“What about the individual owners?”
“That’ll take more time.”
“That’s okay. It’s probably nothing, but I’m curious.”
“Curiosity is my middle name, Agent Kincaid.”
He smiled.
“You want the results of the deeper background check on Pip West?”
He pressed his lips together and thought about it. After everything that had happened between them he didn’t want to intrude on Pip’s privacy, but the information might be pertinent as to why someone had shot at her that afternoon.
“Email it to me.”
“Do you think she’s a suspect in the BLACKCLOUD investigation?” Hernandez asked carefully.
“You tell me?” His mouth went dry.
“Nothing came up to suggest any links to the dark web or suspicious activity or communications. According to the information I could access she routinely worked ninety-hour weeks and rarely took time off. She doesn’t date. Her only intersection with our investigation is the dead friend.”
Hunt squeezed his fingers into a fist. “She found her friend’s body but has a solid alibi for TOD. Unless she was working with a third party…”
“But why stir things up? Why even turn up in Atlanta if she’s involved with something as big as BLACKCLOUD?” Hernandez questioned.
It was good to hear his own arguments repeated back to him by an objective third party. Maybe he wasn’t as blinded by lust as his colleagues all feared.
“Those were my thoughts, too. Thanks, Hernandez.”
“Glad to help.” The analyst rang off.
Hunt needed to keep moving forward. He’d contacted, albeit briefly and sometimes only via email, fifty percent of the people on his list of scientists. The only red flag so far was the use of Dexter’s keycard at Blake, after the guy had graduated. Hopefully SIOC was seeing some other behind-the-scenes activities that would lead them straight to the bad guys.
He called Pip again. She still didn’t answer.
Fuller would have warned her off. She’d probably roasted Pip in the interview.
He picked up his leather jacket from the back of his chair and headed to his Bucar.
Will and Fuller might think they were protecting him, but in reality, they were slowing down his investigation and potentially jeopardizing a woman’s life. Despite what they thought, he wasn’t the one who needed to reassess his priorities.
* * *
On the ride to the hospital, Pip had reached out to her former editor in Tallahassee and told him about today’s shooting. She wasn’t giving interviews to anyone and the few calls she’d fielded had made her feel sick to her stomach about some aspects of her profession.
The police investigation in Florida was proceeding and the detective who was investigating the Booker case had taken her call, despite two weeks ago almost physically attacking her at the paper’s office.
Apparently, Lisa Booker had left a letter with her attorney. One of those “in the event of my death” missives that only people in deep shit ever wrote. Lisa had confessed to being Pip’s source and she’d professed her very deep fear of the man she was married to, the abuse she’d suffered, and her inability to leave him. She’d believed her only option had been to help send him to jail and she knew if he found out, he’d kill her.
The detective believed Frank Booker had figured it out. Booker might also have simply decided to kill his family when he realized he was going to jail. He would never have been able to relinquish the iron control he maintained over them.
Pip had tried to get Lisa to go to a shelter but she’d refused. On top of Cindy, it was another loss that still cut deep, especially when she remembered the faces of the Bookers’ three young children.
Pip had arrived at the hospital to find the guard in surgery. He’d come through that first hurdle alive but still had a long way to go. His wife and mother were in the waiting room, consoling each other. They had no idea why anyone would open fire on him. He wasn’t in trouble with gangs or involved with drugs.
Pip had left full of guilt, more convinced than ever she’d been the target. The fact Agent Kincaid had been in the car had probably saved her life—Kincaid, and her obsessive love of books.
Her cell rang as she walked into the lobby of her hotel. She stopped and checked the screen.
Kincaid.
He’d called her twice already but she decided it would be more sensible not to talk to him. The little flutter of sadness that settled around her shoulders reassured her it was the right move. She liked him too much. She didn’t think she could cope with heartache on top of everything else she was experiencing right now.
Fool, Cindy whispered in her ear.
“Sensible.” She was talking to herself in an anonymous hotel lobby and feeling a little lost.
“Hey.” Kincaid stepped beside her and bumped her shoulder as they both stared up at the impressive roof of the atrium of the hotel. “Ghosting me?”
The smile that burst out on her lips was a very, very bad sign.
“How can I help you, Agent Kincaid?” She strove for cool.
His eyes twinkled and he looked about as handsome as any man ever had. “I think you should call me Hunt seeing as how we nearly perished together in a hail of bullets this afternoon.”
“Perished makes it sound like some historical drama.”
“Well, there was drama.”
She looked at him sharply. “And I’m still mad at you for putting yourself in danger to protect me.”
His eyes searched hers and didn’t let her look away. Whatever he saw gave her away. “I’m sorry you were shot at, Pip. I’m more sorry Agent Fuller gave you hell. She’s overprotective.”
“Like an attack dog.” She hardened her resolve. “You two dating?”
He laughed and the relief she felt staggered her. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.
“She’s dating Will Griffin, who you met at the scene today. Fuller is not my type. I like women with less sharp edges.”
The way he looked at her made her swallow hard.
Was that really how he saw her?
