by Freya Barker
“So it seems, and it cost a kind, innocent old man his life,” I remind her.
“I’m sorry,” she says sounding a little more contrite. “I’m sorry for handing out your number too. I really didn’t think it would be a problem. I didn’t think, period.”
“It’s okay. Things are just a little surreal now. Anyway, I should be there to see Dr. Landis for a follow-up on Monday, are you working?”
“Eleven to three.”
“I’ll try to pop down to see you then.”
When I hang up, I text a quick response.
Me: I’m getting better. Thanks.
There is no reply.
Salad made, I turn off the oven, and head over to the garage, where two grimy, half-naked men are bent over an engine that looks cleaner than the rest of the run-down truck, classic rock playing on an old radio.
Both guys are drool-worthy: Keith is bigger, wider in the shoulders and chest, but Tony is ripped, not an ounce of fat on him.
I clear my throat and get two sets of eyes, one a playful brown, and the other a vibrant hazel that gives me butterflies.
“Dinner is ready.”
It’s not until the guys sit down after washing up, and I set the lasagna on the table, that I mention the text message.
“Can I have your phone?” Keith grinds out, holding up his hand, but before I can hand it to him, Tony snatches it from the table.
“Leave it to me.” He gets up from the table and starts pacing as he stabs at the screen and puts the phone to his ear. “No, this is not her! Tony Ramirez, you numbnuts. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? What do you mean you don’t know what I’m talking about? I know you’re not an idiot, Biel. I have a man sitting here who would easily rip your head off if you were standing in front of him. I took you for a smarter man. You fucking know there’s more than a passing interest in you, this is not the way to get that spotlight off your back, you moron.”
He doesn’t seem to give Evan a chance to answer before ending the call. It’s the first clear indication I have of Evan being a suspect. I want to object, but I can see how they might think that. Especially after he was apparently in my hospital room, right before that envelope was found.
Sitting back down, Tony gives Keith a sideways look. “Good enough for ya?”
“It’ll do,” is the growled response.
Chapter 22
Keith
“Ramirez!”
His head pops around the doorpost. “You bellowed?”
I ignore his quip and wave him in.
“Give me some news. Any fucking thing’ll do.”
We’ve been hitting nothing but dead ends and despite the quiet week, I can’t shake the feeling—somewhere behind the scenes—tension is ratcheting up. My gut says he’s going to make a move, and we’re not even one step closer to finding him. The only thing we’ve had any success with is ruling out possibilities and eliminating names, leaving us next to nothing to work with.
Don’t get me wrong, this week has been pretty spectacular in other ways, my house becoming a universe all its own with Autumn in it. Yet last night when she mentioned that text coming in on her phone, I realized the building tension is as real for her as it is for me.
She’s getting restless. I can sense it. For someone who is passionate about her work and always on the go, just putzing around the house, waiting for me to come home must get old fast. Come Monday, I fully expect the doc to give her an all clear, and after the old man’s funeral on Tuesday, I have no doubt she’ll be back at the hospital. There’ll be only so much I can do to keep her safe. Except catch the fucker before he has a chance to try again, because there isn’t a doubt in my mind he will.
“Sorry, Boss. We didn’t find much in the burn center offices, since cleaning crews had just been through there on Sunday. I talked to the receptionist, Sandy, who was able to give me a detailed account of who’d been in and out of the offices, but nothing jumped out. She seemed surprised, though; apparently oblivious the fire might have been anything more than accidental. Spoke to the physical therapist, who occasionally sees patients there, she doesn’t raise any flags. The only one I haven’t been able to pin down because apparently he’s on a golfing trip with his buddies this week, is the plastic surgeon who also uses the office from time to time for consultations.”
“When is he expected back?”
“Monday. And yes,” he says immediately, a hand raised to ward me off. “I’ll be on his doorstep first thing.”
“Good. What else do we have? This is not done, Tony. You know it isn’t.”
“I know. Treading water here, Boss. Have you checked in with Luna? She was going to try and trace down some of those battery driven sprayers sold in the area. I imagine that might be quite a list.”
“Left her a message earlier.” I sigh, running a hand over my face. “Although I’m sure she would’ve called if she found something. Fucking killing me to sit here with our thumbs up our asses, waiting to see what this bastard is going to do next, hoping he’ll slip and give us something to work with. Feels like we’ve been led around by our dicks. What are we missing?”
“If I knew that…” He lets his words trail off, his frustration as palpable as mine. “Instead of focusing on what we don’t know, why don’t we focus on what we do know?”
For the next twenty minutes, we make a list of knowns and safe assumptions based on evidence. The list is disturbingly short and raises more questions than it provides answers. One thing seems clear though, he is focused on Autumn. All we need is a viable suspect to check the list off against.
“Biel?” I throw out there, him being the only person of interest we’ve been able to consider, but Tony shakes his head.
“I don’t think so. He checks a bunch of boxes when it comes to Autumn, but doesn’t really meet the profile anywhere else. I’ve been digging deep, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed, but my gut says we’re barking up the wrong tree with him.”
