At the top of the rough-hewn landing, Noah traveled down a hall and entered the last bedroom on the right. It appeared almost military in nature, with unadorned walls, a plain, twin-sized bed covered by tightly tucked sheets, and an army-green, wool blanket. A footlocker sat in front of the bed. Noah opened it and rooted through its contents. But there was no weaponry—a .22-caliber handgun, specifically—that might be a match to the striations on the bullets used in the murders or the ones recovered at the St. Clair. Nor was there a Halloween mask or anything else that could be considered evidence. Noah went through the sparsely filled closet and desk next, then tipped the mattress from the bedframe, looking for anything that might be hidden underneath it.
Minutes passed before he gave up his search. Scowling, he turned at the sound of footsteps.
“Draper’s not here,” Tyson said as he entered. “Neither is the band of men he runs with. We’ve gone through all the buildings. You think they knew we were coming?”
Placing his hands on his hips above his badge and gun, Noah drew in a slow breath. It was nearly two a.m. and he’d had hope that Draper would be present. “If he figured that we’d already connected Deveau and Townsend’s murders, he probably knew our eyewitness either already had or was on the verge of making an ID.”
He brushed past Tyson.
“Where’re you going?”
“Back down.” Detectives were combing through the other upstairs rooms as Noah went down the hall with Tyson in his wake. “Someone here has to know where he is,” Noah said tightly.
Upon reaching the main floor again, he spotted Tony Garber, one of their detectives, emerging from the building’s rear.
“Came across materials for making explosives, as well as an impressive gun and ammunitions stash, but no .22-cal handguns,” he said. “There’s a false panel in the wall back there that leads to a staircase down to some kind of bunker-style storage room.”
Noah called out to two burly SWAT team members, then gave one of the males lying on the floor a hard nudge with his shoe. “Take him in there.” Noah nodded to a back room. “He and I are going to have a talk.”
“I don’t know anything!” the man snarled as he was hauled upward. He wore boxers and a white underwear shirt, apparently having been pulled from bed. A Nazi swastika adorned his right biceps. He glowered at Noah through greasy hair that hung into his face. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you jack-shit. Iceman and his pals aren’t here—we got nothing to do with this!”
Noah’s cell phone rang. Seeing on the screen that it was a patch-through from the county sheriff’s office, he caught Tyson’s gaze.
“Go ahead. I got this,” Tyson said, trailing the two SWAT officers as they propelled the struggling man into the room. Noah went outside so he could hear the caller over the din. Standing on packed-down dirt, the black night above him, he answered the phone.
“This is the sheriff’s dispatch, Detective Ford,” a female operator said over the airwaves. “I thought you’d want to know that a car matching your description was located. The partial’s also a match.”
Based on the partial license plate number that Noah had gotten at the hotel, they had already learned that the car had been reported stolen earlier that day. “Where?”
“Just over the county line, near rural highway seventeen. It’s been burned. It’s still too hot to get near, but the deputy who called it in said there’s not much left.”
Noah pressed his lips into a hard line. That meant that fingerprints, hair, or DNA from something like the inside of a Halloween mask would likely be gone, too. The location of the burned-out vehicle was about six miles west of here, he estimated. He thanked the operator and asked her to have the deputy stay with the car until he could get there. After disconnecting, Noah stared briefly at the wild grass and weeds growing along the inside of the property’s high wall. The cry of a predator bird somewhere in the woods mingled with the noises coming from the buildings behind him.
It was entirely possible that the guns that had been found here were registered and legal. But even if that was the case, they could still make arrests for possession of explosive materials. If he were lucky, one of the group might give up Draper’s whereabouts, if he or she knew it, in exchange for a promise of leniency from the DA.
Thinking again of what had happened at the hotel, Noah’s chest tightened under his Kevlar vest. They had failed tonight. Draper was still out there. And with the continued lack of other evidence against him, Mercer’s eyewitness account was still all they had.
Which meant that she also remained the lone threat to Draper.
