“Video of every face in the building? Do it. All we need is a face, a build, anything to go off of. The moment we identify him, he loses power.” She smiled angrily. “And he’ll hate that.”
“And after you confront Haas—you thought this through?” Alec said.
“Of course I haven’t. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen five minutes ago. But hopefully I can do more of what we’re doing now.”
“Which is?”
“Strangling the conductor with his own precious string.”
7
SATURDAY, 5:05 P.M.
Boy band lyrics belted from her five-year-old daughter—something about love, a leap, and “horsies from the sky,” though Stephanie highly questioned the validity of that last line—and she found herself amused. She rubbed another dish dry and peeked into the living area as Alexa played on.
Isabella raised her teacup and crescendoed at the apex of the song.
Not an hour went by without ten different forms of passive entertainment in the Banks home.
Stephanie grinned and scooped a spoonful of yogurt and chia seeds into her mouth. “All right, missy.” She turned to Tilly, who was entertaining herself in her high chair in the middle of the kitchen. Stephanie picked her up and gave her a good sniff. “No poopies to interrupt Mama’s workout? High five, kid.”
She hauled Tilly into the living room and set her in the playpen. Isabella saw what was up and immediately engaged her protest face. “Do you have to do Jillian today? I’m having tea.”
“Bella, you’re not having tea,” Stephanie said, rolling out her yoga mat. “You’re experiencing some sort of mosh pit in which tea is the new lighter.” She turned on the television and navigated to the on-demand workout. “And yes, Mama has to do Jillian shreds every day if she wants to fit into her date-night dresses.”
Isabella’s eyes widened. “Is tonight date night with Mr. Markus?”
Stephanie dipped her chin and smiled. “No, Miss Crush Much, yesterday was date night, but Mama doesn’t want to scare Mr. Markus away by having too many date nights—because she really likes your tea-party friend.”
“Me too,” Bella said.
About twenty minutes into her workout, right about the time sweat declared war on her deodorant, she felt the need to call Markus. She hadn’t heard from him today, which felt . . . odd? It was no big deal, but she’d just grown used to the daily text or quick call. She liked that about Markus. He was invested without being pushy, good to her and her kids, thoughtful, and . . . yes, sexy.
He wanted more commitment in their relationship, she knew that. But she couldn’t give that to him, not yet. Not after her failed marriage and the monster her husband had turned out to be, and her new faith. She didn’t know if she could trust a man again.
Stephanie sighed. She wanted to at least hear his voice today, that’s all. No biggie. Grabbing a towel, she wiped the sweat from the back of her neck and looked around until she spotted her phone on the table.
Just as she was reaching for it, the doorbell rang. Stephanie groaned. Maybe that was the universe’s way of saying, Don’t pursue him if you’re not ready yourself.
“I’ll get it!” Isabella shouted from the downstairs bathroom. Tilly started to fuss.
“No you won’t, I can smell you swinging your feet in there.” Stephanie covered her mouth. Hopefully the door person had just dropped a package and scrammed. She grabbed Tilly and headed for the door.
Upon opening it, Stephanie leaned back in surprise, Tilly tucked close to her neck. “Cody?”
“Hey, Steph.” His hands were linked behind his back.
She tilted her head at him. Had she just heard solemnness in his voice? This was not the posture and cadence of Cody Caulkins.
“Mind if I come in?”
Now she wondered if he was okay and if she should text Markus. “Of course, come in. Alexa, play John Mayer.”
“Playing Requiem by Mozart,” the device responded.
“She never hears me right,” Steph said.
They sat in the living room and Stephanie turned on a couple of lamps.
Isabella poked her head in from the kitchen, chin tucked close to her collarbone.
“Come here, Oh Curious One. It’s Mr. Markus’s best friend, Sir Cody.”
“Sir?” Cody whispered in response, the tension easing from his face.
“Of course, Sir Cody—we treat our law enforcement with the utmost respect around here. Isn’t that right, Bella?”
