She pushed past him to see a picture of herself and her parents stabbed to a pillow with what appeared to be a knife from her own kitchen.
“Don’t you ever listen?”
She ignored that as well, too devastated by the ruined picture, one of the last taken with her parents. They all looked so happy, in blissful ignorance of the tragedy to come. “Why?” Why would someone want to desecrate that precious photo? It meant nothing to anyone else. It was meaningful only to her.
“Someone’s sending you a message.” The flatness in Nicco’s eyes chilled her. He had switched to Ranger mode, the soldier in him coming to the forefront.
“My parents have been gone for a year. There’s no reason...”
Nicco’s arm curled reassuringly around her, providing something—someone—for her to hold on to. Even knowing that the Lord was always there, she sometimes longed for the comfort of human companionship.
She didn’t feel alone any longer. Because of the man standing protectively at her side. Because of Nicco.
She reminded herself that the awareness between them was based on artificial circumstances, created by the danger they’d faced together. The truth was that they barely knew each other. Their relationship—if you could call it that—was not founded on reality.
Relationship. She tested the word.
Probably not the right word to describe what was simply chemistry. At most, it was a professional association. Nothing more. And the honest part of her called her a liar.
If all they had was a spark of chemistry, why was she having such a hard time convincing her heart? Because she found him more attractive than any man she’d ever met, including Bradley? Because she could fall for him in a big way if she let herself?
The admission cost her. She’d always prided herself on being her own person. If she admitted her love for Nicco, would she still be her? Or would she be only a reflection of the man?
How was she supposed to trust her feelings for a man when she’d been so abysmally wrong before? The questions swirled through her mind with harsh persistence.
And why was she thinking of all this when her house had just been broken into and a precious picture destroyed? She didn’t have to look far for the answer: she was searching for something, anything, to take her mind from the destruction.
“It’s not about your parents,” he said, drawing her back to the present. “It’s about you.” His lips thinned into a hard line of resolve. His stance widened as though he were preparing to ward off an attack, but he kept his arm around her, letting her know that no one would get to her without going through him first.
She noticed he was careful not to touch anything, and she did the same.
“I’m calling the police,” Nicco said, voice grim.
Scout wrapped her arms across her chest as though she could hold herself together with the simple act. Though having her home broken into wasn’t as threatening as having someone try to kill her, it felt like the worst kind of invasion.
Weariness enveloped her, draining her of energy and resolve. Could she continue the investigation as she’d promised herself? Right now, she didn’t know.
* * *
While the police had taken their statements, Nicco had made a decision.
Tolliver, the operative sent to replace Anderson, showed up, and Nicco explained what was going on. He couldn’t leave Scout. Not tonight. She’d looked shattered.
And who could blame her? Last night, smoke had driven her from her home into a barrage of gunfire. Tonight, she’d returned home to find it violated once again.
Nicco wanted to be the one who protected her, who kept her safe, who stood between her and danger. Instinctively, he reached for her hand and drew her closer. He wanted to keep her right there, tucked safely at his side.
“I’m staying,” he said to Tolliver. “I can’t leave her tonight.”
The agent was trained well enough not to question someone who outranked him.
When Nicco told Scout that he planned on staying the night, he pretended not to notice the relief in her eyes.
“I’ll make up the living room sofa for you.” She went upstairs, returned within a few minutes with a pile of bedding. Efficiently, she tucked sheets onto the sofa, then spread a lightweight throw over it. “There.”
A slight smile curved her lips, the first she’d given since they’d discovered the break-in. “It may be a little on the small side for you.”
He smiled in return. “I’ll make do.”
“Nicco? Thanks. For being here.” She brushed a kiss over his jaw.
He started to tell her that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but then thought better about it.
The sofa was made for someone Scout’s size, not his own six-foot-three-inch frame. He adjusted his long body until his head rested on one arm of the sofa while his feet dangled off the other. Not the best sleeping conditions, but he’d slept in worse places. Lots worse.
In the cavernous cargo hold of military planes where canvas straps held his shoulders rigid while his head bobbed up and down from the constant turbulence. In bug-infested jungles where mud and slime oozed over his exhausted body and rain beat down with such relentless intensity that he felt as though he were trapped inside a bass drum. In the brutal cold of a cave in Afghanistan and in the unforgiving heat of an Iraqi desert.
Everything went quiet on the floor above him, but he didn’t feel the sharp sense of aloneness he normally experienced in the hours between midnight and dawn.
