Daring Deception

by Barbara Freethy

  She cleared her throat. She did not need to be thinking about his body.

  Feeling someone approaching, she turned her head and saw Kevin. He was dressed in jeans and a hoodie sweatshirt, a baseball cap on his head and glasses covering his eyes. He was walking quickly, his movements jerky and anxious.

  "What's going on, Kevin?" she asked. "Why are we meeting here?"

  "Someone is following me. That's why I've been hiding out."

  "Were you really in London?"

  "No. I lied because I'm freaked out." He took off his glasses, and she could see the panic in his eyes.

  "Talk to me. Tell me why you're scared."

  "Your brother."

  "Spencer?" she asked in surprise. "Why would you be scared of Spencer?"

  "I found out something about him, about the first explosion at Bolton."

  "What are you talking about?" she asked, her stomach churning.

  "Spencer was supposed to go to the opening."

  "Yes, but he had to cancel. He had a dental emergency."

  "Did he?"

  She shook her head, unwilling to go where Kevin wanted to take her. "I don't know what game you're playing, Kevin. If you think that somehow this ridiculous lie is going to help you beat Spencer for some job, then you're insane."

  "This is not about the job. You have to believe me. It's important that you believe me. Your brother was involved in the explosion that almost killed you. He wanted to get back at your dad. He thought he'd talked you out of going that day."

  "That's not true. He said the other day he hadn't tried hard enough." She stopped, frowning at the memory of that conversation.

  Kevin seized on her indecision. "Because he has felt guilty all these years. But he has a problem, Caitlyn. He has rages and when he gets angry, he does stupid, dangerous shit. He's angry now with me. He hired someone to plant the bomb outside the auditorium. He wanted to kill me."

  "You sound crazy, Kevin."

  "I'm telling you the truth, Caitlyn. Why would I lie?"

  "I don't know, but you are."

  "I'm not. Spencer has mental issues. Your dad knows, and he has tried to get him help, but Spencer won't go to his therapist or take his medication."

  "I don't believe you, Kevin. This is a wild story."

  Kevin's lips tightened. "You need to get the FBI to back off the case. If you don't, your brother will go down for it. Your family will be destroyed."

  She didn't understand the terror in his eyes. "Someone wants you to convince me of that. Who? Who are you really afraid of, Kevin? What is this about?"

  He didn't reply, his gaze swinging around once more. He jumped as a basketball from the nearby court came in their direction. "Dammit," he swore.

  She picked up the ball and tossed it back to the teenager who'd come running after it.

  Kevin walked toward a grove of trees, his body tense and edgy. "I'm telling you the truth," he said.

  "I don't think you are."

  "That's because you don't want to believe your brother almost killed you. But think about it. Why did he suddenly cancel?"

  "He broke his tooth."

  "Call his dentist. See if that really happened."

  She stared at him uncertainly. She could probably contact the dentist and find out. But why was she letting Kevin put doubts in her head?

  "I can get you proof," Kevin said. "Just promise me, you'll slow down the investigation."

  "What kind of proof?"

  "Uh…" He lifted a shaky hand to his mouth, his pupils dilating.

  "Are you high, Kevin?"

  "People make mistakes, you know?"

  She shook her head. "I have no idea what you're talking about. But it's not Spencer, is it?"

  "I don't know what to do, Caitlyn—I'm trying to make things right."

  "Then tell me what's really going on. Did Allison send you here? Is she involved in this?"

  "Allison and I broke up." He licked his lips. "I want to tell you, but I can't."

  "Why not?"

  Before he could reply, something whizzed by her ear and then Kevin's jaw fell open. His eyes widened, and she stared in shock at the bloody hole in his forehead. Kevin fell to the ground, and she whirled around, instinctively dodging behind a tree as another shot hit the trunk next to her. A passerby suddenly screamed as she saw Kevin on the ground.

  She pulled out her gun, not sure where the shooter was. People started running in all directions.

