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

by Kimberly Rae

  Steve yawned. “I need coffee.” He pulled into a fast food drive through and ordered the largest option on the menu. “You want some?”

  “Nah, brought some from home.” Quinn held up his thermos. “Did you ever go home? You were still working when I left at eleven.”

  “I got an hour or two of sleep on the floor of the office. My jacket makes a lousy pillow.”

  “You’re going to fall asleep on your feet today.”

  Steve paid the fast food worker and took his extra-large coffee. “I pulled more than a few all-nighters in the military. I’ll be fine now that I have this.” He took a sip, jerked back, and put the drink in the middle consul. “So fill me in on your side of things.”

  Quinn clamped his thermos between his feet on the floor and opened the file on his lap as Steve maneuvered through traffic. “Our buddy Jerod isn’t the sharpest pencil in the box, so letting him go was a smart move. He led the DEA right back to his base, where his contact soon showed up to punish him for losing the Indian rupees.”

  “So they’ve got Jerod and the contact now?”

  “Yeah, and the contact is mad as a hornet and willing to confess anything to make a deal. I talked to the DEA this morning and they’re confident they’ll have the meth lab soon and that side of this case will be closed. They still need the Indian contact for the international side.”

  “Which leads to us, and Lucias Moore.”

  Quinn pulled the file underneath to sit on top of the stack and opened it. “We heard back from the lab. The bottle of sand from Meagan Winston’s house showed up to be just sand. No drugs.”

  “Hmm. Surprising. And the prints on the vase?”

  “Lucias Moore, as we expected. But the unexpected thing was the flowers.”

  Steve tried his coffee again. Still too hot. Stephanie said he acted like a bear just out of hibernation without his morning coffee. He should have called her yesterday to tell her he was working all night, but by the time he thought of it, it was too late to call without waking her up. He’d send a text after they searched Lucias’ house. “What about them?”

  “The lab was working on the vase when they noticed the white carnations had turned pink. They tested the water and found red food coloring and opium. It matched the kind in the briefcase.”

  “In the water?”

  “I thought that was strange, too.”

  The coffee had cooled enough to not burn his tongue. Good enough. Steve stopped at a red light and guzzled half the cup. “The sand bottle in the briefcase wasn’t full. My guess is he took some for himself. But why put it in water and deliver it to Meagan?”

  “Maybe we’ll find an answer in his house.”

  Steve parked in front of Lucias’ run-down trailer. “I doubt we’ll need to bring the warrant. I don’t think he’s been here since we showed up last time.” The door was still unlocked. Steve pushed it open, a hand on his weapon. “FBI. We have a warrant.” He took a careful look around. “Clear,” he called, and Quinn entered behind him. Quinn worked the kitchen while Steve took the living room. He chose one of the crossed-out photos on the floor and bagged it. “I spent half the night reading about this murder case.”

  “Claudia’s?” Quinn joined him. “The kitchen’s clean.” He coughed. “Let me rephrase that. The kitchen’s dirty, but clean of evidence.” He looked at the photos on the wall. “Find anything interesting?”

  “Just that the murder happened three years ago, Lucias got fired not long after, and his first flight to India was thirteen days after that.”

  “He moved on fast.”

  “I’m done with this room. Let’s find what’s behind that locked bedroom door.” Steve crossed the hallway, senses on alert. “No sounds or extra smells.” He picked the lock and pushed the door open. A spider fell from the door frame and landed on Steve’s shoulder. Quinn went inside the room while Steve fell against the wall brushing the thing off. It landed on the worn Berber carpet and disappeared. “That was a big one.”

  “Not as big as this.” Quinn pointed his chin to the wall behind Steve. Steve turned and did a double take. A chill ran across his shoulders.

  Meagan Winston smiled at them. From floor to ceiling, secured onto the wall with clear packaging tape, the image of her was at least eight feet wide and as many feet high.

  “She’s looking into the camera,” Quinn commented.

