff Jacob Maverick. He stood in front of a burning building, flames lighting up the sky. The street was chaotic, emergency lights twirling.
“Sheriff, can you tell us what happened here tonight?” the reporter asked.
Beads of sweat trickled down the side of the sheriff’s face. “We’re on the scene of a fire at Joy’s Nail Salon.
“Although our local fire station responded immediately, the chemicals inside the salon caused the blaze to spread quickly. At this point, workers are trying to contain the blaze and keep it from spreading to neighboring businesses.”
The camera panned to an ambulance, a doctor standing with the medics and a tall broad-shouldered fireman.
“What about the owner?” the reporter asked. “Was she inside the salon when it caught fire? Were there injuries? Casualties?”
The sheriff shifted. “Unfortunately, the owner of the shop, Joy Norris, was dead when we arrived.”
A photograph of the woman flashed on the screen. “If anyone has information regarding her death or the fire tonight, please contact my office.”
The number for Whistler’s sheriff’s department appeared, but the numbers blurred in Ginny’s mind as her gaze latched on to the woman.
Joy Norris had shoulder-length auburn hair. Green eyes. A heart shaped face. And ivory skin.
Ginny’s chest constricted. She was Robert’s type. And a dead ringer for Ginny herself.
Chapter Two
The next morning, Ginny mentally reviewed the news report on the Whistler fire as she drove toward the small mountain town.
Joy Norris’s death had been ruled a homicide. The sheriff hadn’t revealed details, but she was dead before the fire started. They hadn’t reported cause of death though, which raised her suspicions.
She thumped her fingers on her thigh. Was she trying to make a connection where there wasn’t one?
Determined to find out if her suspicions had merit, she followed the winding mountain road to Griffin Maverick’s cabin. She’d decided to approach the arson investigator instead of the sheriff. Although he was the sheriff’s brother, at least he wasn’t law enforcement.
Winter was still hanging on, the wind roaring, the trees bare of leaves. As she parked in front of the rustic log cabin, she took a second to admire its sprawling front porch. It looked post card picturesque, much like the little town that was nestled amongst the Appalachian Mountains.
The wind rolled off the mountain, creating a chill in the air. Yet the sound of the river thrashing over rocks drifting from the property in back added a calmness to the breathtaking natural beauty.
She rubbed her hands up and down her arms as she climbed the porch steps, then knocked. After a minute, when she didn’t hear sounds inside, she rang the doorbell, mentally bracing herself. She’d planned her cover story on the drive. A way to finagle information without revealing her identity or her past or having to rely on the sheriff.
She’d put all her faith in the law before, but they’d let her down from day one. Two years ago, she’d chased a similar lead/story and confided in a detective working the case in Charlotte. But he’d only paid her lip service. Then he’d accepted a bribe from Robert to find out where she was.
She’d barely escaped alive and had been forced to change her name again. Thank God for the underground society who helped women like her.
Like her. She’d thought she was strong and independent. Had never dreamed she’d be in this situation. Had had the ridiculous misbelief that domestic violence and stalking only happened to weak women.
She was wrong.
Crazies came in all sizes and styles, some of them cunning and handsome and so manipulative they knew exactly how to get in the mind of their victims and find their weaknesses. They preyed on women, women who were oblivious to the fact they were being targeted.
Her downfall had been trusting others.
No more.
She took a deep breath, fluffed her layered bob, which was now a soft black instead of auburn, and adjusted the dark blue blazer she’d picked up at the thrift store.
Finally, she heard a noise inside. Footsteps.
She peered through the window and spotted Griffin Maverick shuffling toward the front door. His hair looked mussed, and he ran a hand over his eyes as if he’d just woken up.
She should have called. But she’d suspected he might deny her an interview. And if Robert had set the fire the night before, she wanted to know.