The Shadow: Someone is Watching (Rahab's Rope Series Book 1)

by Kimberly Rae

  Her voice was conversational, but wary. He chuckled. “Not officially, but in Iraq if something broke, we knew we’d better figure out how to fix it ourselves. We didn’t have manuals and couldn’t Google out there, so I got pretty good at wrangling repairs myself. Good enough that I’m willing to give your pipe a try. One of the connections may just need to be tightened.”

  “That’s possible. Nobody’s ever given me an award for my muscle strength.”

  It felt good to laugh. “Why don’t you hire somebody to come fix things, instead of trying to do them yourself?”

  “Money.” She blew into her cup. “I already feel guilty just having such a spacious, beautiful home compared to most of the people in the world. When so many people live on a dollar a day, how can I fork out a thousand dollars to fix the roof? When it comes to choosing a new roof or dozens of children being rescued from the brothels...” She looked straight at him. “Is there really anything to consider?”

  Cole wished Steve could hear Meagan, see Meagan, right then. He’d know she could not be connected in any way to a crime that hurt other people. “What about your grandfather’s medical expenses?”

  “Insurance pays for those, thank the Lord. That’s an expense I don’t have to worry about.”

  “I thought Christians weren’t supposed to worry about anything.”

  She considered his comment. He waited to be asked about his personal beliefs, but instead she said, “That’s true. I shouldn’t worry. I should pray about things and let the Lord provide.”

  “Can’t God provide for the kids in India and for a new roof?”

  Her full lips spread into a smile. “You’ve got me there.”

  The scene in the room was getting too cozy, feeling too good. Needing to distance himself, he finished his hot chocolate and took his mug to the sink. “Let’s take a look at those pipes.”

  ________________________________

  Saturday, January 3

  2:00 p.m.

  Steve looked at the photo Quinn brought in of Darla Moore. “Something’s not right here,” he said. “Are you sure this is current?”

  Quinn nodded. “This year. I know what you mean. Our guy in the plaid suit is about the same age. He can’t be her son.”

  “This throws a wrench in things.” Steve shoved the photo away. “Pull her file for me. And see what Phil found on Lucias Moore.” He noticed the red light blinking on his desktop phone and stood. “I’ve got to go see Baine.”

  “Uh-oh. That can’t be good.”

  Steve agreed but wasn’t going to say it. “He probably just wants an update on how the case is progressing.” He left the room and crossed two hallways to get to Baine Zimmerman’s large office. Baine wasn’t the head of the division, but close enough to make an agent’s palms sweat. “You wanted to see me?” Steve said when ushered inside.

  “Your description of the photos in your suspect’s home today brought up a memory,” Baine said. “Please, sit.” Steve sat and Baine continued. “Three years ago, back when I was with the PD in Atlanta, we had a case go cold, and when you mentioned the photos, I remembered one of our suspects had an unusual name. Lucias.”

  “What kind of case?”

  “Homicide.”

  Steve kept his face interested but passive, hard to do with adrenaline shooting through him. “Lucias Moore?”

  The man set a bulging file on his desk. “I got the file sent over. I want to hand this case back, Steve. The Atlanta homicide team never got any solid evidence tracing the murder to your suspect, but I think if they re-open the case, and we have a more experienced team of agents working on the drug side of it, we might be able to land this guy.”

  Had lightning struck, Steve couldn’t have felt more singed. “You want to take the case away from me? But we just got some great evidence. We’re moving fast, and I have two suspects.”

  Baine nodded. “I know.”

  Steve had to convince Baine of his value. “Quinn and I know this case inside and out. Transferring it over would waste time. We’d have to get another team up to speed on what we’ve found, and—” He forced himself to stop before he begged. “Sir,” he tried again, pretending a calm, detached demeanor. “I believe I can close this case. I ask that you give me three more days before you decide to hand it over.”

  “Two days.” Baine opened the folder and flipped pages. “I’ll give you until five p.m. Monday.”

  “That will be enough,” Steve said. “Thank you. We won’t let you down.”

