Night Watch

by Susan Sleeman

  “You want to what?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

  He met her gaze. “I don’t know what I’m feeling for you or even if I could be ready for a relationship if you were interested, but it doesn’t matter now, does it? You’re going away for forever.”

  Erik parked outside PPB’s central precinct, clutching the steering wheel beneath his fingers and doing his best not to look at Kennedy. The last thing she needed right now was for him to let his fear of losing her make him try to convince her not to go into witness protection. He didn’t want her to leave, but he had nothing to offer her. Not only couldn’t he promise a long-term commitment at this point, but he could never replace a family member.

  Drake got out of the vehicle and did a quick canvass before he crooked his finger at the SUV. Erik glanced around to confirm his brothers were in position. They pulled out all stops on the protection detail, even if visiting a police precinct was a low-risk situation. After discovering Gordon’s body, Erik wouldn’t take any chances with Kennedy’s life.

  He looked at her. “You remain between me and Drake, and we go straight inside.”

  She nodded, but her focus was on the precinct doorway in the tall stone building.

  “Don’t worry.” He did his best to sound comforting. “You won’t see him. Just pictures.”

  “I know.”

  He resisted reaching for her hand and got out to open her door. Nearing two a.m., the temps had fallen some, but it was still a warm evening. He and Drake escorted her inside, and the desk sergeant called Johnson down to meet them.

  Erik stood between Kennedy and the exit, noting the lingering scent of a fresh lemon cleaner on the recently mopped floors.

  The elevator doors opened, and a short, pudgy guy poked his head out. “Come on up.”

  They boarded the car, and Erik introduced Kennedy.

  “Thanks for coming down in the middle of the night.” Johnson fixed his detective stare on Kennedy.

  “I assume this will be a regular sixpack of photos,” Erik said, drawing Johnson’s attention.

  Johnson nodded. “I’ll put you in separate rooms and show each of you six photos. You tell me if you see the man who broke into the floating home.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” Kennedy said, but her hand was trembling.

  Johnson eyed her. “Just be sure you look at each photo carefully. And the session will be recorded for future criminal proceedings. I assume you’re okay with that.”

  Kennedy nodded.

  “I’m good,” Erik said.

  They exited on the detective’s floor and passed a reception desk behind a thick bulletproof window. Johnson used his keycard to open a door next to the desk, which led to a wide-open area running the width of the building with cubicles and chest-high dividers giving privacy. The scent of popcorn filled the air, and several detectives were working, despite the late hour. Not surprising. Crime didn’t stop for anything.

  Johnson wound his way to a small conference room and pointed at a chair inside. “Have a seat, Byrd. I’ll be back.”

  Erik squeezed Kennedy’s good hand. “You can do this.”

  “I know,” she said, but her hand was clammy and Erik knew she was thinking about the man coming for her, his gun aimed.

  Johnson led her down the hall, and they disappeared around a corner.

  Erik sat in the room, where a trash can was overflowing with disposable coffee cups, which accompanied a stale coffee odor.

  Not five minutes later, Johnson returned, his expression not giving away if Kennedy had been able to identify the suspect. He dropped into a chair next to Erik and opened a folder. “Ready?”

  “As can be.”

  Johnson turned on a video camera and did an introduction, then flipped over six photos on the desktop. “Take your time. Let me know if you see the man who ran into you in the parking lot outside Kennedy Walker’s home on the night of the break-in.”

  Erik stared at the men in the lineup, one by one. It only took one look before he saw their guy looking back at him. Erik tapped the fourth picture. “It’s him.”

  Johnson’s expression remained flat. “Are you positive?”

  He nodded. “Positive.”

  “Ever seen him before or after?” Johnson asked.

  “Just when he was being arrested tonight,” Erik said, his gaze pinned on the suspect.

  “Okay, then we’re done here.” Johnson peered at the camera and gave a concluding statement before he turned it off and looked at Erik. “You chose Jeremy Miller.”

