by Janet Dailey
“Maybe. Their photocopier was busted. I wrote out what it said by hand.”
“Good going.” It was too bad the actual letter had been lost, but she had risked too much as it was.
“Look, Doris, I’m hoping the TV piece works.”
“Me too. Unfortunately I missed it.”
“You didn’t miss much,” he said dryly.
“You’ll have to tell me about it later,” she said. “I shouldn’t be calling you from here at all, RJ. I just wanted to make sure I caught you so you can bring back the photos and whatnot that I gave you.”
“Are you at headquarters?”
“Yes. But I’m about to drive home. I don’t think you should be wandering into the station late at night—I can get away with it, but you can’t.”
She was right about that. Bannon could just imagine Hoebel reviewing the footage from the security cameras and seeing his least favorite detective’s face over a midnight time slug, especially after Montgomery had called Hoebel.
“Meet me at my place as soon as you can,” she was saying. “Call when you’re a block away. Then I’ll rush back to the station and say I forgot my wallet or something. I can put everything together in the files, nice and neat for review.”
“On my way.”
He scrambled off the couch and swept every picture of Ann that he could find into the nearest envelope, leaving the photocopied documents from the file on the table. Babaloo moved into the warm spot he left and settled down. Bannon scooped up his keys and hurried out.
Doris was at her house, her car pointed out of the driveway when he drove up on her left. She rolled down the window and took the envelope, muttering something that ended with a low-voiced thanks, and drove off immediately. Bannon stayed where he was, the engine running but the headlights switched off to watch her go, thankful that no vehicle swung out after her. Her taillights dwindled to solitary dots of red down miles of empty road before finally disappearing. Bannon’s best guess: She wasn’t being followed.
Which didn’t mean the handover hadn’t been watched or even photographed. Sitting in the dark, he scoped the perimeter of her house and yard, looking for movement in the shrubs, along the foundation, anywhere. Nothing. He had compulsively checked his rearview and sides on the way over and hadn’t spotted anyone on his tail.
What the hell had she said to him besides that pointless thank-you? He scowled, trying to remember something besides her frightened eyes. Just a couple of words. Then they came to him. Lie low.
He backed out of her driveway, still looking intently around, and didn’t turn on his headlights until he’d turned a corner. There was nothing to see but a fat raccoon on a night foray for garbage, its low-slung body almost concealing its small paws as it ran.
Driving home, he kept an automatic eye on the mirrors while he considered the development of the photocopied letter she’d found. Doris had a well-honed sense of what was fake and what wasn’t, in his judgment. The most interesting thing about the letter to him was that someone had obviously tried to make it disappear from headquarters but hadn’t destroyed it outright—unless the copy had simply gone astray. He suspected it wasn’t the only letter from whoever had written it.
Unfortunately, Doris had been too pressed for time tonight to provide her transcription of it, and he couldn’t blame her. The letter would have to wait.
An hour later, he was back in his condo, not eager to return to his painstaking work. Driving at night with the windows down, on full alert for surveillance on him, had brought out his animal energy. The adrenaline he’d been missing coursed through him fullblast, a hot rush of sensation.
He didn’t have time to blow it off with a run. If truth be told, Bannon didn’t want to. He had to get as much done as he could before things really hit the fan.
By midnight, combing through the e-mails from the station, he’d narrowed the search area to the same part of Virginia as before. The responses varied in style and content: Some were carefully composed, some were ungrammatical. Most of the senders asked to remain anonymous. Remembering the veiled menace behind his confrontation with Montgomery and his ass of a lawyer, Bannon could guess why.
He rubbed his weary eyes. There were almost too many to have to check out by himself. Asking for backup was not an option. He was on his own.
So far, he was cool with it, but he wasn’t so sure about Doris. She was the one who had to lie low. And he had to make sure the trouble they were stirring up was his problem, and not hers.
CHAPTER 4
A shrill but distant ringing pierced the fog of his sleep. Bannon struggled up to a half-reclining position, resting on one bent arm as he reached for the phone with the other.
“Hello?” he said gruffly.
A male voice that was an echo of his own chuckled. “Rise and shine, Mr. Famous.”
Bannon gave a growl that scared the cat next to him off the bed. “Up yours, Deke. It’s six-thirty. Do you know what time I went to bed?”
His brother didn’t seem to care. “I saw you on the news.”
“You did? Are you back in Virginia?”
“Nope.”
Even half-asleep, Bannon knew better than to expect too many details from Deke when he was on assignment.
“A guy on my team caught the segment on the Web, asked if you were my brother,” Deke went on. “What could I say but yes? Ugly as you are.”
“Thanks.”
“I watched it a few times, RJ. Sounds like you got yourself a new case.”
“Yeah. And I don’t think old man Montgomery wants me on it. The hell with him. There’s something there worth investigating. I think.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, sitting up all the way, feeling stiff and creaky. Christ, he was tired. He needed coffee, bad.
“You talked to him?”