Chapter Eleven
It was Mercer who let Noah in at the door.
“Did you find him?” She wore plaid pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved sleep tee, her blond hair mussed and tumbling loosely around her shoulders. Her state of attire was Noah’s fault for giving them only a minute’s advance notice of his arrival, but he had been on the phone until he had reached the gravel drive that led to the house. He checked his wristwatch, noting that it was just after six a.m.
“No.” Shoulders slumped under his navy CPD windbreaker, Noah closed and locked the door behind him. “We located yesterday’s getaway car, though.”
She took a step closer. “At the compound?”
“About six miles from there. It was stolen in Rarity Cove yesterday. It was torched, so I doubt we’ll be able to gather much evidence. You should go ahead and get dressed—”
“Because we need to go.” She finished his statement on a tense sigh, then went down the hall and disappeared into Finn’s bedroom.
“How’d it go?” Corinne stood on the kitchen’s threshold. She wore a bathrobe over her pajamas.
“It didn’t. Our perp wasn’t there.” Noah’s eyes burned from lack of sleep. “Other than confiscating enough ammonium nitrate and aluminum powder to blow up half the Battery, it was a waste of time. Hazmat and the ATF’s taken over. At least the situation didn’t turn into another Waco and it damn well could’ve.”
Corinne frowned at him. “You look like death warmed over, Noah.”
“You try an all-nighter. Keith can tell you what it’s like.” As he walked past her and into the kitchen, Keith was seated at the table, and Noah clasped his shoulder in appreciation. “Thanks for staying up.”
“Hey, I live vicariously through you these days, Noah. What you do is a hell of a lot more exciting than driving a rig.” Chuckling, Keith shook his head. “Not that anyone was getting past those two hosses you stationed outside, anyway.”
“Have you made coffee yet?” Noah asked Corinne.
“I was about to, along with some egg sandwiches to take out to your friends. Let me feed you before you leave, at least.”
“Can I get it to-go? And I already sent Tom and Remy on their way,” Noah said, referring to the men—both Special Ops, both career military and retired—that he had stationed outside overnight. He turned on the faucet at the sink. Cupping his hands under the stream, he splashed cold water onto his face, then reached for a paper towel. When he opened his eyes, Corinne was beside him at the counter, taking the coffee canister down from a shelf.
“You might as well have a seat while I’m cooking,” she said.
As Noah sat at the table across from Keith, Corinne began measuring grounds for the coffeemaker. “I’ve got to admit—being a St. Clair, I expected Mercer to be stuck-up, but she’s the farthest thing from it. She’s real sweet and down-to-earth.” She glanced at Noah over her shoulder. “She’s a pretty thing, too. Judging by the rings she wears around her neck, I’m guessing she’s a widow.”
“Yeah,” Noah replied quietly. He tried not to think of how Mercer had looked when she greeted him at the door. It wasn’t as if she had been in some silky piece of lingerie, but the intimacy of seeing her in what she had slept in, her porcelain skin devoid of makeup, was a pleasant image that he couldn’t shake. He tried instead to focus on Corinne’s compact Kimber handgun that sat on the counter
beside the toaster.
As the coffeemaker began to gurgle and hiss, a knock sounded on the front door and Tyson loudly announced himself. Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, Corinne went to let him in. Noah heard her greet him as she opened the door.
“Good morning, Ty.”
“You know something good about it, let me know,” Tyson replied in his usual dry manner as he followed Corinne back to the kitchen, then greeted Keith. “I see Corinne’s still feeding you well.”
Keith smiled and raised his glass of orange juice in a mock toast. “Body by biscuit and gravy in the veins. I’ll leave all that CrossFit stuff to you and Noah.”
Tyson had remained at the compound while Noah went to get a look at the burned-out vehicle, and they had planned to meet up here. Noah had made arrangements to have what was left of the stolen car towed to the Forensics department in Charleston.
“I’m making breakfast,” Corinne said to Tyson as she returned to the stove. “I’ll throw on a couple more eggs and another sausage patty for you.”