Scout was there.
His mind shut down. Rangers, like other special forces, were taught to sleep where and when they could.
Tomorrow would come soon enough.
THIRTEEN
Just as Scout was preparing to leave for the paper the following morning, Leonard Crane called and agreed to an interview.
“Why now?” Nicco asked when she got off the phone. “You’ve been trying to get a one-on-one with him for weeks and he calls you today, less than twelve hours after your house has been ransacked.”
“Like you said, I’ve been trying to get him to talk with me for weeks. Now he’s given me the green light. No way am I passing this up.”
Obviously unhappy, Nicco drove her to the union headquarters. He wanted to come inside with her, but she refused.
“Crane’s more likely to open up if I go by myself.” Before Nicco could respond, she climbed out of the truck and headed in alone.
Two armed men stood sentry at the door to Crane’s office.
One opened the door, gestured that she should go in. They followed her inside.
“We meet at last.” Crane didn’t stand when she walked into his office. Nor did he offer his hand. Instead, he tapped his fingers against the desk, then rolled them into meaty fists.
Scout wasn’t about to let herself be intimidated by the blatancy of the gesture.
He pointed to a chair across the desk from his.
She sat. “It’s good of you to make the time to see me.”
“‘Good of you to make the time to see me,’” he repeated, mocking her polite words. Crane had a thick neck, a bulldog chest and a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. He gave her a smile that was more fierce than friendly.
She held her ground, refusing to recoil from the hatred that glittered in his eyes.
“You wanted a sit-down, Ms. McAdams. I’m here. Sitting down with you. You got fifteen minutes and then you’re out of here. Garbage don’t wait for no man. Or woman.”
She returned the smile with one as fierce as his. “I appreciate your time, Mr. Crane.”
“Lennie. Everybody calls me Lennie.”
If he thought his good ol’ boy routine would charm her into forgetting her mission, he was doomed to disappointment.
“You’re a busy man. I get it. Now tell me why th
e union is making noises that it’s going to walk any day now?” Though talk of a strike was bandied about, she doubted it would come to that. The city fathers understood that if the sanitation union walked out, it would cripple the city. They’d cave before it came to that.
She started with what was common knowledge, union/management negotiations, an ongoing matter. By opening with that, she hoped to disarm him before she broached what she really wanted to talk about.
“Fairness, missy. Pure and simple fairness. We’ve been working our tails off and for what?” Before she could answer, he jumped in. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Our wages have been at a standstill for the last five years. Our benefits have been cut. Does that seem fair to you?”
“The recession has hit a lot of industries,” she said neutrally.
Crane made a rude sound. “This ain’t due to no recession. Money that rightfully belongs to our people is going to greasing palms.”
“Would yours be one of those palms getting greased, Mr. Crane?”
The man’s eyebrows beetled, making him look like a grossly overgrown bug. “No, ma’am. They wouldn’t. And I don’t take kindly to people making remarks like that.”
“I apologize. But you can’t deny that service has been disrupted and your men have made no secret that they want someone to blame.”
“Only natural. A man looks for somebody to blame if he can’t put food on the table for his wife and babies when their bellies are hungry.”
She gave a short nod. She couldn’t fault men for wanting to feed their families.
“Maybe those men are looking your way. And maybe that’s got you nervous, making you look for someone to blame, as well.” She let that settle in. “Word is that you could stop the strike if you wanted.” She waited another beat. “But you don’t.”
“Ain’t you heard a word I said? The men need to be able to feed their families. So, no, ma’am, I won’t try to stop the strike if it comes to that. I stand by my men. They stand by me.”
“No one wins if your men walk.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But the city will sit up and pay attention when the stink gets too bad. We’ll see who blinks first when the garbage starts piling up.”
She’d had enough of talking about strikes and leaned forward, folded her arms on the desk. “Why don’t we get down to why you really called me here?”
“You don’t waste any time, do you?”
“I never saw the point.”
To her surprise, he gave a belly laugh that shook his massive frame. “I like you, McAdams. I didn’t expect I would, but I like you a lot.”
“I’ll try not to let it turn my head.”
Another laugh. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now can we get back to why I’m here?”
His face, a moment ago folded into jovial lines, now grew hard. “You’re not here to talk about negotiations. You know it. I know it. You got something in your craw, spit it out.”
“Okay. There’ve been four murders in the union over the last few years. What do you know about them?”
