by R. T. Wolfe
Right. Because you were up at midnight waiting for him.
"Is that why you're here?" he asked. "If you don't mind me asking." He moved his arm as an invitation for her to sit at the table in their kitchen nook that faced the immense patio and backyard.
"No, of course you can ask." She sat in a cushioned chair and pondered the vast sea of ice-glazed white. Not a single footprint, animal or human, tainted the snow. Somehow, she thought this was sad. "And I'm sorry, but I don't know who killed your son-in-law yet. I have a few questions. In searching through the business records, I noticed the name of a business that didn't seem to fit. SS8."
He turned his gaze to her as if he was considering, then gingerly lowered himself to the seat across from her. "Yes. Yes, that rings a bell. William mentioned the name a few weeks ago." He sighed and gazed at the floor before turning his eyes to her. "I can't remember the context of our conversation. I think it was as we discussed credits and liabilities."
"Can you think a little harder?" She hated to press. "It might help us."
"SS8. SS8. I'm just not sure, Detective. It's not any jeweler or name of a supply company I recognize, but it does ring a bell. I'll certainly call you if I remember anything."
"I'm afraid I need to ask you where you were the night William died. It's routine, you understand." He'd already been asked, but she wanted to see his reaction for herself. Which made her the biggest schmuck of them all.
It was more than Jackson's age that seemed to make him smart. Business savvy? Able to be woken at dawn by a head-case detective?
"I understand, yes. I was home all night, as were Sylvia and Renee."
All four of them, than? Convenient.
* * *
Duncan's canvases, easel and folding stool were packed and waiting by the door to the suite next to his personal bags. His pilot waited in the small plane terminal at LAX.
Sophia Colour was happy with the first of the three paintings she'd requisitioned. The next two were well on their way. She appreciated the use of his arm at the charity event and helped land him another job with a new and upcoming country singer.
He should be in the limousine Sophia arranged for him in front of the Hotel Grande. Just one last search first.
His list of victims, johns and perpetrators sat next to him at the desk in his suite. All but two perpetrators were marked off. He wanted to get through this first, legal, Internet search before he returned to Northridge.
He leaned back in the hotel swivel chair and checked his pocket. The velvet bag was still here with him, but she was not. No phone call. No messages.
He ran a hand over his face and looked down at the monitor on his tablet. Two more thugs. He would do a thorough search to see if Zheng was connected to any picture or public record of these two before he left for the airport. When he returned to Northridge, he would get Andy to help him dig deeper, using means less ethical.
His attention distracted to his little brother. Duncan appreciated that Andy agreed to buy a portion of the forty acres Duncan had purchased. What would he have done with forty acres? Now, he had a place to keep his horse. Rose took excellent care of her. It was nice having them down the hill. Except when Duncan had a feeling someone was watching his house.
Was he paranoid? Having a home burnt to the ground could do that to anyone, especially when convinced the woman you love was still inside. A decoy. A ruse. Those responsible sat in separate federal prisons at this moment, yet still, it made him cautious.
He opened a new tab and connected to his security system by remote access. The lights scheduled to turn on at that time of day were on, doors secured, pool at an even seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit.
Changing to the outdoor cameras, he noted that a fresh layer of snow had fallen. Upstate New York was truly as pretty as a picture. Fresh footprints. It was unmistakable. Larger, must be male. Duncan's heart sped as he spotted a man walking around the back corner of his house. He scooted to the front of the hotel desk chair as if that would get him closer to the man. Quickly, he hurried to switch cameras. Damn, he ended up back inside.
Forcing himself to find control, he chose the correct link to the back corner of his house and rotated the camera manually. It would make a noise if the intruder was close by, but it was necessary. There. The camera focused and Duncan zoomed in.
His brother turned toward the noise just as the camera found him. He waved his gloved hand, then turned around and dropped his pants. Duncan told him to stay away. He would kick his ass when he got home. Right after he made Andy agree to travel out of town to one of their preferred public spots and hack into a federal database.
