by Vella Day
As soon as he stepped inside the familiar restaurant, a bit of tension eased out of him. He slipped into his usual table next to the window that faced the door. While he wasn’t interested in who showed up, he didn’t like to be taken by surprise in case someone did. Having been a cop, his old habits never died.
Elissa, his usual waitress, hustled over. She always flirted with him for a bit, not because she liked him, but because he tipped well. He saw through her ploy, but she gave good service, and that worked for him.
“Trout or baked chicken tonight, handsome?”
“Chicken, and bring a pot of coffee.” It was going to be a long night of thinking.
She grinned. “You got it.”
Elissa quickly returned with his drink and he settled back in to go over the facts. He brought the cup to his lips and savored the strong rich scent before tasting it. The aroma of the beans alone helped defog his mind. Tomorrow, he planned to canvas the neighborhood to see if anyone had seen anything suspicious around the time of the fire. All during the investigation today, Max kept his eye out for Larry, but the guy never made an appearance. Damn. Jamie said Larry had seen something. The question was what?
Before Max had a chance to clear his mind of the fires and the investigation, Elissa delivered his meal. “Need anything else?”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
She disappeared, just the way he liked it. Max had taken all of three bites when a shadow blocked the overhead light.
“Thought I’d find you here.” The deep gravelly voice could only belong to one man—Dan Hartwick, his former boss and mentor.
Max glanced up and motioned for his friend to take a seat. He liked the man. Dan might only be two years older, but his honor, work ethic, and knowledge of the criminal mind spoke of a man with a lot of experience.
Dan waved to Elissa, and she trotted over. Dan requested coffee.
“You got it.”
Max lifted his mug. “I trust your visit has to do with the warehouse fire, and not because you missed my happy face?”
Dan smiled briefly. “It does.” He leaned forward. “Trent showed me the photos of the graffiti.”
“Did he tell you that when Thad compared the message to the other arson cases, the lettering didn’t match?”
“He did.”
Elissa set Dan’s coffee down then slipped away.
Max sipped his drink. “I asked Trent to look into the owner’s story, but he hasn’t gotten back to me.” Research took time.
“I ran into Trent on the way over here. He told me to tell you that Hanson seems to be telling the truth.”
“Damn. The owner torching his own building would have made things nice and easy.” He wanted to ask Dan why he was there, but his mentor had his own style. He’d tell Max when he was ready.
Dan sat back and wrapped his hands around his mug, his lips pressed together. “I’m thinking the fire had something to do with the homeless man.”
Dan sounded like Rich. “You do know this isn’t your case?”
“I’m not here to interfere, but our departments do work together, and Trent works for me.”
Thankfully, Dan’s tone held no argument. “Is there something you know about Jonathan Rambler that I don’t?” Why else would Dan have brought up his name?
“Yes. He’s not Jonathan Rambler.”
Max was sure he’d remembered the man’s name. “Then who is he?”
Dan shrugged. “Not sure exactly, but something’s off. His fingerprints aren’t in the system.”
Max thought about the implication. “That’s not unheard of. That just means the old guy might never have been arrested. He still could be Rambler.”
Dan leaned forward. “Here’s the thing. He ain’t no old man.”
“I’m not following you.” Max must have been more tired than he realized.
“The emergency room doctor called the precinct. Said the nursing staff told him that in the process of cleaning up the fire victim, they found the man was wearing a wig, wore a plastic retainer to make his teeth appear stained, and was covered in a ton of makeup to age him. Even wore padding around his middle.”
Max’s mind spun. “He was working undercover?” It was the only logical explanation.
Dan waved a hand. “Pretty sure that’s the case. About six weeks ago, RHPD got a courtesy call from the FBI stating they’d sent a team of agents to Rock Hard.”
“Here? How many are we talking about?” Rock Hard didn’t have an FBI field office.
“They didn’t say.”
