Cold Pursuit

by Carla Neggers

  “Fair enough. Any theories about who ordered Alex Bruni killed?”

  The kid hesitated, then said, “What if he knew Drew Cameron’s death in April wasn’t an accident? What if he was killed by these assassins? Alex Bruni was a prominent ambassador. He probably had enemies who’d be willing to pay someone to kill him—who’d be able to figure out how to get in touch with such people. But he also knew Drew Cameron, and…” Charlie didn’t go on.

  Grit finished for him. “Cameron was just a guy from the mountains. He doesn’t fit with the other victims. Bruni does, but since Cameron and Bruni both have connections to Black Falls, it’s a problem.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said. “It’s a problem.”

  “That’s why we have cops. Anything you haven’t told me? Your father—”

  “He’s not in danger that I know of. Absolutely not.” Charlie blinked back sudden tears, his breathing rapid and shallow now.

  Up front, Myrtle didn’t say a word. Grit stayed very still. “Charlie?”

  “I told you. Marissa was almost killed in September. Agent Harper saved her life. Jo could have died. Marissa could have died.”

  “According to my sources, that fire was an accident.”

  “What if it wasn’t? I don’t want anyone dying for me. The airsoft prank…I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “On some level, that prank made the risks Jo and her colleagues take feel less real to you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And it was funny,” Grit said.

  “Jo got sent to Vermont. I didn’t realize that’s where Nora Asher moved after she dropped out of Dartmouth. If her father’s mixed up in this network…if Drew Cameron and Alex Bruni were among its latest victims…if it’s connected to Black Falls somehow—”

  “Whoa. Slow down. How do you know about Nora Asher?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Facebook. Come on. That was so easy.”

  Charlie noticed everyone and everything. Couldn’t be an easy way to live.

  A stunning, fair-haired young woman appeared on the walkway down from Myrtle’s car. She was flanked by Secret Service agents. Charlie pulled his sweatshirt hood up over his cap and sank low in his seat. “That’s Marissa. She teaches history here. I told you, didn’t I?”

  Very pretty, Grit had to admit. Even prettier than the pictures of her he’d found on the Internet.

  Charlie slipped out of the car and ran, as if he were just a regular kid.

  Moose slid into the seat Charlie had vacated. “Wow. She’s a knockout. The FBI agent, now the veep’s daughter. Myrtle’s not bad, either. Not so sorry you lived after all, are you?”

  “Don’t speak too soon,” Grit said. “The Secret Service is running Myrtle’s tags right now.”

  “Not mine,” Myrtle said. “It’s my mother’s car. And who the hell are you talking to?”

  Grit grinned at her. “Your mother’s still alive? She must have been born during the War of 1812.”

  “Revolutionary War.” Myrtle sighed at him. “Don’t you have PT exercises to do for your leg?”

  “Did them. You going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “No. My problem. I’ll deal with it.”

  “You and the dead Russian?”

  “Go to hell, Grit.”

  Charlie’s seat was empty again, and Grit pictured Moose bleeding, screaming at him to let the Special Forces medic cut off his leg. He said, “Been there.”

  Thirty-Three

  Jo took her mug of coffee and followed Melanie Kendall onto the terrace. The snow—half as much as up on the mountain—spread smooth and untouched down across the meadow and into the trees. The sky was clear now, a heart-stopping shade of blue. The police were still processing the scene on Cameron Mountain. As Elijah had anticipated, a search-and-rescue team had arrived soon after Rigby’s first shots into the cabin. They’d heard them on their way up the mountain.

  Jo’s sister had been part of that first team to reach them and had treated Devin and helped transport him down to the old logging road and then to the hospital by ambulance. Beth had hardly spoken, but her expression had said everything. Words weren’t necessary to convey just how close she knew Jo, Elijah and the two teenagers had come to getting killed early that morning.

  There was much work to do to re-create Kyle Rigby’s activities since arriving in Black Falls.

