by Liz Johnson
“This is Special Agent Sloan with the FBI.”
“One moment, Ms. Sloan.”
Heather held her breath as she waited. Her plan just might work. If only Lee Cooper was connected to the person she assumed he was and would do what she expected him to.
“Special Agent Sloan.” His voice was slick and bred for the courtroom. “What can I do for you today?”
“Mr. Cooper.” Her chest rose and fell faster than she wanted to admit, and she wrapped her freshly bandaged arms around her middle. “Mr. Cooper, I’d like to set up a meeting with one of your clients.”
“Really? Which one?”
Like he didn’t know. “Geoff Conner.”
“Agent Sloan, you must know that I wouldn’t recommend my client meet with you without being present myself.” He sounded like a scolding uncle. “But if you’d like to set up something in my office, we might be able to arrange that.”
“I was actually thinking about Fernhill Park.”
“Why would my client want to meet you in the park?”
“Would you just pass this message along to Geoff? I think I can help him out with his situation with the sheriff, and I’ll be at the grove of trees near northeast Ainsworth Street this afternoon at five-thirty. He’ll be there if he wants my help.”
When she hung up, Heather thought she might be sick to her stomach. She stared at the black phone lying on the table, desperately wanting to call Jeremy but refusing to give in to the urge.
He wouldn’t want to talk with her anyway. Not after what she’d said to him.
In his shoes, she wouldn’t forgive her, either.
Right now she just needed to focus on getting through the day and getting ready to meet the person calling the shots. If she wasn’t mistaken, Geoff Conner couldn’t afford a lawyer like Lee Cooper. He was probably being paid by whoever had sent Geoff.
Whoever had made that chopper crash.
And a lawyer like Cooper passed along news of FBI agents alone in a park. Immediately.
Jeremy hit the snooze button on his alarm for what felt like the tenth time. He let his arm flop over his eyes to block out the morning light coming through the window in his bedroom.
His stomach clenched when he realized that he was indeed back in his own bed. While it was nice to stretch out on the king-size mattress, part of him longed for the couch in Heather’s living room, even if his feet did hang off the end.
At least there he’d know she was safe, instead of being relegated to worrying about it all the way across town.
Why had he walked out on her?
Sure, her words had stung, but he shouldn’t have left her unprotected. He’d acted like a fool five years before when he hadn’t spoken up, and he’d given a repeat performance last night. He’d let his emotions get in the way, instead of doing what he needed to in order to care for Heather.
His ego vied for control, reminding him of her barb.
That’s rich coming from someone who still thinks he’s responsible for his fiancée’s death. Someone who just let her die and is now only using my sister’s death to ease his own conscience.
She’d said it to hurt him. And it had hit the mark.
But wasn’t it at least mostly true?
He’d been lecturing her on trusting that God was in control, but he’d been carrying around the guilt over Reena’s death for a long time. And there was certainly part of him that hoped working to solve Kit’s death would begin to make amends for his mistakes. Yet beyond that and beyond the simple fact that he’d been assigned the case, there was something more that kept him sleeping on a couch for a week.
A spunky blonde with laser blue eyes.
His cell phone alarm beeped again and he swatted at it, thankful for the distraction that derailed his thoughts from a track he didn’t want to be on. Flipping the covers back and rolling out of bed, he eyed his swollen ankle, which he’d twisted when Heather’s car had exploded. Better to focus on the physical pain than his wayward emotions.
He glanced at the phone in his hand as he debated calling her. He didn’t need another reason to think about her, but he certainly wanted to know that she was okay—that her house hadn’t been broken into while he wasn’t there.
The phone was dialing before he even made the conscious decision to do so. After several seconds, it went directly to voice mail. “This is Heather Sloan. Sorry I missed you.” His stomach clenched just hearing her voice. Was she ignoring his call? Or had something terrible happened?
“It’s me. Listen, I’m sorry about yesterday. Will you call me? I’m worried about you. I just need to know you’re okay.”
He stared at the empty wall across the room, weighing his options for the day. He could look for Clay. More dead ends.
He could try to find Heather. She probably wasn’t at home.
If he knew her—and he really did, even if they’d only met a little over a week before—she’d be putting that pigheaded plan of hers into place. She’d have her neck out on the line, maybe by the end of the day.
And there was really only one person Heather feared enough to maybe put a stop to her plan.
He lunged across the room, favoring his right ankle as he hobbled toward the shower.
Ten minutes later, clean and ready to go, he hopped out his front door, staggering toward his car. Once behind the wheel, he didn’t hesitate until he arrived at the enormous government building that housed the Portland office of the FBI. Noise from the nearby Riverfront Park along the Willamette River drowned out the pounding of his heart as he looked up into the windows, wondering which Heather would have been sitting behind in better times.
When he reached the fourth floor, he took a deep breath, nodding at the petite receptionist who looked up to greet him.
“May I help you?”
He pulled his badge out of the pocket of his jeans. “Deputy Jeremy Latham. I’m with the sheriff’s department. I need to see Nate Andersen.”
“Do you have an appointment with him?”
“No.”
“Then I’m sorry. He only—”
“Heather Sloan’s life is on the line.”