Isabella blushed a smile and sat on the couch next to Stephanie. My goodness, this one was smitten with boys with badges.
Wait. There were roses on the coffee table. Where’d they come from? “Hey, did you bring me my favorite flowers?” Stephanie picked them up, gave them a long whiff, then scrunched her brows at Cody. “Is everything okay?”
“Does he like you?” Isabella butted in.
“Quiet now,” Stephanie said.
“Oh yes, everything’s fine.” Cody chuckled and turned to Isabella. “And I do like your mama—just not the same way Mr. Markus does.” He grabbed one of the roses and handed it to the little girl. “These actually come from him, not me.”
“Does Mr. Markus love Mama?”
The question hit Stephanie right in the stomach. She knew she was falling for Markus, but hearing those words still broadsided her.
“He does love her,” Cody said, cranking up his solemnness again.
“Okay,” Stephanie said, shooting to her feet. “We have poopy alert. Excuse me a second.” She repositioned Tilly in her arms and headed toward the bathroom. “Whoo-wee, we’ve got a winner.”
Stephanie shut the door and locked it. “Sorry, Tilly,” she whispered, setting the toddler on the bath mat. “You smell fine, but something out there doesn’t.” She reached into her back pocket—she seriously needed to text Markus and find out what was going on.
She clamped her eyes shut. She’d left her phone in the living room.
Well, might as well roll with it. “Good girl, Tilly,” she said loudly. Stephanie shrugged as if to tell Tilly sorry. “Clean as a whistle.”
She opened the door to find Isabella forcing a teacup into Cody’s hands. She walked to the playpen and set down Tilly. “Isabella, would you please twirl the animals above Sissy?”
Bella responded with a look most girls would serve up had they been forced to end a tea party that was just getting started.
“No pouty lip, missy.” She whisked her hand at the air. “Tut, tut—right now.”
Isabella’s shoulders and lower lip drooped, but she obeyed.
Stephanie turned back to Cody, who was now standing, and mentally cracked her knuckles.
“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my place to say that,” Cody said, still quiet.
“Cody, would you cut the crap for a minute? I can’t even look at you, you’re so funeral processional right now.”
This remark seemed to kick in some of the normal Cody. “Sorry, Steph, I just didn’t realize how bad I am at this.”
“There.” Stephanie spread out both arms. “What’s this? Why are you here and why are there roses on my coffee table?”
He stared at her, trying to talk but not quite able to do so.
“Out with it.”
He breathed deeply. Smiled in frustration. “I know about what’s going on with you and Haas.”
Stephanie flinched. “Going on?”
“Yeah, you know. Fighting, arguing, things not going well—I don’t know, Haasy wasn’t specific. He just told me to deliver flowers, and I thought I’d give it a personal touch by reminding you how great you are together or something, but then I found out that I suck at doing that exact thing and . . . that’s about it. Apparently.”
Stephanie grinned and shook her head. “I don’t know what you are talking about, but now I have so many questions.” She patted the couch. “Sit, sit, normal Cody.”
They both sat.
“What gave you the idea that we’re not doing we
ll?” Stephanie’s curiosity meter was about to pop out of her chest.
“Haasy.”
She pursed her lips. Wasn’t buying it. “As in, he was having a hard day and you assumed it had something to do with us?”
“No. I mean he just told me that you two are on the rocks.”
She involuntarily recoiled and found herself staring at the floor, searching her mind for anything she could have said or done to make Markus feel that way. “Nothing,” she said absently. “Nothing’s wrong. I can be insensitive at times, but I wouldn’t have been able to sleep last night if we weren’t okay. What did he say?”
“You weren’t just texting him like an hour ago?”
“No.”
Now Cody looked pensive and focused, suddenly deep in thought. Up until today she’d seen only one Cody: brash, arrogant, and always talkative about himself, his car, or his most recent fling. Then she’d been introduced to a shy and awkward Cody only minutes ago. And now here was a third Cody—the one Markus frequently mentioned in defense of his friend, but one Stephanie had never seen. This was the county sheriff’s detective. And his serious expression nearly made him unrecognizable.