Excitement lit up his blood. Max loved a puzzle more than anything. “There’s another homeless man Jonathan befriended. His name is Larry. I’ve been trying to track him down, but he seems to have disappeared into the wind.”
“You think he knows something?”
“He might.” Max explained what Jamie told him. “It sure would save time if the Feds owned up that Rambler was one of their own.”
“No kidding. Why bother calling the mayor when they don’t tell him shit?”
“Do you think the mayor knows more that he’s saying?”
Dan nodded. “Anything’s possible.”
“Bureaucracy at its finest.” Max went over the few pieces of the information he’d found. “The message on the door said, ‘You fucked with the wrong guys.’ That could have been a warning to this Jonathan Rambler. His cover might have been blown.”
Dan nodded. “That was my first thought.”
Max’s juices flowed. “To cover our bases, I’ll ask Trent to check if Hanson pissed off some potential business partners.”
“Could be someone doesn’t want another gym in the area.”
“Hanson aside, let’s assume this so-called vagrant question is an FBI agent. The Feds should at least warn us if someone in our town is involved in the drug trade again, weapons accumulation, or human trafficking.”
“Agreed.” Dan brought his cup to his lips as if he had nothing better to do than sit and chat.
“Anything else you found out?”
Dan smiled. “Trent mentioned your girlfriend, Jamie Henderson, knew this Jonathan guy.”
“She was friends with him.”
“Have you asked her about him?”
Max couldn’t figure out why Dan was butting in. “Not yet. I’m waiting for the appropriate time, but I will.”
“Once the mayor gets wind of what’s going on, he’ll be riding not only my butt, but the fire chief’s ass to find the arsonist.”
“We don’t have conclusive evidence it is arson.”
Dan lowered his chin. “Multiple source points? Come on.”
Max couldn’t get anything past his former boss. “Fine. I still need to wait for the lab results.”
“Do what you must, but in the meantime can you speak with Jamie about Jonathan Rambler or whatever his name is?”
Max blew out a breath. When they’d spoken at the crime scene, Jamie appeared to have forgiven him for what he’d said at the wedding.
“Fine I’ll ask her, but there’s no guarantee she knows anything. Jamie stopped by this morning, and seemed pretty shaken up. Not sure if it was because of the fire or the attempted robbery at the clinic last night.”
“Heard about that. Trent’s on it. Until we can confirm this man’s identity, Jamie is all we have.”
We? Max owed Dan his sanity. His boss had been there when Max’s home had burned, and Dan had been the one who had brought him into the conference room to tell him his wife and son were dead.
“We might have better luck if Thad picked her brain. Jamie’s good friends with his fiancée.”
“It was Thad who suggested you talk to her.”
“Jamie’s not the most forthcoming person.” At least she hadn’t been at the wedding when he’d practically brow-beaten her into admitting she needed to take control of her life. Trying to extract information from her wouldn’t put him on her good side.
Dan leaned forward. “I have faith in you.”
Dan nodded. “Already did. He doesn’t know, though he said he’d put in a call to the FBI. He’s worried, too, about what their presence might mean to our town.” Dan pushed back his chair and tossed down enough money to pay for five coffees. “Rock Hard is counting on you.”
Chapter Six
When the alarm went off early the next morning, Jamie placed an arm over her face. She groaned, knowing she had to get up. After taking a few deep breaths, she tossed off the covers, placed her feet on the floor, and forced herself to rise. Wanting to look presentable in case Jonathan happened to be awake, she washed up then drew on her newest set of scrubs before heading into the kitchen to fix her coffee and down a bowl of Frosted Flakes. Before she made the trip to the hospital, she texted Becky. Her friend would know whether Jonathan had been moved to the burn unit floor yet.
Becky immediately shot back her reply: Yes. Tube’s out, but he’s heavily sedated.