  Erik wanted to pump a fist, but he didn’t want to seem unprofessional. “Did Kennedy ID him, too?”

  “She did. I’ll take you to her and escort you out of the building.”

  Erik followed Johnson down the hallway to another room, where Kennedy sat in a chair, her hands locked on her knees.

  She looked up. “Did we identify the right man?”

  Johnson nodded. “Both of you chose the guy we have in holding, and we ran his prints against the ones recovered from the shell casings at the shooting. They matched.”

  “Yes!” Erik pumped his fist. At last. They had their guy.

  “We can’t say he’s the guy who tried to take you out, as we have no proof he fired the rounds, but he at least loaded the ammo.”

  Kennedy sat upright. “If his prints match that ammo, it means his prints also match the one lifted from the drawer at my mom’s place.”

  “Indeed.” Johnson let out a long breath. “We have proof that he’s the creep who scared you half to death, and he’s now behind bars.”

  “So this is it. The man who was after me—us—is locked up, and we’re safe.”

  “Looks like it.” Johnson smiled. “Miller will go away for some time, and you can return to your life.”

  “Not so fast.” Erik looked at Johnson. “We still don’t know if he killed Wanda or even if she was murdered.”

  Kennedy frowned at Erik then shifted her focus back to Johnson. “Did any of the prints lifted from the anthrax envelope match his?”

  “They did. A partial, anyway.”

  Kennedy tilted her head. “So he somehow got a sample of the anthrax even though he’s not a Responsible Official.”

  “We’re working on that now, but agents tell me some of the militant groups have found ways to get samples. Foolishness when they don’t know how to handle it properly. They’re more likely to kill themselves than the people they’re threatening.”

  Erik resisted grinding his teeth. “To recap, we have Jeremy Miller responsible for the break-in and loading the ammo for the bullets fired at our vehicle plus for handling the gun and crowbar recovered from the river and the anthrax envelope.”

  Johnson nodded.

  “Did Sierra update you on the hair found at the Walker place?” Erik asked.

  “She did. And you shoulda seen me in the interview room looking for blond roots in the guy’s hair.” Johnson laughed. “I’m pretty sure it was dyed. I wish I could just yank a hunk out, but you can’t do anything these days without a warrant. And I couldn’t even grab his glass for DNA collection.”

  Erik could imagine the interview scene. He’d been in plenty of small interview rooms, but trying to see the roots of a suspect’s hair that had just been dyed? Would be a challenge without giving away what he was doing and providing Miller with information that Johnson wouldn’t want to share.

  “So he really is our guy,” Erik stated as he let the information sink in.

  “Yep,” Johnson said. “We have evidence to connect him to every crime. With his history of drug sales, I doubt it will be long until we link him to the illegal pharmaceutical dealers that Dr. Walker’s project would’ve put out of business.”

  24

  The morning came too soon for Erik, and he leaned back from the dining table at Drake’s condo to admire the brilliant reds and oranges of the sun rising over the Portland skyline. He took the final sip from his mug, the nutty scent of coffee lingering in
the air, and his mouth protested at the extra acid as Erik had brewed the coffee strong the way his brother liked it.

  Erik had gotten a few hours of sleep for tossing and turning over Kennedy returning to WITSEC protection today. He was going to drop her at her house to pack, then Deputy Kruse would transport her and Finley to their new home.

  His phone chimed with a text, and he looked at the screen to find Grady’s name.

  Slug pulled from the wall at Gordon’s place matches the gun Kennedy recovered from the river.

  He should respond with a yay. But his heart said too bad. He just lost the argument he’d planned to use to keep Kennedy from going home today. He’d planned to tell her a man had been murdered in cold blood, and until they knew Miller was the killer, she still needed Erik’s protection. But now she didn’t. Not anymore. Not with this new information from Grady. Miller killed Gordon. At least the evidence indicated that, and Erik had nothing to keep her here. She had to do what she had to do. Once again. And once again it involved leaving him behind.