“You’re a goddess, Corinne.”
She smiled and went back to cooking.
“We need it to-go,” Noah reminded.
A short time later, the enticing aroma of the breakfast sandwiches that Corinne had made and wrapped in aluminum foil mingled with the scent of coffee as Mercer appeared in the kitchen. She had changed into jeans, a blouse, and a soft-looking cardigan. As Noah and Tyson rose from their seats at the table in preparation to go, Corinne walked over to her, touching her shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Mercer. I’ll say a prayer that all of this is over soon.”
“It was good to meet you, Corinne. You, too, Keith. Thank you for everything.”
Corinne handed the sandwiches out. Noah put his in his jacket pocket.
“Thanks, Sis.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll get the mugs back to you.”
“You better.” Corinne handed one of the large, earthenware cups to Mercer. “Fill up, honey. It’s the real stuff, not like last night. Noah’s on a schedule, as usual, so you’ll have to drink it on the run.”
Noah wasn’t deterred by his sister’s tone. He did have a lot to do, including a mountain of paperwork related to the raid on the compound. He also hoped to talk privately with a few more of the arrestees before they were either bailed out or a lawyer shut them up. Most of all, he needed to get Mercer to the safe house that had been secured overnight. It was why he had been on the phone on his drive here, and it was also why he had sent Tom and Remy on, in fact. They would meet them at the house in an hour or so. One of them would take the first shift while the other slept. Noah would hopefully catch a few hours of shut-eye himself before he went to relieve them overnight, and Tyson would take the shift the next morning. He had discussed the situation with Captain Bell, who had agreed that until they were sure that the leak hadn’t come from inside, he would look the other way and let Noah handle security in whatever manner he chose, at least for the time-being. He studied Mercer as she splashed milk from a carton into her coffee.
“I’ve had enough caffeine. I’ll leave my cup here. Thanks, Corinne,” Tyson said. His gaze shifted to Noah. “I’ll head out first and make sure it’s all clear.” Stuffing his sandwich into his jacket pocket so that he could have his gun at the ready, he also bid goodbye to Keith and headed out.
As Noah watched him depart, he noticed that Mercer had placed her jacket and luggage in the living room. When he turned back to her, she was looking at him over the rim of her coffee mug as she took a sip, her eyes worried in her perfectly oval face. Noah wondered whether she had gotten any sleep last night or if she was as dog-tired as he was. “Let’s go.”
The historic Eastside neighborhood was located on the peninsula over which the old Cooper River bridges once ran. Through the SUV’s windshield, Mercer stared out at their destination—a narrow, shotgun-style house that sat at the end of a street and was shaded by a massive live oak hung with Spanish moss. Noah pulled into the single-car driveway that ran alongside the home, although Detective Beaufain’s sedan didn’t follow, instead making a U-turn on the street and heading back out.
Hands folded tensely in her lap, Mercer tried to calm her nerves. Her mother lived not too far from here, but like most old cities, Charleston could go from upscale mansions to increasingly more derelict homes in the matter of a dozen blocks. This particular street was still undergoing revitalization, with shabbier residences interspersed with renovated ones that reflected the area’s resurgence. Mercer estimated that the house was about a century old. It needed a paint job and there were several windows boarded over, she noticed as the SUV entered the backyard that was enclosed by a high, weathered-wood fence.
She wondered again how long she would be here.
Noah parked the SUV on a slab of asphalt. Cutting the engine, he moved the domed, blue strobe light that he kept in his vehicle farther under the dashboard so it couldn’t be seen. “This place is owned by a friend of mine. It’s completely off the radar. The house next door is vacant.”
“The police don’t have a safe house they use for situations like this?”
“We do, but it’s currently occupied. And considering yesterday, I prefer keeping the number of people who know about your location to a minimum.”
