Casey drove out of the lot and turned in the same direction Philippe had taken. It was a less congested route home anyway. She picked up speed, grateful to be moving in the heat. Her shirt was stuck to her back but at least her head wasn’t hurting. Casey spotted the Hummer at a red light, which turned green as she reached the back of the line. Her phone rang. Casey answered on her Bluetooth.
“So,” Philippe said, “you decided to join me after all.”
“I’m just trying to avoid the worst of rush-hour traffic.”
“Follow me,” he said. “I need to show you something.”
“Such as?”
“You’ll see.”
Part of her wanted to turn him down, but what if Philippe really was innocent? Someone needed to make sure that the idiot wasn’t heading into a confrontation or a brutal assault.
The Hummer was easy to follow. Philippe drove as if he had no interest in tailing anyone. Minutes later, Casey found herself on a residential street populated with older homes on fairly small lots. Erin’s car was parked in a driveway several houses down on the right. Philippe stopped in front of a house two doors away from Erin’s place. It sure seemed that he already knew where she lived. Casey grabbed a spot four houses away. From this vantage point, she couldn’t see much of Erin’s property. Philippe got out of the Hummer and headed back to her car.
“So that’s where she lives. Good. I got it,” Casey said. “Now let’s go.”
Philippe studied the house. “She might be living with someone.”
“Then tell the cops. If you mess things up, Stan will kill you. Go home.”
“Then don’t tell him.”
Casey’s phone rang again. Oh lord, it was Stan. The timing was too coincidental. Were undercover cops watching them? As Philippe wandered toward Erin’s house, Casey took the call.
“Hey, Stan. How’s it going?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing. What are you up to?”
Why was he asking? Lying would probably be a bad idea. “Actually, I’m currently trying to keep Philippe out of trouble.”
“What?”
“Monica begged me to come see her at the rec center. When I got there, I saw Phillipe. Now I’ve followed him to Erin Brightman’s home. She’s the woman with the Aussie accent.”
Stan’s swearing prompted Casey to hold the phone away from her ear. When he finally wound down he said, “Put that moron on the line.”
Casey stuck her head out the window. “Hey, Philippe! Stan wants to talk to you.”
He stopped. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but she imagined he wasn’t pleased.
As Philippe ambled toward her, she said to Stan, “What made you decide to call now? Did undercover people put you onto us?”
“No.”
“Then who?” The question was met with silence. Wait a sec. No one else knew where she was except Summer and Lou. “It was Lou, wasn’t it?”
“He’s worried about you, and I don’t blame him.”
Philippe finally arrived, his mouth pinched tight. “I knew you couldn’t be trusted.”
“It wasn’t me, buddy.”
Casey understood Philippe’s hesitation to take the phone. He knew he was about to feel Stan’s wrath. Stan didn’t lose it often, but when he did, the unlucky recipients swore that the floor shook beneath them.
Philippe turned his back to Casey and moved away. Even from here, Stan’s shouts were audible. Philippe was also raising his voice. Maybe the jerk truly didn’t care if he was fired.
Oh no. Erin was marching toward him and not looking happy.
“What are you doing at my house?” she said to Philippe.
He pointed at Casey while he said something to Erin. Casey watched in horror as he lowered the phone and headed back to her car. Erin trailed close behind. What the hell did Philippe think he was doing? The woman would recognize her! Adrenalin surged. Casey pulled the brim of her sunhat lower and adjusted her sunglasses. She lowered her hand so Erin wouldn’t notice her damaged ring finger.
“Like I said, my girlfriend’s grandma lives nearby,” Philippe was saying to Erin. “The old gal’s goin’ downhill, so we’ve had to come by a lot.”
For once, Casey was grateful for Philippe’s lying skills. Was Stan still on the line, listening to all of this? Taking a calming breath, she braced herself as Erin approached the driver’s window. Philippe resumed his chat with Stan.
