Murder at Sunrise Lake

Stella watched them, tension coiled tight in her gut. The two on the ground remained there, not trying to get up or move. After a couple of minutes, she had the feeling Sam knew all three men, or at least the one he had the gun pressed up against. Suddenly, Sam dropped his arm and stepped back, releasing his prisoner.

The man he’d hit with the gun remained seated on the ground, his head in his hands. The younger one, who Sam had originally swept the feet out from under, jumped up and put distance between them. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, his entire body posture screamed belligerence.

The third man, the one with the impeccable suit who had had the gun at the back of his skull, seemed unfazed by everything. He did all the talking. It was very clear he was in charge. He seemed to have a lot to say, gesturing toward the lake and then up at the sky, shaking his head once. He waited as if for a response from Sam and then went on, moving his hand as if to include the entire resort, marina and Sam’s cabin. Then he gestured toward her house.

Sam remained very still, not moving a muscle. She’d seen him like that hundreds of times. She could have predicted the look on his face. Expressionless. Those eyes, flat and cold. Lifeless. He listened, but he wasn’t going to give anything away.

Stella had watched him for over two years, secretly studying Sam’s every move. She knew by the loose way he held himself that he could explode into action, just as he had when he’d taken the younger man’s weapon from him. There had been no reaction from him to anything the older man was saying until he’d gestured toward her house. Sam hadn’t looked toward the house, hadn’t followed the gesture in any way, but there was a slight difference in the way he held himself. She had the feeling he had gone from being neutral to being a threat, but the change in his demeanor was so subtle she couldn’t say why she thought that.

The man sitting on the ground must have felt the threat too because he suddenly looked up and then climbed to his feet, moving away from Sam and back toward the older man almost protectively. The younger man circled around behind Sam warily. Sam didn’t deign to glance at him. He kept his attention fixed on the older man. The younger man gave Sam a wide berth as he made his way to the older man’s side.

Stella tried to puzzle out what it all meant. She forced air through her lungs. Sam had known those men were out there. He hadn’t thought a serial killer was out there watching the house. He had her get the gun out because he knew who was out there and he didn’t want them coming into her house and talking to her.

This wasn’t the first time he had gone out alone into the night when she’d been certain someone had been watching them. Had these same men been there then? Had they been watching her and her friends camping out at the lake? She suddenly wanted to lock Sam out of her house and just sit alone with Bailey and her wildly beating heart. Unfortunately, Sam had the code to get in. Was she afraid of him?

Sam’s head suddenly came up alertly and all three men turned toward the path leading to the boathouse. Stella swung her binoculars in that direction. Sonny Leven sauntered along the trail on his rounds, patrolling the compound at night. He generally stayed away from the main house, but did make a pass along the marina several times a night. He was still a distance away, but he was coming at a fairly rapid clip. When she looked back at Sam and the others, they had completely disappeared.

Stella searched everywhere, moving the night-vision binoculars carefully along trees and shrubbery, but not a thing seemed out of place. There was no evidence that the men had ever been on her property or that they’d met with Sam. So much for her two security guards. They had no idea of secret, clandestine meetings in the middle of the night.

“What do you think, Bailey? Should I shoot Sam when he walks in and tell the sheriff I thought he was an intruder?”

She hung the binoculars back where she always kept them and retreated to her bed, her hand finding the reassuring grip her palm was familiar with.

“This is the very reason I don’t let people close,” she told the dog. “Now we’re in this big mess. I’m blaming you. You liked him right from the start. If you’d growled and gotten all protective, I would have passed on hiring him.”