  And even before then, Jo thought as she looked out at the beautiful view. She didn’t see her hawk and wondered if he knew, by instinct, that it had been a bad day in his mountains. Elijah was in the dining room with A.J. and a couple of local police officers. A.J. hadn’t believed what Rigby had told Melanie Kendall in his call to her.

  Thomas was inside by the fire with his daughter.

  Melanie shivered as a gust of wind blew across the meadow, whipping her black hair into her face. She wore a putty-colored shearling jacket but was hatless, her nose red, her eyes sunken. “I’m sick,” she said as she stared at the view. “Just sick. That awful man wormed his way into my life. Then I invited him into Thomas’s life. He used us all.”

  “He told me you two met in December,” Jo said.

  Melanie nodded. “Yes, in Colorado. I’ve been through all the details with the police. He told me he was an experienced, private search-and-rescue expert. That’s why I thought of him when Nora took off after Alex’s death. I didn’t think anything of calling him. I was drawn to his certainty, his clarity, his decisiveness.”

  With her free hand, Jo scooped up snow from the top of a wooden table and, ignoring the cold on her bare fingers, formed it into a small ball as she flashed on countless snowball fights she’d had with the Camerons. Drew would often participate. He’d loved the snow.

  She tossed her snowball off the end of the terrace and watched it plop into the fresh snow and disappear.

  “You met Thomas in Black Falls in April,” Jo said. “Had you been here before?”

  Melanie shook her head. “No, never. It was my first visit.” She turned, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets as she faced Jo. “Why?”

  Jo didn’t answer her. “Did you know anyone from here?”

  “No.” She smiled. “Agent Harper, please. Just tell me what’s on your mind. I can see something’s bothering you.”

  “I want to know how you ended up in Black Falls four months after you ran into Kyle Rigby in Colorado. Did you pick it at random? Did you know someone who’d been here?” Jo paused. “Did Rigby suggest Black Falls?”

  “Oh, I see where you’re headed.” Melanie frowned and returned her gaze to the sparkling, endless view. “Kyle mentioned Vermont, but I can’t remember if he said anything specifically about Black Falls. He told me he’d hiked here often and loved it.”

  “He knew where Drew’s cabin was,” Jo said, watching Melanie.

  She seemed surprised. “Really? Are you sure?”

  Jo didn’t give her a direct answer. “The police are already checking with local inns and motels to find out if Rigby was in the area in April when Drew died.”

  Melanie gasped. “I could throw up. Do you think he followed me here?” She shuddered, tucking her bare hands up into the sleeves of her jacket. “I realize now that he was a horrible, manipulative man. I don’t understand any of this. I just feel so guilty, but I suppose that’s natural. Victims often blame themselves.”

  “You still haven’t told me how you picked Black Falls.”

  “I was working night and day and needed a break, and I started looking on the Internet. I saw good reviews of Black Falls Lodge. I made a reservation.”

  “Had you been in touch with Rigby, or he with you, since December?”

  “No. I’d filed his card under people who could be good to know and didn’t think of him again until Nora went camping after Alex’s death. Thomas was so upset. It just made sense to call Rigby.”

  “Then he shows up here and ends up nearly killing four people out of the blue? I don’t buy it. I don’t think you do, either.”

  “
He engineered this whole thing. He obviously lied, manipulated—I don’t know why. I’m not a detective. Maybe he was just a crazy killer who seized the moment.” Melanie was defensive now, even angry. “I’m cold. I’m going back inside.”

  Jo didn’t stop her, instead followed her into the dining room—no sign now of the two Cameron brothers and their cop pals—and down the hall to the lobby, where Thomas was in a wingback chair in front of the massive stone fireplace. He had Nora in his lap, holding her as if she were five again.

  Obviously at a loss, Thomas barely acknowledged Melanie and Jo as he hugged his traumatized daughter. “I can’t believe this,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Oh, Nora. Sweetheart. We’ll get through this ordeal together. I promise.”

  Nora lifted her eyes to Melanie. “What about her?”

  “She wants to help.”

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  Thomas looked pained, almost stricken. “Nora.” There was just the slightest edge to his tone. “I wish I knew what to say.”