“Look,” Stephanie said, rising to her feet, “I’m going to call him right now.”
Cody’s eyes locked on her, and in all that same seriousness he said, “That’s nice of you, Stephanie. Please do grab me some tea.”
Stephanie stared at him, dumbfounded.
Cody jutted his chin toward the kitchen. “Please, tea.”
Okay, now she knew for sure that a lot more was going on than just a misunderstanding. Was Markus okay? Were the girls safe? Her emotions felt as though they’d been stuffed into her decade-old dryer in the basement and were rattling around. She headed toward the kitchen but kept her gaze on Cody, going along with his cryptic signals.
“Cream or sugar.” Her words came out monotone and clumsy as she turned on the stove.
“Both.”
Cody glanced toward the living room, where Isabella and Tilly were. “Must be nice to have tea helpers, huh?”
Stepping out of the kitchen and picking up Tilly from her playpen, Stephanie nodded at her daughter. “Come here, Isabella, we’re going to make Mr. Cody tea.”
“I already gave him some,” Isabella said.
Stephanie grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen, bumping Tilly’s high chair in the process. The toys dangling over its side clacked against each other.
“Bella,” Cody called out, motioning for Stephanie to drop to the ground, his face still deadly serious, “would you mind helping Mom clean up the spill on the kitchen floor?”
Dear Lord. Stephanie reached for the paper towels, hands shaking. Panicked, she sank to her knees and pulled in Isabella close to her.
“Where’d he spill?” Isabella said.
Stephanie shushed her. “We’re going to play a quick game of don’t say anything.”
“Why?”
“You’re losing, kid.”
Bella didn’t like that and folded her arms.
Stephanie kept up the show, rubbing the floors so hard her muscles burned.
The teapot whistled.
Cody could deal with looking like a fool. What he couldn’t deal with was ignoring his instincts and allowing his best friend’s girlfriend and daughters to get killed.
He knew his line of thinking was a reach—believing someone was not only listening to and observing them, but also ready and able to snipe them from outside the home—but if that’s where the clues led him, then that’s where he’d go.
Stephanie was clearly confused but had read Cody’s signals well. Both girls huddled with her in the kitchen, out of sight from the windows, and Stephanie whispered to them while practically scrubbing grooves into the floor.
Cody reached for his cell, resisting the urge to grab his gun and take up a defensive position.
Haas had been distracted after the blast. Not just distracted. He’d been vigilant, looking this way and that for something or someone. And this was after something had exploded in his truck. Too coincidental. Haas wasn’t the careless type. That grill hadn’t exploded by accident. Someone had detonated it. And if Haas had been looking for someone after the fact, then that meant he’d been tipped off about it somehow.
So then what, Cody? Why didn’t he fill you in?
Someone warns Markus about explosive, explosive goes off but doesn’t hurt anyone, then Markus creates fabricated story that sends me away.
And there it was.
Cody squinted and dialed Haas.
Whoever had planted the explosive was tying Haas’s hands somehow. What better way to do that than with his love for Steph and the girls? And in response, what better way for Haas to help Steph and the girls—Cody eyed the flowers—than to send Cody to them immediately?
Haas’s line started ringing. Cody should have known something was wrong. He had picked up that much. But Haas was good. He’d rolled with their conversation seamlessly, even though now it was so clear to Cody. What had he said again?
Things aren’t good with Steph.
I don’t know where she’s at right now.
It’s complicated.
If she’s not home, give me a call.
Haas had handed him everything he’d needed to make these decisions right now. Cody wouldn’t let him down.
“Cody,” Haas said, voice laced with worry.
“Hey there, my brother, I got your message,” Cody said, upbeat and confident. “Your flowers have done been delivered, and Steph and the girls, bless their hearts, are making me tea right now as I rest my heels on the coffee table. Thinking I’ll even stay for dinner. When you coming back?”