* * *
"I'm not asking."
Not now, Nickie thought. There was no way for the captain to know what she was going through, but her patience was threadbare. To crank the wrench a little farther, it was Valentine's Day. She'd just lost the only other person in this world she could carry on an actual conversation with, and her boss wanted her to make nice? With a stranger?
"I don't play well with others, Captain." In order to make sure she kept the look on her face respectful, she allowed herself to sling a boot over her knee and slouch in his guest chair.
"I'm still not asking."
"Especially women," she pleaded. It was true. Other than Gloria, who didn't count because she was more like a mother, what one woman did Nickie have as a friend or colleague?
Rose.
She'd backed out on her for their night of shots and potential bar fights. Rose may have been the mother of a new baby, but she was wicked quick, and Nickie would trust her to have her back in any alley anywhere. Since she also happened to be the captain's stepdaughter, Nickie decided to keep that to herself.
"Nick?"
What? Oh. "You're the boss."
He sighed and gave her that father-figure look that made her feel like shit. The gray that laced his hair sat like quotation marks around his crow's feet. It made him look smart. And, unfortunately, like the boss. "I take Lynx with me all the time. Isn't that good enough? Now you want me to work with the A.D.A.?"
"Lynx is called backup. We do that in police work." He sat up now. "And you're going to work with the A.D.A. like every other detective whether she's a man or a woman or a cat or dog. I'm not sure what's going on with you and Duncan, but keep it out of the station."
Her eyes darted to his. That was crossing the line. The look on his face said he realized it, too. And he was right, damn it. Pinching the spot on her nose between her eyes, she squinted. "I'll meet with her. I'll play nice. Right now, the wife is the top suspect, followed loosely by a prostitute the deceased met at the Seneca Hotel and Casino. It's all circumstantial at this time."
The captain leaned over and punched some buttons on his ancient intercom. "Miranda. She's ready. My office."
She's ready? Now? Nickie looked around like she just realized where she was. Here? Sitting up, she craned her neck and looked between the slats in the captain's blinds. Parker sat at the edge of one of the desks in the common area. Now there was a good cop. Easy. Smooth. Confident. By the book. Why couldn't the captain want her to get advice from Parker?
Smooth, confident Parker stood like he'd just burned his ass on the desk, spilling a mug of coffee down the side of it. His face turned three shades of red as the new assistant district attorney, Miranda Vaughn, walked past and smiled at him. Well, Dale Parker, you cougar-loving slick. Vaughn must have ten years on him.
Slouching farther in the captain's guest chair, she got rid of the respectful face.
Vaughn waltzed into Captain Nolan's office in her skirt, suit jacket and shiny pumps. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail like the squeaky receptionist from the casino. "Good day, Captain." She held out her manicured hand. He took it and shook. Traitor. Then, left his office? For Vaughn? Spineless traitor.
Nickie slid her boot along her leg so the side of her foot rested on her knee. Draping one arm across the back of her chair, she sat still, waiting.
/> "Detective Savage." Vaughn held out her hand. It wasn't like they'd never met before. Nickie tilted her head up as a greeting and ignored the hand.
"I see," Vaughn said and leaned back against the captain's desk. "Why don't you tell me what you've got thus far, and I'll see if there is any advice I can offer."
Why? Because she just said, 'advice?' No one wanted her advice. Keeping her eyes glued on the A.D.A., Nickie opened her mouth. "Time of death was estimated between three and four a.m. He was found in the alley behind his business with two bullets in him, one lodged in his clavicle, the other in his left lung. A third grazed a rib and exited the right side. The murder took place in the business of the deceased, where we found the missing bullet. The wife inherits her late husband's half of the business equity upon his death. Three hundred and fifty thousand in cash and a bagful of diamonds appraised at over a mil were found at the home. The deceased had at least two dates with a professional prostitute with a company that calls itself SS8. The wife claims to have no knowledge of it. Business partner and father-in-law says stepson, preteen daughter and Mrs. Juracek were all home by midnight the night of the murder."
