She replayed the interactions between Magnus and Bill Jr. in her mind, searching for inconsistencies between what she’d observed and what Magnus had told her. And while his explanation of today’s confrontation might be taken at face value, it didn’t explain the seething antagonism she’d witnessed the morning after Billy’s murder.
“He may not be everything he seems, Scarlett.”
“Jack of all trades?” The bird’s question did nothing to ease Bree’s mind.
Chapter 24
“You can’t actually expect me to get into the trunk of that car.” Bree stared at James, distrusting the grin etched on his face. She’d come prepared to show off more of her self-defense skills in the PD gym, not in the attached garage.
“You’re not…scared, are you?” A gleam lit his eyes.
“I’m…I get claustrophobic on occasion if you must know.”
The teasing light left him. “All the more reason to go through with it. You need to be able to keep yourself calm and think through situations.” He leaned into the trunk and pointed a few features out to her. “After 2002, all cars built in the U.S. were required to have glow in the dark trunk release handles. Getting out of those is easy. Plus, you already learned how to disable the brake lights.”
“I don’t know.” She glared at the trunk. “James, I don’t want to do this.”
He shrugged. “There are other ways. You could start by avoiding situations that might put you in danger. Then you’d likely never need this training.”
“As in, quit my spy job?”
“If the shoe fits.”
“Fine. I’ll do it.” She turned her back on him and slid into the trunk, anger—and determination—pushing aside the last vestiges of her panic. “But that’s coercion.”
Instead of shutting the trunk lid, James leaned close, his minty breath teasing her. “I’m not above coercion if it keeps you safe. You know you can trust me, don’t you?”
She nodded, not sure her voice would work.
“Now, pick a safe word.”
“A what?” The squeak in her voice may have alarmed James, but letting out that sound, along with her remaining anger, and a rush of built-up carbon dioxide calmed her. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
James laughed and stroked her cheek. “Nothing X rated. At least, not in the police department garage. Once we get home if you’re interested…”
She poked him in the chest. “Dream on.”
“You do bad things for my ego, Bree.” He perched on the edge of the trunk. “The safe word is there to protect you in case you can’t control your panic. So pick one.”
“Pineapple,” she said, grabbing the first thing that came to mind.
“Good one. Prickly on the outside, sweet on the inside. Just like you. Ready?”
“Not really.” She sucked in a breath, held it, and pushed it out, counting in the rhythm she’d used before when in trouble. “Go ahead.”
James stood, checked to see her hands were not near the latch and shut the trunk lid. Or did he slam it? The sound reverberated in Bree’s ears, loud in the suddenly darkened interior of the trunk. Panic threatened. She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a breath. One. Two. Three. Four. Hold it. One. Two. Three. Four. Exhale. One. Two. Three. Four.
After a second round of breathing, her heart rate settled and she opened her eyes. The eerie glow of the trunk release stood out against the blackness. She reached and pulled it, more relieved to hear the latch pop than she wanted to admit.
“Good job. Out in fifteen seconds,” James said as he shoved the lid down again. “Now what?”
“Hey, that wasn’t in our deal.” This time instead of panic, Bree felt a stab of anger. She jerked the release again, but nothing happened. “James? What’s going on?”
“This? I’m sitting on the trunk lid. Looks like you’re going to have to go for plan B.”
She pounded on the metal over her head, wishing there were enough room for a full-fledged kick. “Not funny.”
“No, but important. Are you giving up?”
“Don’t bet on it.” His answering chuckle irked her, but anger was as great a danger as panic. She worked through two more calming breath sequences, reminding herself the trunk wasn’t airtight. She focused on keeping calm and making the best use of the oxygen available to her.
“Talk to me, Bree. I need to hear you,” James said, as if he, too, was worried.
“Magnus and Bill got into a fight today.” She waited for his reply as she felt around in the dark for the taillights. Too bad she hadn’t worn her travel vest. The Maglite stashed in one of the pockets would have helped to break the reflector, light, and exterior plastic casing. She kicked at the light nearest her foot, dislodging the plastic cover and eventually the reflector.
“Good job,” James said. “Keep working on it.”
“I need my steel toed safety shoes,” she muttered.
“What was that? Pineapple?”
“Creampuff,” she replied, landing another kick. The bulb shattered. And another, faster and more controlled as she focused on what power she could gain in the tight space.
“Look for tools inside the trunk,” James instructed.
She didn’t answer, choosing to conserve her breath instead. She squirmed, contorting her body to allow her to explore the confines of the trunk. Nothing. Rolling as close to the outer edge as possible, she felt behind her, trying to get to locate the spare tire well. If this model even had one.
“Modern cars don’t come with spares,” she grunted even as her fingers found a small ring set into the floor. She pulled it up and fished around inside the space, coming up with jumper cables.
“Some still do. Are you okay in there?” James asked.
In answer, she shifted her body to make room to pry off the interior cover and reach the taillight with the metal end of the jumper cables. “Peachy,” she added, smashing past the reflector and bulb before attacking the thick outer plastic cover. More exertion. Her arms ached from the unnatural position that limited her leverage. “Just peachy.”
