Behind the Shadows

by Potter, Patricia;

  Cool but caring Max. Not in a million years.

  She would call him on the way. Let him know what was going on. But in the meantime she had to get Leigh to her horse.

  She drove out to the end of the drive. Leigh was talking expressively with the guard, her hands gesturing. Then she ran over to the car and stepped inside the passenger’s side door.

  “I think we should call Chris,” Kira said again.

  “I think the gentleman behind us is doing just that,” Leigh said grimly.

  “Then Max,” Kira said. She was getting a bad feeling about this.

  “Not till we get there, and I know something about Lady.”

  “I thought you said you’re not afraid of him?”

  “Physically, no. His disapproval, yes.”

  “Tell me more about him,” Kira said as she pulled onto the interstate.

  “Like what?” Leigh asked.

  “He’s never been married?”

  “Not that I know of,” Leigh said. “But Max never talks about Max.”

  She should stop asking questions. She was being a wee bit more than obvious, and she hated being obvious.

  She turned her attention to driving, but she couldn’t stop the nagging thought she should call Max. She would do it the second they arrived at the Westerfield home. He might even be there.

  God, she hoped so. She wanted him to know that she was tired last night. That she regretted that reflexive reaction immediately.

  She only hoped he would give her that chance.

  Max looked at the clock and yawned. He had been at his office all night, and it was now nearing eight.

  After the police left his house last night, Max called in a computer specialist and arranged to meet him at his office. The man worked for the company that took care of Westerfield security. After the failure at city hall, the firm was ready to do anything to keep his business, even pull all-nighters.

  Sam Abrams was said to be a great hacker. Max put him to work on the only person who hadn’t undergone scrutiny: Richard “Rick” Salter. His only real information was that Salter said he’d been in the army and the Social Security number Salter had given the business office.

  Sam found several Rick Salters in army records, but none seemed to fit their Rick Salter.

  The longer it took, the more Max’s chagrin grew. He should have checked the man’s background when he came to Atlanta. But he trusted Mrs. Baker. He hadn’t thought she would do anything to hurt Ed Westerfield’s granddaughter.

  By five in the morning, they’d discovered that one Corporal Richard Salter had received a discharge other than honorable. Age and description fit. Abrams was able to bring up a photo. It looked like a much younger Rick Salter. So the man had lied about an honorable discharge. A discharge other than honorable could mean any number of things, none of them admirable. It was often a red flag for employers. No wonder he couldn’t get a job.

  Max wanted to be sure, though. None of the military records included Salter’s Social Security number to confirm that this Corporal Rick Salter was the one employed by Westerfield Industries. Abrams kept hacking. He finally located the Social Security number for Salter when he was in the army. It was different from the one Salter had given the business office.

  Abrams found a second Richard Salter. A sergeant. Honorable discharge. Home in Denver, Colorado. Same general description as the other.

  “Find out more about both Richard Salters,” Max said. He was getting a very bad feeling about this.

  In three hours, he had more, thanks to the agency, which was proving superb in digging up information. The Richard Salter whose photo marked him as Mrs. Baker’s nephew had been stationed at the army’s personnel center. Apparently he’d been suspected of using his position to harvest Social Security numbers and sell them to a partner. Not enough proof to convict him, but he’d broken enough rules to discharge him.

  As for the other Richard Salter, he was a dog trainer who’d left the army two months after their Richard Salter. No next of kin mentioned in the record. No wife. No family to ask questions. When the investigator tried to find him, he didn’t seem to exist. He apparently just disappeared.

  Dead? At Rick’s hand?

  He and Abrams looked at each other. Mrs. Baker’s nephew had access to Social Security numbers. When he knew his plot was about to be discovered, he probably started looking for someone with his name, someone without a dependent.

  But why? Certainly not to get a groom’s job.

  Abrams ran a routine credit check on Rick Salter under the Social Security number Max had on file. There were a few small credit card accounts, all paid on time, and little else. The charges started three weeks after the Colorado Salter’s discharge.

  Max had occasionally wondered why Salter had taken part-time employment as groom and general handyman. He mentally slapped himself for not checking when those thoughts had first surfaced.

  That brought him back to Mrs. Baker. How much did she know?

  He didn’t like the way his thoughts were going.

  “Keep tracking his movements,” he told Abrams. “I want anything you can find on either of them.”

  He wanted to confront Salter himself. Then he sat back down. He was only too aware of his temper when someone threatened someone he cared about. He’d almost killed Leigh’s husband after he saw her in the hospital.

  He always tried to remember his father’s blood ran through him.

  At least Leigh and Kira were safe under Chris’s protection

  He reached for the phone. He would give Chris what he had. In the meantime, he would keep Abrams digging.

  Chris grabbed a few hours of sleep, then went to his old station. He took donuts with him. It might well be a joke but cops really did live on donuts. During an all-nighter, they needed the sugar for energy. His former partner, Matt, was there. His cheeks were dark with bristle and his eyes were red-rimmed. The detective looked up in surprise.

  “Busy?” Chris asked.

