Fatal Encounter (A Counterstrike Novel Book 1)

by Jannine Gallant

  His characters managed the art of subtle interrogation all the time. How hard could it be in real life?

  Eli crossed the front portico, each step he took reverberating through his head. He didn’t want to go inside and see Maureen’s empty chair. The last few months of his grandfather’s life hadn’t been pleasant, and his passing had come as something of a relief. This was different—wrong on so many levels. Especially if someone he shared blood with was responsible. His skin crawled just thinking about it.

  Pushing open the heavy front door, he squared his shoulders and entered the house. The drone of voices came not from the living room on his right, but from down the hall past the central staircase. He followed the sound to the kitchen where two of his cousins sat at the speckled granite waterfall counter while their mother stirred something in a skillet on the stovetop. Strips of beef sizzled on the built-in grill, and the tantalizing aroma of garlic, onions, and peppers filled the air.

  “Dude, when did you get in? No one told me you’d be here today.”

  Eli managed a half-hearted smile in response to Doyle’s greeting. “I wasn’t sure when I could get away.”

  Webb raised a salt-rimmed margarita glass in salute, while his Aunt Vanna stepped away from the range to give him a brief hug.

  “I’d say it’s good to see you all again so soon, but the circumstances suck.”

  “I can’t believe Maureen is gone.” Vanna’s thin shoulders drooped. “I won’t pretend I was fond of the woman, but the way she died . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Have a seat, Eli. Are you hungry? I’m making fajitas. Webb will pour you a cocktail.”

  “They smell great, but I just ate lunch.” He slid onto an empty stool. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “Stephen left an hour ago. Something about a meeting with Maureen’s lawyers.” Webb lifted the blender from its stand and reached for one of the margarita glasses lined up on the counter.

  In his late twenties, Webb Shreve was a few years younger than Eli, but his waist had already started to thicken, and the muscles in his face were slack, the result of his excessive drinking. In another decade, he’d probably be obese unless he died from liver failure first. His cousin had been in and out of rehab twice to Eli’s knowledge. Webb’s failed attempts at sobriety were the result of numerous DUIs. Grandpa Henry had stopped bailing him out of trouble when he hit twenty-five. In Eli’s opinion, he should have left him to fend for himself a whole lot sooner. It might have given the man a backbone.

  “As usual, good old Uncle Stevie has taken charge of the situation.” Doyle straightened on his stool as his mother set a steaming plate of fajitas in front of him. “Thanks, Mom. These smell great.”

  “They’ll taste even better.”

  “True. You’re an exceptional cook.”

  “Everyone needs a hobby.” She turned back to the stove. “I, for one, am glad my brother is dealing with the attorneys. I don’t think I could face all the legal complications again so soon after losing Daddy.”

  Still in her early fifties, the lines of strain currently tightening Vanna’s lips made her look older. Her dark hair was cut in a short style that framed worried blue eyes. Though his aunt filled her days dabbling in charities, Eli knew she was plenty bright. He’d witnessed her holding her own in verbal sparring matches with his grandpa on multiple occasions.

  Eli took the glass Webb handed him and sipped the frozen contents. His eyes watered from the fumes alone. “Wow. The tequila packs a punch.”

  His cousin shrugged. “No point in drinking a watered-down cocktail.”

  “Only if you want to stay sober. Is Reba flying in soon?”

  “Sis will be here for the funeral, but not before.” Doyle took a bite of his fajita. “She said she has work commitments, although I imagine she can do whatever she wants since she’s marrying her boss in a few months. My guess is she’s happy to skip helping with the necessary arrangements, not to mention avoiding all the drama. This family can’t seem to do anything without a debate.”

  “Reba’s currently in Paris on a buying trip, so she has a valid excuse.” Vanna set a second plate in front of Webb. “Careful, it’s hot. Are you sure you aren’t hungry, Eli?”