“Let’s say I was summoned to his lawyer’s office after they saw me on the news. I didn’t say much to them. But then I really don’t know much. Just starting. You know how it is.”
“I hope the TV hounds in your viewing area give you some leads. How many responses did you get, about ten million?”
“Not that many. And they don’t come to me, they go to the station website.”
“Yeah? Wish I could pull a stunt like that.”
Bannon looked around on the floor for his sweatpants and slid them on, keeping the phone receiver cradled against his shoulder. “I’m not going to ask why.”
“Go right ahead, bro,” Deke said. “What I’m doing isn’t classified—not all of it, anyway. Oughta hit the news tonight. Someone threw a billionaire arms dealer out of his private plane over open ocean. No jurisdiction. The government called us in.”
Bannon wasn’t going to ask which government, either. “You calling from a safe line?” he inquired, standing up and stretching. “Or are you looking to get whacked?”
“My uncle says it’s safe. But he doesn’t know about you.”
“Your uncle—” Bannon got it. “Oh. Good ol’ Sam.”
“While I’m on that subject, you might want to update your firewalls. Have you looked at your Facebook page?”
“Not for a year and a half. Why?”
Deke laughed. “You have a lot of new friend requests. Check it out. You are one popular dude after that segment.”
Bannon swore. That should have occurred to him. It hadn’t. Still, he didn’t have to accept a single one. But he felt invaded.
“One or two of the requesters might be smart enough to trace your ISP address. It’s not that hard, you know. Just keep peeling the onion. Layer after layer.”
“I’m taking the page down. Today.” He could hear Deke grinning.
“Look at it first. You never know.”
“Yeah. Will do.”
The brothers exchanged a few more ribbing remarks and Bannon hung up, mad at himself. He made some double-strength, super-hot coffee and took a sip before flipping open his laptop and staring into the screen as it came to life.
He checked the nation
al headlines, then the local news, putting off the inevitable for a little while. Then he went to the site and looked to see who was trying to friend him. A long list of Anns with a bunch of different last names met his bleary gaze.
Before he got started on that, he answered a rude comment from his brother Deke, and another from Linc, with zings of his own. Then Bannon scrolled on through the list of wannabes, not really registering them. Fakers. Some people needed to get a life and not waste other people’s time with tabloid-type fantasies.
Still, he had only himself to blame for not taking his Facebook page down in advance. He really had forgotten about it.
No matter what he and Doris might find, or what leads panned out, he still would bet a lot of money that Ann Montgomery had died long ago. Swilling the unpleasant brew, he jabbed at the down-arrow button, wondering how long it would take. A single name stopped him short.
Erin.
Wow. His Erin?
Bannon shook his head to clear it. Then he looked up at the painting of wild horses on the mantel. The artist wasn’t his by any stretch of the imagination, and this might not even be the same Erin. But . . . he hadn’t called anyone at the Art Walk committee, after all. What if it was her?
He accepted her request. Then got busy. He wasn’t going to glue his eyes to the laptop waiting for an instant message like he had nothing better to do.
An hour later he got one.
Hello. Erin here. I saw you on the news.
Bannon winced, wondering what she’d thought of the segment. Only a conceited jerk would ask. She was adding a little more. The typed sentence appeared in bits.
Sad story. I know it was a long time ago. I hope you find out something.
Interesting response. She didn’t automatically get misty, thinking a missing vic would be found just like that. Erin was smart. And if she was as beautiful as he remembered, well—If one good thing came out of reopening this case, he hoped like hell it was her.
I’m working on it, believe me.
Not a bad answer. He didn’t want to sound like he was playing hero or putting himself in the limelight just for the hell of it. Mulling over what else he could say, he took the time to check out the handful of photos she’d posted. It seemed like a professional page, not personal. For one thing, it wasn’t loaded with the usual girl’s-night-out shots of happy inebriated pals squeezed together.
There was one photo of her at an easel, dressed in a loose, tattered shirt that looked like it belonged to a man, with jeans under it. It was a little frustrating to not see more of her, but that was beside the point. She was working on a half-finished watercolor, using a magazine image of horses that was propped to her right. Not his painting, but one that was about as good. Bannon jealously wondered who’d taken the picture—or given her his old shirt to paint in. He didn’t see a single mention anywhere of a significant other.
His hands poised over the keyboard, he thought some more. His goal was to see her in person, not chat online indefinitely. But at least they were communicating.
It’s great to hear from you, Erin.
He waited. She wasn’t the kind to rush through an answer, and he was grateful she didn’t use those dumb-ass acronyms to reply, because he couldn’t remember any of them.
Thanks.
One word. He tried not to read more into it. She asked about the painting he’d bought. He assured her that it had pride of place on his mantel. And so it went. An hour went by without his realizing it. Then she typed something that made him sit up straight.
Bannon—I almost forgot to say why I contacted you.
He sucked in a breath, watching the rest of her typed words appear one by one.