  Then she saw Quinn sprinting down a path away from her. He must have seen the shooter and was going after him. What the hell was he thinking?

  She ran after them, shouting at someone to call 911.

  It wouldn't matter for Kevin. He was dead. He'd been taken out in one silent shot.

  Her heart pounded against her chest. Whatever he'd been about to say had gotten him killed.

  She couldn't let the same thing happen to Quinn.

  She thought Quinn was chasing a guy in a navy-blue jacket, but she couldn't get a clear look. They were deep in the woods now, away from the crowds. Quinn suddenly ducked and rolled as the man turned and took a shot at him.

  She sprinted forward, firing her weapon, hitting the man in the chest. The gun fell out of his hand, and he fell back onto the ground.

  She ran toward Quinn. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine," he said, getting to his feet.

  "What were you thinking—going after him like that?" She punched him in the arm, anger and fear running through her at the thought of what had almost happened. "You saw what he did to Kevin, and you don't have a gun."

  "I didn't want him to get away."

  "It was stupid."

  "So was meeting Kevin," he countered. "How do you think I felt when I saw him go down and that guy took a shot at you?"

  The air between them sizzled.

  "Dammit," he swore. Then he grabbed her and kissed her hard on the lips. Then he released her almost as quickly as he'd taken hold of her.

  She couldn't complain. She'd needed the kiss as much as he had.

  "I'm not apologizing," he told her.

  "I don't want an apology." She turned away and walked over to the shooter.

  His lifeless eyes were wide open. She'd had this crazy thought that she would recognize him, that he would be someone from the past, that she'd finally know something, but she had never seen the man in front of her. He appeared to be in his late thirties or forties, with a beard and a tattoo on his neck.

  "Who is that?" Quinn asked.

  "I have no idea."

  "He looks vaguely familiar, but I can't quite place him."

  She dug into the man's pocket for an ID. "Larry Simmonds. Ring a bell?"

  There was an odd look on Quinn's face. "As a matter of fact, it does. He used to go to the gym where Donovan and I first met. He was an ex-soldier, a sniper, in fact. He hired himself out for people who needed muscle and someone with no conscience."

  "He's a contract killer?" she asked, not really surprised, because the shot through Kevin's head had already suggested that.

  "I never really knew. There was just a lot of chatter about him. Donovan was pretty intrigued by him, I have to say."

  "Another connection to Donovan. Any idea why he'd kill Kevin?"

  "No. What did Kevin tell you?"

  She shook her head. "A lot of lies about Spencer being involved ten years ago. That he'd called me and told me not to go because he knew the building was going to blow up. He said my brother had a rage and mental problem and I needed to call off the investigation before I ruined the family. It was crazy."

  "Did Spencer tell you not to go? I remember when we were at the coffee cart, you thought he was coming."

  "He canceled at the last minute. He had to go to the dentist. He suggested that I should skip it, too, but he wasn't that persuasive."

  "I don't think I ever heard that before, Caitlyn."

  "Really? It wasn't a secret. I guess I just never thought about it. But that's not the point. I don't b
elieve what Kevin said. He was being coerced. He was terrified. When we moved into the shadow of the trees, the shooter must have thought Kevin was going to cave. Or else he was just supposed to shoot within minutes of our conversation so there would be no time for me to get further information."

  "Well, this guy is not going to talk now."

  "I should have aimed lower." She pulled out her phone. "I need to call this in, and you need to leave."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The police will be here soon. It will take time to clear this all up. You don't need to be involved in that. In fact, you can't be. Go now."

  "I'm not going to leave you here."

  "I know how to deal with this. If you're here, you'll get caught up in everything. Please, go, Quinn. We'll meet up later."

  He gave her a conflicted look.

  "Don't argue," she added. "We don't have time for that."

  "Call me as soon as you can. I won't leave the city."

  "Where will you go? You don't have a car. It's still at Wyatt's house with a flat tire and a broken window. I don't want you going back there to get it."

  "You can't call all the shots, Caitlyn."