  “Positive.” He mentally crossed Reba off his suspect list. No way she could hunt for a key from Paris. Not that he’d considered his only female cousin, and the kindest of the bunch, viable in the role of criminal mastermind. “Where’s Stephen’s wife and boys?”

  “Katherine took them to the park.” Webb swallowed the last of his margarita and refilled his glass.

  Which meant everyone but Reba would have an opportunity to search for the mysterious key. Eli was tempted to go hunt for it himself. Instead, he asked another question. “Have the police made any progress finding the son of a bitch responsible?”

  “You know Sheriff Frank. He doesn’t like to admit he’s practically a dinosaur and should step aside for someone younger and more competent.” Doyle laid down his fork. “He hemmed and hawed about following a few leads, but I don’t think he has shit.”

  “When was this?”

  Vanna turned away from the stove. “The sheriff stopped by this morning and had his deputy take down the crime scene tape draped around the property. I guess they neglected to do it last night after they finished processing the scene.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. “The place looked like something out of one of your books, Eli. I was more than a little disconcerted when I arrived early this morning after driving most of the night from Virginia.”

  “Did they gather any concrete evidence? What about shell casing or stray bullets? If they could match those found at another crime scene to the ones here—”

  “Jesus, Eli, you sound like a cop—or maybe a criminal.” Webb’s words slurred slightly as he stared down at his plate.

  “Just someone who writes about both. I do my homework and know the drill when it comes to crime scene investigations.”

  “I’m not sure what evidence they found.” Vanna’s voice took on a sharp edge. “I didn’t arrive until after the police had finished their work. Our esteemed sheriff notified Stephen first, of course. He still believes women should remain barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen and not concern themselves with anything unsightly. Not that I wanted to see Maureen like that. I was glad the coroner had already departed with her body.”

  Eli reached for his drink and took a gulp. Thinking about Maureen in terms of removing the body tempted him to follow Webb’s lead and drown his sorrows. He still hadn’t quite grasped the reality that she was gone and kept listening for the sound of her motorized wheelchair cruising across the floor.

  After a second, smaller swallow, he stood. “If we’re all just waiting around for Stephen to get back from the law offices of Gloom and Doom, maybe I’ll plan to come back later. Unless there’s something constructive I can do now?”

  “Someone has to write an obituary to put in the papers. Katherine volunteered to stop by the mortuary later to set the ball in motion there. Since we can hold a small memorial service here, there’s no need to fuss with another venue.” Vanna set a third plate of fajitas for herself down on the counter and turned off the burner on the stove. “I’m not sure when the authorities will release Maureen’s body. Hopefully soon since we all have other obligations.”

  And we wouldn’t want a little thing like murder to stand in the way of a tennis lesson.

  Eli refrained from speaking his mind. Apparently the disposal of Maureen’s mortal remains would be a hurried-up affair. “I’ll write the obit. Tell Stephen to give me a call if he has any important news to impart, otherwise I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

  “You’re staying at your cabin?” Doyle paused with a forkful of food halfway to his mouth.

  “Yep. I’m on a deadline and need to get some writing done.” Eli backed toward the doorway. “I’ll see you all later.”

  “We’ll be in touch.” Vanna responded with a vague smile. “T
hanks for driving up so promptly.”

  “You bet.” Eli hurried down the hallway and paused when he reached the library, which also served as an office. This room, stuffed with the classic books his grandpa had collected, seemed like the logical place for his grandmother to hide a key. He stepped inside and looked around.

  The huge teak desk took up most of the space not occupied by bookshelves. Usually, the leather desk chair was pushed back into the corner so Maureen could easily maneuver her wheelchair into position. Today, his grandfather’s swivel chair was shoved into its proper place behind the empty expanse of polished wood.

  Eli frowned as he crossed the hardwood floor. Had one of his relatives sat in the chair while they searched through the desk? For a legitimate reason or to hunt for the missing key? Obviously the killer would have searched this room, but the antique desk contained a hidey-hole he might have missed.