Not as harsh or abrasive, or jagged and suspicious? That was how she so often felt—like a razor’s edge of broken glass. The events of the last few weeks had changed her. She hadn’t imagined they’d changed her for the better, and she hated that she loved the idea of being softer.
Sharp edges were useful.
Sharp edges could protect you from danger.
She pulled her hair back off her overheated skin and his eyes followed the movement. The undercurrent of desire sparking between them was more obvious, as if it had been let out into the sunlight.
He cleared his throat. “I figured now might be a good moment to take a proper look around Cindy’s house like we discussed earlier. See if I can help figure out who she was seeing.”
“You’d do that for me, even though you think Cindy’s death was accidental?”
He nodded.
She frowned. “I thought the Feds searched it already?”
He shook his head. He’d showered since the shooting. They both wore jeans and t-shirts now. He wore a leather jacket that concealed his shoulder holster.
“They just checked it for anthrax spores,” he corrected quietly. “We didn’t have a warrant to search the premises.”
“You’re looking for something.” Her nose for a story started to twitch.
He held up his hands. “Not at all. It’s after five o’clock and I wanted to help,” he said. “You’re the one who thinks there’s more to her death than we’ve so far found.”
Was she reading him all wrong? He looked like he was getting ready to leave. She didn’t want to get involved with him but he was with the FBI. A good contact to have. If anyone could help solve the mystery it would be the premier law enforcement agency in the world.
Also, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye. They’d been through a lot and she was still processing the shooting.
“We can go look around Cindy’s house. I’ll need to get a ride though. My car is in evidence.”
Hunt laughed. “No kidding.” Then he sobered. “I’m glad you didn’t get hurt earlier but getting shot at can be devastating. Don’t forget to seek help if you need it.”
“A therapist?” she snorted.
“Don’t be so dismissive.” They started walking outside. “I’ve seen several therapists over the years.”
“Yeah, so have I.” Damp heat pressed against her skin as the sun glared down. She loathed therapists.
His ancient Buick sat half on the curb. The doorman tipped his cap in their direction and Hunt gave him a nod.
They got in and Hunt didn’t need any direction across town to the old established Sherwood Forest neighborhood where Cindy had lived.
He parked in the driveway that curled up and around the side of the house. “It’s a really nice place.”
“It is.” She shivered. “I can’t believe that in theory it’s mine.”
“In theory?” He followed her around to the kitchen door.
“I keep expecting someone to tell me it’s a mistake and hand over a very expensive hotel bill.”
She unlocked the door, stepping inside to turn off the alarm code.
“Is that likely?”
She shook her head. “Doesn’t mean I don’t expect it.”
He reached out and caught her hand and her heart stuttered. She pulled away. She didn’t want his sympathy and didn’t trust his pity.
“I know you’ve been here before but let me give you the full, official tour.” She showed him around the kitchen, dining room and living rooms. He seemed particularly interested in the office and in the stack of things gathered in a basket on Cindy’s dad’s desk. He put on gloves to go through it.
“Should I be doing that?” She nodded to the gloves.
He shook his head. “Just a precaution. And a habit.”
She made them both coffee in old familiar mugs and carried it back to him. He’d gone through all the drawers.
“Can I see her bedroom?” he asked.
Pip nodded and led the way, careful not to spill her hot drink. Up the stairs, along the corridor. She pointed out the various bedrooms. Dana and Bob’s, Richie’s.
Her throat tightened.
Richie had been a super nice kid. Pip had loved him dearly.
She forced the words out. “There are two guest rooms at the end of the hall. They actually deemed one my room and I still keep some stuff there.” The familiar sense of grief swept over her again, more mellow than it had been. They’d all deserved to live long and happy lives. It sucked that they hadn’t. “The other is a nice big spare room they kept for overnight guests. This is Cindy’s room.”
She pushed the door wide open and let him enter first.
The walls were a soft green and the bed was a double with a bright white eyelet duvet cover. Hunt walked over to the bureau, put his coffee down, and went through the things on top of it.
“You recognize all of these people?” He indicated the photos on the cork board.
She nodded.
His lips pressed into a firm line. He walked to the bedside table and opened the drawer.
“Cindy kept a diary. I took last year’s from this drawer—I started to read it but I haven’t got that far.” Same with researching the phone bills she’d retrieved last night. She’d had a busy day. “I assume the current one is at the lake.”
The leather of Hunt’s jacket brushed the bare skin of her arm and she jumped. She edged away. She didn’t like the effect he had on her.
She hadn’t dated in two years. A bad break up and then she’d been too busy. At least that’s what she told herself. The older she got, the harder it was to meet single guys she was interested in. People had to prove themselves before she began to trust them and no one had time for that anymore. She wasn’t outgoing and gregarious like Cindy had been. She was a wary loner.
But the heat in Hunt’s eyes, and the corresponding jolt of desire it shot through her, suggested she wouldn’t mind being alone with him.
She swallowed nervously and sipped her coffee. She kept forgetting this was business, not pleasure.
“Anyone else have a key to the house?” he asked.
