by Paula Graves
Phillips closed his notebook and thanked the doctor for the information. Heading out to his rental car, he flipped open his phone. He started to punch in the office number when he realized the phone's battery was dead. "Damn it."
He hurried to the car and pulled out his briefcase, where he stashed extra batteries. He inserted the battery and the phone came to life. But before he could dial the office number, the phone rang. He clicked the answer button. "Phillips."
"It's Davis. I've been trying to get you for an hour."
"My phone battery died and I didn't realize it. Listen, I've got something—"
"So do I. Dominick Manning left A.C. a little after noon today. Heading south."
Phillips leaned against the rental car's fender and loosened his tie. "By train?"
"By air. Lindler's still tailing him. They just made a connecting flight in Charlotte."
"Where are they headed?"
"Lindler says Savannah, Georgia."
Phillips straightened, alarm bells going off. "That's in south Georgia, isn't it?"
"Last I looked. Wonder why Dom's headed to Dixie?"
Phillips didn't have to wonder. He knew. "They've found Lottie."
"THIS STACK IS INVOICES from Shelton Industries. They make nuts, bolts and screws." Carly waved at another, smaller stack. "That's the inventory list. I know it's up to date because I did it myself on Friday. It was part of what I had to do at work Monday."
Wes looked from one stack to the other as she gestured. "They don't match up."
"Nope," J.B. interrupted, grinning widely. "About five months ago, best we can tell, someone started submitting duplicate invoices from Shelton Industries for products never delivered. At first it was one or two invoices every couple of months, but in the last two months, they submitted nine phony invoices."
Wes gave his father an odd look. Probably couldn't believe the old man was actually smiling, Carly guessed.
"That's a lot of phony invoices," Wes commented. "No chance it's just a clerical error?"
Carly shook her head. "If I'd been doing the books, I might not have caught the fraud a few months ago, when the company was submitting only one or two every couple of months. But with as many invoices as they dummied up over the past couple of months—"
"Nobody with half a mind could have kept the books and not realized what was going on," J.B. finished for her.
"So Sherry was in on it." Disappointment flickered across Wes's face.
"I think she must have been," Carly said gently.
Wes looked to his father. J.B. nodded, confirming Carly's statement.
"Damn." Wes passed his hand over his stubbled chin. "I need to call the county prosecutor in on this now. That means I need to take the books and files into evidence. I'm also going to need to get an affidavit testifying to your part in examining the books."
Carly opened her mouth to protest.
"Smart of you to bring my dad in on it," Wes added quietly. "Since his statement is enough to justify the county prosecutor investigating the files for evidence of fraud, I won't need an affidavit from you."
"That's not why I got him to come over," she protested, though she couldn't deny the relief washing over her.
"I know. But it was lucky." He turned to his father. "Why don't you stay for dinner?"
"You ain't gonna let Miss New Jersey cook, are you?"
"Hey!" Carly protested.
Wes grinned and started packing the files into the boxes they'd emptied. "I'll grab something in town as soon as I deliver these files to the evidence room."
Carly helped him carry the boxes to the car. "Does this really take me off the hook?"
"If I work it just right." Wes's voice was a little tight, as if he had something else on his mind.
"Is something wrong?"
He turned to look at her, his face painted a deep golden rose by the glow of the setting sun. "I have a few more questions for you, but they can wait until after dinner. When I get back from taking J.B. home."
Carly's heart went into free fall. "What kind of questions?"
He laid the final box on top of the stack in the back of his truck and turned to her, gently touching her cheek. "Don't worry. I just have some loose ends I want you to help me tie up. It'll hold until we have time to talk."
"So I'm still going to be here tonight?" Carly licked her lips as his eyes narrowed. "I mean, we've found the fraud. There's really no reason I couldn't go back to the Stricklands' house."
"Do you want to go back there tonight?" His voice was low, growly. Sexy as hell.
Heat pooled deep in her belly, sparking a million little explosions along her nerve endings. "No," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.
