Hard Justice (Cobra Elite Book 3)

by Pamela Clare

  “I used to be a counterterrorism analyst with the CIA. I’ve come to help him see if he can unravel what happened to your husband.”

  “The CIA?” Ava stared at her. “I’m so grateful. Quinn has always been such a good friend.”

  “Would you mind if I asked you some questions?”

  “Anything to get justice for Jack.”

  While Quinn and Hannah cleaned up in the kitchen, Elizabeth sat down with Ava, taking notes as Ava answered her questions.

  “Was she really wi’ the CIA?” Hannah whispered.

  “Aye, she was. She’s one of the cleverest people I know.”

  “I’m happy she’s on our side.”

  So was Quinn.

  Ava sat across from Elizabeth on the sofa. “I hope you’re not going to ask me whether my husband was dealing drugs. I know what they said on the news last night. I’ve had a half-dozen friends call to tell me about it and ask how I’m coping. Jack and I didn’t keep secrets from each other.”

  Elizabeth hurt for Ava, knowing that this wasn’t true. “I’m so sorry—and, no, I wasn’t going to ask you any of that.”

  Ava answered anyway. “Jack used to drink, but he never touched drugs. He refused to take anything stronger than ibuprofen when they operated on his shoulder. I couldn’t believe his pain tolerance.”

  “Quinn has already vouched for Jack’s character, so I believe you.” Elizabeth moved on. “Quinn says you told the police that Jack seemed tense lately. Can you tell me more about that?”

  “Jack was always very closed about his work, and I understand that. As a physiotherapist, I had to maintain patient confidentiality. When you’re in the military or working for the government, you can’t share everything about your job. If you have a bad day, you can’t come home and unload.”

  Elizabeth knew all about that. “You think he had a bad day?”

  “A few weeks ago, he came home late—that is to say very early in the morning. I woke when he got into bed. I asked if he was all right. He didn’t answer. He just held me—held me as if…” Ava’s words trailed off, fresh tears in her eyes. “… as if his life depended on it. I asked again if he was all right. He said, ‘The world is an ugly place.’ Then he kissed me and told me to go back to sleep.”

  “Was that the end of it?”

  Ava shook her head. “He seemed troubled at breakfast and left for work early.”

  “When you say ‘troubled,’ what does that mean?”

  “He was quiet, lost in his own thoughts, tense. For days afterward, he seemed worried, pensive.”

  Elizabeth wrote that down. “Do you remember what night that was—the night he came home late? I know this is difficult. I’m sorry to ask so many questions.”

  “Don’t apologize. I know you’re trying to help.” Ava drew out her cell phone, and looked at her calendar app. “It was a Friday night. He often worked late on Fridays. That was the same week Hannah’s oldest broke his wrist skateboarding. It must have been October eighteenth.”

  Elizabeth wrote that down, too. “About three weeks ago, then?”

  Ava nodded. “Yes.”

  “Why did he work late on Friday nights?”

  “Alastair Whitehall—that’s the Member of Scottish Parliament, or MSP, who employed Jack—is quite wealthy. He gets invited to a lot of political and social events. Jack said it came with the job.”

  “That makes sense.” Elizabeth had yet to meet a politician who didn’t love the limelight. “How long had Jack worked for Mr. Whitehall?”

  “It’s been a few months. Andrew Lewis, another SAS veteran, helped him land a job as a security guard at Holyrood when he left the service, but Alastair took a liking to him and hired him to be part of his personal security team a few months ago. Jack was chuffed because it came with a big pay rise.”

  “I’m not familiar with the laws in Scotland, but in the United States, you might have access to some of the information about this investigation—a case file. It would be really helpful for me to have that file.”

  “Hannah’s husband, David, is a solicitor. I’ll ask him to look into it.”

  “I appreciate that.” Elizabeth took a moment to glance through her notes. She wasn’t Sherlock Holmes, and she was probably overlooking something. “Do you have the serial number for the stolen laptop?”