“Soon as I can,” Markus breathed. Relief was evident in his voice.
His friend wanted to ask more, Cody could tell that much, but was holding back in case someone was listening. He stood and walked toward the living room window. Peered outside. “That’s good, Haasy, because I’m feeling like Texas sheet cake tonight. And I will eat all of it if you’re not back by dessert.” Would be nice to get a distress confirmation from Haas, something more concrete than just his tone of voice. “Not every day you’re the victim of shish kebabs gone bad.” Cody let out a chuckle for good measure. “Renfroe is gonna come down hard. You, uh—do you think you’re in deep you-know-what?” There, he’d given him the question. This was it.
Behind him, Alexa came to life without anyone having given her a command. “Playing ‘Every Breath You Take’ by The Police.”
Cody turned toward the white cylinder as music played softly. Red dots popped up all over the living room, entering through various windows. For a moment, they remained perfectly still, at least half a dozen of them.
“Stay calm,” he whispered.
Stephanie’s expression twisted in shock and horror as she tucked Isabella and Tilly into a tight ball.
Mother of mercy, what has Haas gotten himself into?
The red dots suddenly organized themselves, swaying and jumping in sync like musical notes accompanying the song.
Haas said something on the other end of the line, but Cody found himself unable to understand, his focus jumbled as the singer crooned about stalking every step he took.
A shiver ran up his spine as the first chorus finished on what felt like a promise.
“I’ll be watching you.”
8
SATURDAY, 5:55 P.M.
When Cody hung up on him, a text notification popped up.
Good friend, that Cody.
Clever, sending him to check on your squeeze.
A violation of my rules, no?
My heart raced. The conductor was watching Steph and the girls, and he’d somehow put the fear of God into Cody. I had heard it in my friend’s final words before he’d hung up, and I found myself pleading before God again. For Steph, for the girls, and for Cody.
I stared at my phone, thinking through how I should respond.
The conductor was tex
ting again.
You’re a curious one, Haas—never took you for the guy to put others in danger.
How you’ll make things interesting.
Go to the game. That’s all.
The game? That’s where the mystery note had told me to go. Coincidence—or coordinated trap? It seemed like the perfect lure: go to the game to get information; go to the game to get your assignment.
I slid my phone into my pocket, clutching it too hard. I needed to be smart and strategic in my responses. Spilling emotion rarely gave an advantage.
I hustled to the armory and chose the Glock 9mm. Then I loaded the inside of my jacket with extra clips and rustled up the rest of my gear: flashlight, Taser, pepper spray, baton, boot knife.
The door leading from headquarters to the department’s garage closed behind me. I found the lone available patrol car not already in use for the game. The mounted AR-15 was ready and loaded. I drove out of the garage and turned toward the gymnasium.
Dusk had fallen. Red light shone from hundreds of brake lights easing toward the parking lot, which had already overflowed into the shuttle parking lots.
I crawled over the curb and onto the red bricks, making my way between buildings and toward the gymnasium. The pace wasn’t any faster than walking, as hordes of fans carrying foam fingers, team towels, and most likely a hidden alcoholic beverage or two marched toward the NCAA showdown. I flipped my lights on, strobes swirling, but that only persuaded a handful of fans to give more space to my car. They were caught up in basketball frenzy, smiling the way one does when they’ve left every care in the world at home. A dressed-up madman triggering a bomb under their feet was the last thought on their minds.
Heads turned toward me one by one, and it occurred to me that any one of these seemingly harmless spectators could be him. Or controlled by him.
I found myself studying the multitude of faces. That guy looked apprehensive, didn’t he? What about the woman who’d glanced back at my squad car multiple times? Was she drawn to the strobe, in need of help, or just worried that a car was making its way through a sea of people? Anyone here could have planted that explosive in my 4Runner. Anyone here could have scouted Steph’s place weeks in advance in preparation for what had scared Cody to his core. Anyone. I could practically feel a transformation in my eyes as paranoia crawled over my vision.
The String Page 5