Erin bent down until she was eye level with Casey. Her green eyes almost glowed against her dark tan. “Do I know you?”
“I’ve seen you at the rec center. My grandmother takes the aquafit classes.”
Erin appeared to be studying her. “What happened to your face?”
Casey had become so used to the bruises that she kept forgetting there was still a bit of discoloration.
“A little domestic spat,” Casey whispered, giving a brief nod toward Philippe. “He apologized, but the guy has a temper.”
Erin scowled at Philippe, whose attention was still on the house. And then she saw the reason. A man with a dark, trim beard stood by Erin’s car, his gaze on Philippe. For a moment, Casey thought this was the swim instructor. The body type was similar, which made her understand why Monica could have confused him for the fake Jehovah’s Witness. But this guy wore a T-shirt, exposing a large, dark tattoo on his left bicep.
Erin marched up to Philippe. “Don’t touch that girl again or I’ll have my boyfriend beat the shit out of you, understand?”
Philippe gaped at her. “Huh?”
She strode toward the house while Philippe returned to Casey.
“What was that about?” he asked.
“I’ll explain later. Is Stan still on the line?”
“Yeah. He wants to talk to you.”
Casey took the phone from him. “Erin came up to me and said I looked familiar. I told her I had a grandma taking aquafit classes at the rec center.”
“Bloody great. I want you and Philippe to get your asses out of there, now!”
“No problem.” She tossed her phone on the passenger seat. Erin and the guy had gone inside. “Stan wants us to leave right away.”
“So I heard.” Philippe studied the house. “Looks like Erin has a thing for beards and brown hair. Bet he’s part of the gang.”
“You can’t come back here, understand? The house is probably under surveillance anyway. The police won’t let them disappear.”
Philippe smirked. “You have a lot of faith in your cop friends, don’t you?”
More faith than she had in him. And what about Lou? After his betrayal, how much faith did she have in him?
NINETEEN
“Another senior was assaulted in her home late last night,” the news anchor said on the radio. “As in previous home invasions, cash and jewelry were taken and the homeowner badly beaten. The victim is in serious condition.”
Casey’s eyes shot open. She sat up as fast as her ribs would allow, looked over at Lou and realized he’d already left for work. She threw off the comforter and stumbled into the living room to switch on the TV.
Seconds later, she saw a reporter standing near pajama-clad bystanders. It was dark outside. Lights from patrol cars and an ambulance flashed in the background. A photo of Hilda appeared on the screen.
“Oh no.” Casey sank onto the sofa.
“This is the sixth home invasion in recent months,” the reporter said. “Police have been criticized for not doing more to solve these crimes.”
Nausea roiled in Casey’s stomach. How the hell had this happened? If Erin Brightman was under surveillance, shouldn’t the cops have zeroed in on her and the gang by now?
Casey hurried to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. Poor Hilda. She would have been so frightened and confused. What had they done to her? A glance at her own healing ring finger brought back images of raging eyes and an enormous fist.
Wait a minute. Didn’t Hilda live with her husband? The reporter had said nothing about
him. Was Hilda alone last night? Daisy would know. She must have been in touch with the police by now. Maybe Denver could tell her something. Given that she’d been summoned to Stan’s office to discuss yesterday’s adventure, she’d pump him for info, or at least she’d try. He had hoped to meet first thing this morning, but her follow-up appointment with the surgeon was in an hour. She intended to march into Stan’s office this afternoon with a note clearing her for work.
Yesterday’s argument with Lou was still troubling and aggravating. The moment she came home, he started lecturing her once again, but she’d countered with, “How could you betray me like that?” His excuse was that she wouldn’t protect herself, so she’d given him no choice. His attitude still irritated the hell out of her. There were always choices. As Casey knew all too well, it was about dealing with the consequences.
. . .
“I know last night’s home-invasion victim,” Casey blurted as she entered Stan’s office.