  “I trust you won’t.” Baine slid the file toward Steve. “You’ll want to familiarize yourself with the murder. See if you can find anything in there that shines light on our current investigation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Steve took the folder and left before Baine had a chance to call him back. Back in his office, he set the folder on his desk next to a pile of papers Quinn must have dropped off from Phil’s part of the investigation, and opened the drawer to his right. Behind the pencils, sharpener, and box of refill staples, he found the stress ball some co-worker had given him as a joke when he first arrived. “You’re going to need it, working here,” the man had said with a laugh. Steve wasn’t laughing now. He squeezed the ball with a count and didn’t stop until he reached one hundred.

  He opened his filing cabinet and used his fingers to step a path across the lettered tabs toward M. It wouldn’t hurt to go over all the information they’d gathered so far. At the F tab, his index finger hesitated, and on impulse, Steve pulled out the file marked “Cole Fleming.” He set it on the desk and frowned. Cole had become a burr under his saddle. Steve should never have asked for his help at the beginning. Once Cole decided to help, there was no stopping him until the job was done. Hadn’t Steve learned that the hard way? Wasn’t Steve the one who’d had to rescue Cole from himself?

  As if on its own accord, his hand reached to open the file, and Steve stared down at the newspaper clippings, the partial truths, the implicating questions. Cole had never responded to any of it, had never given any kind of statement, and Steve knew why. If the media ever got hold of the real story...

  They were scheduled to move out in ten minutes, but Cole was far from ready. He stood like a statue next to his bunk, a note in his left hand. “It’s from her,” he said.

  Steve pulled on his boots. “That woman you named Delilah?”

  “She’s warning me to stay off this mission. My life depends on not being part of the envoy today.”

  Steve froze. His voice came out hoarse. “We knew someone was funneling information to the enemy.” Women had seduced men out of their secrets for centuries, but Steve would never have guessed Cole would succumb to the oldest and most powerful tactic in history. “Cole, you didn’t—”

  “I have to stop her.”

  Horror pumped through his veins when Cole dropped the note and sprinted to the door. “Stop her? You have to stop the envoy!”

  Cole had left him with no recourse. If Steve reported that the mission was compromised, he would have to say why, and it would destroy Cole’s career. He would have to trust Cole to succeed, but he placed his team in the back of the line that day, just in case. The bombs went off forty-seven minutes later. His team suffered only one casualty, Cole himself, found more dead than alive under a pile of rubble.

  Later that day, Steve would lie for him, would tell the authorities that Cole had not gone AWOL, but was acting under orders, following a tip about a potential suicide bomber...

  Steve returned Cole’s newspaper clippings to their place, took out the file on Lucias Moore, and with a firm push, closed the file cabinet. He set the two files on Lucias side by side, opened the old one first, and told himself to stop wasting precious time and focus on the task at hand.

  It was a good thing Stephanie wasn’t expecting him for dinner. If it took all night, he was going to learn everything he could about his suspect. No new team was taking his investigation and getting credit for solving his case.

  34r />
  Saturday, January 3

  4:00 p.m.

  Meagan opened the front door for Kelsey’s husband. Nathan wore a jersey and carried a twelve-pack of Mountain Dew. “I heard there was pizza and a ball game,” he said as he stepped inside. “How could I resist that?”

  Kelsey welcomed him into the living room with a kiss. “You heard wrong. It’s pizza and an old classic movie.” She laughed when Nathan groaned. “But Meagan’s grandfather is watching football right now, and I have a feeling he’d vote on your side.”

  “I would, too.”

  Meagan tried not to smile as Cole entered the room and the two men shook hands. “I don’t know who you are,” Nathan said. “But if you’re voting for the game, you can have all the Mountain Dew you want.”

  “Nathan, this is Cole Fleming,” Meagan said, coming to stand beside Cole. “He’s...he’s...”

  “I’m here to fix the pipes,” Cole said with a laugh. “And I think I finally did.”