  “He didn’t take this photo,” Steve said. “I remember it from their store’s website.” He backed against the opposite wall and held his phone up to take pictures. The image only displayed her from the shoulders up, making her face bigger than the bed in the room. “How did he get an image this size?” He moved closer and ran his hand along the photo. “It’s not one picture. The whole thing is made of poster-size photos that he connected with glue or something. The resolution must have been high to make these with this quality. She’s only a little pixilated.” If she was out on display like this, what was the man hiding under his bed?

  “That kind of project would take a long time and a couple hundred bucks to do,” Quinn said. “A labor of love?”

  “Or lust.” For some reason, the huge image made Steve’s skin crawl. “Let’s check out the rest of his room and get out of here.”

  “Where to next?”

  “Depends on what we find.” Steve wished he hadn’t left his coffee in the car. “We only have until five today to prove we can stick this case, so let’s hope we come across something good.” He rummaged through the drawers in the one dresser in the room while Quinn checked under the bed.

  “Man, this guy needs a maid service. Even a laundry basket would be a start.” Quinn pulled piles of dirty clothing out and tossed them against the far wall. “I don’t think we’ll find anything in here except smelly socks and—wait a minute.” Quinn pulled plastic gloves from a pocket, put them on, then dropped to his stomach and elbow-crawled deep under the bed. “I found a box.” He backed out and looked through it. “It’s letters. Signed from Claudia. The homicide team is going to be pumped to get these.”

  Steve had reached the bottom drawer of the dresser. He pulled out a similar box. “What do you want to bet we’ll find more letters in here?” He opened the box and pulled a sheet of paper out. He skimmed over it, then quickly folded it and put it back. He closed the box. “Let’s go. We’ve got what we need.”

  Quinn stood with the box of letters from Claudia. “Where to?”

  “Meagan Winston’s house.”

  42

  Monday, January 5

  8:30 a.m.

  “How’s your grandfather doing?”

  Meagan sat at the table in the store’s back room across from where Kelsey and Brianna shared their breakfast with Alexia. “He sounded great on the phone. I’m going to stop by to see him as soon as I leave here.”

  “I’m glad to hear you’ll be going home,” Kelsey said. “It’s your day off, and you look like you could use some sleep.”

  “That’s a nice way of putting it.” Meagan glanced in a mirror set near the rows of necklaces waiting for clasps. Her eyes were bloodshot, with dark purple half-moons underneath. “I look like I got run over by a truck.”

  “It’s been a difficult weekend.”

  Kelsey didn’t know the half of it.

  “Did you hear?” Alexia rose and gave Meagan a hug. “My pimp’s parole got denied! He’s back in jail.”

  “Thank God for that,” Meagan said. Her words came out brittle. If they had been visible, the letters would have cracked and fallen to the floor like a broken mosaic. “One less guy out there preying on soft-hearted girls and breaking their hearts.”

  Brianna cocked her head. “You okay, Meagan?”

  She sat at the table and diverted attention by saying, “I came by to tell you that I think I should stay away from the shop for a while. With the investigation still in process, I don’t want to draw any attention that will put a shadow on Rahab’s Rope.”

  “Meagan, we’re not worried about that. We�
��re behind you.” Kelsey buttered her biscuit. “They’ll figure out you’re innocent and that will be the end of it.”

  “Maybe not.” Meagan told them about the photograph left on her porch. “Whoever this guy is, he’s getting braver. I don’t want him coming here to look for me and endangering...” She sent a pointed look at Alexia, who had gone across the room to throw her biscuit wrapper away. “...any of our friends.”

  “You have a point there,” Kelsey admitted, “but it just doesn’t feel right, like we’re sending you away until you prove your innocence.”

  “We all know that isn’t the case. I’ll stay away to keep our girls safe. That’s the most important thing right now. They’re vulnerable, and men like him—” She refused to think about Cole. The morning paper would be there soon. She had to be gone before it came. She could not bear to read the devastating truth in front of even her closest friends. “Men like him know just how to gain a vulnerable girl’s trust and exploit it. I won’t let him do that here.”

