In His Safekeeping

by Shawna Delacorte

  He had to admit, if only to himself, that he liked taking care of her. Not as part of his job and not because she was in danger, but because it felt good to have someone to look after, someone to share with. However, from his experience with her so far she didn’t seem like the type of person who wanted someone to take care of her under normal circumstances.

  She had already taken him to task for making decisions and telling her what to do without consulting her about it. A warm spot grew inside him as he recalled the sparks of anger in her eyes and the defiance in her voice. She was independent and strong, two qualities he greatly admired. She also possessed a passionate nature and a sensuality that touched him as deeply as anything ever had.

  And as much as he wanted to stay right where he was, in bed with the most desirable woman he’d ever known, it was something he couldn’t afford to indulge. Well, maybe he could…just for a moment. He kissed behind her ear, then ran the tip of his tongue along her shoulder blade. He reluctantly turned loose of her and sat up. There was something else on his mind, something he needed to talk to her about.

  “Tara…”

  “Mmm…yes.”

  “As much as I’d like to stay here all day, I’m afraid we have work to do. We need to get busy. And I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. We didn’t have any dinner last night.”

  She sat up. “I’m hungry, too.”

  He leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on her lips. “Tara…about last night…I take my responsibilities and my job very seriously. This is not the type of behavior that’s standard procedure for me. Witnesses need protection, not to have a precarious situation exploited for personal reasons. I hope you didn’t feel pressured—”

  Once again she placed her fingertips against his lips to still his words. “No, I didn’t feel pressured, obligated or coerced in any way.”

  “Are you sure?” A wave of guilt crashed through him. He had been wrong in what he’d done, but nothing had ever felt so right.

  She leaned forward and returned his kiss. “I’m sure.”

  He held her a moment longer before releasing her, reveling in the warmth of her bare skin against his. Then he reluctantly turned and slid out of bed. He went back to his own room to shower and dress while Tara did the same.

  Brad agreed to her request to go out for breakfast rather than eat in the room. Each felt a degree of safety in their hideaway on an island, something that had been missing from the time he had approached her in the parking lot after work. Being able to breathe without constantly checking over their shoulders was a nice break, an opportunity for nerves to settle and anxieties to lessen.

  They gratefully took advantage of the reduced stress although they were each acutely aware that they were far from being safe. After breakfast they went for a walk along the waterfront, watched the boats and did some window-shopping. Then it was time to go back to the motel and return to reality. They knew they couldn’t let the relative feeling of security cloud their senses to the danger that still existed.

  As soon as they arrived back at the room Brad started making calls on his cell phone and connected his laptop computer to his other cell phone that he had given Tara. He wanted to check on the location and movements of everyone he felt could be involved with the case for the dates of the various accidents. Another connecting thread he had noticed was that each of the accidents had occurred on a weekend, thereby allowing anyone with a regular job to hop on a plane Friday evening, do the job and be back at work on Monday morning. Even though he was convinced that Pat was responsible for Phil Winthrope’s murder in Portland, that still left the other four witness deaths. As far as he was concerned, the accident explanation was out of the question.

  Top on his list was Danny Vincent and then Thom Satterly and Ralph Newman. A check of credit card transactions would show plane tickets, rental cars and hotel rooms. He wanted to know about any out-of-town trips to the cities in question whether they corresponded with the dates of the deaths or not. A check of gasoline credit card transactions could also be used to place the suspect in another city or state. The other thing he needed to track down was the whereabouts of Doreen Vincent, John’s daughter. So far a superficial search had not turned up any trace of her in the past year.

  Utilizing a special computer program for tracking fugitives, he provided Tara with instructions for accessing various information sources from his computer, including password-protected connections. They worked quickly and efficiently through the morning as a team, crossing item after item from Brad’s list.

  SHIRLEY BENNETT CARRIED the computer printout into Thom Satterly’s office. She placed the paper on his desk.

  “I was running a test program at the request of the accounting center and I came across something unusual. Since it involves this office I thought you’d want to know about it.”

  Thom looked up at her. “Is there a problem?”

  “I don’t know.” She pointed to the specific entry. “Right here. This credit card in the name of Martin Bronson is assigned to Brad Harrison. I’m showing that it was used at a motel in Friday Harbor on San Juan Island yesterday afternoon. Since the schedule shows Brad assigned to office duty, I thought there might be something here that you should know about. Has the card been reissued to someone else who is out on assignment?”

  Thom picked up the paper and studied it for a moment. “Brad is taking some recuperative time off. He probably decided to get out of town for a couple of days.”

  “But that wouldn’t explain his using the Marshals Service credit card rather than one of his own. Do you want me to bring this to the attention of the accounting office?”

  “No.” Thom placed the sheet of paper in the tray on his desk. He looked up at Shirley. “I’ll keep this until I’ve had a chance to check it out with Brad.”

  “Very well.” Shirley turned to leave, running into Ralph Newman at the door of Thom’s office.

  “Excuse me, Ralph.” She brushed by him and continued down the hall.

