Her arm hurt enough that she’d like to just yell at all of them, when it wouldn’t be completely warranted. Why did she do that when she was in pain? She should probably ask Tate, since it was what he’d done when she had broken up with him. However, that might not be a tactful question.
Liberty slumped into a chair and leaned back gently until her back touched the wall.
“You okay?” Tate’s question was low and quiet, for her ears only.
She turned her head and found his face close. “The EMT gave me a shot, and it’s supposed to kick in soon.” She shut her eyes. “I feel like we’ve been one step behind this entire time. Everyone seems to have more information about this than we do.”
Tate shifted beside her. “Yes, it does feel that way.” He paused. “Makes me wonder what else they haven’t told us.”
“You’re not Secret Service,” Francis said, with no apology in his tone.
Locke moved to stand beside the local agent. “And Liberty was compromised.”
Her eyes flew open, but Tate waylaid her with a hand on her arm. She said, “Gee, thanks, boss.” Okay, so he was telling the truth. Still, did she want him saying so in front of Tate and everyone else? Not especially.
Locke said, “Your emotions are all tied up in this, and don’t bother denying it. So we kept a close eye on you. The sheriff filled in the rest.”
They’d been watching this whole time? That was probably why nobody had stormed into the camp trailer and taken Tate into custody. Tate had probably figured it was the fact that she’d made contact with her boss, but it was evidently also because the feds had been on their tails whenever they had a cell signal.
“So why make contact now?” Tate’s question was one she wanted to ask as well.
“Apart from the dead man over there?” Francis lifted one eyebrow but didn’t look to where investigators processed every inch of the office while the medical examiner peered at the body. “We’re running out of time until the deadline, and we need you to make contact with your brother.”
“You think I can find him?”
“You’ve done it already. There’s no reason to assume you can’t again.”
Tate’s jaw flexed. Liberty wanted to help, but what was she supposed to do? She wasn’t going to figure this out alone. Only by all of them working as a team would they find those missing people. All of them, including Tate.
“So you don’t think Tate is involved?” she asked them all. “You think Tate’s name is clear, and he can help by finding his brother?”
“I still want proof beyond a doubt he’s not part of this,” Francis said. “So far it’s just circumstantial, but I figure it won’t be totally confirmed until this is over and we take it all apart. At least for now, I’m satisfied.” He pinned Tate with a stare. “As long as you stay close.”
“You’re keeping me on a short leash?” Tate didn’t sound pleased about it.
Francis nodded. Tate said, “And Dane? You know he’s not part of this either, right?”
“The sheriff is facing no charges at this time, and I suspect not in the future either.”
Liberty figured that was probably the best they were going to get, considering Dane had technically become an accessory. Still, they weren’t far past assuming Tate was guilty, which he wasn’t. The whole thing was up in the air until they could prove for good who was actually behind the missing people.
She turned to Tate. “So we go find your brother?”
Tate shrugged. “I guess. We can backtrack, visit some of his haunts.”
“We could go to his apartment together this time,” Liberty said.
She knew Tate didn’t miss her tone. He just chose to ignore it and said, “We can visit some of his friends as well.”
“You’ll want to start with the girlfriend,” Francis said.
Tate’s head jerked. “Braden has a girlfriend?”
Francis frowned. “Yes, the mother of your niece.”
TWELVE
“I cannot believe they didn’t tell me about the videos.”
Tate flicked on his blinker and glanced in the rearview at the government SUV behind them. No one had asked questions about the fact that they were still driving Dane’s truck, which he’d told the feds they had stolen. That was the least of everyone’s problems right now. Braden hadn’t been at the house where Liberty got shot, and neither had the Russians. It had been entirely cleaned out.
Now they were headed to the address Francis had given them so the agent could listen to whatever conversation they might have with Braden’s girlfriend. The one who was the mother of his child.
Tate could hardly wrap his head around it.
“Are you even listening to me?”
The feds had likely already activated the listening device, hoping they’d hear something incriminating. Everyone in the SUV behind them was probably busting up laughing at Liberty’s “complaining wife” routine.
Tate glanced at her and kept driving. “Locke didn’t think you were compromised because of your feelings. He knows you better than that, Lib.”
“Does he?” She overexaggerated the question. “You don’t know what he was thinking. Maybe I’ve gone off the deep end in the last year. Maybe I’ve been taking things too personally and he can’t trust me to be a professional.” She paused long enough to take in more air and start up again. “I’ve done nothing but be a professional this past year.”
Part of Tate didn’t want to know the answer to his next question, but also a part of him needed to know. “How have you been?”
Liberty’s head flicked around in his direction, but he kept his eyes on the road instead of on her. She said, “How have I been?”
Tate shrugged.
“How do you think I’ve been?” she asked. “Lonely, Tate. I’ve been very, very lonely. But the frozen tundra of my personal life has nothing to do with my ability to do my job.”
He wanted to explain how it was her fault, given he wouldn’t have left if she hadn’t broken their engagement. But was he going to mention it right now? No. “This might just be one of those things you’ve gotta let go, Lib. Locke made a decision and it’s done. You don’t like it, but there’s nothing you can do. Can’t go back in time and change the past.”