  “But will you be safe at home, alone?”

  “I’ve got Steve Campbell’s number in my phone now. I’m going to call him later this morning and tell him about the photo.”

  “And you can call Cole, too,” Brianna said with a grin. “I think he’d be more than willing to help protect you.” She waved her hand in front of her heart. “He is one handsome guy. Shame he’s too old for me.”

  “I—I need to go.” Meagan gathered her belongings and wrapped her scarf around her neck. “Keep me posted, okay? And let me know if there’s work I can do from home.”

  Kelsey rose and hugged her. Meagan felt like a block of wood, afraid to hug back. She was one blink away from losing it. She couldn’t collapse into a weeping mess in front of Alexia. She was supposed to be one of the leaders, one of the strong ones. “Lord willing, this will all be over soon,” Kelsey said close to her ear, “and you’ll be back here where you belong. I’m praying it will be taken care of this week. We need you here when I leave for India on the eighth.”

  “Thanks.” Meagan left the store, aware at some subconscious level that she should be paying more attention to her surroundings. She got in her car and, once the engine was running, turned the heat on high. Some guy out there was fixated with her. If he walked up to her car that instant, she was not sure she would even care. What could he say or do that would make her feel worse than she already felt?

  She took the familiar route toward the hospital, dreading her arrival. By the time she got to Pop’s room, he would be reading the morning newspaper. There was no avoiding whatever would be printed on it.

  __________________________

  Monday, January 5

  9:00 a.m.

  Cole parked Steve’s car and stepped into the cold air to face another Monday morning at a job he hated. Today felt like a Monday times two. He’d stopped at the gas station on his way, but the usually friendly cashier glared at Cole like Cole had just maimed his favorite pet. He’d gone next to the diner, and still didn’t know how to think about what happened there.

  “I’ll take the usual, Jack,” he’d said when he walked in.

  “No room today.” Jack’s voice had a gruffness to it Cole had never heard.

  “Everything okay with you?” Cole knew Jack’s son had gotten in some trouble with the law recently. “How’s Billy doing? Have they decided on a court date yet?”

  “My boy may have done some shady things,” Jack had said, crossing his arms and blocking Cole’s path to an empty booth. “But he’s no traitor to his country.” Heads had turned and Cole felt whispers rise from the tables all around him, like a swarm of locusts waking up and immediately busying themselves devouring the landscape. He saw a man at the table behind Jack set down his newspaper and rise. He adjusted his Vietnam veteran’s cap and moved to stand behind Jack. “You’ll need to be on your way, Cole,” Jack said.

  Two more men had left their chairs and now stood behind Cole. For some reason, everybody in the diner seemed prepped for a brawl to start. Cole had not felt such hostility since Iraq. “What’s going on, Jack?”

  “Just that there’s no seat and no food here for you today. Be on your way now before trouble starts.”

  “But I—” The men closed in tight enough that the only route available was the one that led outside. “Can’t I even ask—” The man behind him grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. “Hey, I just bought this yesterday. Don’t—”

  Cole had found himself roughly escorted from the premises. He could have downed three of the men, and Jack, but he had no reason to fight any of them. Why did they all act as if they had reason to fight him?

  He’d skipped breakfast and gone straight to work. Before he could get to his desk in the one-story building, Matt Sinclair, one of the newer recruits, met him with a newspaper in hand.

  “Have you looked at today’s paper yet?”

  “I’ve had enough negativity this morning.” Cole did not stop except to grab a drink at the water cooler. “Why start with everybody else’s bad news?”

  Matt refilled his coffee mug from the half-empty pot on the counter adjacent to the water. When Cole sat at his desk, Matt wandered over and set the paper down. “I’m afraid it’s not everybody else’s bad news today. You’re the cover story, man.”

  Cole stared at the front-page image of him carrying an MK19 Grenade Launcher, his face fierce, his uniform and his skin covered in sand, a woman in a figure-hugging green dress sending the camera a sideways glance in the background. “They photoshopped that woman in,” Cole said. “No female in Baghdad went out in public dressed like that.”

