Behind the Shadows

by Potter, Patricia;

  Chris looked at the empty doorway, then at her. “I must have missed something.”

  “No.”

  “Something between you two?”

  He’d been too much help to lie to him. He was her friend. Probably the best friend anyone ever had.

  “Not now.”

  “Okay. But if you ever want to talk about it, I have a good ear.”

  “You have a good heart, too.”

  “A lot of people would scoff at that.”

  “I want to know how the other people are before I go,” she said. “I feel responsible.”

  “All right,” he said, “but you’ll do it in a wheelchair.”

  She agreed. Her side was hurting more by the moment. But she felt responsible for the others who’d been injured. Maybe it was random, but maybe it was because she had pursued Leigh Howard.

  Chris quickly returned with a wheelchair and pushed her down to the information desk.

  He identified himself as a former police officer and current private investigator and asked about the other victims in the city hall attack. The woman hesitated, then made a call.

  “One died,” she said. “The other two are stable.”

  Kira closed her eyes.

  “It’s not your fault,” Chris said.

  But it was.

  “Did you have any idea you were followed?”

  “No,” she said. “I probably should have. I did try to pay attention to what was going on. I did as you said. Stayed with someone. I almost got Nick killed.”

  “I’ll check into the agency Payton said he hired.”

  “You don’t think he did?”

  “Oh yes. I’m just not sure what their orders were.” He paused. “I really have no reason to say that. It’s just that too much about Payton’s youth is missing. And he does have a stake in what happens to the Westerfield heiress.”

  “Thanks for telling me that.”

  “For a reporter, you’re too damn trusting.”

  She made a face at him, but her silence agreed.

  He didn’t say anything, just turned the wheelchair toward the door.

  “What did you do?” The voice rose on every syllable.

  “I did what you told me to.”

  “I didn’t tell you to kill anyone. I just wanted you to scare her away.”

  “That’s not the impression I got.”

  “Well, end it.”

  “I don’t think so.” The voice was full of amusement.

  “I’ll go to the police.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ll tell them you planned the whole thing. Besides, you owe me. You owe me a life.”

  “Not this.”

  “This and more. Much, much more.”

  Silence on the end of the caller. “Why? Why shoot so many?”

  “You didn’t want the target to be obvious, did you? You wanted to scare the hell out of her, but not draw the cops your way.”

  “Don’t you think they’re going to look at all of us now?”

  “Maybe you. Not me. But there’s no proof. And you’ll go on protecting me.”

  He hung up.

  The caller’s blood froze. He was out of control. And now there was no way to stop him.

  25

  “Dust in our eyes. That’s what this was about,” Chris said when they reached her house.

  “What do you mean?” Kira knew her voice was slurred. She tried to reason, but reasoning disappeared a few hours ago when she was shot.

  “The shooting of the others. Someone was trying to throw some doubt that you were the target.”

  She looked down at her lap. Blood again. She’d been seeing too much of it lately. “It’s pretty obvious to me.”

  He looked grim. “Yes.”

  “Same thing happened to a friend of mine last year,” she said. “Kirke was a paramedic. A sniper with a rifle shot her and a fellow paramedic.”

  “Maybe someone reads the newspaper,” Chris said. “Copycat.”

  “But the other people? One died. That’s so … callous.”

  “It’s worse than that,” he said. “This was at city hall. It’s not only vicious but blatant. There’s going to be one hell of a police response. Expect any number of cops at your house tomorrow. I got you a brief reprieve because you didn’t see anything, and you were obviously exhausted and wounded, but now that there’s murder involved, you have to tell the police about the Westerfield connection.”

  “It’s all going to get out, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d better warn the newspaper. If I am scooped on this, I’ll be out of a job.”

  “Want me to call them for you?”

  She shook her head. “I have to do it.”

  She called the night city editor, told her what had happened and that she would have a piece on the shooting in the morning. She also asked her to have Wade call her as soon as he came in.

  “You’re going to bed,” Chris said when she completed the call.

  “Okay,” she agreed. He walked behind her as she went into the bedroom.

  “Lie down,” he said.

  “My nightshirt,” she said. “It’s in the top drawer.”

  He found it and handed it to her. “Can you manage?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll get some water for your meds.”

  “I don’t want any more pain pills.”

  “You will, believe me,” he said. “When that shot you got at the hospital wears off, you’re going to hurt like hell. And you’re going to hurt worse tomorrow.”

  “I have to see Mom. This will be on the news.”

  “You have to talk to the police first. They’ll be mad as hell when they hear what we have to say in the morning.”

  “Will you get in trouble?”

  “Not any more than I can handle.”

  He left, and she slowly, painfully stripped. She managed to pull on a robe and limp to the bathroom. She tried to wash, then leaned against the vanity.

  He found her there. “Dammit, you shouldn’t have gotten up.”

  “I’m nasty.”

  He brought a bowl and washcloth and stood outside as she hand washed herself, then he helped her into bed.