He passed his thumb slowly over her bottom lip, his gaze dipping to watch its progress. "Too bad I already invited J.B. to dinner." He dropped his hand and went around to the driver's door of the truck.
Carly backed away from the curb as he started the truck. She gave a little wave as he drove away, her insides melting into a river of molten need.
The next couple of hours were going to be the longest of her life.
THE DOORBELL RANG JUST as Bonnie finished drying the last of the dinner dishes. Floyd was with Jackson in the back bedroom, giving the little boy some rough and tumble time to tire him out for bedtime.
"I'll get it," she called as she passed through the living room to the front door.
She didn't recognize the man standing outside, but it was still daylight, and there were other people in the house. She didn't think twice about opening the door. "Yes?"
The short, slender man standing on her porch gave a polite nod. Bonnie took in his appearance and found it reassuring. His charcoal suit looked tailored, fitting him perfectly. Most of the men Bonnie knew bought their clothes off the rack. This man didn't.
He smiled at her, easing what was left of the tension she felt at finding a stranger at the door. "Are you Mrs. Strickland?"
She smiled back at him. "Yes, I'm Bonnie Strickland."
"I'm from Entertainment Tours. Our bus company was the one—"
"Oh." Bonnie's heart clenched. "I told the man who called before, I'm not pursuing any sort of lawsuit."
"Actually, we're trying to locate a passenger who may have been on the bus with your son." The man pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to her
It was a photo of Carly, Bonnie saw with surprise. "It's Carly."
"Carly?"
Bonnie nodded. "Carly Devlin. A friend of my son's."
"Do you know where I could find her? I need to discuss some loose ends about the bus crash. She didn't finish filling out some paperwork."
"She's at my nephew's house."
"Do you have that address?"
Bonnie frowned. "Are you sure it can't wait? They're probably in the middle of dinner or something."
"I need to catch a flight out of Savannah this evening. It's just one little piece of paper I need her to sign."
Bonnie found a notepad on the desk by the door to the hallway. Grabbing a pen from the drawer, she jotted Wes's address down for the man. "Here you go."
"Thank you, ma'am. You've been a big help." The dark-haired man smiled at her again before turning and heading down the porch steps to a car parked out on the curb.
Bonnie closed the door behind him, beginning to second guess herself. She hadn't even gotten the man's name, she realized. She should have insisted on getting a name, and a phone number. Let Carly call him if she wanted to.
Alarm creeping up her spine, she crossed to the phone. The least she could do was call Wes's, give them warning that they were about to have a visitor.
But when she picked up the phone, there was no dial tone.
NEELY BOYD STOPPED WES as he returned to his office from delivering the boxes of files to the evidence room. "We've got bad trouble."
Wes didn't like the sound of Neely's voice. His first, panicked thought was of Carly and her stalker
. "What is it?"
"Trent Carlisle found a male d.b. off the side of the highway just a few minutes ago. Gunshot to the head. It's fresh."
Which meant the shooter might still be in the area. Wes pulled his Glock from his shoulder holster and checked the clip. "Let's go."
They grabbed body armor on the way out to the patrol car. Wes hoped his officers on the scene were wearing their vests. Though odds were that the shooter was long gone, nobody should take any chances. He also grabbed a box of latex gloves, in case he needed to examine the body himself.
Wes slid into the passenger seat of the patrol car, letting Neely drive. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in his home number.
Carly answered. "Miss us already?"
"Sorry to do this, but we've got a change of plans. Do you think you can feed J.B.?
"Sure."
He could tell she was trying not to sound disappointed. It wasn't working. "There's some ham in the fridge, and bread in the box by the stove. And you'll need to call Floyd to come pick J.B. up. We've had something bad come up, and I don't know how long this is gonna take. And Carly, be sure you lock all the doors, okay?"
"What's wrong?" Carly sounded worried.