Finally a chip appeared in the plastic. A few more strikes and a sliver of light from the garage filtered through. With it came a waft of cooler, very welcome, air. Bree continued to chip away, adding a few colorful phrases that weren’t normally part of her vocabulary.
Suddenly the car shifted, and Bree yanked the trunk release before James could reseat himself. She rolled on her back and kicked the trunk open. Sweat dripped down her face and her breath now came in harsh gasps.
“Pineapple,” she said, flashing a triumphant smile.
“You said Magnus and Bill Jr. had an argument today,” James prompted later that night as he slid a slice of deep-dish pizza onto Bree’s plate. “Fill me in.”
“You first.” She cut off a forkful of cheesy pepperoni and veggie pizza. “I’m starving. Tell me what you learned from Samuel.”
James leaned back in his chair and surveyed the busy pizzeria. When he spoke, he kept his voice low, for her ears only. “About a year or so ago, Liza’s parents moved out of state. Arizona or some such place. Early retirement. Samuel chose not to go with them, although legally, they could have compelled him. Instead, they turned guardianship over to Liza.”
“But she was his mother, right? Why wasn’t she the guardian all along?”
He shrugged and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “She was sixteen when Samuel was born. Her parents basically sent her away to have him then told her they would raise the boy. Doesn’t seem like she had much of a choice in the matter—at least according to her.
"They informed everyone that they were Sammy’s foster parents. Liza’s one bit of rebellion had been to put the father’s name on the birth certificate, so the boy grew up as Samuel Renquist.
“Liza was on her own and working full time when the elder Barnetts decided to settle into a golf course condo. From what I gathered, leaving their grown foster son behind
fit in with their plans.”
“Did they ever acknowledge him as their grandson?”
James shrugged. “I don’t know. Their story doesn’t concern me as much as Samuel’s story. He’d been getting along fine with his mom, although they both agreed to let their relationship stay under wraps at work.”
Bree swallowed her bite of pizza. “That explains a few things I observed. I thought Samuel had a stutter, because he made a couple of comments prefaced by an m-m-m sound. He could have been slipping up and almost calling Liza mom.”
“Probably. For what it's worth, he seems to want a normal family. Liza clearly loves him.”
“She confessed to a murder she didn’t commit just to save her son. What led her to think he committed the crime? Was the harassment by Billy worse than we’d thought?”
James demolished half of his slice of pizza before answering her. “She’s like any mother. Worried about her son. She claims he came home battered and bruised one too many times. He counters that it was all from workouts at the gym and roughhousing with his friends.” He sucked down another bite. “What drove Liza to us was the argument you overheard.”
“I thought she was trying to verify his alibi for the night Billy was murdered. But Samuel wouldn’t give her anything.” I did what I had to do. And I wouldn’t do it again if you paid me. The words echoed in her memory. “She must have assumed he was confessing to Billy’s murder.”
James nodded and took a second slice of pizza. “Got it in one. But when Griffin and I asked, he was a little more forthcoming. Claimed he’d been to visit his father.”
“Could you verify it?”
“Turns out Old Man Renquist is a first-class loser, on parole after serving time for aggravated assault. And before you ask, no, his father could not have killed Billy. For one, Renquist didn’t know anything about Samuel’s life. And for another, he and Samuel were meeting in a bar a couple of towns over at the time of Billy’s murder.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. His ankle monitor confirms he was at a local bar during the hours Samuel said they were meeting. The elder Renquist is in the clear and the worst I can pin on Samuel is using a fake I.D.”
“Which you’re not going to do.” Bree pushed her plate away and fixed James with a gaze.
“Of course not. I’m going to hook him up with organizations that provide good male role models. He and Liza both could use family counseling too. Everyone needs a hand getting over the rough patches.” James took a swig from his bottle of beer. “Your turn. What happened with Magnus and Bill Jr.?”
Bree outlined the altercation and Magnus’s reaction to it. “He claims he was teaching a self-defense class at the time Billy was—” She broke off and looked around. “Convinced to enter the Mustang,” she finished.
“Not entirely true,” James corrected. “He started the class but left shortly thereafter. He returned later to participate in a workout with his senior students. The timing is tight, but he could have made it to the emporium and back.”
A few minutes later, after settling with the server, they walked the short distance back to her condo. The chill of the night, the reflection of autumn lights in the trees, and the warmth of James’s hand in hers turned the evening into something special. Bree savored the peace of the moment.
“Want to come in?” she asked as they approached her door.
“More than anything.” James leaned down and planted a kiss on her lips.
“But?” Bree sensed his emotional withdrawal as clearly as she sensed his physical withdrawal.
“But we’ve both got an early morning.”
“You might. I don’t report to Jack’s until ten.”
“Check your text messages. There’s a seven a.m. meeting at your mobile lab.” He sighed, avoiding her gaze. “The Homeland guys need to know if Bill Jr. has ties to the terrorists. Tugood thinks the three of us can convince him to talk. It’s off book and—”
“You hate it,” Bree finished for him. “But we’ll get through it. Together.” She wrapped him in a hug.