  She was grateful, but part of her wished it was Max standing there, and his expression wouldn’t be just concern.

  Forget it!

  Why, she wondered, couldn’t she be attracted to Chris? Honest. Open. Kind. Attractive.

  Yet there was no electricity between them, just a friend helping a friend. Nothing like the surge of desire that ran through her like lightning whenever Max touched her.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I do have to see Mom tomorrow,” she said.

  “You won’t be able to move much tomorrow.”

  She wasn’t going to argue with him. She would, and she could. Her mother had to see she was all right.

  Even if she wasn’t.

  He was at the bedroom door, ready to leave. “I’ll be in the other room,” he said. “Call if you need me.”

  “What about Archie?” she asked, not really wanting to be alone.

  “He’ll be okay for tonight.”

  “You can’t stay here forever.”

  “No. But I’m going to make a few calls to some retired cops,” he said grimly. “Let them take turns watching you. This time you’ll know they’re there and where to turn.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to protest. He left.

  She closed her eyes but couldn’t sleep, even with the painkillers. She couldn’t stop thinking that at least one person died tonight, probably because of her.

  Max used his key to go into the main Westerfield house. Mrs. Baker wouldn’t be there yet.

  Lights had been on in several rooms when he’d left for the hospital. That meant Leigh had been up and probably wandering about the house. Now the house was dark except for the faint light in Leigh’s room.

  He was beyond angry when he stepped insid
e. Angry, and jealous as hell, too. He’d seen that moment of distrust in Kira’s eyes, the way she’d turned to Chris Burke. He hadn’t thought something like that could hurt as much as it did.

  His immediate target, though, was the security company. The two men on duty said they’d immediately gone to Kira Douglas rather than trying to find the shooter. Someone else assisted her, and then and only then had they looked around. He couldn’t really quarrel with their priorities. Kira came first. Still, they were supposed to be professionals. They should have seen something.

  He’d broken every speed limit to get to the hospital. He’d felt great relief to find her walking and talking and wanting to go home.

  What he hadn’t expected was the suspicion and reserve in her eyes when she saw him. Nor the rejection when he offered to take her home.

  He’d left quickly. He wanted to kill whoever had shot her, and he didn’t want her to see that part of him. He’d worked hard to harness a temper that once threatened to destroy his life. But now it was like a raging bull inside.

  Worse was the unexpected ache he felt in places he thought well guarded …

  Everything was silent in the house. He went into Ed’s study. It was just as the old man had left it. He went to the wall gun cabinet. Ed’s rifles were still there, locked by a chain. He counted them. One was missing. Then he went to the safe located in a large closet behind the desk. He used the combination to open it. He didn’t know if anyone else knew it, but he doubted whether Ed wanted them to know it. He had grown paranoid in his last years.

  Ed kept his handguns in the safe. A .45-caliber had been of particular concern. It was a heavily regulated weapon, and Max had never updated the registration. He’d been uncertain what to do about the weapons. The house and its contents belonged to Leigh. And she’d changed nothing in her grandfather’s study. She’d made very few changes in the house itself. She hadn’t seemed to care, almost as if she continued to live in someone else’s house.

  He went through the weapons. The .45 wasn’t there, either.

  The sniper last night wouldn’t have used the .45, even with a noise suppressor. Too inaccurate. But it worried him that it was gone. He closed the safe. He didn’t doubt that the police would be here. Burke and Kira would have to tell them about the connection to the Westerfields now.

  He doubted they would come with a search warrant. They wouldn’t have enough probable cause, but they would be here and might well ask about weapons.

  They would check his answer against ATF records. He would have to tell them that the .45 and one rifle were missing or let them discover it for themselves. Either way, there would be questions. Lots of them.

  He knew Leigh wasn’t involved in the shooting. She didn’t have the skills, nor the mind-set.

  He also knew where suspicion would point.

  He went into the kitchen. He filled the coffeepot with water, then coffee, and turned it on.

  He thought about the first time he was in this kitchen. He was seventeen, green as could be, and thought it the most wonderful house in the world.

  Maybe that was the reason he didn’t move away. The Westerfields were the only family he had.

  He started upstairs to wake Leigh up when he heard a noise at the kitchen door. Mrs. Baker came in. She stopped in surprise when she saw him.

  “You’re up and about early,” she said.

  “There’s been another attack on Kira Douglas.”

  She dropped the purse, spilling the contents on the floor. “Oh no!”

  “This time someone was killed.”

  “Ms. Douglas?”

  “No. Someone shot her and three other people at city hall last night.”

  “Maybe it was a coincidence,” she said hesitantly.

  “I don’t think so. Neither will the police. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were here in a few hours.”

  She gathered the belongings on the floor. “But why?”

  “Surely they couldn’t suspect Miss Leigh.”

  “Mrs. Baker, I think they will suspect everyone in and around this family, including me.” He paused. “I’m going to wake Leigh and tell her. You might make some tea for her.”

  Her face had paled, but she nodded. “I’ll do it right now.”

