by Debra Webb
“Well, of course. The army toted us all around the world.”
“Uh-huh.” He planted his hands on his hips. “She’s been telling me which climates you enjoyed most, which excursions and discoveries made you light up.”
“What?” The behavior he was describing baffled Frankie. Everything she found pointed to a woman all too eager to ditch her past for a better venture.
Aidan pressed his hands to his eyes and she imagined he was counting to ten. Or maybe one hundred.
“Your mother loves you. She wouldn’t be working this hard on the wedding, wouldn’t be sharing the highlights of your childhood with me, if she wanted you dead.”
“She’s hiding something,” Frankie insisted, but the argument felt flat. “Playing us.”
“No.” He shook his head. “We’re playing her.”
“That was the plan.” She wagged her finger between them. “None of this pretense would be necessary if she’d been honest with me from the start.”
“Think, Frankie! She can’t give you answers she doesn’t have. Take another perspective and consider the possibility that she’s protecting you.”
He spoke with such conviction she wanted to believe him. “We were close once. My family was a team. Someone twisted that into lies.”
He gripped her elbows, gave her a gentle shake. “You deserve answers. I know you’re hurting. But your mother is too direct, too efficient to waste this much time on wedding stuff if her goal is to kill you.”
Aidan drew in a big breath. “You know her better, I’ll grant you that. But your history and grief are clouding your view.”
He had to be wrong. Frankie couldn’t see how anyone else gained from this fiasco. Who else would care if she lived or died?
“All right.” Frankie sat down at her computer, ignoring the wedding paraphernalia. She motioned for him to pull up a chair. “Walk me through it. If my mom’s just a patsy, let’s find the culprit.”
Chapter Eleven
Wednesday, April 13, 7:50 a.m.
Frankie and Aidan arrived at work hand in hand, parting ways with a quick kiss in the lobby. They’d made this their routine from the start, but today it felt different. More real, far more significant.
It didn’t take any investigation to know making love with Aidan changed her, she thought, taking the stairs up to her floor. Love? No. Her mind backpedaled in denial. It was excellent sex that left her feeling soft and mushy all over. Something in the way Aidan had touched her reached her heart, yes. The experience had definitely surpassed her expectations. Still, it was too soon to burden either of them with love.
She tugged open the stairwell door, refusing to dwell on the conversation she’d overheard, instead greeting the others on her floor as she hurried to her office.
At least she and Aidan had solid indications her mother had been involved, if not willingly, with her dad’s downfall. As Aidan had reviewed the facts, Frankie had grudgingly admitted he was right. Everything she pointed to was circumstantial, some of it possibly fabricated. If they could just prove it, they could move on. She wished she knew what that next phase of her life would look like.
Frankie dropped her purse into her desk drawer and locked it. Booting up her computer, she thought about what Aidan had asked her to look for today while she pretended to analyze company data looking for criminal trends, security options and new clients to approach.
It still surprised her how much she enjoyed the work that was supposed to be short-term cover. If they didn’t find something by the end of the week, she’d have to resign her post at the police station and stick this out, or else leave her mom in the lurch. Somehow the idea wasn’t as appealing as it had been forty-eight hours ago.
Frankie closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. She sure as hell never expected to carry away any guilt over what had to be done in her effort to clear her father’s name.
At the sound of a soft rap on her office door, she sat up, her eyes popping open.
“Good morning,” her mother said, peeking around the door. “Late night?”
Either her mother was diabolical, a theory Aidan dismissed, or her surveillance team had no idea someone had tried to kill her daughter last night. Frankie heard Aidan’s voice urging her to play nice. “Hi, Mom. I just didn’t sleep well.”
“Wedding plans do that to a bride.”
Frankie struggled to maintain the eye contact. “I suppose.”
“Was it the elevator? I heard there was an emergency call with an elevator in your building. Do we need to move you and Aidan?”
“Some kind of mechanical failure,” Frankie said slowly. Her mother had friends tailing them who’d surely seen the emergency personnel. If she was responsible for the bugs in the apartment, too, did she know the two of them had been gone all night? Frankie needed another cup of tea before tackling these mental gymnastics. “Don’t worry about us.”
“Okay. You know—” Sophia took a small step inside the office “—before your father and I rushed our wedding, the most fun we had was cake testing.”
Frankie swallowed. It wasn’t just the idea of cake at eight o’clock in the morning. It was the image of her parents’ loving, romantic relationship spiraling into something so terrible. Did love ever last? Great, now she had one more impossible question in need of an answer. “I remember you made chocolate cake every time he returned from a deployment or business trip.”
“His aunt Josie baked the cake for the reception my parents hosted and she gave me the recipe,” Sophia said. “Does Aidan like chocolate cake?”
Frankie nodded, hoping it was true.
“I’ll email you the recipe.”
“Thanks.” Frankie deliberately turned her attention to her computer monitor.
Sophia ignored the hint to leave. “I don’t want to step on any toes,” she said, her hands clasped tight around the travel mug of coffee in her hands. “But I, um, made a few calls and if you’d like we can preview some bakers this afternoon.”
“What?”