  “Yeah, not like some old retired folks I know.”

  “You have your twenty years. You can quit anytime you want.”

  “I can, can’t I,” Matt said. “Thanks for telling me. How’s the PI business? Enough for another damn no-good private dick?”

  “Anytime, Matt.”

  “Been a bad night,” Matt said. “Pressure’s on because of that shooting you were asking about. The mayor’s gone nuts. He put all of us on the case, and there’s nothing there.”

  “You said last night that Payton might be involved.”

  “If the shooting’s connected to the Westerfield mess, he’s the one with the biggest motive … Always look to the money.” He glanced at Chris. “You’re working for the reporter, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not much I can tell you. We thought we had a lead with Payton. He had motive, opportunity.” Matt stopped suddenly.

  “What else?”

  Matt hesitated, then shrugged. “Payton’s not his birth name. He changed it. It was Joe Cantwell.”

  “Should that mean something to me?”

  “Maybe not. Thirty-six years ago he killed his father. Maybe even his mother. He claimed then he was protecting his mother. Both parents ended up dead.”

  “How?”

  “One multiple knife wounds, the other a shotgun.”

  “How old was he?”

  “Ten.”

  “Christ, he can’t be blamed for protecting his mother.”

  “Unless he was a bad seed. He’d already been in trouble. Stealing stuff. Then he disappeared from the system when he was sixteen.”

  “I think you’re on the wrong track.”

  “Could be. But he’s our best bet.”

  “Anyone check the financials on the other Westerfields?”

  “Yeah. They look clean. The politician has plenty of money in his account and is beginning to look like a shoo-in. He’s not going to do anything to upset that applecart. The doctor’s rich and has give
n large sums of money to various charities, not to mention his father is with Doctors Without Borders.”

  “Wonder if the elder Crawford has been notified of all this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You might want to get a message to him. He might know something about what happened thirty-two years ago. It could be important.”

  Matt raised an eyebrow. “More official from us than from you?”

  “Something like that,” Chris said.

  “You always were damned good at getting someone else to do your dirty work.”

  “You’ll let me know if he replies.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “A crime might have been committed three decades ago. It would be a real coup if you solved it.”

  “By arresting Dr. Do Good? I don’t think so.”

  “You never know,” Chris said. “I would appreciate it if you hear anything you can pass on.”

  Matt hesitated, then nodded.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Chris said.

  He had another stop. The hospital. More sweet-talking to someone in the records department. They didn’t have to give him personnel records, but the threat of a multimillion-dollar suit might help. He wanted the names of the nurses on duty that day. Hell, he’d wanted them several days ago but hadn’t had the time to pursue the subject with the administration.

  Then he should be back to Kira’s for lunch. He would take Leigh to her home to check on the animals, then gather some clothes. Even with guards, he didn’t want her out there alone.

  Max called Chris Burke after debating other actions first. He wanted to beat the hell out of Rick Salter for lying to him.

  Burke answered on the second ring.

  “Burke, this is Payton. Ask the police to look at Richard or Rick Salter, who is employed by the Westerfields. I just had someone check and discovered he received something other than an honorable discharge. He’s also been using someone else’s Social Security number. I couldn’t get anything else.”

  “Will do,” Burke said. Hesitation, then, “Have you talked to either Kira or Leigh this morning?”

  “No,” Max said shortly. “Keep me posted if you learn anything. I’ll do the same.” He hung up.

  He sat there staring at the phone.

  He wanted to call Kira, but her eyes last night …

  She wouldn’t want anything to do with him when she learned the complete truth.

  He sat back in his chair.

  The news about Kira and her mother had been leaked by the police. He wondered how long it would take to leak the news about Max’s background to the papers. So much for one of Atlanta’s most eligible bachelors …

  Hell, he’d stopped feeling sorry for himself decades ago. He wasn’t going to start now. He would go back to his house. He wanted to keep an eye on Rick. He just might have to stop himself from tearing him from limb to limb. Whether he was involved in the murders or not, Rick Salter had lied to him. Had lied to Leigh.

  He wondered how much Mrs. Baker knew.

  36

  As Kira drove up to the Westerfield house, the guards who had been at the gate were gone. The bar was down.

  “What happened to the guards?” Leigh asked.

  “I don’t know. Could Max have dismissed them since the press have apparently given up for the moment?”

  “Max? No. Not on your life. He wouldn’t do that while your attacker is still loose. Especially without telling us. Maybe they went inside for some reason. Maybe coffee.”

  Kira had a bad feeling. “I’m calling Chris.”

  She’d turned off her cell phone, aware that Chris would not approve of what she was doing. Now she wondered whether that was a mistake. She turned on the cell and punched in a number.

  “Chris’s line is busy,” she told Leigh. She looked around. “Where’s the guards’ car?”

  “They always park in back,” Leigh said as Kira punched in the numbers at the gate.

  “Maybe I should drive in back and see if the car is there,” Kira suggested.

  “You can do that. I have to see about the horse. The vet’s truck isn’t here, and colic can kill a horse quickly … I should have been here.” Leigh opened the car door and hopped out before Kira could stop her.