  He left her for the stairs. He hated to barge in, but he wanted to see her before she saw the television. Or maybe she’d heard something last night. He hoped to hell not. He wanted to see her reaction. He had to know whether she had anything to do with the shooting. It would be the only way he could help her.

  He knocked at the door. No answer.

  He tried again.

  “Mrs. Baker?”

  “No, it’s Max.”

  “Just a minute.”

  It was more than a minute, but less time than he expected. She opened the door and peered out at him.

  Her eyes were red, swollen, but her hair was brushed and she wore a long robe. Alarm was in her eyes.

  “Max?”

  “May I come in?”

  “I’m not sure. You have that frown you wear when delivering bad news.”

  “I didn’t think I was that transparent.”

  “You usually aren’t, but occasionally displeasure breaks through.”

  “You look like you had a sleepless night.”

  “That transparent?” she said with a teasing note born, he thought, of tension.

  “You usually are,” he replied.

  She stepped aside and went to one of the big lounge chairs in the room. She sat in the chair, drawing her legs under her. She looked far younger than her thirty-two years. And innocent.

  “There was another attack on Kira Douglas,” he said abruptly.

  There was no mistaking the surprise in her eyes. “Is she …?”

  “No, but another person was killed. She and two others were wounded.”

  “How?”

  “Someone started shooting people leaving a meeting at the Atlanta City Hall.”

  She looked dazed for a moment. “You’re sure it was her he was after?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “And I think the police will as well.”

  Then she caught the meaning of what he was saying. It was in her eyes. “You don’t think I had anything to do with it?”

  “No.” And he meant it. He knew her too well. She couldn’t feign the emotions that crossed her face.

  Yet he had another question. “Have you been in your grandfather’s gun safe?”

  “No. I was there when you took everything out and showed them to me.” She gave him a wry look. “I didn’t pay much attention. Grandfather trusted you and so do I. I know you put the guns there, and that was fine with me. I never liked them.”

  “Did you know the combination?”

  She shook her head. “You know how I am about numbers, and I had no reason to want to know.”

  “Did anyone else? Seth? David?”

  “If they did, they never said anything about it. Besides, neither of them hunt.”

  “There are two guns missing. A forty-five and a rifle. The police will surely check because they’re registered.” He let that sink in. “Who else has been in the house in the past week?”

  “Seth. David. Mrs. Baker.” She stopped. “You can’t possibly think any of them are involved. Can you see Mrs. Baker with a gun?”

  “No,” he admitted. He’d always marveled at the way Mrs. Baker always remained “Mrs. Baker” despite more than thirty years with the family. Ed had been scrupulous about calling her “Mrs. Baker,” and she had always called him “Mr. Westerfield” and Leigh “Miss Leigh.” His death had not changed long-ingrained habits.

  “Are you sure it was there? There were so many. I never understood why he wanted so many.”

  “He was a collector. He liked having what no one else did. And I think he liked the control a gun gave him. Much more powerful than a golf club,” he said. He didn’t have to elaborate. Ed Westerfield always liked being in control. And he relished owning a .45, otherwi
se known as an assassin’s gun.

  He paused. “My security guys said there had to be a noise suppressor.”

  “Your guys?” Her eyes had grown larger.

  “I didn’t want anything else to happen to her,” he said simply. “It would lead back to us.”

  She gave him a sly look. “Is that the real reason? She’s pretty, but she doesn’t look like your type.”

  “And what is my type?”

  “Sleek and beautiful. At least, that’s who you always brought to my grandfather’s parties.”

  “You’re right. She’s not my type,” he said shortly. “Now back to the safe. You’re going to be asked about the gun collection.”

  “I haven’t opened it.”

  “You will have to tell the police who might have had access.”

  “I don’t think anyone but you has the combination.”

  “But you don’t know.”

  She shook her head. She obviously realized what he was saying, but it was also evident she didn’t want to implicate anyone. “Maybe it’s not the gun that was used.”

  “Probably not,” he tried to assure her. “I just want you to be aware of everything.”

  She was shaking. He put his arms around her. “Just answer the questions,” he said. “Insist on me being there, but I won’t interrupt unless it’s necessary. You’ll do okay.”

  She straightened. “Yes, I will.” She gave him a wan smile. “I’ll get dressed.”

  He paused. “The DNA technician will be here at two.”

  She made a face. “It’s not going to go away, is it?”

  “No.”

  “I suppose I hoped it would, if I delayed long enough. I wanted to believe she was a fraud.”

  “I’ll call Chris Burke. He should be there.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  He saw a blush start in her cheeks and wondered why.

  “A representative of Ms. Douglas should be present. He might well want to run a sample through another lab.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “There’s something else,” he said.

  “More bad news?”

  “I don’t think this whole … baby-switch supposition will be under wraps after this morning.”

  He watched as the words sank in. She stiffened.

  “Kira Douglas hasn’t made it public. She wanted to do it all quietly. But now murder’s involved. And the police. They will certainly ask her whether she has any idea of who is behind this …”