Jamie thanked her, and stuffed her cell in her pocket. As soon as she finished her meal, she shrugged into her coat and left. It wasn’t until she passed the fast food drive-through that an ache the size of a wall crumbling during an earthquake, crept up her body. Would she ever need to buy an extra cup of coffee and breakfast for Jonathan again? No doubt another homeless person, besides Larry, would find a space near the clinic to call home, but there was a wily intelligence behind Jonathan’s pained eyes that had drawn her.
Jamie supposed she could get in the habit of buying a meal for Larry each morning, but with his friend gone, he might find peace elsewhere.
When she stepped through the hospital doors, she saw that Janice Greenwald was manning the reception desk again. “Hey Janice. Could you check what room Jonathan Rambler is in?”
Janice typed the information into her computer. “Room 604.”
“Thanks.”
Jamie stepped off the elevator and wiped her damp palms on her pants, preparing herself for the worst. As Jamie rounded the corner, she ran straight into Max Gruden—literally. Reflexively, she planted her hands on his chest, and the solidness of his body stunned her.
Heat raced up her face and she lowered her arms. “What are you doing here?” She wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to form those words.
* * *
“Checking on your friend.” Max kept his voice as sympathetic as possible, working hard not to mirror Jamie’s defensive attitude.
A moment later, her rigid posture melted like ice cream on a hot day. Guess she couldn’t believe he’d followed up. For a split second, a connection formed, but he was the one who broke it, not wanting to expose his own reasons for coming.
She probably thought he was here to pump her friend for information because he didn’t trust her enough to tell him. She’d be wrong. Max was here because Jamie wouldn’t ask the right questions. He believed she had no idea Jonathan was anyone but a homeless man.
Dan had texted Max this morning with some new information. Before finding out what Jamie knew, the mayor was able to get ahold of his contact at the FBI. He notified them of the fire and the severity of the man’s injuries, but apparently, they already knew. They begrudgingly revealed that Jonathan was their agent, and that his real name was Vic Hart. His expertise was in domestic terrorism. That news made Max’s blood run cold.
Two men in suits rounded the corner and strode past them, as if they were about to check on Vic Hart. They probably had been waiting at a distance for Max to leave the room. From their erect posture and trim physique, they looked like federal agents, but he couldn’t be sure. The urge to question them burned inside him, but he didn’t want to divulge Jonathan’s identity to Jamie.
She twisted her lips as if she were debating whether to rush on by or ask him about his visit. “How is he?” Her neck stretched forward like she didn’t want to miss a word.
“He was heavily sedated, so I didn’t stay.”
“I heard that.” Her gaze lowered. Was she merely shy or was she hiding something?
“I’m about to speak to the ER doc who treated Jonathan. Do you want to come?”
“Do you think the doctor knows something?” The hope in her voice made her pain more real.
“Won’t know until I ask him.” He hadn’t meant to sound flip. He was merely stating the truth.
She drew in her bottom lip as if she were trying to decide whether to join him, or stop in and see her friend. On second thought, it might be better if Jamie didn’t come with him. The ER doctor might not say anything with her present.
“I want to visit Jonathan first.”
“I’ll let you know what I find out,” he said.
She tossed him a quick smile, ducked past him, and strode down the hallway.
Man. He had it bad.
* * *
Jamie should have thanked Max for visiting Jonathan, but she’d been stunned that he was there. She hadn’t expected him to take time out of his day to check up on someone he didn’t even know. Wow.
All last night, she’d thought about Max. He’d come on a bit strong at the wedding, but when she was finally able to be honest with herself, she could tell he was only trying to help.
With all that had happened, she realized she had to change her attitude or chance walking through life in cement-filled shoes. Starting today, she’d have a better outlook. Compared to Jonathan, her life was rosy. She had a place to live, a good job, and some amazing friends. She planned to reach out to others and to make more of an effort to get out.