Before he could respond, she explained that Hilda was one of the seniors who had befriended her. “I’m going to see if I can find her friend Daisy, then go to the hospital. By the way, the doc cleared me to work part-time.” Casey plunked the note on his desk. It had taken a lot of persuasion, but the surgeon finally agreed, provided she only worked two short shifts a week for the next month.
As Stan read the note, Casey said, “Do you have any information about the attack?”
He glared at her. “Why should I tell you anything when you disobeyed my request to stay away from the rec center?”
“Because Monica could have been putting herself and her grandkids in immediate danger. I swear I had no idea Philippe would be there.”
“If you had called me first, I could have arranged for a team member to meet Mrs. Silver.”
“Sorry, Stan, but she doesn’t have a high opinion of guards, thanks to Philippe.”
He shook his head. “Still, I’m forced to put a disciplinary form in your personnel file and consider suspension. I can’t make exceptions for my second-in-command.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” With Elsie and Harold gone and Hilda hospitalized, a piece of paper in her file wasn’t all that important. Protecting Monica had been the right decision. “Have the police learned the name of the man who was at Erin’s place?”
“If they have, they’re not saying.” Stan tapped his pencil. “With more cops now involved in the investigation, Gwyn’s decided that too much has been spent on this assignment, so he’s cutting our hours.”
Not good. The seniors needed more protection than ever, but since this wasn’t Stan’s decision, there was little point in arguing about it. “Any news on a possible leak?”
“No, and that’s the other reason Gwyn’s pulling back. He’s ticked over police suspicions about us.”
“Do we have a leak?” she asked.
Stan tossed his pencil on the desk. “If that’s a dig at Philippe, then the answer is I don’t know. I’m letting him go anyway. You should know that Mrs. Silver’s lodged a formal complaint against him.”
“Whoa. She didn’t say anything to me. When did she do this?”
“Late yesterday afternoon.”
“Must have been after she met with me and Philippe,” Casey remarked. “He was his usual arrogant self toward her, and just so you know, I didn’t encourage her.”
“I believe you. Between the complaint and Gwyn’s cutbacks, even he can’t justify keeping Philippe on.”
Casey frowned. “Why would Gwyn want to? Why would he even care?”
Stan swept his hand over his brush cut, then let out a long sigh.
“Listen, I know that Gwyn and Philippe were quietly chatting together on at least one occasion,” Casey went on. “What’s going on between those two?” She noticed the way Stan rubbed his beard. He was thinking things through, trying to decide how much to tell her. “Please. I promise to keep it to myself.”
“I know you will.” He paused. “When I interviewed Philippe for the job, Gwyn was there. He was so impressed with the kid that he wanted to hire him immediately. Said he’d like to take him under his wing, and yeah, I thought that was weird. Gwyn also said he’d take care of the background checks.”
“He either sucks at it or didn’t even bother.”
Stan nodded. “Two months ago, I found out that Gwyn hired Philippe to monitor how we do things and assess the team’s performance. It seems that Gwyn’s been questioning the way I run my department.”
Casey sat back in her chair. “Holy shit.”
“I expressed concern about Philippe more than once. When Gwyn kept brushing me off, I finally asked why. That’s when he let it slip.”
“So Philippe’s been baiting us to see how we handle stress and conflict?”
“Seems so.” Stan removed a file from his desk drawer. “I’ve been doing my own documenting regarding Philippe’s methodology, like the night he tested you on the graveyard shift. I’ve also gathered a stack of complaints about him, including the one from Monica Silver. Everything was presented to Gwyn this morning.”
“What was his response?”
“He seemed kind of stunned. Claimed he was unaware of Philippe’s tactics. Reluctantly, he agreed that Philippe has to go.”
Based on the remarks Philippe made yesterday about hoping to leave MPT for a better job, she wondered if he sensed that something was up. “Is Gwyn going to make changes to our department?”