He made a left turn and felt her hand touch his forearm. Her good hand, since she hugged the other arm to her body. The EMT had said she needed to see a doctor, get stitched up and get a prescription. And yet, she was here with him still.
He didn’t know what it meant, and he also didn’t know if he was okay with it. Tate wasn’t a better option than delaying medical attention.
“Is that how you feel about what I did?”
Why were they even talking about this? He should be laying out the plan for how they were going to talk to his brother’s girlfriend. The one who was the mother of his niece. At the very least, they should be talking about that. He hadn’t had the first clue his brother had a child.
“Does it matter how I feel?” Tate shrugged his shoulder, but she kept hold of his arm. “It’s done, right? Decision made. Thank you very much. Don’t worry about how I’m gonna feel.”
Liberty’s hand slid from his arm then, and she swiped at her face. Great. Now he’d made her cry.
“Look, it doesn’t matter.” He didn’t really know what else to say.
“It does matter.” A sob hitched in her throat. He heard her try to hide it. “I’m sorry, Tate. I’m really sorry.”
“We were together for two years, Lib, and engaged for six months. I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with you, and then one day you just broke it off.” He waited until he pulled up at a red light and then turned to her, uncaring whether or not anyone was listening. “Why, Lib? Why did you do it? And don’t give me the same ‘it’s not going to w
ork’ reason. Because I don’t believe it.”
Liberty set her hand on her shoulder, over where she’d been hit by the bullet. Her body curved forward, her eyes squeezed and she jerked with each sob.
“Tell me why.”
She shook her head without opening her eyes or looking at him. “I can’t.” Her voice was a whisper.
Tate stared at her.
Someone honked. The light was green. Tate pulled away from the line and headed for the address Francis had given them.
What else was there to say? If Liberty wasn’t going to tell him the real reason she’d broken their engagement, what was the point in pushing her?
While she collected herself, Tate found the house number. He pulled up a couple doors down and looked over at it. The whole street was low rent, and there were some trailers. A couple of them looked to have been there for years, added on over and over so now they resembled a hodgepodge of materials. Lawns were overgrown behind wire-mesh fences, where dogs roamed the front yards. A couple of Labradoodles barked at them.
“I’m going to talk to this woman. I want you to come in with me.”
Liberty sniffed and smoothed back her hair. “Okay.”
Her voice was small, like he’d kicked her cat. Which he would never do, even though it was seriously freaky to hang out in the same room as a hairless cat. He didn’t particularly want to push her when she was hurt and upset, but the idea of facing his niece kind of terrified him. What if this was his only shot at a family, through his brother’s child, and he messed it up the way he’d evidently messed up his relationship with Liberty? Tate didn’t know if he’d be able to handle that on top of everything else, including the threat of criminal charges against him.
They walked down the sidewalk together, neither touching nor saying anything. Tate hated this tension. Sure, a huge part of him still had feelings for her. Probably even loved her. But he simply wasn’t done grieving the loss of what they’d had.
And likely, neither was she.
Which meant this whole spending-time-together thing probably wasn’t good for either of them.
* * *
Liberty stood to the side while Tate knocked on the door. She was exhausted after the crying jag in the car, which—added to the lack of sleep last night after her long day of traveling—made her feel like a wet rag. She probably looked about as good as one, too. Her eyes were hot and puffy, any makeup she’d been wearing long gone now.
Tate cocked his head in her direction. Ugh. If she’d known how it felt just having him train that gaze she’d loved on her, she never would’ve come. She didn’t regret being here, but she hadn’t prepared herself for how much it was going to hurt. Or the fact that he was going to ask questions.
Good thing she was never, ever going to tell him why she’d broken up with him.
He’d tell her she was wrong. He’d fight for them, and he’d probably win her over. Because that was Tate. Of course he would convince her staying together was the right thing. It was why she had to stand strong and fight the feeling that seemed to pull them together like magnets. If she gave in she would spend the rest of her life waiting for the moment he realized he’d stayed when he should have moved on.
No, thank you.
The door swung open. Natalie Stand was a slender woman who wore jeans and a tank top. She stood in the doorway, a chubby toddler on her hip. Despite having a heavy hand with the makeup brush, the woman was beautiful—Francis had been right about that. Her hair cascaded in loose curls that the baby had a handful of, strands of brown, gold and caramel. It was so pretty Liberty nearly gasped. Then she ran a hand down her own mousy blond hair, feeling even more disheveled than she had a minute ago.
The woman’s penciled-on eyebrow shifted. “Can I help you?” There was a lilt of an accent, but Liberty couldn’t place it.
Tate led the conversation, as they’d planned. “Natalie Stand?” When she nodded, he said, “I’m Deputy Sheriff Tate Almers, and this is Liberty Westmark. She’s with the Secret Service.”
The woman took a step back, whether involuntary or not. “Almers?”
Tate nodded. “Braden is my brother. He’s actually why we’re here.”