“Just to streamline the process,” she said with a tentative smile. “Naturally you and Aidan will want to make the final choice together.”
“Mom.” Frankie was appalled at the soft sound of her own voice. The love shining in her mother’s gaze was worse. Aidan was right, this wasn’t the face of a woman who wanted to destroy her daughter.
Frankie cleared her throat and reminded herself she had nothing to lose by playing along with wedding plans that wouldn’t happen. It didn’t help. She was in too deep with her mom and the fake fiancé who’d become her real lover. “That’s thoughtful. Thanks.”
“I sifted through the recommendations and reviews and chose bakers who still had openings in September.”
It was such a caring-mother move. Frankie managed to get air in and out of her lungs without choking. The misery over what had begun as a white lie mounted. Worse, this morning it was surprisingly easy to imagine exchanging vows with Aidan. She gave herself a mental kick. They were here for a purpose and she was letting herself get carried away by the game.
Sophia caught her lip between her teeth. “Are you angry?”
“No.” Not the way she had been. “It just sort of hit me that we do need to make plans. I’d thought I’d have time to enjoy being engaged.”
“And you should.” Her mother sank gracefully into a chair. “We can always shift the date.”
“Maybe.” Frankie mustered a smile. “I’ll probably want to move it up after we meet with the bakers.”
The tension fled from Sophia’s face. “Oh, good. Afterward maybe you and I can have dinner down in Pike Place Market.”
“That would be great, Mom.” If a mother-daughter dinner worked, she wouldn’t squander the opportunity.
Sophia’s phone chimed from her pocket. “Mee
ting alarm,” she said. “It’s so hard to think business when my daughter is getting married!”
Frankie admired her mother’s ability to hurry without a single outward sign of stress. Years of maintaining her composure as the general’s wife had been good training. It should serve as a warning that Sophia Leone was capable of saying one thing while doing another.
Thanks to Aidan planting doubts in her mind, Frankie no longer believed her mother could book wedding cake tasting after ordering a hit on her only child.
Frankie dug into the work. It was the only way to get her mind off the not-going-to-happen wedding plans. She even gave the cyber-crime trends her full attention for over an hour before turning her focus back to her quest for the truth, coming up empty again. She swore under her breath. Either her mother had disposed of all evidence or, as Aidan and Victoria would happily point out, Sophia was innocent. Frankie needed to find something soon. Victoria wouldn’t let her monopolize a Colby investigator indefinitely.
“Think!” She drummed her fingertips on her desktop as she considered her next move. There had to be some confirmation of Sophia’s source, or a trace of her obligations at the time of the operation that ended Frank Leone’s military career.
Frankie worked her way through the company directory, focusing on the legal and organizational angles as the company came together. How long had Sophia and Paul kicked around this idea before taking action?
And suddenly, there it was, the validation Frankie had been looking for. According to the official statement, Sophia had been consulting in Washington, DC, when Frankie was injured. So why did these travel documents show her mother and Paul traveling on a military flight from Germany to New York? Paul had then returned to Seattle, while Sophia met Frankie at Walter Reed Hospital in Maryland.
Her stomach sank. It was the proof she’d wanted to find, what she’d put all her energy into for months. Forty-eight hours ago she would’ve marched into her mother’s office for a confrontation. Today, she saved the information for Aidan to review first. It was still a file in a database and, as he’d pointed out repeatedly, possibly manufactured.
If her mother wasn’t guilty of taking down her dad, who would want to make it look that way? Frustrated, Frankie used every computer skill she possessed to catalog the information and store it securely until she and Aidan could plan the next move.
* * *
AIDAN SPENT EVERY free minute of his day working on Frankie’s case. Now that he had her on his side, he didn’t want to relinquish the advantage. Paul found him as he and the trainees wrapped up a session on hand-to-hand strategies. “Looks good,” the older man said.
“They’re coming along,” Aidan agreed.
Despite the words, Aidan couldn’t shake the sensation that Paul wasn’t happy with anything at Leo Solutions right now. Aidan didn’t have anything solid to pin that on and it made him think he was becoming as paranoid about the man as Frankie was about her mother. Still, his investigative instincts were in high gear.
Paul gestured with the phone in his hand. “Sophia tells me she set up a preview of bakeries for tonight. Says she and Frankie need some time to narrow down the style and choices before they invite you to a tasting. It’s code for ‘girls’ night out,’” he said, looking less than happy.
“All right.” It required a little too much effort today to remember this was a cover story. After last night—before, if Aidan was honest with himself—he couldn’t quite see his future without Frankie in it. “As long as she doesn’t leave me out of everything.”
“Ha!” Paul’s sharp bark of laughter gave way to a rare, genuine smile. “Trust me, you’ll want to leave the details to the women. The days after the ceremony are when the heavy lifting begins.”
Aidan just nodded. That wasn’t how he envisioned marriage, but he’d never gotten that far, so what did he know? “Thanks for the heads-up. I should get back to it.” With his evening free he could spend the time digging into the company’s records for the source behind the ruination of Frankie’s family.
Paul cleared his throat and managed to keep a smile in place. “How about you and I head to my club for dinner? There’s a weekly card game if you’re interested.”