  Kira parked and started to follow her inside. Then she remembered the pepper spray in her purse. She retreated to the front seat and rummaged in the purse until she found the small canister and tucked it in her pocket.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Leigh was right. Max wouldn’t have called off the guards, no matter how he felt. She’d learned one thing about Max. Despite his outward cool, he cared very deeply about Leigh. That had been so evident yesterday.

  Her cell phone rang. She looked at the identification. Chris. She answered.

  “Where in the hell are you?” Chris demanded.

  “Leigh and I are at the Westerfield house. Her groom called and said her horse was down. But the guards aren’t at the gate.”

  “Is Leigh with you now?”

  “No, she went into the barn.”

  She heard him curse under his breath, then he said, “Get the hell out of there.”

  “I have to get Leigh.”

  “No. Go. Now. I’m on the way and I’m calling the Fayette police.”

  Fear welled up in her. His urgency, the sound of real worry in his usually calm voice, frightened her. She stared at the barn. The door was still open, but from her angle she couldn’t see anything.

  Then Chris came back on the phone. “I told them a citizen was in danger. They’re on the way.”

  “Why …?”

  “I talked to Payton not long ago. There seems to be more to Rick Salter than anyone thought.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Get out of there,” he said again.

  “You think he’s the person …?”

  “I don’t know. Could be.”

  “He wouldn’t try anything here. Everyone would know …”

  “Dammit, don’t argue with me. Do as I say.”

  She turned off the phone. She couldn’t leave now. Maybe he was wrong. But if he wasn’t, Leigh was in terrible danger.

  She didn’t want to be a stupid heroine but neither could she drive off and leave Leigh alone. She just couldn’t. And the police were on their way. And Chris.

  She backed up and turned the car so that the driver’s side faced the barn. She rolled down the window and called, “Leigh.”

  Nothing.

  Fear grew in her. Her breath seemed to solidify in her throat, and her heart beat wildly. Something was very, very wrong.

  She looked to the pasture. Maude stood silently. Alert, as if she sensed something wrong. There was a stillness as she waited. A stillness as if the world had stopped.

  What was happening to Leigh? What should she do? What if she was being harmed now? In just a few hours Leigh had become very important to her, and not just because of her mother. There had been something touching about her honesty.

  She heard a scream come from inside the barn.

  Then she saw the groom at the door, his arm around Leigh’s throat. A gun was at her throat, and blood was running down the side of her neck.

  “Join us,” the man said. “Unless you want me to kill her. Now.” The edge of the gun played along Leigh’s neck. “Get out and come over here.”

  “No!” Leigh cried out. “Go! Get out of here.”

  “I’ll kill her,” the groom said. “Right here and now. Just think … if you come in, you might save her life. And your mother’s.”

  “Why?” Kira asked, playing for time.

  Another scream was torn from Leigh as he jabbed the barrel of the gun into her neck, breaking her skin again. “I swear I’ll shoot,” the groom said. Terror was written all over Leigh’s face.

  “Okay,” Kira said. “Okay, I’m coming. Just … be careful with the gun.”

  Stupid words. But she had no choice. She didn’t doubt for a moment th
at he would do exactly what he said he would. There was a tinge of madness in his voice. Leigh would die, along with any chance her mother had. She had to play along now. He couldn’t know she had called Chris and that he and the police were on the way. She felt for the pepper spray in her pocket and was only mildly comforted by the feel of it. He had a gun.

  But if she could get him to talk …

  She held out her hands in front of her as she moved toward him.

  As she neared the door, he stepped back, still holding Leigh.

  Where were the sirens? Or had it been only a few seconds? It felt like hours.

  He moved behind the door as she walked in, her hands still up. Then the door banged shut behind her. Leigh was pushed to the floor, and he turned the gun on Kira.

  “Why?” Kira said as she looked around the barn. She wanted to leave as much distance between Leigh and herself as possible.

  “Not another step, or you both die right now.”

  “You were the shooter at city hall?”

  “How astute of you.”

  “And you pushed me?”

  “No, I would have succeeded. An acquaintance of mine earned a few dollars doing that.”

  “And your aunt? Does she know …”

  “My mother, you mean?”

  A small noise came from Leigh, who sat where she’d been pushed down against the wall.

  “Yeah, my mother. And old Westerfield was my father. Not that either claimed me.” There was a vicious hatred in his voice. “This should have been mine. It will be mine.”

  “You can’t get away with it …”

  “You don’t think so? Who’s going to stop me? You were visiting with the princess here when you both were attacked by Mr. Payton. He tried to start a fire to hide the crime but was caught in the flames.”

  “No one will believe you.”

  “They will when they find certain evidence left by Mr. Payton, along with his body. After all, he’s the only one who had access to the gun closet, to the rifle that killed that woman at city hall, to this gun. His fingerprints will be on both. Not mine. Not only that, I have an alibi. I was with my dear mother. Helping with the shopping. We came home to find a killer burning the barn down.”