Grayce and James descended down a long bend to a clearing where someone definitely had been camping. In the small space under a fir tree, there was a sleeping bag, flashlight and a bag of kitty litter.
Mitzi sniffed around the sleeping bag and the kitty litter and then widened her search to a six-foot perimeter.
Angie walked a few feet ahead, checking in the low scrub.
Grayce stepped closer to the sleeping bag. Apprehension skimmed over her skin and the back of her knees, like the sensation of looking over the edge of a cliff.
“I get a sleeping bag and a flashlight, but what’s with kitty litter?” James asked.
Grayce turned around, searching for the source of her sudden uneasiness.
“A finicky cat who refuses to use the outdoors?” James looked over one shoulder with his head tilted. “Honestly, I don’t blame the cat. I refuse to go to concerts where you have to use a port-a-potty.”
Mitzi yelped at them and hurried down the path.
“Guess that means we’re to follow,” Angie said.
Angie turned back toward James. “Terrorists use kitty litter to mask the scent from bomb sniffing dogs.”
Grayce felt like she had run into an electric fence. The shocking current ran up and down her body.
James put his hands on his waist. “Honey, are you saying we found the sleeping bag of a terrorist?”
“I’m not sure, sir, if we can jump to that conclusion yet.”
“I love jumping to the more interesting, illogical conclusion. Why dwell on a finicky cat when you can consider a terrorist? It must get heavy for a terrorist to carry a small bag of kitty litter along with every bomb.”
Grayce listened with half an ear to James’ newest drama.
Mitzi returned to sniffing the sleeping bag. Whining, she walked around the bag, then delved into the opening and pulled out a sheet of paper.
Grayce bent down to see what Mitzi had recovered. “What did you find, girl?”
James and Angie came over to inspect the discovery.
Grayce scanned the paper. “It’s a detailed map of Jack Block Park.” Hot and cold chills ran up Grayce’s arms.
Grayce showed the paper to James and Angie. “Where is Jack Block Park?”
James said, “It’s in West Seattle. It was the site of an old wood treatment plant, then a shipbuilding plant. Contaminated with creosote, it was cleaned up with Superfund money in the 90’s.”
“How do you know so much about this stuff?” Angie asked James.
“I follow the building changes that happen in the city.”
“A terrorist who wants to bomb Jack Block Park? It’s very close to the shipyard,” Angie said.
“I’m going to put the map back where we found it.” Grayce didn’t want to handle the map for some reason. She lifted the flap of the sleeping bag and tucked the map back inside. Her hands were shaking.” I think we should leave.”
“Yeah, let’s get outta here.” Angie glanced up the hill.
“You don’t want to do a stakeout?” James asked.
Angie turned and confronted James. “This is all a joke to you, isn’t it?”
“Kind of. I feel like I’m in Hercule Poirot novel.”
“Hercule Poirot?” Angie asked.
“James loves Hercule Poirot because he’s a very self-involved character who is fastidious about his appearance,” Grayce added.
“What does a French novel have to do with my friend?”
“Agatha Christie wasn’t French and neither was Poirot. He was Belgian.” James said.
“Belgian? What the hell are you talking about? Are you for real? You with the perfect life, the perfect designer clothes. You’ve got no idea about the heavy shit the rest of us are dealing with.”
James dug into the dirt with his Gucci shoe in a very unlike James manner. “Angie, honey, I’m sorry. I’m not making fun of you. I respect that you’re willing to come out here after what you’ve been through in the last few days.” James kicked more dirt with his shoe. “I make jokes…it’s my way of lightening up reality.”
Angie held her clenched fists at her side. “I’ve had a short fuse since I got back stateside. I’m sorry, sir.” Conflicting emotions moved across her face. “Dr. Walters told me about how you and she searched the condemned building for me.”
“It was the least Grayce and I could do after what you and Maddy have done for our country. We owe you that and more. I could never serve in Afghanistan…” James ran hands through his hair, teasing the curls into a perfect coiffed style. My hair can’t take the sand.”