Hate to admit it—since the guy has been seriously pissing me off—but he doesn’t really feel right for me either. Goddammit.
When Ramirez takes his leave, promising to meet up at eight the next morning, I check my watch. I should be getting home, or Autumn’s surprise will be there before me. Stopped twice on my way out, I’m already running late by the time I get to the Tahoe and am in a rush to get out of there. That’s why I don’t see it until I’m already behind the wheel, about to back out of my spot. A note.
I slam the gear back in park, turn off the engine, and slowly get out of the car, while pulling my phone from my pocket. My eyes never leave the envelope stuck under the windshield wiper. “Ramirez still there?” I snap when Bolter answers.
“Left right before you.”
“Get someone to cover the desk and meet me in the parking lot. Bring an evidence kit.”
Shoving the phone back in my pocket, I lean over the hood, trying to get a look at the writing on the front without touching anything. This is new, and more than a bit unsettling. I recognize the printing, except it’s my name instead of Autumn’s.
Odd that Tony didn’t see it. He usually parks in the spot next to me and would’ve walked past to get to his car. For the briefest moment, my thoughts go there, but I rein them in just as fast. No way in hell that’s even a possibility. I’m clearly hard up enough for answers; I start questioning one of the few people I’d trust with my life. Besides, I didn’t spot the damn thing either until I was about to drive off.
“What’ve we got, Boss?” Mike Bolter wants to know, walking up.
“That.” I point at the envelope.
“No shit,” is his dry comment as he dons a pair of gloves from the kit.
“Careful leaning on the hood. We should probably see if any prints were left before even going for the note.”
Knowing I’ll be stuck here for a while, I make a couple of calls while Bolter starts scanning the driver side fender and hood for evidence. The first I’m forced to leave a message, but Ram
irez picks up on the second ring.
“You home yet?”
“About. Stopped for some gas. Why?”
“Where you parked beside me?”
“Aren’t I always? Why are you asking?”
“You didn’t notice anything on my windshield?”
“Hell no. What’s going on?”
“Looks like our perp just made a move.”
“The fuck you say. Be right there.”
Part of me is excited at the prospect of new evidence to examine. The other part is pissed that I’m going to miss the look of surprise on Autumn’s face.
I watch for a few minutes as Mike dusts a few spots on the hood, and I point out what looks like a print on the windshield. Leaving him to it, I scan my surroundings, my eyes catching on the lamppost at the far end of the parking lot. Fucking hell.
“Mike. Tell me that camera is working.”
Autumn
“I know, just give me a minute.”
Gizmo keeps butting her head against my hand, making it impossible to finish the report that is due by Monday. I didn’t mention this to Keith—I can tell he’s stressed enough already and doesn’t need me to add to it—but I contacted Sandy at the office yesterday and asked her to upload the collected data to the drop box so I could analyze it from here. I was going nuts sitting on my hands, and the only alternative was to take up online shopping, which is an addiction my credit card does not need.
I make sure to save and upload my report, leaving it for the weekend to give it one last run-through with fresh eyes before I send it. Turning the computer off, I follow a prancing Gizmo, her tail high in the air, to the kitchen where, as usual, Jack is quietly waiting by his bowl. Both cats charge at the food the moment it’s set in front of them. You’d think I was starving them.
I glance and the clock and am surprised to find it already past six, I haven’t even been outside today.
No sign of Keith yet, although he messaged around lunchtime to let me know he wasn’t sure exactly what time he’d be home, but not to worry about dinner, he’d pick something up.
Feeling a little better about myself after a productive day, I grab a beer from the fridge, nab my phone, and take it out on the front porch to wait for him. I barely sit down when a message comes in.
Asshole: Sorry, something came up. Home by seven. With dinner.
Me: Sounds good.
I really should change that screen name.
Still smiling to myself, I drop my phone on the small table, and step off the porch. Looking to kill some time, I wander over to the garage to have a closer look at Keith’s project. I’m not sure why—it’s not like I have any particular interest in cars or engines—except maybe to get a clearer picture of the man. He’s still so much of an enigma to me. Driven, professional, and a bit of a workaholic like myself, he can also be incredibly insightful, protective, and caring. I can see the man, but it’s like I’m missing some pieces to fill out the picture.
I’m halfway there when I freeze in my tracks at the sound of gravel crunching under the tires of a car coming up the drive.
Instantly the hair on my neck stands on end. I know it can’t be Keith and he would’ve warned me if he were expecting anyone else. Before I even finish that thought, my feet are moving full tilt toward the garage. I dart out of sight from the driveway, and keep my fingers crossed the side door is not locked. The knob turns easily in my hand and I disappear into the dark interior, pulling the door shut behind me and leaning my back against it, trying to listen over the thundering beat of my heart. More crunching and then silence.
I slip a hand in my pocket. Fuck. Left the beer and my phone on the porch. Whoever it is will see and know someone’s home. I should’ve run back to the house and locked myself inside.
Frozen with indecision, I wait and listen.