  The two men stared at each other for a moment. It was finally Thom who spoke first. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  Ralph hesitated for a moment. “If you don’t need me here for anything, I want to take an early lunch. I have some errands to run.”

  “Sure, go ahead.” Thom watched Ralph walk down the hall.

  As soon as Ralph disappeared from sight, Thom retrieved the computer printout from the tray, folded it, put it in his pocket, made a quick phone call, then left the office.

  KEN WALSH OPENED the front door. “Thom? This is a surprise.”

  “May I come in? I need to talk to you.”

  Ken stepped aside to admit Thom Satterly into the living room. As soon as the two men were seated, Thom went immediately to the purpose of his visit.

  “I need to talk to you about Brad Harrison. I have a problem that I hope you can help me with. I know the two of you are very close. He’s been exhibiting some odd behavior the last few days and I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on it.”

  Ken leaned back in his chair, hesitating for a moment before responding to Thom’s question. “Is this an official inquiry?”

  “No, I’m asking on a personal basis. Is there anything you can tell me about what’s bothering Brad? What he’s involved in?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean by odd behavior. Can you give me an example of what he’s doing?”

  Thom slowly shook his head. “I think that answers my question. Whatever it is, you’re not going to tell me. There’s only one thing Brad has presented to me lately and that’s the dead witnesses from the John Vincent case. Did he mention anything to you about following up on that?”

  “No, I can honestly say that he never mentioned the John Vincent case to me.”

  “I turned down his request to look into it. Apparently he’s decided to do something on his own in spite of my decision that no case exists and my specific orders to drop it.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t help
you, Thom. As I said, he never mentioned anything to me about John Vincent or any dead witnesses.”

  BRAD CROSSED the last item off his list, tossed the pencil on the table and leaned back in his chair. His exasperation covered his features and filled his voice. “Well, that accounts for everyone’s location at the time of the murders. It leaves us with Danny Vincent unaccounted for at the time of two of the murders, the two where there was no evidence of any woman being present. There’s no way to prove that he was out of town on those dates—no records of Danny being on a flight, at least not under his own name or paid for with his credit card. The same with hotels and rental cars, also no gas receipts from any of the locations. So, unless he drove his own car and paid cash for everything, I’ve got a cold trail for the time being. Nothing conclusive from phone records, either.

  “Doreen Vincent is unaccounted for totally. It’s as if she ceased to exist. There isn’t a current driver’s license issued to her in any state under that name. No passport, either. Also nothing on a death certificate for that name that fits her age.”

  “I wish I could remember the name of the man John said she was going to marry. Maybe the passport would be in that name.”

  “There’s no marriage certificate for her, either, although that’s not as accurate a search as tracking down driver’s licenses and passports.”

  “Does that mean Danny is still on your list of suspects? There’s proof that he wasn’t in the cities where two of the deaths occurred and there isn’t any conclusive proof that he was in the other two cities at that time.” Tara hadn’t wanted to ask the question. It left her uneasy, but she wasn’t sure why. Was she trying to kid herself into believing that Danny wouldn’t harm her? Was she closing her eyes to reality? Refusing to accept the truth?

  He looked at her quizzically. “Is there some reason why he shouldn’t be on my suspect list?”

  “I don’t think he could be responsible for any of this. If you want to go with the revenge angle, Danny isn’t the type who would go out on a limb for anyone. He certainly wouldn’t to the point of committing murder for an uncle who was dead, especially when that death probably benefited Danny. Besides, he and John weren’t really that close personally. They were related, not friends. Danny was a very controlling person. Being in charge was something he wouldn’t want to give up just because John had gotten out of prison. I’m sure John dying in prison suited Danny just fine.”

  She jerked to attention, sitting up straight in her chair as the idea hit her. “Green Valley Construction, John’s legitimate business, would probably have been left to his most direct heir, his daughter, rather than Danny. If Danny took over anything, it would be the illegal operations such as the loan-sharking and bookmaking, which would be a valid reason for him being pleased that his uncle was out of the way. And if Doreen did inherit, then maybe you can track her down through John’s attorney. He would have needed to get in touch with her for the reading of the will and the transfer of the property.”

  Brad regarded her for a moment as he turned her words over in his mind. “That’s very logical reasoning and a good point, especially about John’s attorney knowing how to contact Doreen. Do you know his attorney’s name?” The logic also applied to her comments about Danny, but it didn’t remove him from the suspect list. Was he pushing at Danny because of a bit of jealousy over the past relationship between Tara and Danny? He wasn’t sure of the answer.

  The thought of a weasel like Danny Vincent making love to Tara was a truly disturbing thought. He tried to shove it away, which only went to tell him just how much he had become emotionally involved with her, something that could be very dangerous for both of them. It also diluted his claim that protecting her was his job and made the entire situation very personal.

  “I can’t think of the attorney’s name right now, but if I had a Seattle phone book I could find it. I’d know it as soon as I saw it.”

  Brad stood up and stretched his arms over his head, then tried to work the kinks out of his back. He’d been sitting too long, hunched over a table that was not intended to be a working space. “Then we’ll get you a Seattle phone book. There has to be one somewhere on this island.”