  "Yes, I can."

  He let out a sigh. "All right. I'll find a cab. I'll just go to the beach. Call me when you get free and we can figure out where to meet up."

  "Okay." She gave him a pointed look. "Don't talk to anyone else until we meet again."

  He hesitated. "I can't make that promise."

  "Quinn," she protested.

  "You asked me to trust you, Caitlyn. You need to do the same thing. I can promise you this—I won't talk about what happened here with Kevin, and I won't mention Spencer's name and the wild story you just got."

  It wasn't exactly what she wanted, but she took it. "All right. Go." She punched in Emi's number, then said, "I have a big problem."

  Chapter Twenty

  Quinn hated leaving Caitlyn alone in the woods, but the shooter was dead, and the last thing he wanted was to get caught up in FBI red tape. He moved away from the scenes of both shootings, careful to stay in the shadow of the trees or in the middle of a crowd. He didn't want to get caught on a surveillance camera. That would only put Caitlyn in a bad position. But at the moment, his reappearance was probably the least of anyone's concerns.

  As he walked, his pulse continued to race as he remembered the shock he'd felt when Kevin had fallen to the ground. He hadn't heard the shot. There must have been a silencer on the weapon. Thank God, Caitlyn hadn't been hit. She certainly could have been.

  Or maybe not. Maybe there wasn't a contract on her, just on Kevin. The second shot could have simply been used as cover for the shooter's escape.

  The story Kevin had given Caitlyn about her brother seemed ridiculous. He had no idea what the hell it was all about, but he needed it to be a lie. He couldn't imagine how difficult it would be for Caitlyn to have to deal with the fact that her brother had almost killed her.

  On the other hand, he had never known that Spencer had called her that morning and told her not to go. No one had shared that information with him. Or if they had, it certainly hadn't stuck in his head.

  It wasn't completely surprising, though. It had been a call between Caitlyn and her brother, and she hadn't been talking about anything after the blast. Spencer, like the rest of the Carlson family, had blamed him for Caitlyn's injuries. There had been no warm family moments where they'd hugged things out or talked about what had happened. He'd always been on one side of whatever room they were in, and they'd been on the other.

  He frowned, not wanting to accept the premise that Kevin had made to Caitlyn. Maybe it was about derailing the investigation or turning it back on the Carlsons and promoting more terror within the family. Now Caitlyn wasn't just afraid of the next bomb or gas attack—she was terrified for her brother, for her family.

  It was a clever ploy. But why had Kevin been shot right after delivering the information? Had he simply become unnecessary? Or did he know too much?

  As those questions rolled around in his head, he left the park. He crossed the street and blended into a crowd of pedestrians that were walking down Cavanaugh Street, a block of cafés and small retailers.

  He felt frustrated and restless. He needed to do something. He needed to talk to someone. Spencer would be a good choice, but Caitlyn would want to do that herself. He could call Lauren, but he wasn't sure he wanted to get more involved with her. He doubted Hank would say more than he had the day before. Same went for Wyatt, and Wyatt was a little tricky, because of the odd parts of his story, especially when it related to Yosemite.

  If anyone could shed light on Wyatt's behavior and/or involvement, it would probably be his brother, Justin, and Lauren had given him Justin's number.

  Feeling like he finally had something to do that might actually be helpful, he paused in the shadow of a building and sent Justin a text: It's Quinn. We need to meet. It's urgent. He hesitated, then added. Wyatt could be in trouble.

  As he waited for a reply, he continued walking, wanting to put more distance between himself and the park.

  He thought Justin might reply, simply because it had always been Justin's job to protect his younger brother, who while only a year younger, had always been Justin's responsibility.

  He'd actually helped Justin bail Wyatt out of a couple of bad situations in college. They'd had to get Wyatt out of a bar one night before he got the crap beat out of him for hitting on someone else's girlfriend. They'd also had to talk a woman out of calling the police because Wyatt had drunkenly gone into the wrong apartment and gone to sleep in her bed. But that was all just stupid college stuff.