Her face turned pale, washed out even under the heavy layer of makeup applied there. “One moment, please.” Immediately she picked up the phone, punching in an extension and whispering furiously.
He looked away for a second, and when he turned back a man with dark hair and steel-blue eyes stood in front of him.
“SAC Nate Andersen,” he said, holding out his hand. “You are?”
The other man’s grip was firm but not intentionally intimidating. “Jeremy Latham. I’ve been investigating the helicopter crash that killed Kit Sloan.”
“You have some information on Heather?”
Jeremy looked around quickly. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
Nate gave him a curt nod and led him to a small conference room down a short hall. He held the glass door open for Jeremy then followed him in, closing the door behind them.
The veins in Nate’s neck looked as if they might explode, and he crossed his arms over his chest, neither taking nor offering one of the plush leather chairs. His glare remained hard, but he didn’t speak, so Jeremy took his cue.
“Heather has always spoken so highly of you.” Nate didn’t relax a muscle. “And she’ll never speak to me again when she finds out I came here and spoke to you about this, but I don’t have any choice. She’s determined to do something stupid.”
The corner of one of Nate’s eyes twitched, and Jeremy took that as a sign, continuing on, no matter how much he felt like a suitor talking to his girlfriend’s father. “We met about a week ago when I was assigned this case and went to the hospital to ask her some questions about the crash.” A muscle in Nate’s jaw jumped, but he didn’t say anything. Jeremy shoved his hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to do with them. “I thought the crash was just an accident until someone tried to kill Heather in the hospital.”
Nate’s fa
ce turned pale and he leaned onto the back of one of the chairs, seeming to need it just to stay upright. “How?”
“A lethal overdose of a new street drug injected into her IV.”
“How did I not hear about this?” Nate’s voice turned thick with emotion, and it was obvious that he cared very much for Heather. But for some reason it didn’t make Jeremy’s gut squeeze with jealousy like just the mention of Clay did. Nate seemed more like an older brother, not competition for Heather’s affections.
Jeremy shrugged. “Heather was adamant about joining in on the investigation, and—”
“What?” Nate exploded, his face going from white to purple and skipping every shade in between as he slammed one fist into an open palm. “I told her to stay out of this investigation. I told her to work on recovering and let you do your job.” By the end of his last word, his voice had tapered down to a low growl. “I should have known.”
“That’s why she wouldn’t let me come to you.”
“So the two of you have been investigating the crash together for the last week?”
“That’s right.” Jeremy met the man’s hard gaze, but felt a little sick to his stomach. There was no telling what this might do to Heather’s career.
But he didn’t have a choice about coming to Nate. Did he?
“And?”
“And we think it all centers on a drug ring.”
Nate crossed his arms again. “What makes you say that?”
“Before she died, Kit told Heather to follow the drugs, and when we went to the crash site—” Nate shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing “—we found cocaine residue on a boulder.”
“Any idea who’s behind it?”
“No. But we found some notes from Kit the night that Heather’s house was broken into.”
Nate blinked, clearly still in disbelief. “Someone broke into Heather’s house? And she didn’t tell me?”
Jeremy had the poise to grimace and apologize. “I’m sorry. She was adamant that you not find out. She’s terrified of losing her position here at the Bureau if you found out she was working on the case against your orders. And I think she’s afraid that the person responsible for Kit’s death is going to go free if she doesn’t catch him.”
“What’s she going to do?”
“She’s setting herself out as bait to catch him.”
Nate shook his head and nodded toward a chair. “You’d better sit down and tell me everything you know.”
Jeremy obliged, sliding into a leather seat across the wide table from Nate, who slumped in his chair. In his crisp black suit, he didn’t seem the type to slump, and Jeremy could almost see the weight on his shoulders forcing him into that position.
With as many details as he could, Jeremy replayed every major event of the last week. From the attempt on Heather’s life at the hospital, to the words scrawled across her front door, to Jeremy’s brawl with Geoff, to Clay’s disappearance and finally to the car bomb.
Nate scrubbed his hands over his face, his features strained and his five o’clock shadow the only color on his face. “She’s out there right now because she thinks Clay has been abducted.” He shook his head as he looked back up at Jeremy. “She thinks that he’s in danger because of her?”
“Something like that.”
“How could someone so brilliant do something so stupid?”
Jeremy nodded, understanding Nate’s point, but still needing to speak up for Heather. “She’s scared. She’s just lost her sister, a madman has been hunting her and she’s desperate to see it resolved without anyone else she loves being put in danger.” He wiped his hands on his jeans, then squeezed them into fists. “I think she thinks putting herself out there, where he can grab her, will bring a quick end to this nightmare.”
Nate eyed Jeremy out of the corner of his eye. “Well, clearly you don’t agree with her, or you wouldn’t be here.”
Jeremy shook his head. “Of course not.”
“Then why are you here?”
Jeremy didn’t blink, looking straight into the other man’s hard gaze. He longed to tell the whole truth—that he had fallen in love with Heather and that he just wanted to see her safe and protected. By someone who could do that without fail.
Instead he offered facts. “We think Kit was investigating the drug ring that’s responsible for this whole ordeal. She left Heather some notes, but they’re pretty cryptic.”