“Sounds great.” Anything that gave him a better glimpse of Paul could be helpful.
“I have a six o’clock meeting. Then I can swing by the apartment and pick you up by seven-thirty.”
“We can leave from here,” Aidan offered, seizing the excuse to stay late. “I’ll have time to clean up and change clothes between classes and the paperwork.”
“All right,” Paul agreed. “I’ll send a text when my meeting ends.”
Busy man, and he liked to keep it that way, Aidan thought as Paul walked off. More accurately, he liked to make others believe he was indispensable.
Aidan wasn’t convinced, no matter how Sophia explained the professional partnership. Granted, he hadn’t been on-site long, but the vibe he picked up was interesting. Employees seemed utterly devoted to Sophia and wary of Paul. There had to be a reason, beyond the man’s reticent nature.
Unfortunately, Aidan hadn’t been on the job long enough for anyone to confide in him about specifics. And with the elevator attack, he didn’t want to drag this out. He sent a text message to Frankie about his plans with Paul and then headed to the mat for the next lesson. When the classes ended, Aidan cleaned up for dinner and retreated to his desk while he waited for Paul.
It hadn’t been easy worming his way past the corporate security protocols, but Aidan had experience and tenacity on his side. He’d given up the direct approach—leaving that to Frankie—and started his investigation through lower-level personnel. As a trainer he used his access to review how each personal security officer was connected to Paul, Sophia or both. It made sense that the men and women who’d been with the company since the outset had worked with one or both of them on other endeavors.
He found his way back to the Lennox file and continued searching for the man who’d approached Frankie in Savannah. The guy couldn’t just show up and disappear. Aidan had just found a plane ticket matching Lennox’s ID when the text message from Paul came through.
At least he had something to chew on as soon as dinner was over. Quickly, Aidan copied the information to the cloud storage sites for Victoria. He’d tell Frankie in person, hopefully over wedding cake samples.
Paul was uncharacteristically chatty in the car and Aidan struggled to keep up with the conversation while his mind worked through the case.
“Scotch?” Paul offered, pulling down a panel of the backseat to reveal two highball glasses and a decanter of pale amber liquid.
“I’ll pass,” Aidan replied. “Thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” He poured a generous serving into one glass. “Has to be the best perk of having a driver in this city,” he said.
“You’re not from Seattle?”
“Hell, no.” He sipped the Scotch. “I tried to convince Sophia there were areas more conducive to our business, but she was determined to pin the headquarters here.” He gazed about, eyeing the traffic through the windows.
They had plenty of time to enjoy the view of Seattle sparkling at twilight at the edge of Puget Sound, since the freeway was clogged with commuters. As traffic jams went, this wasn’t bad. This part of the world was so different from his other experiences, Aidan soaked it up.
Paul raised his glass, draining the contents. “So, how are things going?”
“Well, thanks,” Aidan replied honestly. “It’s good work—”
A car rear-ended the sedan, cutting him off.
“What was that?” Paul demanded, twisting around in his seat.
His pulse jumping into high gear, Aidan looked in turn. A bullet screamed through the rear window, exiting through the windshield. Aidan hunkered down, resisting the urge to go for the w
eapon in his ankle holster.
“Get us out of here,” Paul roared to the driver.
The man jerked the wheel and slammed his hand on the horn as he aimed for the left shoulder, searching for any opening on the crowded roadway. The acrid odor of burning rubber tinged the air when he gunned the engine through tight spaces. The car that hit them gave pursuit. Aidan and Paul were tossed back into the seat and then side to side as the driver evaded within his limited options.
“Where’s a cop when you need one?” Paul grumbled. Keeping his head low, he managed to get the glassware back into the console and tuck the liquor station away.
Aidan muttered something agreeable as he mentally weighed his limited options. He hoped Frankie and Sophia weren’t experiencing a similar attack.
Paul’s driver cut across traffic from the left shoulder, aiming for the next exit. Aidan couldn’t understand the decision. The surface streets would give the maniac behind them better access as they jerked in a stop-and-go pattern between lanes.
Bullets started to fly again. One after another struck the window closest to Aidan, creating spiderweb patterns in the glass. He ducked down, taking Paul with him. “Are you hit?”
“No,” the older man said. “What about you?”
“I’m good.” Aidan pulled a pen from his sport coat and wrote down the plate number of the car that had hit them. “Got the license,” he muttered.
Paul gave him a small smile. “Good job.”
“We’re clear, boss,” the driver said.
Aidan followed Paul’s lead, resuming his place in the backseat as they merged with traffic exiting the freeway. “What now?” he asked.
The remnants of the rear window exploded and Paul’s answer was swallowed by a spray of sparkling glass and a violent oath. Aidan felt a burning in his back and across his arm as a wet warmth seeped slowly down his side. The coppery tang of blood filled his nostrils. “I’m hit.” Had he managed to get the words out or had he only thought them?
It was his first gunshot wound and he hadn’t expected it to make him woozy. He didn’t understand how the shot was even possible until he looked back over his shoulder and caught the movement of a sniper on the overpass above and behind them.