Being personally involved with witnesses under his protection was strictly forbidden, both as Marshals Service policy and by his personal code of ethics. Tara was no longer a witness and he was not officially protecting her, but it presented an awkward situation nonetheless. He had put her in a position where she was isolated from everything and everyone and was totally dependent on him for the time being, which made her vulnerable.
He allowed the mental picture of her kiss-swollen lips and the sparkle of excitement in her eyes to linger for a moment longer, then forced his attention back to the problem at hand.
He made up a list of possible suspects. At the top of the list was Danny Vincent, John’s nephew, who had a criminal record consisting of numerous misdemeanors when he was younger. Did he also have the same connections with organized crime as his uncle? Even though he had no arrests during the past ten years, his name had come up several times in various investigations. Always look for a motive—it was rule number one for his good friend Steve Duncan, a homicide detective with the Portland, Oregon, police department. It was Steve who Brad had called in an unofficial capacity to request that a very thorough investigation be made of the accident that killed the fifth witness.
The U.S. Marshals Service was a protective agency, not an investigative one. The FBI was the investigative arm of the Justice Department, but this was something Brad could not take to the FBI without Thom Satterly’s approval. So he had turned to his friend. And as Steve said…always look for a motive.
And Danny Vincent had motive written all over him. First and foremost would be revenge. He was an only child whose mother was dead and whose father, John Vincent’s brother, had been in bad health. He may have concluded that his uncle would not have died if he had not been in prison…that the stress of the trial and then imprisonment had been too much for his heart. He could very well have held the witnesses responsible for his uncle’s death.
Another possibility for a motive also presented itself. Perhaps Danny’s involvement in his uncle’s criminal activities was much deeper than anyone realized. He might have been worried about the information the witnesses had about him, believing that it was only a matter of time before he became the target of an investigation the way his uncle had.
After careful thought Brad had reluctantly added two more names to that list—Ralph Newman and Thom Satterly. Someone inside the U.S. Marshals Service had to be providing information on witnesses, especially with the two men who had been in the Witness Security Program. Ralph and Thom were the most obvious candidates at the moment. Each of them had money problems and were in desperate need of the kind of payoff that could be elicited for that type of information. Both men had displayed unusual behavior in response to Brad’s questions and speculations.
And then came the name that concerned him the most— Tara Ford. He knew in his gut that she couldn’t be involved in any wrongdoing, but as a professional he had to put his personal feelings aside and look only at the facts. As the only witness who chose to remain in the Seattle area, she was the easiest one to locate yet she was the only one still alive. What had been carefully constructed murders made to look like accidents in the cases of the other five witnesses had been a very sloppy attempt on her life with no attempt to disguise it—a lot of fireworks without any harm to her. He had notified her that he believed she was in danger, and within hours there was a bomb planted in her car. It was almost as if someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to make her appear to be a target.
The circumstances were very suspicious to say the least. The only thing that relieved his anxiety over her possible involvement was that he couldn’t find any motive for her being involved with the murder of the witnesses. There was nothing he could see that would make the elimination of the other witnesses be to her advantage. Someone had to be the last of the witnesses and it could just have easily been one of the others rather than Tara.
He tried to use that logic to ease his apprehension, but it didn’t help very much. A shortness of breath caught him by surprise. Every time he thought of her, he relived every heated moment of their kiss and the way it set his soul on fire.
He had not yet had the opportunity to look into other members of John Vincent’s family and he needed to be careful about how much investigating he did in the office. So, for now, Danny Vincent was his first choice as the person ultimately responsible for five deaths whether he committed the murders himself or hired someone to do them. He was the logical candidate to receive leaked information and if that was the case, it would mean he was working with someone on the inside. But would the death of his uncle while in prison be enough for a revenge motive? It would depend on how close Danny and John really were. Danny’s whereabouts needed to be verified for the times of the witnesses’ deaths.
Brad could understand a possible motive for Ralph or Thom, that of a large monetary payoff. Either one of them could be providing information to Danny. Or a more disturbing thought, either one of them could be directly responsible for the deaths as a contract hit. They each had a background of training with the Special Operations Group that would provide the type of expertise needed to carry off the clandestine function. But try as he might, he could not think of a motive for Tara, a reality that sent a wave of relief through him.
Three suspects, four if he counted Tara. Who else could he add to that list? He would need to dig deeper into John Vincent’s family, find out who else besides Danny would have a motive that would put them on his suspect list. He folded the list and put it in his pocket. Right now he had another lead to follow.
The murder of Phil Winthrope had been the work of a highly skilled professional, so there was a good chance that the bombing of Tara’s car was also done by a professional, even though it appeared to be a hasty and sloppy effort. He procured a list of known car bombers from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. The ATF also provided him with the information they had on recent suspected activities, criminal records, current status and whereabouts and a list of known associates. He searched out connections with anyone in the Seattle office of the U.S. Marshals Service through past cases. It was an impressive list of bomber suspects, one that could take some time to carefully decipher and narrow down the possibilities.