  “Really?” He’d been tinkering under there for over two hours.

  “Cole Fleming? That name sounds familiar.” Nathan looked to his wife with a puzzled frown that after a moment cleared. “Oh,” he said. “You’re the guy who came to see Meagan in the shop. The taller-than-Meagan guy.”

  Meagan had to sideswipe the conversation right away. “Cole, can you show me what you did to the pipes, so I’ll know how to fix them next time?”

  “What, you doubt my abilities?”

  She smiled. “I doubt the pipes.” She practically pushed him back into the kitchen so he wouldn’t see Kelsey jabbing Nathan’s shoulder and telling him not to embarrass her.

  “Embarrass her?” Nathan said in a whisper that wasn’t soft enough. “Are they dating or something?”

  Oh heavens. “Go enjoy the game,” Meagan said loudly. “Brianna’s on her way with pizza.” If she could keep Cole in the kitchen for a few minutes, Nathan would get absorbed in the game and not be inspired to talk for a while.

  Cole stepped into the kitchen, laughing. “Seems all your friends, and your grandfather, are rather interested in my presence here.”

  She knew her face had flushed bright pink. “They’ve been trying to set me up for years.” She hoped her voice sounded casual. “Ignore anything they say that’s embarrassing.”

  “I’m not the one blushing.”

  Meagan felt the heat run up her ears. “You’re making it worse.” She busied herself with the first-aid kit. “If you’re done with the pipes, I should bandage your hand now.”

  He laughed again. “You’re a very interesting person, Meagan Winston.”

  If he kept looking at her like that, the way she looked at her bunny slippers, she was going to be red from head to toe. “That’s just because your friend thinks I’m a criminal.”

  Shock waves surged through her hand when he reached across the table and touched her. “I don’t think you are.”

  Her eyes lifted and she saw that he meant it. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The moment stretched with his hand around hers until he cleared his throat and said, “Let me show you what I did with the pipes.” He opened the two cupboard doors under the sink and directed her attention to the middle. “See this section here?”

  “The curvy part?”

  He chuckled. “Yes. You’ve got three ‘curvy parts’ before the pipe goes into the wall, and all of them could use replacing.”

  “But then how did you fix them? You didn’t leave to go to the store.”

  He knelt and used a rag to wipe the pipe. “Nope. Thought I’d save you some of that money you need for the kids. I cleaned out the old fixtures and sealed them with some plumber’s putty I found way in the back of the cupboard. It was old, but still worked after a good stir. No one should use this sink for at least two hours, then after that we’ll test it to see if the putty holds.”

  She told herself not to be quite so glad that he would be staying the rest of the afternoon. “Thank you for doing this. I appreciate it.” She tore off the bottom of the grocery list held to the fridge by a magnet, and wrote, “DO NOT USE” on the scrap. With a piece of tape, she secured the makeshift sign to the faucet.

  Cole stood and smiled at the sign. “You’re welcome. Consider it a contribution to your cause.”

  It occurred to her that they were standing close, alone in the kitchen. If they had been dating, it would be the perfect time to steal a kiss.

  “You’re blushing again.”

  Good thing the man couldn’t read minds as well as faces. “I’ll go wash my hands in the bathroom and then we’ll work on that cut on your hand.” She escaped his presence for the second time, thinking how strange it was that one could feel the desire to run away from someone and run toward them at the same time.

  __________________________

  Saturday, January 3

  4:00 p.m.

  Quinn popped his head into Steve’s office. “I heard we’re getting bumped off the case.”

  “Not yet.” Steve motioned him in. “We’ve got till Monday afternoon. Come and look at this.”

  Quinn came in and looked at the file from across the desk. Steve turned an eight-by-ten photo so he could see it right side up. “This is Claudia Conners. Look familiar?”

  “She looks like the girl all over our suspect’s wall.”

  “That’s what I thought. She went missing three years ago. They never found her body, but the photos that the murderer sent to her home address were graphic enough to declare her dead. They’re in the file if you want to see them.”