I painted the Montgomery mansion for the Wainsville historical society. They’re doing an illustrated book on grand old houses in the area.
That was information he didn’t have. It called for an immediate reply.
I hadn’t heard that.
Brilliant, he told himself wryly.
Do you know the director? She went to high school with your mom in Arlington. They’re e-buddies now (she’s Mrs. Judith Meriweather—I don’t know her maiden name).
His mother was all over the Web lately, he knew that. But he didn’t know Mrs. Meriweather. He was grateful to her, though. Obviously he had been thoroughly vetted in advance. That fit the wariness he remembered about Erin.
Want to go to the house? I can get the combination for the keypad from her. It’s not tour season yet.
Bannon’s eyes widened. Down, boy. Don’t sound too eager, he told himself.
Sure.
Erin suggested that they meet at a country restaurant north of Wainsville and he grinned, glad she couldn’t hear him. He knew the place, though he’d never been inside. It was a converted barn by the side of the road, famous for its traditional American fare with a gourmet twist. Sign him up. Then she asked a question that stunned him.
Today?
Did she mean it? He typed an answer fast.
Hell yes. Looking forward to it.
She replied after a minute, as if she’d gone off to do something else in the meantime.
Me too.
Bannon signed off with an oh-so-casual see you there. Then he realized that he still didn’t know her last name or anything much about her at all.
Erin was waiting outside the restaurant, sitting in the sun, when he showed up. The long, light dress she had on fluttered in the warm breeze and her dark hair fell over bare shoulders—well, not quite bare. There were thin straps between here and paradise. She was gorgeous. He couldn’t believe his luck.
He reached out to shake her hand, noticing the strength in her slender fingers.
“Hello.”
“Oh, hi.” She rose gracefully just as he let go and they stood there, awkward as a couple of teenagers on a first date.
“Uh—shall we go in?”
Erin smiled slightly and nodded, preceding him inside. The back view of her was just as tempting. Bannon looked up, startled, when the hostess asked him a question. “Two?”
“Yes,” he said quickly, almost placing a hand on Erin’s waist as they followed the hostess, then thinking better of it.
“How’s this?” the hostess asked, motioning toward a secluded table by a window. Its panes were made of old, wavy glass that revealed the flower garden outside in a shimmer of colors.
“Okay with you, Erin?”
“Sure.” She swept the folds of her light dress under her thighs as she took her seat, a very feminine gesture that got a reaction from him. He sat down across from her as quickly as he could.
A smiling waitress replaced the hostess. She handed them menus and took out her pad. “Anything from the bar for you two?” she asked, pencil poised.
“Ah—not for me,” Bannon said. “Water’s fine.” One beer could turn him into a fool for love. It had happened.
“Same here,” Erin said, returning the waitress’s smile.
“Okay, water it is.” She signaled the busboy to fill their glasses and launched into a brief description of the day’s specials, then left them to think it over.
“Nice place.” He looked around approvingly, noticing the massive, hand-hewn beams overhead and the chinked planks that made up the walls. “Do you—come here often?” He caught himself, realizing how stupid that sounded. “Sorry. That’s none of my business.”
“I’ve been here a few times,” was all she said. Her downcast gaze was on the menu, but her mouth turned up just a bit at the corners.
“Anything you would recommend?” Bannon told himself to concentrate on the food.
“The roast chicken with fennel was really good,” she offered. “I might have it.”
“Fennel? I’m not even sure what that is.”
“It’s a vegetable. The taste is sort of hard to describe.” She peered over her menu to look at his and tapped it halfway down. “You could have the steak with frites. That’s definitely man food.”
He looked where she’d
pointed. “Sounds good. And frites are . . . ?”
“French fries.”
When the waitress returned, Erin gave her order first, and then he did. He returned his gaze to her face when the waitress finished taking their order. She was looking out the window at the flower garden, the fingertips of one hand just touching the pane. “I love this old glass, don’t you? It makes everything you see through it look like a watercolor.”
He glanced outside. “Yes, it does.”
They looked into each other’s eyes at the same moment, and Erin actually blushed. Which made him feel good all over.
“So,” he said after a few seconds, “I guess I should tell you—I was meaning to look you up before the Montgomery thing went on TV.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You didn’t have a website or anything. But I did find your work in a Chincoteague gallery listing.” He took a breath. “Do you live out there?”
She shook her head. “I visit sometimes, rent a room at an inn so I can paint. I used to spend summer vacations with my mom and dad there, though.”
“Oh, okay.” Something in her tone told him that her parents were no longer living. But he’d wait for Erin to confirm that.
“My dad liked to fish, so he went off with his rod and reel while my mom and I wandered around the seashore trails with binoculars. Kind of geeky, huh?”
Bannon shook his head. “Binoculars? No. Gotta have them on a stakeout.”
“Oh, right. Then I don’t feel so geeky. Anyway, off we went. Most of Chincoteague is marsh—there are lots of wading birds. And wild horses, of course. In the distance.”