This non-case had become more and more complex with each new discovery. He knew he had stumbled across a very devious and well-constructed plot, yet he didn’t dare take his suspicions to anyone higher up, at least not yet. And especially not with Thom Satterly being on his suspect list, as well as Ralph Newman—not without some sort of proof to back up his speculations. A wave of sadness swept through him. He found the idea of anyone from the Marshals Service being involved to be very distasteful, but he couldn’t ignore the possibility, especially in light of the mounting information pointing to a leak of information from within the Marshals Service.
TARA ANXIOUSLY PACED the floor in the small motel room, glancing at the clock every few minutes. If her nerves had been drawn any tighter they would have snapped. Brad had told her he’d bring lunch. As much as she wanted something to eat, she wanted someone to talk to even more. The room had become smaller and smaller with each passing hour since breakfast.
She stared at the door as if trying to force him to appear through sheer willpower. Her gaze fixed on the door handle. The sound was almost imperceptible, but the movement was very real. Someone was at the door, someone who had not announced their presence, someone who was slowly turning the doorknob.
A hard lump lodged in her throat. Her mouth went dry. She felt frozen to the spot. She knew she had to move, had to take action, but she couldn’t. All she could do was stare. Fear churned in the pit of her stomach and quickly rose up her throat. Whoever was on the other side of the door twisted and rattled the doorknob.
It was panic and a strong sense of survival that finally spurred her into action. The only way out was through the very same door where an unknown person stood. She took a step backward, then another until she bumped into the b
athroom wall. It was her only chance…she could try to get out the bathroom window. She turned toward the bathroom door giving up a silent prayer that the window could be opened. Her pulse raced and her heart pounded so hard it seemed that it might actually rip out of her chest. Then she was stopped short in her tracks by a woman’s angry shout.
“Jimmy! Get away from that door. You get over here right now or you’ll get a spanking!”
Then there was the sound of a child running. Tara’s legs turned to jelly. She leaned back against the wall, but her legs refused to support her. She slid down the wall to the floor and sat there in silence. She felt numb all over. Was this what her life had come to? Even the misadventures of a small child were enough to throw her into panic. The tears welled in her eyes, finally overflowing the brims and trickling down her cheeks.
She slowly wiped them away and tried to regain her composure. Brad would be here any time. Tara couldn’t let him see her like this. She couldn’t let him know how she had fallen apart over such a trifling matter. Finally managing to get to her feet, she went into the bathroom where she splashed cold water on her face. She took several deep breaths and felt a little better. A calm began to descend over her rattled nerves. Stretching out on the bed, she closed her eyes. Brad would be here soon and then everything would be all right.
The soft knock grabbed her attention. She peered out the peephole in the door just as Brad announced his arrival. She quickly opened the door for him.
“I’ve got lunch.” He set the paper bag on the table, placed a large thick envelope on the dresser, then took off his jacket and tossed it across the arm of the corner chair. He removed the contents of the sack. “Cheeseburgers, fries, a couple of milk shakes…definitely not health food, but from the best hamburger joint in town.”
“It smells good and I’m hungry.” Her stomach growled as if to confirm her words. She glanced down sheepishly. “I didn’t eat much for breakfast and now I’m paying the price.”
They ate quickly. Tara cleared away the remnants of lunch while Brad opened the envelope and took out several files.
“I have the reports on the accidents that killed the witnesses. Victim number one is from Dade County in Florida. The coroner attributed death to poisonous mushrooms. The report states that the deceased had been entertaining a woman in his house. His neighbors said he fancied himself a gourmet cook. He had apparently prepared dinner for two as a prelude to the evening’s activities. A couple of X-rated tapes were found in the bedroom on top of the television and another one in the VCR. It appeared he had very definite tastes as evidenced by the handcuffs and other paraphernalia on the nightstand.”
Brad skipped ahead a couple of pages. “His companion of the evening was never identified, but described by his neighbors as a woman in her early thirties with short red hair, but no one got a good look at her face due to the large sunglasses she wore. They found bright red lipstick on one wineglass and coffee cup. The same shade appeared on his shirt along with the strong scent of cheap perfume. They found some short red synthetic hairs in the bedroom and a couple of long blond human hairs with blond the natural color rather than bleached. They concluded that the woman was wearing a short-haired red wig.
“She apparently didn’t like mushrooms, which they believe is what saved her life. The dinner plate next to the wineglass and coffee cup with the lipstick had the mushrooms shoved to one side with a couple of bites of steak remaining. The official report stated that the woman is believed to be a prostitute, which explains why she never came forward to offer any information.”