  Would Justin have taken steps to protect his brother from more serious situations—like the bombing? Was it possible that it wasn't the senator who had lied but rather Justin?

  He let out a sigh, his frustration only relieved by the shimmering sunlight bouncing off the ocean in the distance. Fifteen minutes later, he found himself walking across the Great Highway. When his feet hit the sand, he felt almost instantly better.

  He walked down to the water's edge and blew out a breath, images of Kevin falling to the ground running through his head once more. He didn't know what to think about Kevin, but seeing someone who was his age, who had once been his friend, die like that had shaken him up, reminding him how deadly the situation was.

  Whoever had taken over for Donovan was fifty thousand times worse in scope and scale. The LNF looked like a kids' playgroup compared to what was happening now—cyber-attacks on cameras, bombs, toxic gas, and snipers. It was unbelievable. They were fighting a war on multiple fronts, and they didn’t know where the next battle would occur.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text from Justin.

  Where and when?

  He tapped out an answer. Half hour. Ocean Beach at Vincente.

  Make it an hour.

  Done.

  He didn't know if it was a mistake to pick the location where he was right now, but he actually liked the wide-open beach. There was nowhere for a shooter to hide. Now he just had to wait.

  Caitlyn stood back as the EMTs placed the draped body of Larry Simmonds on a stretcher. For the past hour, she'd answered dozens of questions as Rob, Emi, and a swarm of agents had descended on the park. The team was now combing both crime scenes for evidence.

  She'd left out all mention of Quinn. It was probably a mistake. There would be a surveillance camera somewhere that had caught both of them as they'd entered the park, but it would take time to get that footage, and by then, hopefully she'd have some answers.

  She turned her head as Emi joined her, wearing her navy-blue FBI jacket over black slacks.

  "How are you doing?" Emi asked with concern.

  "I'm fine. I just wish I hadn't killed Simmonds. He might have been able to give us the answers we're looking for."

  "It sounds like one of you was going to die today. Better that it was him," Emi said pragmatically.


  "Agreed. Hopefully, we can locate his employer, but I suspect that transaction will be buried deep in the web and behind multiple layers of secrecy. This guy was good. He took Kevin down with one shot."

  "It's almost amazing that you were able to catch up to him. Usually, those shooters disappear quickly."

  "I was lucky. But Kevin wasn't." She felt a wave of anger and pain for a man who had once been a friend. "Whatever he knew died with him."

  "I'm sorry. I know he's part of the Carlson family."

  "He wasn't just an employee. I grew up with Kevin. He used to be a good guy. I don’t know how he's involved in all this."

  "It sounds like he wanted to tell you."

  "He was conflicted and also terrified. Obviously, he had good reason for that fear." She had not mentioned Spencer in her preliminary statement, which could have serious consequences, but Kevin's story was bogus, and she didn't want to further the lie against her brother. Maybe she was more like her father than she'd ever believed. She was risking a lot to protect her family and Quinn. That was a disturbing thought.

  "Are you coming into the office?" Emi asked.

  "Not yet. I need to speak to my dad."

  "Of course. Try not to get shot at again."

  "I'll try." She shivered at that reminder. How many close calls would she be able to survive before one ended her life? But fear was what they wanted, and she wouldn't give them that.

  As Justin came across the wide expanse of sand on Ocean Beach just after two o'clock, Quinn was ready. He'd had some food at the café across the street, two cups of coffee, and time to get Kevin's tragic ending out of his head, at least for the moment. Hopefully, this meeting wouldn't end with anyone being shot.

  He hadn't seen Justin Pederson in ten years, but like his brother, Wyatt, Justin hadn't changed much. Unlike Wyatt, who was more comfortable in jeans and flip-flops, Justin wore gray chinos with loafers and a button-down shirt. His brown hair was cut short and styled well, and as he drew closer, Quinn could see a neatly trimmed beard. Justin also wore sunglasses, but as he reached Quinn, he removed them.