The woman sighed. “You should come in.” She led them to a living room peppered with baby toys, and Liberty spotted a couple of pacifiers. The kitchen was worn but clean, with the exception of a mug and a half-empty sippy cup on the counter. All normal stuff. There were books, magazines and DVDs on the unit by the TV, and a few pairs of shoes by the front door—some women’s shoes, plus boots and sneakers, the kind a man would wear. A man with much bigger feet than Natalie.
She heard the toddler make some indecipherable noises then move off toward the TV. Tate had Natalie talking about how she and Braden had met, like this was a friendly chat. Liberty continued to study the room. The couches and coffee table. The ceiling.
A tiny hand touched the arm of the couch beside her.
Liberty stiffened.
Tate paused, midsentence. He might have looked at her. Probably frowned. Liberty didn’t look at him.
The tiny girl rounded the couch and bumped into Liberty’s knee.
She couldn’t move.
Curly blond hair. The girl started and glanced up at Liberty, surprised she was on the couch. A war played across her face—smile at the new person, or cry because she had no idea who Liberty was and why she was there. Braden’s nose—Tate had the same one—wrinkled on her face. The eyes were similar, set deep into her tiny face. She was beautiful, clearly Braden’s daughter...and Tate’s niece.
“Liberty?”
She started at his voice. The little girl took a breath and started to cry. Natalie swooped her up. “I’m sorry. She’s usually such a people person.”
Liberty tried to smile, but it felt false even to her. “That’s okay,” she choked out. “She’s sweet.” And Liberty was a liar. It hadn’t been okay since she’d quit serving in the children’s ministry at church. She hadn’t even been able to look at a stroller since, and here God had asked her to face Tate’s niece. It shouldn’t feel like a slap in the face, but what was she supposed to think?
God had promised to give her the desires of her heart, hadn’t he? But no. That wasn’t her lot to enjoy in life. Liberty had nothing she wanted, and the lack of anything real she could call “hers” screamed at her every second of every day. But now wasn’t the time to dissolve into a fit of crying over the unfairness of it all. They were supposed to be interviewing Natalie.
Liberty mustered up as much willpower as she could and straightened. She looked at Natalie without letting her gaze stray to the little girl, now sucking on a hank of her mom’s hair. “Do you know of any dealings Braden may have had with locals of Russian descent?”
Natalie sat, and as she did so, Liberty realized it was a delay tactic. Settling herself and her daughter onto the couch took a moment, and she used it to compose herself and carefully craft her answer.
“Russians?” She blew out a breath, like she was thinking intently. “I don’t know. He isn’t here that much, and I don’t know everyone he hangs out with.”
“He doesn’t live here?”
“No,” Natalie said with a frown.
Tate had a get it together look on his face. “Ms. Stand already answered that question.” He turned to the woman across from them. “Any idea where Braden might be now?”
Natalie shook her head.
“How about where he was last night?”
“Didn’t you say he was with Russians?”
Liberty said, “Just that he was found at the house this morning.”
“I have no idea where Braden sleeps on a regular basis, except for his apartment. He’s here maybe every couple of weeks, give or take. Usually drops off money, mooches some dinner off me and once in a while hangs out with
Tasha so I can go out with my friends.” Natalie sighed. “It’s not perfect, but it works for me. Tasha and I don’t need that kind of dysfunction in our lives. It’s too disrupting having to deal constantly with a toddler and a man who acts like one.”
Liberty nodded. The one time she’d met Braden there had been glimpses of that, even when he was relatively sober. “How do you get ahold of him?”
Natalie shrugged. “I have his number.”
Liberty glanced at Tate, who said, “Maybe you could give it to me.”
Good, he hadn’t already asked that question, so she didn’t look like a total idiot. Again. Tate was probably going to ask her what had happened later. Questions she wouldn’t want to answer almost as much as she hadn’t wanted to answer questions about their breakup.
Natalie scrolled through her cell phone protected by a sparkly pink case, and then read off some numbers to Tate.
Liberty always assumed people knew more than they thought they did. At least, that had been her experience. So she said, “Think back to the last time he was here for a second. What time of day was it?”
Natalie didn’t look impressed by the question. “Dinnertime, I guess. I was feeding Tasha cereal when he showed up.”
“How long did he stay?”
“Long enough I had to make twice as much chicken as I’d planned.”
“And he ate with you?”
Natalie nodded. Tate sat silently, letting Liberty ask the questions. Her next was, “What did you talk about?”
Natalie’s eyes widened. “Actually we did have a conversation. Which was weird, because it’s usually awkward since there isn’t much to talk about. This time he stayed longer, and we talked about the old gym in Havertown that’s closing. He used to be a member there, and he really liked it. He was bummed it was shutting down.”
Liberty figured it was probably nothing, but on the off chance it could turn out to be something, she would accept it. She glanced at Tate. “Havertown?”
“Thirty miles, maybe. It’s a smaller town.” Tate was quiet for a moment. “Lots of places closing down because we have all the ski hills and vacation lodging, and their tourist trade isn’t much to speak of.”
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