Pip shrugged. “The cleaner. The lawyer. Apart from that I don’t actually know. I guess I better find out. I’ll talk to the neighbors. I need to talk to them about the funeral anyway.”
The heat she’d felt earlier was washed away by the cold reality of this devastating loss.
God, it sucked.
Hunt went through Cindy’s bedside table, but there was nothing more incriminating than a copy of Vogue. Then he stood and Pip was once again struck by how attractive he was.
She stubbed her toe on the corner of the drawers and that snapped her out of her thoughts. Ouch. They picked up their mugs and headed down the hall toward the kitchen.
“Should I call a cab or can you give me a ride back to the hotel?” she asked casually. She wasn’t assuming anything. She was keeping this professional.
He frowned. “You don’t have a car.”
“Right.” She raised one brow. “Not until the Feds release it and I’m not sure I want to drive around in a car with that many bullet holes in it anyhow.”
He looked at her out of the side of his eye. “What about Cindy’s car? The red one at the lake?”
She shrugged. “I guess theoretically I could drive it. Feels weird though.” Like her friend was not coming back…
She blinked back tears.
He checked his wristwatch. “Call the lawyer and confirm you can drive it. Go grab the spare keys I see on the rack by the door and I’ll give you a ride out to the lake to pick it up.”
“Really?” she asked gratefully.
He nodded.
Pip hated the thought of going back there, but that was dumb. The lake was Cindy’s happy place. In some ways it was a fitting place to die.
She called Adrian to confirm she could drive the SUV, and found Hunt in the kitchen rinsing their mugs and placing them on the draining board. It was a devastating combination, the man comfortable both washing dishes and throwing himself in front of bullets.
“Adrian said that was fine,” she confirmed.
“Let’s go.” He dried his hands. “With luck we can get up there before dark.”
Pip followed him, locking the house behind her. One of the neighbors sent her a sad, tentative wave and she raised her hand. Pip had met most of them over the years, at barbecues and Christmas parties, and funerals. She finally gave up on her wish that things could be different. They couldn’t be. Cindy was gone. All the denial in the world wouldn’t bring her back.
Chapter Twenty
Hunt wanted to search for Pete Dexter’s supposedly missing keycard. If he found the damn thing it would quiet the insistent niggle in the back of his mind and he’d have to assume Dexter was telling the truth. If Hunt didn’t find it then it was a loose end that may or may not mean anything. All of the other entries into the lab seemed legit. It didn’t mean that the legit scientists hadn’t been doing nefarious deeds, but that was the next stage of the investigation.
It was also possible Cindy had handed the card back as Dexter claimed, and the secretary or some other admin person had lied about it. As much as he hated the idea, it was conceivable Lenore Daniels or one of her co-workers had sold it or provided it to a bioterrorist. Although, surely someone would have noticed a stranger hanging around the place?
Perhaps Cindy had given it back to her supervisor and Everson had used it as his own? Hunt would talk to the man again tomorrow—right now, Everson wasn’t answering the phone.
As his boss had told him to avoid Pip, Hunt was conducting this search on his personal time, so had driven to his townhouse and switched out the Bucar for his truck before heading north. Nothing pissed off the Bureau more than misuse of official vehicles.
He glanced at Pip in the passenger seat. The fact he w
as attracted to her didn’t factor into this. And if he kept telling himself that it just might make it true. Her hands were clenched into tight fists in her lap and she chewed her lip. She was so tense he was worried she’d shatter if she received another hit. He pushed aside the knowledge he was lying to her. His job was paramount and he didn’t intend to compromise that.
But he cared about her, he realized with a sense of foreboding. Which was usually the moment he exited stage right, but they were stuck together in the short-term.
He didn’t want to let her out of his sight.
“At least the SUV should be more reliable than your other car,” he said, searching for something to break the tension that had built up between them.
Small talk. Awesome.
A dimple appeared in one cheek. “That Honda has been the most reliable car imaginable.” Then she grimaced. “But it might have to retire, in light of recent events.” She stared out the window at the unrelenting greenery. Endless woods running along the side of the road.
She turned back to him, her smile sad. “I helped Cindy pick out the SUV at Christmas. Her mom’s old van finally packed it in and she traded it.” She touched the window as if touching a memory. “She put me on the insurance so I could drive it when I was in town.”
His ears sharpened. “So you spent the Christmas holidays together?”
“Every year since we met.”
“Did Cindy go into work over the vacation?” God, that was about as subtle as a ballistic missile.
Pip didn’t seem to notice. “Sure, she went in a couple of times to check on various experiments she had going. Recombinant vaccines. That’s as much as I know.”
That didn’t help much.
“She’d call me when she was done and I’d go pick her up. We’d go out for drinks or home or to a movie.”
He wondered if he could pin Pip down on the times without her getting too suspicious. Credit card details? Maybe they had someone who could isolate Cindy and Pip’s cell phone data over that period. In fact, maybe they could monitor all the cell phones that had pinged off the tower nearest to Blake during those times when the stray keycard had been used to access the lab.
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