He couldn't blame her. He was worried himself. "Someone found a body. Gunshot to the head. It's fresh. We may be looking at a manhunt. So take care. In fact, call Floyd to come get y'all as soon as you finish dinner. Have him take J.B. home with him, too. They can put him on the fold-out sofa in the living room for the night."
"Okay. I'll call them as soon as we eat."
Wes could see the flashing blue and cherry lights ahead. "Gotta go. Remember to lock up." He hung up the phone as Neely steered the squad car to the shoulder behind the other cars. Wes pulled a couple of latex gloves from the box next to him and slipped them on. Neely did the same.
A couple of his officers had already cordoned off an area a few feet down the shallow incline just off the shoulder of the road. Wes surveyed the yellow crime scene ribbon with a sense of satisfaction. At the time he was tapped as chief three years ago, many of his officers had lacked all but the most rudimentary training in criminal justice procedure. Since then, Wes had given his department a crash course in police work, from crime scene investigation to proper interrogation technique.
Seeing his officers handling the crime scene like professionals made him proud.
Off to the side, one of his officers was taking a statement from Trent Carlisle, the teenage boy who'd found the body. Trent's dog, a hyperactive Beagle named Colonel, leapt at the end of his leash, barking at the gathered crowd of cops.
Wes moved to the edge of the cordon. One of his cops had positioned a high-power Maglite to illuminate the crime scene around the body.
Caucasian male, mid-thirties, brown hair stained darker with blood. He was clean-cut, dressed in a suit and tie. Wes couldn't tell much about the guy's face. It looked like the bullet had exited somewhere around the middle of his face, taking most of his jaw and nose with it.
One of his officers, Caldwell, approached. He looked queasy, though he was trying not to show it. He held out a plastic bag with something square and dark inside. "You'd better take a look at this, Chief. Got it off the body."
Wes took the bag and opened it. Inside was a slim black wallet. He opened it carefully and sucked in a quick deep breath. Inside the wallet was a badge and an I.D.
Their dead body was Special Agent Mark Lindler of the FBI Atlantic City office.
Chapter Thirteen
The number on the display panel of Wes's trilling phone wasn't familiar to Carly. She let it ring again, remembering Wes's warning, chill bumps rising on the back of her neck.
"You gonna get it or not?" J.B. muttered.
She picked up the phone, wilting with relief when she heard Shannon's voice on the other line. "What's up?"
"We just had something weird happen here." Shannon's voice sounded a little shaky. "A stranger came to the door a few minutes ago. He said he was from Entertainment Tours."
Carly relaxed a little. No doubt they were visiting the families of all the victims, hoping to head off any lawsuits. "Was he trying to keep Bonnie and Floyd from suing?"
"He was looking for you. He had a photo of you. He said he had some papers you forgot to sign after the crash."
Carly's heart jerked, thudding hard against her ribcage. Tears of terror burned her eyes, filling them until everything was a blur. "What did he look like?"
"I don't know, but Bonnie gave him Wes's address."
Carly's whole body went numb. "Oh, God."
"We're trying to reach Wes, but he's not answering his cell phone. But that's not all. When the guy left, Bonnie discovered that the phone lines were dead. Floyd checked a minute ago. The lines outside the house were cut."
So that they couldn't warn her, Carly realized. Dumb Yankee thug probably didn't realize that even small town southern "hicks" had cell phones these days.
"Don't open the door to him, Carl—"
Shannon's voice cut off in mid-sentence.
Carly punched the disconnect button. But there was no dial tone. Panic twisted through her, knotting her muscles and fogging her brain.
"What's wrong?" J.B.'s dark eyes widened with alarm.
Carly took a couple of deep breaths. She had to calm down. She had to think, and think fast. Because if the phone was cut, then the mystery man was here already. And all the locked doors in the world wouldn't keep him out.
A CELL PHONE TRILLED SOMEWHERE nearby. The cops milling around the crime scene all looked at each other, waiting for someone to answer it.
It was coming from the d.b., Wes realized.