Angie pressed her lips together as if she was ready to laugh. “But the sand does great things for your skin, kind of like getting a daily facial peel.”
“Is there a girlfriend under the macho clothes and kick-ass attitude?”
Angie and James shared a real belly laugh. The delightful sound resounded in the woods with the morning songbirds.
The happy noise didn’t relieve Grayce of the perception that evil was lurking nearby.
“I don’t think Maddy is hiding out here. Let’s head back,” Angie said.
“Praise the Lord. How about breakfast, ladies? My treat. Columbia City has a great bakery and breakfast joint.”
“Wait a minute. Where’s Mitzi?” Distracted by the clashes between James and Angie, Grayce had lost track of Mitzi, last seen sniffing in the bushes.
With the mention of her name, Mitzi came bounding up the hillside. Mitzi had been searching, but no bark meant she hadn’t been successful in finding clues about Maddy.
Grayce couldn’t shake the certainty that they were missing something.
“Okay, Mitzi. Let’s go.” Angie asserted herself as leader.
Mitzi ran ahead. Her band of explorers followed.
Finding the kitty litter and the map had to be more than a coincidence.
“Do you think we should call the police and report what we’ve found?” Grayce asked.
“I was wondering the same thing,” Angie answered. “I’m not sure what they would do. By the time they get out here, the person will be long gone.”
“I read somewhere that the terrorists hide among the homeless. Or maybe it was a plot on one of the TV shows,” James added.
“I’m going to take a picture on my phone just in case.” Grayce had decided that she would call Davis in DC. He’d know how to proceed with possible terrorist conspiracies.
“Angie, did your brother leave Seattle?” Grayce asked.
“Time out.” James bent down. “I’ve got a rock in my shoe.”
Angie turned back. “Hunter’s staying around for a while. He said he had business to handle before he left.”
“Your mom said he was in the military?” It wasn’t the whole truth, but Mrs. Hines had started to tell Grayce about Hunter’s background.
“Hunter was a Marine, and both our dads are Marines.”
Angie sure didn’t chat like most people. “Oh, he’s not now?”
“Not sure what he is doing exactly. He doesn’t discuss it.”
Grayce’s suspicions were growing like the wild foxgloves scattered across the hillside.
“You think he’s doing something secretive?” Grayce didn’t add “or criminal.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking FBI or CIA.”
Grayce’s heart accelerated, thumping against her chest.
“Isn’t it amazing that such a tiny little rock can cause such agony?” James held up a little pebble.
“Agony?” Angie guffawed. “Honey, you don’t know what agony is.” She mimicked James’ over-the-top intonation exactly. “Are you ready, Sir James?”
“Watch out, girlfriend, two can play this game.” James lifted his perfectly shaped eyebrows and then started up the hill.
Grayce didn’t want to end the discussion about Hunter. She followed behind Angie. “It was really nice of your brother to come out and help your mom.” This was a real stretch, but Hunter did help find Angie.
“Surprise
d me that he would help. We’ve never been close. He had a lot of anger toward my mom when she married his dad.”
All the pieces were falling into place, but why had he come to help? And Grayce did believe he was CIA. It fit.
“OMG. This climb is a workout.” James panted. It was all an act. James was a gym-rat and totally fit.
Aunt Aideen had predicted that Hunter would bring danger to her and Davis. How would that be possible if he were FBI? But if he were CIA that would be different.
“I’m having a double espresso ASAP.”
It was going to be a long drive back to Fremont.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brandon hurried down the steep, narrow path in the jungle. He moved his stash every morning to a different spot on the vertical incline, so he was able to avoid all the losers who wandered down the main path in the woods.
He’d become more cautious after a street drunk told him that the police sometimes came with sniffing dogs, but he wasn’t sure whether they were looking for bombs or bongs. Brandon hoped the cops weren’t searching for ammo, but for drugs or criminals. He assumed the canines weren’t trained for bomb sniffing, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He had only five days to go and God help him if he fucked up now.
