Page 16 of Dangerous Lies

Tucker shook his head. “Not enough to identify him. Mr. Ingles said he saw a dark shadow down by the boathouse, but when he opened the back door to get a better look, the guy took off. He didn’t follow because he was worried about leaving his wife alone in the house.”

“Okay.” Jax had more questions, but they could wait. “I’m going down to look.”

Megan appeared at his side. “I’m coming with you.”

“That’s not a good idea.” Clay stepped forward, a scowl creasing his mouth.

“Pops, I appreciate that you’re trying to protect me, but it’s unnecessary.” She turned back to Jax. “I’ll stay out of your way and do what you tell me to, but whatever is down there was left for me. I want to see it.”

Her grandfather met Jax’s gaze and gave a small shake of his head, his disapproval clear. Had Clay seen the message? Possibly. The old man was tough and didn’t rattle easily. If he didn’t want Megan to see the threat for herself, it must be bad.

Indecision warred within Jax. She was a civilian, and it would be a simple matter to bar her from the crime scene, but Megan had a point. The threat had been left for her. She had a right to see it.

Jax shot Clay an apologetic glance before nodding. “Okay, Megan. Let’s go.”

Megan followed him into the backyard. The property was secluded, the nearest neighbors hidden behind a dense wall of trees. Sunlight glinted off the lake. Ducks swam past, tucking themselves among the reeds close to the shore. It was peaceful and serene. But Jax’s attention was drawn to the boathouse.

Unlike the rest of the property, the building perched next to the dock was battered and weathered. It listed to one side and was missing several boards from its north wall. “Do you use the boathouse for anything?”

“Just to store the lawn mower and tools. We don’t own a boat.”

Jax ducked under the crime scene tape, stopping Megan with a raised hand. “Wait here. Let me get a better sense of what we’re dealing with before you come closer.”

For a moment, it looked like she would argue, but then Megan nodded. “Okay.”

Jax met Dawson near the entrance of the boathouse. His childhood friend greeted him with a head nod, his expression grim. Over six feet tall and built like an ox, Dawson cast a commanding shadow on the grass. A cowboy hat shaded his eyes, and despite wearing a bright orange hoodie with a tear along the pocket, he exuded a quiet confidence—the kind that came from a man who knew exactly where he belonged in the world.

“Bet this wasn’t how you intended to spend your evening,” Jax said in lieu of a greeting.

“Nope. I’m supposed to be fishing. Was headed to the north side of the lake when the call came in. Tucker was the closest patrol unit, but he was alone, and considering the attack on Megan a few days ago, I didn’t think it was wise to leave him without backup.”

Jax accepted the pair of gloves Dawson extended. “Where are the other patrols?”

“Handling a bar fight at The Broken Spur. An ugly one. Several wounded, three arrested.”

“At six in the evening?” Jax shook his head. “Used to be people waited until midnight to act like fools.”

“Lots of shift workers get off at two and start drinking. One guy thinks he’s invincible after two beers, another’s had a bad day at work and is looking to pick a fight, and suddenly you’ve got chairs flying and somebody’s taking a whiskey bottle to the face.” Dawson’s gaze drifted to Megan, who was still standing near the crime scene tape. She’d forgotten her jacket in the house and stood with her arms crossed around her midsection. “What were you and Megan doing together?”

“Discussing the case. I’ll fill you in later.”

Dawson grunted. “I’m gonna hold you to that.” He led the way around the side of the boathouse. “I’ve seen a lot of weird things, Jax, but this one is the freakiest. Whoever did this has a sick imagination.”

Jax’s steps faltered as he rounded the corner. A woman sat against the weathered wood of the boathouse, thick blonde hair obscuring her face. Slender. Dressed in slacks and a silk blouse. A high heel shoe hung awkwardly from one foot, the other lay in the grass. Drag marks disturbed the pine needles, leading from the lake to the boathouse, as if the body had been pulled from the shore. Blood coated her blouse, darkening the light blue fabric to a deep navy shade. A deep gash marred her neck.

It took far too many breaths to realize the woman wasn’t real.

It was a mannequin.

“Holy…” Jax caught himself before an uncharacteristic curse slipped from his lips. “It looks just like Megan.” He approached and crouched down. “From a distance, no one would know this wasn’t a real person.”

“Nearly gave her grandfather a heart attack. After we secured the property, he came out here before I could stop him.”

No wonder Clay hadn’t wanted Megan to come down to the boathouse. Jax didn’t blame him. He scanned the tree line. “How did the perpetrator get on the property?”

“A boat.” Dawson pointed to some smashed-down grass. “Slid the dinghy up on the shore over there, hauled the mannequin over to the boathouse, and arranged it. Mr. Ingles arrived and spotted someone down here just as the guy was finishing up. Then he took off.”

An icy chill touched the back of Jax’s neck. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. “This took planning, but if he had the mannequin ready, it wouldn’t have taken much time to set up.”

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