  “Not that I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Did he have any conflicts with people at work?”

  “Jack was the kind of man who got on well with most people, but I did think of a couple of things. This past August, a man confronted Alastair outside Holyrood. Jack said he was drunk or off his nut on drugs. It was Jack who fought him to the ground and held him until police arrived. The man kept shouting about abortion and threatening to kill Alastair and Jack, too, if Jack didn’t release him. Police arrested him, but I don’t know what became of him after that. Jack laughed about it.”

  “I’ll look into it.” Oh, how Elizabeth wished she could ask Ava for the SIM and IMEI numbers for Jack’s phones, but she’d made a promise. “How about acquaintances, friends—people outside of work?”

  “He was in a gang for a time as a teenager—the Young Boys—but that was such a long time ago. He lost touch with most of them, though he and Leo Grant stayed in contact. They had a falling out about a month ago.”

  “Tell me about Leo.”

  “Leo was Jack’s best pal growing up. Leo thought Jack should stop working for Alastair and come to work as a security guard for him. He offered Jack double what he was making. When Jack declined, Leo flew into a rage and accused him of turning his back on his roots and Scotland. Leo supports Scottish independence, and Alastair favors the union.”

  That was interesting. “What kind of business does Leo operate?”

  “I think he runs a shipping firm. He owns warehouses and ships that dock in Troon. Jack thought his business dealings were suspicious and wanted no part of it.”

  “Do the police know this?”

  “I told them, but I have no idea whether they’ll investigate.”

  “Thank you, Ava. I know this can’t have been easy for you—especially talking with someone you don’t know.”

  Ava wiped tears from her cheeks, her emotions naked in her eyes—grief, gratitude, fear. “If Quinn trusts you, I trust you, too. He and Jack were like brothers. They met in the army, but they both had a rough time of it as children, growing up on the breadline here in Glasgow. They used to joke that if they hadn’t both joined the army, they might have met in prison.”

  Ava laughed, so Elizabeth laughed, too, though she wasn’t sure what Ava meant by that. Quinn had never talked about his childhood. Still, Elizabeth had no difficulty imagining him as a troublemaker.

  Ava grew serious again, worry in her eyes. “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you think the man who broke into our home, the man who tried to stab Quinn, is the same person who killed my husband?”

  “I’ve asked myself the same thing. It seems suspicious, but knife crimes are hardly rare here.” On her flight, Elizabeth had read that Glasgow had once been the stabbing capital of Western Europe. Though the city’s Violence Reduction Unit had brought about a steep decrease in the number of violent crimes, it was still among the higher crime areas in Scotland. “There’s certainly a possibility that it was the same man. I just don’t have enough information to make a reliable assessment.”

  Ava looked disappointed. “So many unknowns.”

  Elizabeth reached over, rested her hand on Ava’s. “Quinn and I will do all we can to get to the truth—I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  After that, Elizabeth helped clean up, sweeping floors and sorting through papers that lay strewn across Jack’s home office. Quinn joined her, the two of them making quick work of it.

  “Did you get your knife and tools back?”

  “Aye.”

  “Good.” She bent down to pick up a few papers that had slipped beneath a book
case when her fingers bumped something hard—a box.

  She drew it out, saw that it was an Apple iPhone box. “Quinn.”

  “It must be the box for his new phone.”

  She pulled off the top, located the SIM number and IMEI numbers on the packaging, and took a photo with her cell.

  A shadow fell across the floor, and Elizabeth looked up to see Ava standing in the doorway. Elizabeth was about to make up an explanation for what she’d just done, but it was clear that Ava hadn’t noticed.

  She stood there, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “It doesn’t look like he took anything besides the laptop, but then we don’t have many valuables. Why would he take Jack’s computer? It wasn’t new or fancy.”

  “Och, Ava.” Quinn stood, hugged her, his compassion putting a lump in Elizabeth’s throat. “Some people will do anythin’ for a few quid, aye?”

  As Ava walked away, Elizabeth met Quinn’s gaze and knew that he didn’t believe what he’d just said, either.

