Free The Suicide Club by Gayle Wilson Page A

of the room. And if she occasionally thought she caught motion in one of its shadowed corners, that was only to be expected.
    She had always functioned okay in college after pulling an all-nighter. She’d be all right at school. Then if she still felt that she couldn’t sleep here tomorrow night—
    The doorbell interrupted the endless cycle of trying to deal with this. She looked down at her watch and found it was almost two. If they thought she was going to be stupid enough to open the door after what they’d done—
    The bell rang again, strident and demanding.
    Maybe the deputies had come back. Maybe they’d already discovered something. As appealing as that thought was, she was still reluctant to face anyone right now.
    When the bell rang once more, she righted the recliner, slipping her feet into her shoes. As she headed toward the front door, she turned on the lights in her path.
    “Who is it?”
    “It’s Jace. Let me in.”
    She wasn’t prepared to deal with him right now. That’s why she’d agreed to let Rick tell him what had happened.
    “Lindsey? Open the damn door.”
    The air of command she’d previously classified as arrogant was suddenly appealing. Jace sounded furious. As if he were prepared to kick someone’s ass. And right now, that was exactly how she needed him to feel.
    She slipped the chain out of the slot, then threw the deadbolt and turned the handle. The porch light verified her initial impression. Jace was furious.
    “May I come in?”
    “Of course.” She stepped back, allowing him to enter. Before she turned to face him, she secured the locks on the door. The process not only occupied her trembling hands, but it gave her a moment to get her act together.
    When she’d seen him standing outside, she had wanted to throw herself into his arms. It was a feeling that made no sense. If anything, she should be angry at him for putting her in this situation. If he hadn’t singled her out, both at school and at the game…
    Taking a steadying breath, she turned to face him. It was the first time she’d seen him in casual clothes.
    The black T-shirt emphasized the muscles of his chest and upper arms, which had up until now been camouflaged by the suits he normally wore. The worn material of his faded jeans was almost as revealing as the knit shirt. And the five-o’clock shadow she’d noticed Friday night was much darker now, giving him a hard, almost sinister appearance.
    “What happened?” he demanded.
    Without any hesitation, she told him what she believed. “Somebody put a rattlesnake in my clothes hamper.”
    “Somebody?”
    She’d already been through this with the neighbors and the deputy. As convenient as it might be to accept the theory that the snake had enclosed itself in that basket, the explanation didn’t fly. And she was tired of trying to convince people who should know better why it wouldn’t.
    “Somebody,” she repeated. “They came into my house while I was at PTA and dumped a snake where they knew I’d find it.”
    “Any signs of forced entry?”
    “No, but I found a window in the study that wasn’t locked. They may have used that.”
    “So how could they be sure you’d open the hamper?”
    “Chances were good I was going to undress tonight.”
    “You always put your clothes in the hamper.”
    “Of course.”
    There was a visible relaxation of his tension. “Most people don’t, you know.”
    “Don’t put their dirty clothes in the laundry?”
    “The snake might have died of old age at my place.”
    “Anybody who knows me—”
    “Knew full well you’d open that hamper tonight.”
    She nodded and then realized she’d made his point.
    “You want to show me?”
    “The hamper?”
    “Eventually. The window first.”
    “All right.”
    She moved past him, leading the way toward the back of the house. When she’d bought the place, she’d turned one of the two generous-size bedrooms into an office, which was where she’d discovered the unlocked