  “You’ll have a hard time convincing anyone of that, or that the story isn’t true.” Matt leaned his weight on the edge of his desk. “They used a lot of technical terms, made it sound good.”

  Cole flipped the paper open and scanned the accusatory paragraphs, the questions about where the woman got her grenade and other explosives, the story of how he was seduced into giving away his own envoy’s position to a terrorist, and how a fellow officer and childhood friend had lied to protect him. That fellow officer had finally come forth to tell the truth, that Cole Fleming was guilty of sharing military secrets with the enemy. Why else would he have run away from his own battalion’s mission that fateful day they were all targeted to be killed? “It’s missing the part that no soldiers were killed that day,” Cole ground out. “And the only one seriously wounded was me.”

  “Guess they thought those facts weren’t important.”

  “Didn’t fit their conclusion, you mean.”

  Matt leaned over and said in a low conspirator’s voice, “So did you do it?” Cole stood so quickly, his hands fisted at his sides, Matt fell off the desk and backed a step away. “I was just kidding, man.”

  Cole uncurled a hand long enough to grab the newspaper. “Mind if I take this?”

  Matt’s hands were both out and he moved farther away. “Go ahead, you can have it.”

  “Thanks.” Cole traced his path back toward the door. “Tell the powers that be that I’m taking my first vacation day.” He heard the low growl in his voice and did not bother to mask it. “But it won’t be for a vacation.” He let the door slam behind him and pulled out his phone as he marched toward the parking lot. Steve’s number went to voicemail after the first ring, but Cole hung up before speaking. This was a matter to deal with in person. Cole’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel as he drove to the Federal Building. He strode inside to find Steve’s office empty.

  “Where can I find Steve Campbell?” he asked a man in a cubicle across the hall.

  The agent did not look up. “Steve’s working a case.”

  Cole wanted to yank the man’s designer toupee off his scalp. “I know. I was in here last week helping. Where is Steve now?”

  “Are you FBI?” The man swiped his bangs out of his eyes and regarded Cole. “You’re the one who called in about the grey Oldsmobile.”

  “That’s right.” A glan
ce to the right revealed another agent headed down the hallway with a newspaper in hand. Cole didn’t have much time. “I need to find Steve right away, but he’s not answering his phone.”

  “Does it have to do with the case?”

  Cole put his hands flat on the man’s desk and leaned over him. “It’s very important.”

  “He called in a few minutes ago. He and Quinn searched the suspect’s house and are now going to another house. A Meagan Winner or Winsome or something. I can check the record if you need the address.”

  The agent in the hallway looked at him, then at the paper. “I know the address,” Cole said. “Thanks for your help.” He departed without a backward glance.

  Fifteen minutes would get him to Meagan’s house, where Steve would have to put his precious investigation on hold while he explained what lie he’d told to protect Cole, what truth the lie was meant to hide, and why he had suddenly decided to destroy the honor of Cole’s name.

  43

  Monday, January 5

  9:00 a.m.

  “Oh, Pops.” Meagan pulled her chair close to his hospital bed and laid her head down on the edge of the mattress. “I was afraid he wasn’t the man I thought him to be, but I never dreamed it could be as bad as this.” She felt him pat her head and wished for the past, when she was a young, pig-tailed girl and a pat on the head was enough to make her feel better. “I wanted him to be...”

  His hand rested on her hair. “Your Prince Charming? Your perfect man? Meagan, my girl, every person on this earth, including the man you will promise to love until death, is flawed and sinful at the core. You want someone who knows that and has been redeemed by Jesus, and is going to live the rest of his life by God’s strength and for God’s glory. Is Jesus the Lord of Cole’s life?”

  She kept her head buried in the mattress. “He said so, but—”

  “Then if that’s the case, let’s look at this situation from a practical standpoint instead of a weeping female’s.”

  “I’m not weeping,” she mumbled into the sheet.