"Convenient," Vaughn mumbled.
Hey, that was what she'd said.
"Possible money laundering," she mumbled some more. "Crime of passion?" Vaughn nodded her head like she was actually considering it. "All of this is circumstantial."
Enough pleasant formality. "No shit, Sherlock."
Her eyes moved to Nickie's. Too bad. She'd earned it.
Vaughn sighed and ran a hand over the top of her black, glossy ponytail. "What does your gut tell you, Detective? What are you feeling?"
Hunch? Feelings? Was she freaking serious? "I don't do hunches." And she tried not to have feelings. They screwed everything up.
"Okay." Vaughn moved her hand from her ponytail to the back of her neck and squeezed. "Who is at the top of your suspect list?"
"My list of suspects include, in no particular order," she lied, "the deceased's wife, prostitute, father-in-law, and stepson."
Wasting more of Nickie's time, Vaughn pushed away from the captain's desk and paced. "In no particular order," she repeated under her breath. If she mumbled one more time, Nickie was going to kick her neatly pressed ass all the way back to wherever she came from.
"What if I got you clearance on a bug for the phones over at this SS8 place?"
She could do that?
"I can have it set up by the end of tomorrow. Will that help, Detective?"
"Maybe." Was she going to have to owe her for this?
Chapter 8
Duncan ran Abigail's brush along the smooth brown of her back. She was doing her best to ignore him, pointing her snout as far away as possible.
He took a deep breath, letting the aroma of fresh hay and crisp winter wash into his lungs. "Yes, girl. I know. I came alone." She preferred Nickie. So did he.
If he stopped brushing, she rotated her head, considering him with pleading eyes. As soon as the brush touched her back, she turned away again as if he wasn't there. So, he continued. He brushed her with long, smooth strokes. Her ears and tail slowly relaxed. He was honored to have such an amazing animal and fortunate that Rose provided a home for her. Her mane and tail were last. The mane was nearly the color of Nickie's hair, just a shade darker. Her tail and single front leg a pearly white.
He placed the brush back in the wooden box Andy had made for it on the wall. The area was cleaner than Nickie's town house. Each stall had a set of stairs leading to the hayloft. Hooks for bridles and saddles, cubbies for the brushes, blankets and nail files. Even in this weather, Rose kept the floors free of old hay and manure.
He brought bribery with him this time. Nickie generally carried the contraband. Since he could think of nothing else but every part of her, he remembered the carrots.
Perching on the side of the stall, he pulled one out and held it low. Abigail's golden brown head perked; her pretty nose twitched, letting out streams of warm breath in the cool air. He didn't hold it out to her and gave her time to consider. She picked up a mouthful of the fresh hay he'd tossed for her, chewed it thoughtfully, then let her feet take a step in his direction.
She walked as if she was window-shopping—nothing special. It must have been the smell, because she suddenly stepped forward and grabbed it with her teeth. "No, you don't, you gorgeous thief." He only let her bite off half as he rubbed the palm of his hands over the white spots between her eyes. In order to keep his fingers safely connected, he opened his hand flat before letting her take the rest.
"There's more where that came from," he said as he slid to the ground. He took the blankets from their perch, shook them clean and made sure they were folded neatly with no creases. Taking another carrot, he broke it in half and palmed it, letting her take it before he placed the blankets carefully on her back. Another carrot, the saddle. Before Nickie came along, he didn't need to bribe his horse before saddling her.
Abigail adored Nickie. Nickie had been raised around horses. The years of English riding her parents put her through didn't seem to stick. Nickie preferred bare back, and the only jumps she did were over fallen logs on the trails behind Andy's home.
Had he lost her forever? He led his horse down the corridor of the rows of stalls and out to the snowy trails. Abigail was tall; a good fit for a five-foot-ten woman. Or for himself, he supposed. As he placed a foot in the first stirrup, she snorted. He pulled another carrot from his pocket, then reached around to give it to her. Placing his weight in the stirrup, he lifted and swung his other leg over her muscled back.