He stepped under the cordon and carefully rolled the body enough to pull the ringing cell phone from his pocket. "Hello?"
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Lindler?"
"Yes?"
The voice tightened. "You're not Lindler. Who is this?"
"Who's asking?"
"Special Agent Jim Phillips. FBI"
Great, Wes thought. "I'm Chief Wes Hollingsworth of the Bangor Police Department."
"Bangor?" Phillips sounded confused.
"Outside of Savannah, Georgia. I hate to tell you, Agent Phillips, but we found your man Lindler dead on the side of the road." Wes braced himself. "Any idea what he's doing here?"
"Hollingsworth, you said? You claimed a body from the bus crash. Your name was on the release form."
The bus crash? What did the crash have to do with any of this? "I'd have thought you'd be more interested in finding out a fellow agent had been murdered. Any idea why he was here?"
"Lindler was followinag a suspect in a case we're working up in Atlantic City." Phillips sounded grim. "Money-laundering at one of the casinos. Lindler was following one of guys we had under surveillance, a guy named Dominick Manning."
Wes's heart stuttered. "Manning?"
"Chief, I'm sure you're a fine officer, but what's just landed in your neck of the woods is some real bad shit."
And Carly was alone at his house with his crippled father.
Wes took a deep breath. "Manning's looking for Lottie Sandano, isn't he?"
"Does he know where Lottie is?" Phillip's voice dropped an octave, tight with alarm.
"I don't think so." The back of Wes's neck prickled. "This isn't a stalking case, is it?"
Phillips gave a humorless bark of laughter. "Is that what Lottie told you?"
"What is she involved in?"
"She was supposed to testify against Dominick Manning. But a couple of weeks ago, she skipped town. We traced her to a bus crash in Virginia, where we found her purse and her I.D. Until a couple of days ago, we thought she was dead."
Wes's stomach hurt. "Was she involved in the laundering?"
"No," Phillips said quickly. "She's the one who reported her suspicions to us. But she was skittish about testifying. Can't blame her; Manning is about the most dangerous S.O.B. around here. We think he's connected to a doze
n murders in South Jersey alone."
"Mob-related?"
"Manning makes the mob look like amateurs."
And he wanted Carly dead. Wes's blood ran cold. "I know where Lottie is. I'll protect her until you get some of your guys over here from Savannah. Can you take care of that call for me?" He gave Phillips his cell phone number. "Tell them to call when they hit town and I'll meet them."
He grabbed Neely and gave him a terse explanation on the way to the car. As he opened the driver's door, he heard a trilling sound.
Neely opened the passenger door and pulled Wes's cell phone from the floorboard. "This yours?"
Wes took the phone. "Hollingsworth."
"It's Floyd, Wes. We think Carly's in trouble."
"DO YOU KNOW HOW TO USE that thing?" J.B. asked softly.
Carly tightened her grip on the gun. "No. Do you?"
"Not left-handed." J.B.'s brow wrinkled. "Guess I should've given the warm rice a little more time, huh?"
It had been J.B.'s idea to get the gun, a semi-automatic hidden in one of Wes's dresser drawers. It had a full clip and J.B. had showed her how to disengage the safety. It had also been J.B.'s idea to head downstairs to the storm cellar, a small, unfinished room under the house built to protect the house's occupants from tornados.
"Not much good in hurricanes, though," J.B. had said as they made their way down the narrow wooden steps to the cellar as quickly as his wobbly legs would allow, Nate the bloodhound padding down ahead of them. The dog stopped at the bottom of the steps, his tongue lolling and his tail wagging.
Reaching the dirt floor of the cellar, Carly stopped and listened. She could hear nothing besides Nate's soft hassling and the rapid-fire cadence of her own pulse.
Suddenly, the bare light bulb hanging from a rafter above their heads flickered out, plunging them into utter darkness.
Nate made a low, moaning sound in his throat.
"There's a flashlight on a table against the wall right across the room," J.B. said softly. "I saw it before the light went off."