He stopped when he heard voices below him on the main track. He distinctly heard a woman’s voice. God, he hoped it wasn’t that pimp who brought his women to the isolated area to beat them into submission.
He slowed, careful not to draw attention. They were really close to his hideout. His scalp tingled with the threat.
Hiding behind the trunk of a large tree, he peered down on three people talking.
Red rage exploded behind his eyes like a nuclear blast. It was Grayce Walters, the veterinarian, from the newspaper and the 65th Street house. What the fuck was she doing in the jungle? But of course he knew the answer to that. Obviously she had come looking for him.
The same nelly dude was with her, but the tatted woman wasn’t. This woman was dressed and stood like a soldier. What the fuck? It was the woman who had been in his house and now she was looking for him, too.
Grayce Walters, the meddling whore, was talking about the police. She turned her head and he missed the rest, but he definitely heard police. Panic raced into each of his nerves and then pummeled his heart.
Throwing caution aside, he left his hiding place and painstakingly made his way down through tree roots and low bushes, trying not to make noise until he loomed twenty feet over them.
The other woman was definitely military. Why were she and Grayce Walters together?
Grayce Walters was going on—just like his mother. Now she asked questions about the hunter.
The guy was nattering about something as he reached into his shoe.
The soldier said FBI and CIA. Fuck. He felt like ants were running up his legs. He couldn’t stand still. He fisted his hands around the tree. He wanted to choke the shit out of Grayce Walters, the meddling bitch.
Suddenly the damn poodle ran from the hill below the track.
He stopped breathing and stood frozen. The sound of his heartbeat reverberated in his ears. He waited with his Glock drawn.
Stupid dog didn’t look up, but ran up the path with the three people following. They continued their conversation about the hunter as they walked up the trail.
He waited, taking his breaths in fast pants. He wanted to take a deep breath, but was afraid to move, make a sound.
Had they found his belongings? There was nothing to find—only his sleeping bag. He needed to calm down. He was too close to let two snooping bitches interfere.
He had to take care of Grayce Walters. The newspaper made it so easy. She practiced in Fremont. It was time for Gator. He’d stop the bitch, oh, yeah.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Grayce sat in the passenger seat of James’ red convertible Beamer. With the roof down, she had tied a scarf around her hair so that her hairdo wouldn’t end up looking like the Bride of Frankenstein for Duke’s, a Doberman pinscher, funeral.
Beyoncé’s “Partition”—“I just want to be the girl you like” blasted out of the Blaupunkt speaker system. Well, that’s what James said it was—Blaupunkt. Or was it Bose?
“I couldn’t have faced today without you.” James turned down the music. “Have you been to a dog’s funeral before?”
Grayce didn’t tell James that she hadn’t been to a funeral since Cassie’s. And really didn’t want to remember that day.
“Wimp…that’s what my father used to call me and he was right—I am a wimp. I agreed to attend the funeral since I felt guilty for not attending the viewing. OMG, can you imagine seeing a Doberman pinscher laid out in a casket?”
Grayce would’ve made an understanding comment, but the years of friendship had taught her it was better to let James vent.
“And OMG what kind of relatives have a pet viewing?”
“James, I think you might have gotten it wrong about the viewing. Pets aren’t embalmed. They are cremated.
“Really? Oh, thank God. Maybe my relatives aren’t as nuts as I thought.”
“I’ve never heard you talk about these relatives,” Grayce said.
“My father didn’t exactly get along with his own side of the family. And he definitely didn’t want to parade his gay son in front of them.”
Grayce tried hard not to criticize James’ father, but there were times when it was really difficult.
“When my aunt’s husband died, my Uncle Foster, the bigtime personal injury attorney died. I knew my dad wouldn’t attend. Foster was better than him at everything. Golf. Cards. Tennis. Drinking…my father never gave up trying to beat him at that last one though.”
Grayce nodded.