He stroked her neck as he adjusted in the seat. It was the first solo ride he'd taken with her in nearly a year. They passed Andy's handful of oversized earth-moving equipment that made Duncan feel incredibly small.
The trails were clearly marked and a little muddy from the melting snow and horses that had used them in the past several days. Lines of snow hung to evergreens, falling in wet clumps every so often. It was the only sound other than Abigail's snorts and her hooves as they crunched in the snow.
He'd certainly planned on a different marriage proposal, something meaningful. Nothing public. Possibly out here, just the two of them.
Definitely not in a booth at Rossetti's.
He practically yelled it at her—marriage. He knew her aversion to commitment. The content was necessary, but his delivery? He'd never lost his temper with her before. Around her, yes. But toward her?
The rhythmic clop of Abigail's feet both soothed and confused. An occasional squirrel darted around a tree trunk to investigate the large beast and the man in black who rode on her back. Abigail seemed to become lost in the ride, as well. Her breaths were strong and even, her feet sure and light. The crisp air comforted his lungs. He was bundled warmly enough to ride all day if he wanted.
Pulling the glove from his right hand, he held onto the reins with his left as he checked his pocket for the velvet bag. Would she come back to him? It had been over a week since he left her things and her cello in the foyer of her town house. His key had not been waiting for him on the tiny table near the entrance. The rush of hope at the sight of the empty glass top was nearly his undoing.
The beauty of this land was meant to be experienced. Hundreds of towering evergreen trees flanked both sides of him as they rode between them. A blanket of white that traveled miles was littered with the footprints of life and survival. This beauty was meant to be respected and shared.
The pain he carried now was profound. It wasn't like the pain when he witnessed the attack on his aunt. Not the barrel of the gun when Brie's childhood nemesis pressed it to his young head. Not even from the flashbacks of his time in the Middle East.
It was his heart. He would never find another Nickie. Smooth, quick, smart-as-hell, and all woman. Brazen, tough, a survivor. He wanted every part of her.
And there was their problem.
* * *
"I appreciate you taking your afternoon for me. I know yo
u have work." Duncan drove his Barracuda, not willing to let Andy be seen in one of his Reed Builder's vehicles.
"Then why are you acting like an ass?"
Brothers. "Because you searched my property when I told you not to. You have a wife and a baby. My place was burnt to the ground last year with yours just down the hill. Now, it might be under surveillance." It appeared he was more upset about it than he'd realized.
"I'm not stupid."
"I can't call you stupid when you're spending the afternoon illegally hacking with me, but if the shoe fits..."
"You're making shit up, anyway. No one's been around your house. You've been dating a cop too long."
He still hadn't heard from her. His fingers clutched the steering wheel as he drove through the snow packed Rochester roads. He was sure he had done the right thing with Nickie. Maybe. He turned onto the last road. Small strip mall, just inside town.
The silence must have gone on for too long.
"Everything okay with you, man?"
"Yes." He was just taking his little brother, the one with the wife and baby, out to illegally search for information that might help his ex-girlfriend, who hadn't responded to his miserable proposal.
There were a number of spots in Rochester they could use anonymously and confuse the hell out of anyone who tried to trace them. They pulled in front of a café that wouldn't have surveillance but would have Wi-Fi. He chose a spot away from the windows and the coffee stand.
Andy was neurotic with safety—creating false trails, traveling through enough countries to keep anyone that might want to track them guessing long after their trail split, then ran dry. Duncan could memorize the longest, most complicated IDs and passwords. For as many years as necessary. They were a damned good team and had been since high school.
They each came with their laptops and tablets. They were the ones they'd purchased with cash and used solely for hacking. Duncan ordered coffee from the counter as Andy did his thing. He always went first using dummy desktops and anonymously logging into Internet cafés around the globe. One machine linked through the Dominican Republic to Oklahoma and supposedly resided in Toronto. His went through Ghana and landed in Puerto Rico.