  Melanie’s mouth thinned, but she smiled cheerfully as she plopped down onto the sofa across from them. “Hey, guys. You’re the smart ones, staying here where it’s warm.”

  Nora slid off her father’s lap and moved to another chair, and pulled her knees up under her chin, curling herself into a tight ball. Jo had learned from Lauren that Carolyn Asher Bruni would be arriving in Black Falls soon. Nora had indicated overnight in the cabin just how much she dreaded seeing her mother. Then she’d have to confront the reality of Alex’s death and the days ahead. A funeral, an investigation, her mother’s grief—and her own. Alex Bruni had been a strong force in Nora’s life.

  Thomas, ashen now, blinked helplessly at Melanie. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  She gave a little shake of the head. “Don’t worry. Please. Nora’s been through an awful, awful time.”

  Jo left the three of them by the fire and headed back to the dining room. No one was around—Camerons, cops, guests. She felt her own emotions well up, her fatigue gnawing at her. And questions, she thought. So many unanswered questions.

  A.J. and Elijah emerged from the kitchen, A.J. carrying a golden-crusted pie, Elijah plates and forks. They set them on the first table they came to.

  “Over here, Jo,” A.J. said. “You never could resist apple pie. I picked the apples myself.”

  “You did not.”

  He smiled at her. “It’s good to have you back home.”

  She approached the table, steam rising out of the pie and the smell of apples and cinnamon filling the air. “A.J., could Kyle Rigby have stolen the money from the shop’s petty cash box? To frame Devin. It would have been easy to get the money out of Nora’s kitchen, and even the café. Could he—”

  A.J. was having none of it and shook his head. “I don’t want to think about that son of a bitch crawling around here, near my family, our guests.” His Cameron blue eyes held hers for an instant, his anger and his fierce love for his wife, his kids, his life in Black Falls radiating out of him. “Later, Jo.”

  She nodded. He cut three thick, warm slices of pie and set them on plates.

  Elijah stood next to Jo and slid an arm around her waist. “Sit before you drop.”

  She shivered, not with cold this time, but with the awareness that she’d done it to herself again. Or maybe just had let herself reawaken what had been there all along, buried deep, dormant. Dangerous, even.

  She loved Elijah Cameron, and she had since she was a girl.

  Thirty-Four

  Myrtle dropped Grit back at the hotel where she’d picked up him and Charlie and took off again. The only reason he’d let her go was that he’d spotted his new FBI pals, and he thought he might need their help after all. As he walked toward their black sedan, he hit the redial button on his cell phone. This time, Elijah answered. “Storm over?” Grit asked.

  “Long night. What do you have?”

  Grit gave him the news. “Alexander Bruni was on his way to meet Thomas Asher for breakfast. Asher must have phoned in the tip about the messenger. They now have more specifics on her identity.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have my ways.” Best not to tell Elijah about Charlie and his cousin switching places. Grit didn’t want to put Elijah in the position of having to lie to his Secret Service-agent girlfriend. “I’m about to get into a car with a couple of FBI agents. I could be a while. If you don’t hear from me in six months, come find me.”

  “Will do,” Elijah said without hesitation, and Grit knew he meant it.

  “What’re you up to, anyway?”

  “I’ll fill you in later. Right now I’m eating apple pie.”

  “Vermont,” Grit said and disconnected.

  The back door of the FBI car opened, and he climbed in, ignoring a sudden tightness in his left foot. The cute female agent was driving this time. She glanced in the rearview mirror at his reflection. “Who were you just on the phone with?”

  “Elijah Cameron.”

  From the narrowing of her eyes, Grit guessed she hadn’t expected a straight answer, but she got her FBI face back on fast—just not fast enough. Whatever had been going on in Vermont while Elijah was incommunicado, she knew about it.

  “Let’s go see Myrtle Smith,” Grit said, snapping on his seat belt. “She just dropped me off. But I figured I might need your help. You know where she lives, right?”

  “Where have you been?” the beanpole agent asked him.

  “Parking with Myrtle. She’s a doll, isn’t she? Those lavender eyes.”