  Quinn drove through traffic toward his favorite pub. “Can we track the laptop?”

  “She doesn’t have the serial number, and I doubt he installed any tracking software. The only other option is to hack his Gmail account and check the security log to see whether anyone signed in from a new IP address.”

  “But the thief would have to be an idiot to leave tracks like that, aye?”

  “Yes, exactly. I doubt the laptop will lead us anywhere. Besides, I’m … not… hacking.” Her words trailed off and became a yawn.

  “Jet lag catchin’ up wi’ you?”

  “With a vengeance.”

  “The fish and chips at the Bonnie Prince are the best in Glasgow. They’ve got a good selection of whisky, too.”

  She yawned again. “Don’t drink too much because I’m sure as hell not driving.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  They were a bit ahead of the supper crowd, so Quinn found parking on the street. They walked through a light drizzle into the pub, Quinn holding the door for her. Och, it made him feel special to walk in with Elizabeth at his side. Every straight man here would envy him.

  She’s no’ your woman, and you’re no’ on a date.

  Aye, but no one else knew that.

  He glanced about for familiar faces but saw no one he knew, the mingled scents of whisky and food making his stomach growl. A young woman led them to a quiet table in the back corner and left them with menus. They both ordered the fish and chips, while Elizabeth asked for a Coke and Quinn ordered a pint and a shot of Bell’s.

  “Cheers.” He raised his shot glass.

  “Cheers.” She took a sip of her Coke. “Have you ever heard of the Young Boys?”

  “Aye, the Young Boys. That’s the gang Jack ran wi’ in his younger days. I dinnae think they’re still a force. Twenty years ago, those boys were full of piss and whisky, running about the town, lookin’ to pick fights wi’ other boys.”

  “Were you ever part of a gang?”

  “Aye. There wisnae much else to do besides drink, fight, and fuck.” Most of the time, Quinn tried not to think about those days. “We were the South Bank Boys.”

  Elizabeth’s lips curved in a teasing smile that made his pulse spike. “Were the South Bank Boys full of piss and whisky and running around picking fights?”

  “We had to defend our territory. Mostly that meant getting drunk on stolen booze and talkin’ about whose arse we were goin’ to thrash.”

  “All bark and no bite.”

  “We did get into a few fights but nothin’ serious.” Then it hit him. “Are you thinkin’ there’s a connection between Jack’s murder and the Young Boys?”

  “I really can’t say. I was just trying to be thorough.” She glanced down, frowned. “I left my notebook in the car. Can I have the keys? I’ll run and get it.”

  “Leave it. Enjoy your supper. Life shouldnae always be work.”

  She smiled, her sweet face lighting up. “That’s right. I’m on vacation.”

  Quinn steered the conversation away from his childhood, asking Elizabeth what she’d like to see in Glasgow.

  “Are there any castles or Roman ruins?”

  “We’ve got castles—Crookston Castle and Dumbarton up north. There’s also the Antonine Wall and the Bearsden Bath.”

  She picked up her mobile. “Crookstone?”

  “Crookston.” Quinn spelled it for her then watched as she read about the castle’s history, something stirring in his chest at the sight of her—the play of light on her skin, the excitement in her delicate features, the smile on those sweet lips.

  Och, she was bonnie.

  She looked up. “What was the other one?”

  The other one?

  Castles, you eejit.

  “Dumbarton Castle. D-U-M-B-A-R-T-O-N.”

  She typed the letters into her phone and scrolled through photos, reading some of the history. “Mary Queen of Scots was there?”

  Quinn couldn’t take his gaze off her. He was so transfixed that he didn’t notice the server standing beside the table with their food until she spoke.

  “Fish and chips?”

  Elizabeth looked up. “Oh, wonderful. I’m starving.”

  They made plans while they ate, Quinn promising himself that he wouldn’t waste her entire holiday on Jack’s murder.

  “Are you going to show me where you grew up?”