“I’ll hold you to your promise. And I’m borrowing your safe word,” he murmured as he planted a kiss in her hair. “Just in case.”
Chapter 25
The next morning, after discussing strategy with James and Matthew for half an hour, Bree excused herself and hurried to the emporium, with just enough time to plant a few strategic cameras in the garage bays before Gordon, Juan, and Magnus arrived.
As she finished, a crudely folded paper on Bill’s desk caught her eye. She unfolded it, revealing a message and a quarter sized medallion. I found this and wanted to return it to you. No signature.
Bree stared at the medallion. Etched on one side were the words of the serenity prayer, on the other the letters E A. She replaced the medallion and note before hustling from the garage.
Next stop, the kitchen, followed by the empty office James would use for Bill’s interrogation. She took her time with the cameras in this area, careful to capture multiple angles so she had eyes on everyone in the room.
Satisfied with her work, she retreated to the Frank-N-Stein where she ordered coffee and barricaded herself behind her laptop, biding her time until her official shift at the emporium began. After ten minutes of searching, she called James and asked to be put on speakerphone.
“What’s up? Trouble?” Matthew’s voice crackled through her headset.
“No trouble, just information.” She described the medallion and where she found it. “Last time I searched Bill’s desk, I’d seen a keychain designed to hold something like this medallion.”
“So it’s meaningful,” said James.
“From what I could learn, it’s an emotional support group that follows a twelve-step program. Emotions Anonymous. My guess is Bill was using it for anger management.”
“Any clue—”
“—who gave it to him?” Leave it to those two to talk over one another.
“Magnus,” she replied. “Yesterday, when he claimed to be trying to calm Bill down, he told Bill to take a walk. Then he added take a dozen steps or so. It was weird at the time, but Magnus could have been referring to the twelve-step program. It suggests he was either a sponsor, a fellow attendee, or a counselor. Someone who had inside information.”
“Copy that,” said Tugood. “Excellent work, Bree. Are you in place for the next phase?”
“I’m in Frank’s diner. Half an hour before I’m due to arrive at the emporium, I’ll call with an excuse to be late to work. I’ll be able to monitor your discussions and feed you intel from here.”
“I’d prefer you monitor us from the Tech Ops location.” Matthew sounded almost worried.
“I’m better off here. It’s closer to the emporium in case I have to arrive on the scene quickly.”
“James and I have this. We need your research skills, not your physical presence.”
“Hey,” James cut in, his voice sharp. “Trust your operative.”
Bree’s heart warmed at James’s support of her choices, so unlike his earlier attempts to persuade her to leave the spy team behind.
“You boys had better get moving. The early shift at the emporium is about to arrive.” With that, she cut off the call, inserted a com, and settled back to enjoy her coffee.
The next minutes passed quietly and Bree amused herself by looking for recipes for the upcoming Halloween party at the Sci-PHi complex. Bailey’s cheesecake balls and paleo seven-layer bars constituted the sweets portion of her offerings while bloody rat mini-meatloaves rounded out the savory portions.
Orange bell peppers carved with jack-o-lantern faces would be the perfect vehicle for holding pasta in red sauce to compliment the rats.
When the server came to refill her coffee cup, she requested a menu hoping to find something to assuage her guilt for taking up so much time in the booth. Tugood had been right about monitoring from the Tech Ops center.
She eyed the corrido
r to the bathrooms, judging the time it would take for a break, when the door opened, sending all thoughts fleeing. Magnus and Gordon walked into the diner through a door that faced her booth. Bree slumped down and propped the menu in front of her face.
The two men stood at the counter, chatting with a server and lounging while waiting for to-go orders of coffee. Bree’s heart pounded. Had they seen her? Recognized her? She’d taken to wearing the Cat Holmes makeup most of the time since she’d faked illness to avoid entering the Sci-PHi buildings. Now she wished for a better disguise.
As the server approached, Bree drew her hoodie over her head and tried to shrink as much as possible. “I’ll take the muffin basket,” she said.
“Anything else, hon?” The server reached for the menu.
“I’d like to keep this for a while. I might get a to-go order later.” She tightened her grip on the laminated plastic, peering around the edges while still shielding her face.
Magnus pointed in her direction. Gordon turned to look but shook his head. Minutes later, they exited the building, a cardboard drink carrier filled with extra coffee, and a bag of donuts in hand.
Why couldn’t they just drink emporium coffee? Today of all days.
She activated the com. “Gordon and Magnus are on their way in. They stopped by Frank’s a minute ago.”
“Did they make you?” Matthew asked.
“Not sure, but I don’t think so.”
“Be careful. We’ll be at the site in half an hour.”
“Copy that.” Bree lowered the menu and switched her attention from searching for party food to watching the camera feeds at the emporium. When the men arrived at the garage, they shared the extra coffee with Bill and Juan. After a few minutes of small talk, Gordon stalked off to his glassed-in office, apparently more interested in privacy than social interactions.
Bree opened another window on her laptop and followed his keystrokes as he logged into his computer. Her remote access software worked perfectly. It just didn’t show anything of interest beyond the fact that the system wasn’t password protected—which she’d known already.
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