  The female agent wasn’t in the mood. “Start talking, Petty Officer Taylor.”

  “That reminds me. What are your names?”

  They pretended not to hear him and drove out past Embassy Row and onto a shaded cul-de-sac of tidy Craftsman-style houses.

  Flames were coming out of the front window of a cream-colored stucco two-story.

  The two FBI agents swore under their breath, but before their car came to a full stop, Grit had the door open and was on his way, racing across the lawn in long, even strides, arms pumping, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only: Myrtle. She lay crumpled in her doorway as black smoke poured out of the house and swirled around her.

  Grit heard popping, hissing and cracking sounds from inside as he ran up the front steps. He grabbed Myrtle up in his arms, turned and charged back out across the grass and all the way to the side of the road.

  The beanpole FBI agent was on the radio, calling in the world.

  Myrtle coughed, spat black gunk and sat up. “I knew you were on my tail,” she told Grit.

  He grinned at her. “You hoped I was.”

  The female agent beelined for them. “Ma’am, are you all right?”

  “Just ducky.”

  Grit could see Myrtle was shaken, but he said, “You should have told me you were getting threats.”

  The female agent’s brow furrowed, but she kept quiet.

  Myrtle wiped a shaking hand across her mouth, smearing soot. “Hindsight. I get people warning me to back off all the time. I guess these bastards meant business.”

  “The Russian?”

  She coughed, then nodded. “Andrei was a good man with bad enemies.”

  “You two—”

  “Doesn’t matter anymore.” Her lavender eyes were red rimmed and watery. “One of his enemies hired our assassins to kill him.”

  “Proof?”

  “My damn house burning down does it for me.” She looked back at the flames and smoke, sirens already sounding in the distance. “At least I don’t have a cat. I’d have hated to have a cat killed in a fire.”

  “Ever have a cat?” Grit asked her.

  She spat some more and shifted her gaze to him. “Why? Do I strike you as the type?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tears welled in those big eyes of hers. “Lefty. I had to say goodbye to him a year ago. He was eighteen. Life sucks, Grit.”

  “Sometimes.”

 
“We’re dealing with ruthless, dangerous people.”

  “Yeah, Myrtle, we are.”

  The beanpole FBI agent joined them, and his partner looked up at him and said, “The fire trucks are on the way. In the meantime, Myrtle and Grit here are going to talk to us about assassins.”

  Thirty-Five

  Thomas took in a sharp breath when he saw Jo walking toward him from the dining room. He could tell she knew about his breakfast meeting with Alex, and he wanted to die on the spot. “Melanie. Please.”

  “Thomas—what is it? What can I do?”

  He summoned his last shreds of dignity as he got to his feet, the fire crackling behind him, hot on his back; he felt flushed, sick to his stomach. He couldn’t look at Nora. “Take Nora back to the Whittakers’.”

  Melanie took his hand. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just do as I ask. Please.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  Finally he turned to his daughter and spoke firmly. “Nora, I want you to go with Melanie. Lowell and Vivian are expecting you. They have a guestroom set up for you, since the police might still be at the guesthouse.”

  “Dad—”

  “Your mother is on her way there.”

  He didn’t wait for Nora to respond and extricated himself from Melanie, who obviously sensed his distress. But he couldn’t think about that now. He hurried down the hall toward Jo, intercepting her before she could say anything in front of his daughter and fiancée. “I panicked,” he told her. “I panicked, and I ran. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “You need to talk to the police.” Her tone was crisp, professional. “Scott Thorne just got here with my sister. I’ll introduce you to him. You two can talk.”

  Thomas held back a surge of defensiveness. “The meeting was Alex’s idea. He wanted to talk to me about Nora—he was worried about her. There was something else on his mind, too, but he didn’t go into detail. He was late. I waited. Then when he was hit by that car…” Thomas pictured his friend’s briefcase, the crease in his pants. “I don’t know anything, Jo. I swear. I talked to a messenger who said she was a witness. I gave the police everything I could remember when I called in the tip. That’s all.”