  The question took Quinn by surprise. “Naw. The place was demolished.”

  Och, he would have loved to have seen that. He would have cheered as the building collapsed into a pile of dust and rot.

  Quinn insisted on paying, given that she’d flown here to help him.

  “Thank you. Those might well be the best fish and chips I’ve ever had.”

  He helped her into her jacket. “I told you so.”

  They walked outside and made their way back to the car.

  Elizabeth looked up. “The rain has stopped.”

  “For now.” Quinn wanted to take her hand, to wrap an arm around her shoulder, but crossing that line could have serious consequences for them both.

  “It must have been incredible to grow up surrounded by so much history,” she said. “Crookston Castle has stood there since the twelfth century. The most historic building in my hometown is only a hundred and fifty years old.”

  Quinn had never had time to think about the history of Glasgow. He’d been too busy trying to survive. “Aye, the city is rich in history, so it is.”

  They reached the car, Elizabeth mistakenly walking to the driver’s side.

  “The other side, aye?” He took her shoulders and guided her out into the street, unlocking and opening her door for her. “You’re knackered.”

  “If by that you mean tired, then, yes, I am.” She climbed in, put on her seatbelt, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.

  Quinn got into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and merged with traffic, heading back to the hotel. “Are you cold?”

  “A little.”

  He turned on the heater and the seat warmer then turned left.

  “Mmm. That feels good.”

  Her little moan might have made him crash had his attention not shifted to the car behind him—a black Corsa. It had pulled away from the curb at the same time that he had. Two turns later, it was still behind him.

  You’re imaginin’ things.

  With Elizabeth half asleep in the seat beside him, he decided to test that theory, turning right and heading north.

  The Corsa did the same.

  Quinn locked the doors, drove another kilometer down the street, and pulled over in front of a nightclub.

  The Corsa slowed, stopped, giving Quinn a clear view of its plate number in the brief moment before its driver pulled to the side of the road, too.

  Elizabeth’s eyes opened. “Are we stopping?”

  “Nay.” He headed north again. “I’m just conductin’ an experiment.”

  The Corsa waited for him to get a block
ahead then did the same.

  “An experiment?”

  “I think we’re bein’ followed.”

  5

  “Followed?” Elizabeth’s drowsiness vanished.

  “The Corsa a few cars back. He’s been wi’ us since the pub, turnin’ whenever I turn. He pulled over when I stopped in front of the nightclub and then followed me back into traffic. He’s bein’ clever, keepin’ his distance, lettin’ other cars come between us.”

  “I see him.” Elizabeth watched the vehicle in her side-view mirror, thinking through the possibilities in her mind. Maybe law enforcement had taken an interest in Quinn after last night. Or perhaps the man who’d tried to stab him had waited outside Jack and Ava’s house and then followed them into the city.

  “I’m goin’ to try to lose him.” Quinn changed into the right lane.

  “No, don’t. You’ll tip him off. We need to know who he is.”

  The Corsa waited a few seconds, then changed lanes, too, coming to a stop behind them at the red light.

  Prickles of foreboding rose along Elizabeth’s spine. “I don’t like this.”

  She’d seen too many snatch-and-grabs and read too many reports about street shootings that started like this. Car stops at red light. Assailants climb out of next car over and riddle the target vehicle with bullets—or grab someone and drag them away. US special forces employed the same technique when necessary.

  “Who are you, you fucker?” Quinn grumbled.

  Elizabeth reached inside her handbag for her phone. “I’m calling the police.”

  “What if they are the bloody police?”

  So, he’d thought of that, too. “This is one way to find out, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll do it.” Quinn’s phone was already sitting in its holder on the dash. He tapped it to activate it. “Call one-oh-one.”

  Police Scotland dispatch answered.

  “This is Quinn McManus. We spoke last night when some bastard tried to stab me. I’m bein’ followed through the city by a black Corsa.” He gave them the license plate number and their current location.

  “What makes you think you’re bein’ followed?” the woman on the other end asked, sounding bored.