Right now, though, she had to see her friend. Jaime inhaled and knocked on his room door, though he wouldn’t be awake to answer. As soon as she stepped inside, she halted. Her heart cracked. His head, neck, and shoulder were heavily bandaged, and his breathing ragged. An IV stand stood next to his bed with the saline silently dripping into his body. The heart and blood pressure monitor beeped rhythmically.
Jonathan was probably pumped full of Ativan for his anxiety, and given morphine to ease the pain. She didn’t want to rouse him just to say hello. He needed his rest.
She tiptoed over to his bed and softly called his name. Jamie waited a few beats, but as he continued to sleep, she studied him. Something was different about him. He looked younger, but how could that be? Maybe it was that his beard was cut short. Because his head was wrapped in gauze, his matted hair no longer showed. Had they cut that, too? The only reason would be if he had a head wound or was burned.
“Hey, Jonathan. It’s me, Jamie. I brought you coffee and breakfast this morning, but when I couldn’t find you, Larry seemed happy to take it off my hands.”
Even though her voice shook, she hoped some part of Jonathan’s brain could tell she was there for him.
His fingers jerked, but he didn’t open his eyes. Her pulse raced.
Jonathan groaned. “No. No.”
God. He was having a nightmare. Was he dreaming about the moment the board fell on him? Was he reliving the terror? She couldn’t imagine waking up to smoke, fire, and disorientation.
Jamie placed her palm on top of his hand. “It’s okay. No one will hurt you. You’re safe now.”
He shook his head. “Monster truck.”
That was an odd thing to say. His jerking legs calmed. Hopefully, his nightmare had turned into a more pleasant dream. He might be remembering when he used to play with big trucks as a kid.
Jonathan’s thrashing about suddenly increased, causing his heart rate to increase. “Forty-seven.” His words were slurred, so she couldn’t be positive she’d heard him correctly.
“Forty-seven? Is that what you said?” She didn’t really expect an answer.
“Concut.”
She barely made out that word. Could have been Connecticut, but she couldn’t be sure. Jamie pulled up a chair and leaned closer to him. “Ar
e you trying to tell me something?”
His movements became more agitated. “D.”
When her hospice patients had been sedated, they’d rambled, too, but Jonathan seemed more distressed than any patient she’d taken care of. His fingers moved, almost as if he were typing. Her presence seemed to be aggravating him, so she pushed back the chair and stood.
“You rest now, you hear? Get well soon.” Stomach churning, Jamie rushed out.
* * *
After watching Jamie head off to Jonathan’s, or rather Vic Hart’s, room, Max took the elevator to the bottom floor. Dr. Randy Carstead had been the admitting physician on duty when the paramedics had brought in Jonathan Rambler. Max wanted to understand why a fairly healthy, trained FBI agent hadn’t run from the fire. Something or someone must have stopped him. Also, if Max’s assumption about the wall collapsing was wrong, he needed to know. It might affect his other conclusions.
He waited a good ten minutes for Randy to finish up with a patient. When the doctor made eye contact, he came toward Max, flipped off his gloves, and tossed them in a nearby receptacle.
“Long time, no see.” Randy had been at Stone Benson’s wedding a few days ago. “What brings you here?”
“Jonathan Rambler was brought in yesterday with burns to his chest and neck. I’m trying to reenact the warehouse fire on First Street. My data tells me a board fell on him. Does that line up with what you found?”
His eyes widened. “I’m impressed with your accuracy. The burn marks are consistent with a rectangular surface, but that’s not all that happened to him.”
Randy had his interest. “What do you mean?”
“From the size and shape, I’d say the butt of a gun did some damage to the back of his skull.”
“So he was beaten?” Maybe that was why the agent didn’t smell the smoke and get the hell out of there.
“Looks like it. With that kind of blow, he’d have been unconscious almost immediately. His knuckles were bruised, too, implying he’d put up a fight.”
Fuck. Jonathan had grunted and thrashed about when Donner Pearson had placed him on the gurney, but all the jostling could have woken him up for a few seconds. “Thanks.”