  He typed a thank-you text to Grady and packed up his computer. Might as well not linger on the what-ifs and if-onlys. Better to get over to his condo to see if Kennedy was ready to leave. Besides, it would be good to get out the door before Drake got up, discovered Erik’s mood, and fired questions at him.

  He grabbed his overnight bag and laptop and Pong cast him an expectant look.

  “Why not?” Erik said. “You can help me after she leaves.”

  Erik left the coffee pot on for Drake and stepped into the hallway. Pong traipsed alongside and Erik let them into his own place. He wasn’t surprised to see Kennedy sitting on the couch, her packed tote bag by her feet and a mug of coffee in her hand.

  “Good morning,” he said. Man, who was this guy? He sounded pretty formal for a man who was in love, but he needed to keep a professional edge. It was the only thing that would get him through saying goodbye to her without begging her to stay.

  She held up the mug. “I just made coffee.”

  He dropped his bag and set his computer on the island while Pong trotted over to Kennedy. “Looks like you want to get going.”

  “We have time for a cup of coffee together.” She set down the cup and ruffled Pong’s ears.

  Erik didn’t mind spending a little more time with her. He went to the kitchen to pour a big mug of coffee. He took a sip on the way back. She’d made it just the way he liked it. Medium strength.

  He sat in the chair across from her. “Sleep well?”

  “Yeah, I actually did. A lot of worry has been lifted from my shoulders, thanks to you and your family.”

  “Glad you’re feeling better.” He didn’t know what else to say so took a long drink of the rich black coffee. “But even if you’re safe now, we still need to figure out if Johnson’s right and Miller was involved in your mom’s death.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “I suppose you and Finley will be leaving soon.” He rested the hot mug on his knee, but he felt jittery and didn’t think he could sit here drinking coffee with her when she was leaving him forever. “I can email findings to your WITSEC inspector so he can get them to you.”

  She frowned. “I hate leaving my mom’s project unfinished.”

  Right. That was what she hated leaving. Not him. The pain of that truth felt like a lightning bolt to the heart, and he knew, then and there, that he did love her. He wanted her in his life. He wanted to fight for her. But he wouldn’t. No matter what he wanted, he wouldn’t come between Kennedy and her sister.

  He stood before he caved in to his emotions and made things hard for her. “I’m caffeinated enough, and we should get going.”

  A flash of pain marred her face. Dare he hope it was because she didn’t want to lose him either? Still, it didn’t matter.

  He crated Pong then grabbed her bag and led her to the SUV, where he got them out of the lot and on the road without a word. They made the thirty-minute drive in silence. Tortured, uncomfortable silence. Not at all like their usual easiness. He kept noticing her fresh coconut scent and wanted to take her hand to pull her close and be surrounded by it so he could remember the way she smelled and how she felt in his arms when she was gone.

  Traffic was light, and he reached the marina in record time. In the parking lot, he climbed out into the breezy summer morning and grabbed her bag.

  “I can take that.” She removed it from his hand. “I know you have things to do, so I’ll say goodbye right here.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t know what to say or do. How did you say goodbye to the love of your life?

  “Thank you for everything,” she said, her words rushed and nervous. “I know I didn’t deserve it, but I am very glad for your help. And tell your family how much I appreciate it too.” She rose on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

  He caught a whiff of the coconut again and lifted an arm to draw her close, but let it fall. “I’m glad we were there when you needed us.”

  She smiled at him.

  He stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m glad we had a chance to iron out our differences. I hope your new life is everything you want it to be.”

  “Goodbye, Erik.” Her eyes flooded with tears, and she bolted for the bridge.

  He grabbed onto the SUV’s door handle to keep from racing after her. He stood there until he could no longer see her. His heart felt like she’d sunk a fishing hook in it and was reeling it along with her. The pain in his chest was nearly overwhelming.