  After dropping into the chair, Eli pulled out the shallow center drawer. A collection of pens, pencils, paperclips, and sticky notes filled most of the space. No key. The right-hand drawer held a stack of envelopes and stationary with a stylized C at the top. After shuffling through the papers, he shut the drawer and opened the one to his left. Miscellaneous junk filled that drawer, including several chocolate kisses and a heavy crystal paperweight shaped like a frog. He reached farther back and felt for the tiny latch his grandfather had shown him when he was a boy. A thin piece of wood pulled out in his hand.

  Eli felt inside the space. No cold metal, only a folded piece of paper. After making certain he hadn’t missed anything, he removed the paper and opened it. NE Community Bank 2280. A yellowed piece of tape was stretched below his grandfather’s bold but shaky script.

  “Interesting.” Eli pulled out his wallet and put the note inside before returning the false back to the drawer. Had a safe deposit box key been taped to the paper?

  A date planner lying on the polished surface of the desk drew his attention, and he flipped it open to the current week. Maureen had scheduled a hair appointment for today. Thumbing backward, he noted a bridge game, a garden club meeting, and an abbreviated notation on the day before she died. Bank mngr 2pm.

  Had Maureen taken the key with her to the bank? Was that why the hidden compartment was empty?

  If so, where the hell is it now? He scanned the room, zeroing in on a black, clutch purse on the credenza below the window. He searched both the bag and the wallet he found inside but didn’t find the missing key. With a frustrated sigh, he dropped the purse where he’d found it.

  “I thought you left.”

  Eli jumped and bashed his elbow on the desk as he spun in the chair. “Jesus, you startled me, Webb.”

  “How come you’re poking around in here?” He gripped the doorframe as if to steady himself and narrowed bloodshot eyes.

  “I was checking Maureen’s day planner to see what her schedule was like so I can mention her interests in the obituary. Apparently, she played bridge regularly and was a member of the garden club.”

  “Oh.” His cousin’s gaze wandered to the window behind Eli. “I was going—”

  “You aren’t driving anywhere, I hope.”

  “I’m not stupid, despite what everyone seems to think. I’d do time for a third DUI. No, I was headed outside to take a walk. Katherine and the kids should be back anytime now, and those two boys make a shit-ton of noise.”

  “Then I’ll leave before I’m required to be social.” Eli stood. “I got what I needed for the obit, so I’m out of here.” He followed Webb from the room and headed toward the front door.

  With a brief nod to his cousin, he left the house and hurried toward his car. As he opened the door and climbed in, he realized he was humming beneath his breath. Just the thought of hanging out with Jaimee improved his mood. Not that she’d shown much interest. He was pretty certain her trust level when it came to men—particularly him—was abysmally low. Hooking up would be the last thing on her mind.

  Instead, he’d settle for easing some of her fears.

  He stared at Webb’s retreating figure as the man ambled across the side yard. Too bad he hadn’t learned a hell of a lot that would help them identify Maureen’s killer. Or who was paying him.

  After starting the engine, Eli pulled forward and whipped around in a circle to head back down the driveway. Hopefully by now Jaimee had heard from her friend, the one with connections. As he turned onto the road, he considered—not for the first time—that there were far more layers to Jaimee Fleming than she let on. He couldn’t wait to find out what was hidden beneath the surface.

  * * * *

  Jaimee stood at the floor to ceiling windows gazing out at the panoramic view of the White Mountains, the new cell phone she’d purchased two towns over pressed to her ear. At her side, she clenched her free hand into a fist.

  “What did you find out?”

  “Not as much as I’d hoped.” Wolf let out what sounded like an irritated breath. “There was a professional hit on a congressman in D.C. a couple of years ago. The only witness’s description of the assassin matched yours. There was another incident down in Florida that could also be your guy’s work. I’ll send you composite drawings of both men.”

  When her phone dinged, Jaimee pulled up the pictures. The Florida man looked nothing like the one who had shot her. A chill shivered through her as she stared into the shadowy eyes of the second man. She put the phone on speaker. “The D.C. suspect is the one.”