“He had better not.” Stan sat forward. “Let’s face it, Philippe created a lot of problems himself. Having said that, by confronting Gwyn, I think I’ve destroyed any chance for a promotion.”
A while back, Stan confided that he wouldn’t mind becoming a vice president. Given how well he knew Mainland Public Transport and how everyone—except Gwyn—showed great respect for him, he would be a terrific choice. Casey also figured that she was Stan’s succession plan, the next in line to head the security department. She would have welcomed the opportunity, but Stan was right. It wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
“After you fire Philippe,” Casey said, “he’ll go to Gwyn.”
“I hope he does. He needs to know that Gwyn and I are on the same page.” Stan crossed his arms and relaxed his facial muscles. “Because of your loyalty to MPT and an obvious desire to help the seniors, I won’t suspend you. But I’m still not convinced that I should put you to work.”
“But the note says I can start.”
Stan leaned back in his chair. “That’s the orthopedic surgeon’s assessment. Have you seen the neurologist yet?”
She had hoped he wouldn’t bring that up. “The appointment’s coming up.”
“Uh-huh.” He gave her one of his measured stares. “I know about concussions, Casey. Football background, remember?”
“I’m doing better. No more dizziness and confusion.”
“What about the headaches?”
“They’re not as strong and don’t last as long. Couldn’t I at least help with the scheduling?”
“I’ll think about it, after I read the neurologist’s assessment.”
Why was he being so obstinate?
“That’s all for now. Go home and rest.” Stan turned to his computer screen.
Casey left his office. She didn’t need rest. She needed to see Hilda. As she headed downstairs, she called Denver. Thankfully, he answered.
“How’s the convalescing coming along?”
“Good.”
After she explained her connection to Hilda, she said, “I don’t understand how it happened, Denver. I thought there was surveillance on Erin Brightman.”
“Word is that our people showed up less than an hour after they learned that you and Philippe Beauchamp spoke with her. Even so, Brightman had already packed her belongings and vacated the furnished basement suite. The landlord thought she lived alone.”
Stan must have told the police about her and Philippe’s excursion right away. Casey didn’t blame him. To maintain trust and keep the communication o
pen with VPD, Stan would have had to keep officers in the loop.
“What I don’t understand is why surveillance people weren’t watching the house from the get-go?”
“I have no idea, but it looks like you and your coworker spooked her. I heard through the grapevine that she hasn’t turned up at work either.”
And Denver was sharing this to let her know that he wasn’t pleased. “I’m sorry, Denver.”
“I’m not blaming you. I heard that you were only in the area at the urgent request of Mrs. Englehart’s neighbor and then to keep your colleague out of a jam. Has Novak called you yet?”
“No. Will he?”
“He’ll want to know if you got a good look at the man at Brightman’s home.”
“I just saw enough to know that he wasn’t the swim instructor Monica Silver was worried about.” Casey briefly described the tattoo on his arm.
“I heard about the instructor,” Denver replied. “If it’ll ease your mind, it doesn’t look like he’s part of the gang, but I can’t tell you why.”
“No problem.” Casey appreciated what little he had told her. Maybe Denver hadn’t lost faith in her completely.
“Denver, could you get me a phone number and address for Hilda’s best friend, Daisy? I don’t know her last name, but she’s probably been interviewed by one of your colleagues. She, Hilda, and I have had a number of chats on the bus, and I’m pretty sure she’ll talk to me. I want to make sure she’s okay. The poor woman must be upset and frightened.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Call you back in a couple of minutes.”
“Thanks.” Casey glanced up and down the corridor. There was no sign of Philippe.
She stepped outside into the staff parking lot and opened her car door. The day’s heat felt ready to burn a hole through her scalp. Casey started to slide behind the wheel, but the temperature had to be a hundred degrees or more. Grabbing her hat from the passenger seat, she stepped back outside and began rolling down windows. She’d just finished when her phone rang.
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