“My Aunt Pat can’t possibly be related to my dad. She’s soft, kind, and loving. And I liked my cousin right away. My aunt talked to me about my mom—how much she missed her.”
Grayce reached over and squeezed James’ arm. “How wonderful to talk about your mom.”
“I planned to take my aunt to lunch, then Kip’s dog died unexpectedly and he called me. I wasn’t sure if I could face the entire family. I don’t want to be the center of family gossip.”
“Am I hearing this right?” Grayce placed her hand on heart. “You don’t want to be the center of attention? My heart is going into arrhythmia.”
“Very funny, and for that comment, I’m going to make sure your scarf comes off.”
James accelerated down Highway 99.
They both laughed when the wind blew Grayce’s scarf off, but she grabbed the piece of silk before it sailed down the freeway.
James slowed for the exit. “Remember in Bridget Jones when she pretends to be Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief? Instead of the perfect, sophisticated Grace Kelly, Bridget’s scarf flies off, ruining her hair.”
James leaned over and fluffed her bangs at the stop sign. “Your thick hair still looks great, even wind tousled. “Did Davis get to see you this morning in your little black dress from Helene and your sexy Louboutins?”
“He didn’t. He left for DC before I got ready.”
“Why don’t you do a selfie, right now? You look fabulous.”
“What a great idea.” She and Davis needed to lighten up, have some fun, since their time together had gotten stilted with their separation.
She dug in her black Prada purse, a present from her mom, for her phone. She took a picture of James driving in his Ray Ban sunglasses. And then one of herself. She texted Davis—“summer in Seattle.”
They drove down a hill into a park-like field dotted with headstones and memorials. “Why did we come?” James’ face took on a deathly color.
He looked around the cemetery and exhaled a deep breath. “Thanks for coming, darling, I know it isn’t what you wanted to do, but I couldn’t face a dog’s funeral without you.”
James pulled his car into the line of cars at the mortuary. A chunky man with the same dark, curly hair as James, waved a handkerchief at them
to join the line of cars. James’ Beamer was the seventh car in line behind the ominous, black hearse.
“I didn’t expect so many people,” Grayce said.
James looked askance at her, over the rims of his Ray Bans, “You and your children will have to drive separately so I can have at least as many cars as Duke.”
“My children? What are you talking about?”
“Honey, I know you’re the queen of predictions, but I’m the queen of everything else. And I predict that I’m going to be an Uncle Jamesie many times over.”
Grayce couldn’t enjoy the teasing, since her fear around the separation from Davis was rearing its head. James would see all her issues right out front.
James and Grayce followed the line of cars and parked at the gravesite.
“God, I can’t believe we’re doing this.” James checked his tie before he opened the door.
His cousin was walking down the aisle of cars, greeting everyone.
James came around to open Grayce’s door as his cousin walked up to them.
“Cuz, I’m glad you could get away from work.” Kip hugged James in bear hug. “Thank you for coming.” Kip was a burly guy with what her mother would have described as apple cheeks. In his black suit with his blonde crew-cut, he looked a little bit like Goldfinger.
“Kip, this is my good friend, Grayce Walters.” She had asked James not to share her profession since she wanted to be a guest only.
“Thank you for bringing him.” Kip looked at Grayce, but stuck his thumb in James’ direction. “I know he didn’t want to come.”
James didn’t say anything. He adjusted his sunglasses on his face.
Kip handed Grayce a single, red rose from a bouquet he held and a program with a picture of a gigantic Doberman who was full of life and smiling. “The program is in honor …” his words faltered.
Grayce took the rose from Kip’s hand and took his hand in hers, sending him all her comfort. “I’m sorry for your loss. Duke looks like a very happy dog in the picture. He was well-loved.”
Kip rubbed his eyes with the backs of his stubby hands and cleared his throat. “Will you escort Aunt Sonja to the gravesite, James? She’s two cars ahead.”
The Grayce Walters Romantic Suspense Series Page 42