  Quinn looked at one and quickly closed the folder on the rest. “Was this an FBI case?”

  “No. There was no reason for it to come to us at the time.”

  “So why’s it here now?”

  Steve pulled out another photo. “This is the guy they think killed her, but they couldn’t get any solid evidence to convict him.”

  “Hmm.” Quinn picked up the photo and looked it over. “Light hair, thin, mid-twenties or younger, looks like he’s never spent an hour out in the sun. Who is he?”

  “This,” Steve said, taking the photo from Quinn’s hands, “is Lucias Maddox Moore.” He set out their photo of the man in the plaid suit and two more grainy photos, taken from airline surveillance, of the woman with white hair and the hippie man. “Take a good look.”

  Quinn leaned over and Steve saw the moment he connected the dots. Quinn pointed at the photo of the young man. “This is our man.” He touched each photo. “And this, and this, and this. We’re only after one guy here.”

  “Yes.” Steve stacked the photos, his face grim. “And Lucias Moore, our international drug runner, is probably also a brutal murderer.”

  __________________________

  Saturday, January 3

  4:00 p.m.

  Lucias spent the afternoon in the mall parking lot. It was a safe place to think. Steve and the other guy might still be at his house. They had seen his car. Had seen Raymond. Lucias couldn’t go home until he had a new plan.

  He needed a new friend. A new friend with a new name and a new look. And a new car. If he had a new car, he could be invisible again, and that was important. He needed to be invisible to the rest of the world until he could reveal himself to Meagan. Then they could face the world together.

  It was agony that he hadn’t been able to stay and see her face when she got his flowers. He shouldn’t have gone away. He should have forced that woman to let him stay.

  Things were getting out of control. He tilted the rearview mirror and looked at Raymond. “You’ve been found out,” Lucias told him. “So you have to go. I’ll miss you.” Lucias put his car in gear. He wouldn’t miss the car; he hated the car, and Agatha had banged it up anyway. “Thanks, Raymond,” he said as he drove, “for being smart enough to get those extra stacks of rupees from the briefcase. You scared me when you did it, but now we have enough money to make a really good plan.”

  Money gave a man power. Lucias had enough for a
down payment on a car, new clothes, even enough to buy information. He would create a beautiful strategy, one that would put everyone back in place, where they should be, for him to continue to pursue Meagan.

  He’d left her a note and sent flowers to prepare her heart for him. Now he would prepare her mind.

  35

  Saturday, January 3

  5:00 p.m.

  “Thank you, Kelsey.” Meagan closed the empty pizza box and threw it like a Frisbee toward the door. “And you too, Brianna.”

  “What about me?” Nathan asked before yelling at the defense to block the punt. “I brought drinks.”

  “You too, Nathan.”

  Pops finished off his second piece of pizza. “It’s my TV.”

  “You too, Pops.”

  Cole grinned. “I fixed the pipes.”

  “Okay, okay.” Meagan laughed. “Thank you, everybody.”

  Kelsey snuggled up against her husband on the couch and stole a sip of his drink while he bemoaned an incomplete pass. “I knew you’d enjoy a forget-about-it party if you let yourself,” she said.

  “You were right.” Meagan dug a spoonful of mint chocolate chip ice cream from the carton. “I don’t think I’ve ever thrown a pizza box in my life. I may just leave it there until tomorrow.”

  “Wow, you’re branching out,” Nathan said. “Next thing you know, she’ll be coming down in those bunny slippers I’ve heard about.”

  Meagan threw a balled-up napkin at Kelsey. “Sorry!” Kelsey said, dodging the napkin with a laugh. “It just slipped out the other day.”

  Cole drank the last of his bottled water and stood. “Anybody need anything from the kitchen?” Meagan watched him go, concerned at the sudden sadness in his eyes. She rose and followed him, picking up the pizza box on her way.

  “I knew you couldn’t leave it there,” Kelsey called out with a grin. She put her hand out to her husband. “You owe me five bucks.” He took her hand and kissed it.