“Was she getting too close, so they took her out?”
“Most likely.”
“But then why go after Heather? Or Clay, for that matter?”
Jeremy bit his bottom lip. “My best guess? Whoever’s behind this doesn’t know how much Kit might have spilled.”
Nate rubbed his temples in slow circles. “All right. Where is Heather now?”
“I don’t know.” Jeremy cringed having to admit it. Nate didn’t say anything, just quirked one eyebrow, and Jeremy felt obliged to confess. “We had a fight last night, and she won’t pick up my calls.”
Nate immediately pulled his phone from his suit’s breast pocket, calling Heather with a single button push. He shook his head. “Straight to voice mail.” His forehead wrinkled, and Jeremy wondered if that was the extent of emotion he would reveal. “You didn’t answer my question a minute ago. Why are you here? What do you think I can do?”
“Can you help me find someone mentioned in Kit’s notes? I think he might be the key to finding out who’s responsible for all of this. We’ve tried to track him down, but he’s not in any city or state databases.” Jeremy laid his hand on his bouncing knee, trying to keep it still, but the tension in his muscles wouldn’t dissipate. “If I can find the man behind all of this mess before he finds Heather, I can protect her.”
Nate shot out of his chair, motioning for Jeremy to follow him. “Let’s go check some databases. What’s his name?”
“Mick Gordon.”
Nate stopped, his hand on the door handle, his eyebrows raised. “There’s a reason you didn’t find him in your databases. He’s an FBI informant.”
SEVENTEEN
The little man behind the chained door quaked as Jeremy took a menacing step toward him. “Are you Mick Gordon?”
“Shh.” He brought a shaking finger to his lips, his eyes bright. “What do you want?”
“Tell me what you know about Kit Sloan.”
Already gray features turned white, and Mick’s trembling hand on the door rattled the security chain. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
Nate had warned Jeremy that Gordon wasn’t the sharpest, but he had good information. As a career petty criminal, he managed to have his nose in just enough of everyone’s business to be both useful and a threat. But Nate had assured him that Gordon would cooperate with an intimidating presence.
“You told my partner that something you said got Kit killed. Tell me what it was.”
“I never talked to your partner.”
Jeremy’s eyes turned to slits. “On the phone, three days ago. You were quite rude and hung up on us.”
Gordon’s shoulders twitched as he shook his head. “It—it wasn’t me. I—I never talked to her.”
Jeremy leaned his shoulder into the door. “I never said my partner is a woman.” Gordon tried to slam the rotting wood that had probably been new when the apartment was built thirty years before, but it didn’t budge against Jeremy’s foot wedged at the base. “I want answers, and I want them now.”
The smaller man chewed on a fingernail, cowering back from the door. It wouldn’t take much force to pop the chain and push the door open, but Jeremy hoped the informant would make good on his role and start talking once he realized Jeremy meant business.
Finally, Gordon sagged into the wall, his face crumpling. “I never meant for her to get hurt. But she called and asked. And I didn’t know—I didn’t think that something like this would happen.” He sniffled loudly.
Jeremy rested his fist a foot from Gordon’s face, the muscles
in his jaw working overtime. “Tell me exactly what you told her.”
“I told her that I used to work for this guy, delivering packages and stuff. I didn’t know what was in them, but it was good money.”
“Drugs?”
He shrugged. “Like I said, I didn’t know what was in them. I didn’t want to know. She wanted to know if I’d recognize anyone I dropped off for. She showed me a couple pictures and I didn’t know them.”
“Get to the point,” Jeremy growled. He didn’t have time to waste. Not when Heather was anywhere but next to him, probably putting herself in harm’s way.
“She showed me one. A picture. Of her and this guy. And I knew the guy. He was the one who hired me. He paid good.”
“Kit was in the picture with the guy?”
“Yes.”
Jeremy thought his head might explode from the pressure caused by waiting on the guy to just spill the information. When it became apparent he wasn’t going to say more, Jeremy prompted him. “And? Do you remember his name? Or Kit’s reaction?”
“She…she looked sad at first. Then mad.”
Jeremy pressed his palm against his forehead. “What was his name?”
“Clay.”
“Clay Kramer?” All the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place in an instant. This was why Kit’s notes had been so cryptic, why she’d tried to hide what she was investigating—she’d figured out that her own fiancé was running a drug ring. That’s what the “F” had stood for—fiancé.
Jeremy spun around before Gordon had even finished nodding his head, his stomach dropping to the bottom of his shoes. Sailing across the lawn to his car, he ignored everything but the need to get to Heather.
She wouldn’t know to be on her guard against Clay. She would just be happy to see him and a cinch to disarm.
She would be an easy mark for her sister’s fiancé.
If he didn’t get to her first.
He peeled out of the parking lot before the car door even closed behind him.
Snatching the phone from his pocket, he pressed a single button to reach Heather, but her cell went straight to voice mail.
“Heather, it’s Clay! He’s the one! He’s behind everything! Call me back as soon as you get this! Let me know that you’re all right.” As soon as he hung up, the phone vibrated, indicating an incoming call. “Heather?”