  “Figures. There’s not much information available in the government databases we were able to search. Luna, our new team member, dug up a little more using underground sources. Apparently this dirtbag doesn’t work often in the states. Either that or he’s extremely careful. Facial recognition got us nowhere.”

  “He had a slight accent. Perhaps he’s a foreigner.”

  “That makes getting intel a little trickier. What we did learn is the moniker he uses. The Closer.”

  Jaimee glanced over her shoulder, distracted by the faint rumble of the garage door opening. “Charming. As in he gets the job done?”

  “I imagine it pays to advertise your success rate. I wish I had more for you.”

  “It’s a start. Thanks. I appreciate it. Uh, I don’t suppose you want to run a background check on someone for me? Just to make certain he hasn’t had any recent, unexplained outlays of cash, or known associates who’re on the sketchy side. I’m trusting this guy, and—”

  “Give me a name, Scarlet.”

  “Eli Croft.”

  “The author who writes spy novels?” Wolf’s voice rose. “That Eli Croft?”

  “Eli’s grandmother is the woman who was murdered. Although I’m inclined to believe he’s telling me the truth when he pleads innocence, my life literally depends on a judgement call.”

  “I’ll see what I can dig up on him. In the meantime, please be careful.”

  The faint thump of a door closing echoed through the silent house.

  “You can count on it. Thanks, Wolf. I have to go.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  Jaimee disconnected, shoved her phone into her pocket, and headed toward the kitchen just as Eli entered the room from the direction of the garage.

  “You’re back early. I thought you’d be gone at least a few hours.”

  “Nothing much to do at the moment.” He laid his keys on the counter. “My uncle was meeting with the attorneys, so I wasn’t able to talk to him. My Aunt Vanna was at the estate, cooking for her two sons. She seemed on edge. Doyle and Webb were eating, or rather Doyle was eating and Webb was drinking too much, which is par for the course.”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  “Not much. Reba has an alibi. She’s in France and doesn’t intend to return before the memorial.”

  Jaimee raised a brow. “Reba is?”

  “Webb and Doyle’s sister. I’m not exactly surprised since I don’t see my cousin the fashion connoisseur as a criminal mastermind.”

  “Sometimes people s
urprise you.”

  “True.” He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, his blue eyes bright with curiosity. “You certainly keep me guessing. Any chance you’re ready to talk about yourself yet? Most women love that subject.”

  She brushed past him and went straight to the sink to fill a glass with tap water. “Wow, you have some seriously sexist ideas.”

  “Just telling it like I see it. Most of the women I’ve dated loved sharing the minutia of their lives.”

  She sipped her water and studied him for several seconds. “Then you must date the wrong kind of women.”

  “I’m willing to make a change.”

  The heat in his gaze sent a zing of sensation straight through her. Nothing but trouble, which is the last thing I need. She set down the glass and changed the subject. “I was hoping you’d learn a little more from your scouting mission.”

  “You’re a tough nut, Jaimee, but give me time. I’ll crack you.” The amused glint in his eyes faded as he bent to scratch Watson’s ears when he strolled into the kitchen. Apparently the dog had decided he was a friend, after all.

  “I did learn something. I’m pretty sure the key the assassin was searching for is to a safe deposit box. Even more interesting, Maureen had an appointment at the bank the day before she was killed.”

  “You believe she took the key with her, and that’s why her killer couldn’t find it?”

  “It makes sense. Except, you’d think she would have put it in her purse after she opened the box. I searched her bag, and I imagine the assassin did, too.”

  “Unless she gave it to someone.” Jaimee frowned. “Or possibly she took all the contents out of the box and closed the account, in which case she would have returned the key to the bank manager.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Who drives—drove—Maureen when she went somewhere? Did she have a chauffeur?”

  “Rudy, the man in charge of the grounds, took her shopping and to appointments. Why?”