She yearned to see his eyes, but couldn’t through the dark tint of his sunglasses. As Noah exited the vehicle, Mercer looked out at the small backyard, which consisted of a flagstone patio, cracked with age, and a small patch of untended lawn. A cement statue—a timeworn angel missing one of its wings—stood watch over what looked to have once been a flower garden, although it now held mostly dried stalks and weeds. A yellow Jeep was also parked in back. Mercer recognized it as the same vehicle that had sat in front of Corinne and Keith’s house overnight. Although she hadn’t met them yet, hadn’t so much as laid eyes on them, Noah had told her that the same men that he had called upon for security last night would be staying with her today. Noah himself would take the overnight shift so that Detective Beaufain could be at home with his family.
“Your friend lives here?” Mercer asked.
Noah shook his head. “Steve renovates and flips houses. I help him with some of the work—refinishing floors and overhauling kitchens and bathrooms, that kind of thing. I’ve even invested in a number of fixer-uppers along with him.”
Mercer glanced down at his lean, masculine hands, imagining him working with them. Carpentry wasn’t a skill she expected in a homicide detective.
“This place was foreclosed on six months ago and Steve bought it at auction.” Noah looked up at the house. “He hasn’t had time to get started on it yet. He had to call in a few favors, but he got the power and water turned on for us this morning.”
“Steve’s former military, too?” Mercer had begun to suspect that most men that Noah called his friends were.
“He is.” He indicated the mostly uneaten sandwich that she’d rewrapped in its foil. It sat in the SUV’s center console between them, along with the two empty coffee mugs. “You should take that with you. I asked Tom and Remy to try to pick up some things on their way here, but I don’t know what they were able to get in the amount of time they had.”
As it had earlier that morning, her stomach rioted at the thought of food. Still, Mercer obediently took the sandwich and placed it in her purse as Noah exited the SUV. Hand on the holstered gun at his hip, he scanned the property’s perimeter before he went around to open her door.
“I’ll come back for your things. Let’s get you inside first.”
The step down from the SUV’s passenger side was considerable, and Mercer misjudged the distance. She stumbled slightly but Noah caught her.
“Easy...” His hands were at her waist, steadying her, and her breasts pressed against his hard chest. Her entire body, in fact, was in contact with every inch of him, making her stomach flutter.
“Sorry,” she murmured, heat rising on her skin despite the cool morning air. She patted his chest to let him know tha
t she had her feet under her now, although she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, her traitorous senses brought to life by his hands on her. The reaction felt like a betrayal to Jonathan and she felt another stab of guilt. Noah cleared his throat and released her. A moment later, she felt his right hand again, though, this time at the small of her back as he guided her up the rather rickety wooden stairs that led to the home’s rear stoop. At the entrance, he rapped on the door three times, waited several seconds, then rapped again once more. A moment later, the door opened and they were greeted by a tall, broad-shouldered male who, despite being well into his fifties, had the rock-hard frame of a gym rat. He, too, wore a holstered gun at his side. He took a step back to allow them entrance.
“Mercer, this is Remy McAllister,” Noah said, introducing them as he closed the door behind them and locked it. “Remy was my CO for my first tour in Afghanistan.”
“Noah was the best forward air controller on my team,” he told Mercer. His silver hair cut military-short, he smiled and shook her hand, engulfing it in his own. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss. I’m sorry for the trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“Thank you for watching over me last night.”
“Where’s Tom?” Noah removed his sunglasses as they followed Remy down a hall and farther into the home’s interior. The hardwood flooring underneath them creaked with age.
“He’s already taking a siesta in the front room. We’re going to do three hours on, three off. I drew the short straw so he’s getting his beauty sleep first,” Remy answered as they entered a main parlor with more bare flooring and minimal, worn furniture that looked as though it might’ve been left behind by the home’s former occupants. The place was austere but dirt-free, and she figured that the bank had had it cleaned prior to putting it up for auction.
Remy indicated the staircase. “There’re a couple of bedrooms upstairs—one even has a bed. There’s also a bathroom up there, so you can have your privacy, Miss.”
In Dark Water (Rarity Cove Book 3) Page 8