He put that file back in the envelope, then picked up the next folder. “This one is from the Los Angeles County sheriff’s office and is a report on a fall from the cliff above the Pacific Ocean just north of Malibu. It seems that victim number two was known to go jogging early in the morning along the beach cliffs. That particular morning was foggy. It appeared that he had simply gotten too close to the edge, lost his footing and fell to his death on the rocks below. There weren’t any witnesses to what happened, but nothing at the scene indicated a struggle or an encounter with someone else.”
He put the file aside and reached for the next one. “Here’s where it gets really interesting. This report comes from the Dallas Police Department. With victim number three we have another case of food poisoning. This time it was a plant called cassava. When cooked properly it doesn’t pose any danger. But in a raw state it contains high concentrations of prussic acid sufficient enough to cause death from cyanide poisoning. Death comes very quickly. The victim was found in the bedroom and there was evidence of a half-eaten raw fruit. They also found some short red synthetic hairs on the pillow.”
Brad picked up the fourth file. “This one is from the Cleveland Police Department. Victim number four was bitten by a coral snake. While poisonous, the bite is usually not fatal for humans unless it isn’t treated with antivenom. And that was the case here. The snakebite was in the victim’s neck, injecting the venom directly into the bloodstream. They found the snake in the bathroom.”
He set the file aside. “What I found particularly interesting was that victims number one and three were the witnesses in the Witness Security Program and had been given new identities and relocated. Both of them died from eating poisonous foods. Short red synthetic hairs were found at the scene of both deaths. In both cases the cause of death was ruled as self-administered but not a suicide—in other words, apparent accidental death. That in itself is suspicious without even taking the other deaths into consideration.”
Brad added the file to the envelope with the others. “And that brings us to Phil Winthrope’s death in Portland, Oregon, another that would have gone down as an unfortunate accident. He had been pronounced dead at the scene from what was at first called a really weird accident. His front tire had apparently blown out, causing his car to veer sharply into the river, according to witnesses. He was trapped inside as a result of a jammed door and malfunctioning seat belt. Death was due to a blow on the head that seemed to have been sustained during the impact. If that hadn’t killed him, he would have drowned since he was trapped inside his car underwater.
“After giving it a second look—a very thorough scrutiny—the Portland lab technicians found where and how the seat belt had been tampered with and that the tire was blown by a remote-control device so that the where and when of the accident was determined by the perpetrator. It was a very slick and highly professional job, the kind of thing where someone really had to be searching with the knowledge that it was not an accident in order to discover how it had been rigged. Without the extra investigation it would have gone down as an accident just like the other four. It’s the only one where there is concrete proof of a premeditated crime—that and the bombing of your car.”
Tara didn’t say anything. She seemed more stunned than anything else. Brad reached out and touched his fingers to her cheek. “Are you all right?”
“I…I guess so.” She looked up at him, a combination of despair and trepidation covering her features. “I had no idea—”
He pulled her into his arms and held her, trying his best to comfort her while staving off his personal desires. She definitely stimulated his senses and aroused his physical desires, but her inner turmoil also touched him on an emotional level. He ran his fingers through her hair and cradled her head against his shoulder. She felt good in his arms, as if it was meant to be. He kissed her forehead, then fought the temptation to do more.
“Tara…”
“Yes?” She liked the sensation of being held by him. It made her feel safe, even if only for a few minutes. What would it be like to have Brad Harrison as part of her life on a daily basis? No…she couldn’t start thinking along those lines. She didn’t really know anything about him except that he made her pulse race and her heart pound every time he came within three feet of her. His life was unpredictable and filled with danger. He carried a gun. He was nothing like the type of man she wanted, but still…
&nbs
p; She also knew that his only purpose in being here was because someone was trying to kill her. It was his job. Nothing more. She couldn’t even say with certainty that he wasn’t already married, maybe engaged or at the very least involved in a relationship.
“Uh…I need to get back to work.” Those may have been his words, but he made no effort to release her from his embrace. “While I’m gone I want you to think back over the past few months, anything you can think of, any sort of unusual situation that had the potential to be a fatal accident. We can talk about it this evening.”
He stroked her hair, reveling in the silky texture. “What do you want me to bring you for dinner?” He couldn’t force himself to turn loose of her even though he knew he should. Then the temptation that he had been fighting finally won out. He placed his fingertips beneath her chin, lifted her face, lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. The tender kiss quickly deepened as he pulled her body tighter against his.
Again, her response surprised him…at first hesitant, then accepting and finally willingly involved. As before, a hard jolt of lust traveled through his body. But this time there was an undeniable rush of emotion attached to it. The words played through his mind…this is business, this is business… but he quickly shoved the annoying mantra aside.
Then he reluctantly broke the kiss. He rested his cheek against her head, took a deep breath and forced a calm to his growing desires. He mentally kicked himself for his totally unprofessional behavior. This woman was in danger and needed his help. And what had he done in response to that? He had allowed his physical desires to distract him from his duty.
In His Safekeeping Page 8