Finally I hear a car door slam shut. And then a second one.
The sound, sharp in the mostly quiet surroundings has the effect of a starter pistol, propelling me into motion. There is one prevailing thought like a neon signal in my mind. Hide.
My eyes, a bit more adjusted to the lack of light, focus on the old truck cast in shadows in the middle of the garage. There is nothing in the bed but tools. Nothing to cover myself with. I slip around the other side, my hand fumbling for the door handle. It takes me precious seconds to discover it’s actually a lever to open the door with and I carefully press it down. Someone must have recently oiled the hinges because it opens blissfully silent and I crawl inside, closing it just as carefully and sliding down on the floorboards, clutching a wrench I found lying on the seat.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been curled up in a ball—my stomach rolling and my bladder about to spring a leak—when I hear the crunch of approaching footsteps. One set. A loud metal screech and the sudden flood of outside light tells me whoever is out there pulled up the overhead door, and I grab my makeshift weapon even tighter.
I don’t know why I expect him to come in through the driver’s side door, but my entire body is poised in that direction. So when the door behind my head is suddenly yanked open, I vault up, hitting my head hard against the molded metal dashboard.
“Jesus, woman. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Keith
“What the hell happened to you?”
The words just fly out when I walk into the house to find Autumn sitting at the dining room table, a large icepack pressed against her head. Her eyes are shooting fire.
“Your surprise arrived,” she says in an even voice.
I now notice a grinning Chief getting up from the couch, just as Sophie pokes her head out of the hallway.
“So I see.” Ignoring them and stalking toward Red. “That doesn’t answer what happened to your head?” I peel away the bag of frozen corn to uncover a bump the size of a baseball.
“She had a heart-to-heart with the dashboard in your Chevy,” Chief contributes. “This was as she attempted to attack me with a wrench.”
“I wasn’t attacking you, dumbass,” Autumn spits out. “I was defending myself.”
Every word only adds more to my confusion. “Will someone please tell me what the fuck happened?”
“I will,” Sophie volunteers, walking up. “When we got here there was a cell phone and a beer on the porch but no one in s-sight. The door was open but the house empty, s-so Roman went to check in the garage, and found Autumn hiding in your truck.”
“I clearly wasn’t aware anyone was coming,” Red fills in, shooting me a pointed look, “so it seemed like the best idea under the circumstances.”
“I see,” I mumble, leaning down to gently kiss her forehead. “Can I just say in my defense, this was meant to be a surprise? And it would’ve been, if this idiot here,” I point at a still snickering Chief, “had bothered to check his messages when he landed.”
“My phone ran out of juice. I just plugged it in a minute ago,” he says, walking to the kitchen counter when he picks up his charging phone. “Shit. I see what you mean. My bad, man.”
“What was the m-message?” Sophie wants to know when a sheepish Chief shrugs at Autumn.
“I’m delayed. Wait for me at The Irish. Don’t want you to freak Red out.”
I look down to find Autumn’s eyes warm on me. Much better than the ice-cold reception a few minutes ago. She reaches up to pull my head down and kisses me hard.
“The thought was sweet,” she mumbles, fighting a grin.
Chapter 23
Keith
It’s almost midday when I hear Autumn trying to muffle a coughing bout for the third time.
I didn’t want her to come, afraid she’d only aggravate her throat, but she insisted, and to be honest, I did feel better having her close. Especially after that note last night.
“We should break for lunch,” I suggest. The only person close enough to hear is Roman. The other three—Autumn, Sophie, and Ramirez—are upstairs, packing up what is salvageable from there. Chief and I are tossing anyt
hing that is not too damaged, in terms of furniture, in the back of the U-Haul cube van we picked up this morning. Anything that’s solid wood or metal is coming, but any upholstered furniture is pretty much toast. If not from the fire itself, then from the smoke that will be impossible to get out. It’ll only keep this nightmare alive for Red if she has to smell that every time she sits down on the couch for instance. Throw pillows, curtains, anything that can’t really be washed goes into the dumpster that weasel lawyer had delivered earlier. He can take care of clean up.
“I could eat,” Chief admits. “Maybe the girls want to head back to your place. Autumn doesn’t sound too hot.”
“I know.”
“By the way, you never got around to telling me what the delay was last night.”
I walk over to the stairs and peek up to make sure Autumn isn’t within hearing range. “Found a note on my car. Stuck under the wiper,” I explain, keeping my voice low. “Don’t want to spring it on Autumn if I can help it. She’s got enough on her plate cleaning this shit out.”
“Good point, but you do know she’ll be pissed when she finds out, right?” He smirks at me, one eyebrow up.
“Yeah. I know. Doesn’t bother me.” I shrug, hiding a grin of my own.
“What did it say?”
Instead of answering I pull out my phone and find the picture I took, holding it up for him to see.
MINE!! IT’S JUST A MATTER OF TIME.
“Poetic,” Chief deadpans.
“Isn’t it? And it gets better.” I flip through the pictures to the grainy shot I took off the camera feed.
“That him?”