  He knew this exact feeling. Had felt it before, the day she’d left him in college.

  His mind screamed to go after her, but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He rounded the vehicle and climbed in. He revved the engine, drawing the attention of a man standing by the marina’s front door. Erik felt lost and needed something to focus on. Wanda’s death was just the thing. Maybe this guy knew something about Wanda that no one had asked about. Sure, Erik was grasping at straws, but finding out what happened to Wanda was top priority now.

  Erik killed the engine and jogged across the lot. The elderly man crossed his arms as if he was expecting a fight.

  Erik introduced himself.

  “Wayne Villanueva,” the man said. “I manage this place.”

  “I think one of my brothers interviewed you.” Erik handed him a business card.

  “Right. About Wanda.” He frowned. “I was sad to hear of her passing.”

  Erik held out his phone displaying one of Jeremy Miller’s photos from Facebook. “Do you know this man?”

  Villanueva studied the image. “Don’t know him, but I did see him here before, sitting in his pickup for hours. Big black Ford F-450. Noticed it right off the bat as you don’t see that many of the bigger Ford trucks. He just sat there, so I went to ask what was going on, and he took off before I could talk to him.”

  “Did you get a plate number?”

  Villanueva shook his head. “Truck was too muddy. Only caught a G in the first few digits.”

  “When was this?”

  Villanueva took a small notebook from his pocket, licked his finger, and paged through it. “Week ago Friday.”

  Before the break-in.

  “He do something wrong?” Villanueva asked.

  “Broke into Wanda’s home, but he’s been arrested.” Erik pointed to the business card he’d handed Wayne. “If you remember anything else or hear anything about this guy, give me a call.”

  Villanueva gave a serious nod, and Erik went back to his SUV. Each step he had to force his feet to keep heading away from Kennedy’s house. He took a minute to look up Miller’s DMV records and found the truck Villanueva described.

  During the drive home, Erik forced his mind to run through the case so when he got back to the office, he could spend his day reviewing every lead and holding the whip over his brothers to keep going with the Responsible Officials list.

  Which he did, but they didn’t uncover a single lead. The guys went home to have dinner wit
h their significant others, reinforcing for Erik how alone he was except for his trusty buddy Pong.

  Back in his condo that evening, after scarfing down a mediocre frozen pizza, he stood at the window overlooking the city.

  So what if he was alone? It gave him time to do what he liked to do. No one depended on him, and he was free to spend his time however he wanted. Like keeping up with this investigation until he dropped from exhaustion so he wouldn’t miss Kennedy.

  He went back to the table and looked at Wanda’s contacts and the Responsible Officials list. Not a single gardener other than Oscar Edwards, and not a bit of evidence pointed to him as having been involved in Wanda’s death.

  Should Erik interview him again? He didn’t think he’d get any additional information, but maybe he should stop by the professor’s house unannounced in the morning and ask for a tour of his garden to look for the prickly caterpillar bean.

  A text from Detective Johnson dinged on his phone.

  You wanted permission to have Veritas look at the denture. I got approval, and the denture is waiting at your front desk for you.

  Thanks. Erik raced for the door and then the stairwell. He bolted down the steps.

  Who should he have look at the plate? Sierra? Maybe. Or maybe Maya. Sierra should be home with Asher instead of working, so he would start with Maya.

  He reached the lobby, signed out the denture, and rushed up to Maya’s lab. Thankfully, she was still working at a machine on the back wall. Just inside the door, he stopped to catch his breath from jogging down the stairs.

  She turned and smiled, but immediately frowned and crossed over to him. “You’re not here because of your anthrax exposure, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Phew. What can I do for you?”

  He held out the denture plate. “It might be more Sierra’s thing, but I’ve already bothered her too much on her leave.”

  Maya looked at the plate, and her eyes lit up.

  “You’ve come to the right person.” She smiled up at him. “I think I can help you prove Wanda was murdered.”