  She shoved back in her chair and rose to her feet. “Are we getting any closer to solving this?”

  He took her hand in his. He heard the anxiety in her voice even though she was trying to put on a brave front. “Yes, we’re getting closer. We’re obviously making someone very nervous. Whoever it is has lost the edge of secrecy and the ploy of using accidents to commit murder and is now operating out in the open. That will make the culprit careless and the mistakes will be in our favor. Just like the murder of Pat. That was a foolish and desperate move.”

  She scrunched up her face and creased her forehead. “I wish I could remember where I’d seen him. I know it’s important, and I know if I could remember it would answer some questions.”

  He placed a kiss on her forehead, then pulled her into his embrace. She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. He allowed the moment of intimacy to continue. She felt good in his arms. She belonged there. “Don’t try to force the memory. It’ll come to you.”

  He finally released her. “Come on, let’s see if we can find that phone book. There must be a library here. Surely they’d have a Seattle phone book.”

  He grabbed the local phone book from the nightstand drawer and found a listing for the library. It was only three blocks away. They set out on foot, holding hands and walking along the sidewalk at a leisurely pace that belied the urgency of their quest and the seriousness of the danger. He kept a watchful eye on the street, the passing cars and other pedestrians, but it was more out of habit than immediate concern. The majority of his attention centered on Tara’s hand clasped securely in his.

  They located a Seattle phone book at the library. Tara turned to the listing of attorneys and carefully scrutinized each name.

  “Here it is!” Her excitement carried over into her voice. “Gardner and Culbertson—Leo Gardner was John Vincent’s personal attorney.” She took a notepad and pen from her purse and jotted down the information, then handed the sheet of paper to Brad.

  He stared at it for a moment. “Let’s go back to the room. I’ll call him in my official capacity. Hopefully he’ll be willing to answer my questions, especially in light of the fact that his client is now dead, which should absolve him of attorney-client privilege.”

  They walked back toward the motel, but had only gotten a block down the street, when a sudden movement in the driveway between two buildings across the street caught Brad’s attention. A shadowy figure darted from behind a large Dumpster to a position behind some stacked crates on the other side of the opening between the buildings.

  Brad shoved Tara inside an antiques store, barking out orders as he unzipped his jacket for quick access to his gun. “You stay here.”

  Her senses shot on alert. “What’s happening?” She stared out the window, her gaze darting up and down the street in an attempt to discover what had prompted his actions.

  “I’m not sure…maybe it’s nothing.” He quickly surveyed the inside of the store. He looked in the storeroom, immediately spotting an exit door. “I’m going to check something out. I’ll be right back.”

  He slipped out the back way and ran down the alley, each stride hitting the pavement with a thud. He continued to the side street, then up the sidewalk to the main road where they had been walking. He took a calming breath before peering around the corner of the building. He carefully scrutinized each person and every doorway. The adrenaline surge shot through his body. He had been so comfortable with Tara that he had let down his guard. He could not afford to let it happen again.

  Brad darted across the road, then down the side street to the alley that ran behind the buildings across the street, parallel to the main road. He paused, took a steadying breath, then cautiously made his way down the alley, keeping close to the back wall of the buildings
. He came up behind the Dumpster, all the while maintaining a clear view of the stacked crates.

  The empty driveway that greeted his efforts increased his anxieties rather than calming his nerves. Someone had been skulking in the driveway and now whoever it was had disappeared from sight. It was only a shadow, a brief glimpse of movement. He couldn’t tell if it had been a man or a woman.

  He leaned back against the wall. The adrenaline surge subsided, allowing his heartbeat to return to normal. Had he actually seen someone or merely imagined it? Had he made something sinister out of something commonplace? He shook his head, hoping to clear the uncertainty. He couldn’t afford doubts. He needed to be sure about things. Lives depended on it. Tara’s…and now his.

  Brad took one last look around the area, then crossed the street to the antiques shop where he had left Tara.

  She stepped out onto the sidewalk as he approached the door. A little wave of relief passed through her when she saw he was okay, but it didn’t relieve her anxieties. “What was it? Did you see someone?”

  He glanced across to the driveway, his gaze shifting up and down the other side of the street. “I’m not sure. It was probably nothing.” He turned to face her. “Let’s get back to the motel. I have a couple of phone calls to make.”

  Instead of proceeding down the sidewalk, he led her inside the store and out the back door into the alley. “It’s two blocks to the motel. Are you up for a little jogging?” They started down the alley at an energetic pace until they reached the motel. They slowed to a walk, crossing the parking lot toward the building at the far end where their rooms were located.

  Brad heard the sound of the broken muffler before he saw the car, the same black car with the dark-tinted windows they had done battle with the day before. With a screech of tires and the roar of a powerful engine, the mysterious car leaped forward, rapidly closing the distance to the spot where they stood.

  A fraction of a second was all it took. The car window went down. A figure behind the steering wheel dressed entirely in black and wearing a ski mask extended an arm and aimed a gun in their direction.