Instead of answering directly, he let his gaze rake over her. “You put me in mind of your mother. She asked the same questions.”
Scout forced herself not to react to the mention of her mother. “And what did you say to her?”
“Same thing I’m gonna tell you.”
“What would that be?”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
The threat wasn’t implied. It had been direct and to the point. “You aren’t stupid. Taking me out won’t stop the story and you know that. Sooner or later, someone’s going to discover the truth.”
The sigh he let out was resigned. “I’m tired of this. What’s more, I’m tired of you.” He nodded to the men who had escorted her inside and had waited by the door.
“Wait.” She held up a hand in protest. “You haven’t given me anything.”
“You got more than you deserve and all you’re gonna get. Now get out of here before I forget that I’m a gentleman.”
She snorted at that. “I don’t frighten easy, Mr. Crane.”
“Well, maybe you should.”
“I think you’re running scared. What’s going to happen if it gets out that you’ve been talking to me? This story’s not going away,” she said as she gathered up her things. “Whether I tell it or someone else does, it’s going to be told. If I were you, I’d watch my back.”
Preparing to leave, she dared ask one more question. “What do you know about someone sending me threatening letters?”
“What are you talking about? I don’t know nothin’ about no letters.”
She tended to believe him. The astonishment in his voice was too genuine to be faked.
Crane leaned across the table separating them. “You best look for a different story. This is a dirty business. In more ways than one. It cost your mama her life.” He let that hang, then got to his feet “Now, I gotta be going. Some of us got work to do.”
She stood as well. “This isn’t over.”
He rounded the desk and opened the door for them. “A friendly word of advice—if you’re thinking about coming back, don’t.”
* * *
Nicco hadn’t liked the idea of Scout meeting Crane alone, but she’d insisted. He was learning that the lady didn’t take no for an answer. She didn’t back down. While he admired that trait, it also made it that much more difficult to protect her.
When she reappeared less than thirty minutes later, he knew the interview hadn’t gone well. Her mouth was a taut line. When he looked closer, he noted the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes.
“What did he do to you?”
“Nothing. Except saying that I reminded him of my mother and then threatening me.”
Scout held him back when he would have gone inside to confront Crane. “Don’t. There’s nothing you can do.”
“He refused to give me anything important beyond telling me that I should probably be afraid of him.” Her short laugh spoke volumes.
“He’s right about that. Crane’s nobody to mess around with.” He didn’t take her straight to the paper but to a nearby park where he hoped she could burn off some of the fury that spilled from her with every breath. “Stay put.”
He checked out the park. Only two mothers with children on a swing set were present. He returned to the truck and helped Scout out.
She strode from one end of the park to the other, anger vibrating from her in ever-increasing waves. The energy rolled off her. He loved the precise bridge of her nose, the strong lines of her cheekbones, the way she moved that managed to be both decisive and graceful at the same time.
He kept pace with her. “What did your gut tell you about Crane?”
“Same thing my eyes and ears did. He’s crude but street smart. He all but admitted that he killed my parents or had them killed.”
Finally, she plopped down on a bench. He sat beside her, slung an arm over her shoulders.
“You’ve done what you could. It’s time to leave it to the police to find out what Crane knows.”
She didn’t respond to that.
They spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon at a community center where Scout covered another of Patrice Newtown’s appearances. It was predictable fare, but the crowd ate it up. Nicco wasn’t one for self-aggrandizing speeches, but he had to hand it to the woman. She knew how to play to an audience.
A trip to the paper where Scout drafted her report on the speech followed. By the time they were headed back to her place, she was dragging, and Nicco knew the morning’s meeting with Crane had taken more out of her than she’d let on. She massaged the tiny space between her brows, the gesture eloquent of her weariness.
After making certain that she had something to eat, he left her to To
lliver’s care and headed home for the night.
When Scout received a call the next morning after he’d rejoined her at her house, Nicco listened, frowning at what he heard.
“I’ll be there. Give me an hour.” She hung up. “That was Crane. He wants to meet.”
Instinct kicked in. “Not happening.”
“He’s holed up in a hotel. He wants to make a confession and says he trusts me to make sure it gets to the right people.” A noisy gulp told him she was close to tears. “He said... He said...he’d tell me who ordered the murders of my parents.”
Nicco accepted that nothing would keep her from meeting the union boss. She named the hotel, and he recognized it as one with top-flight security.
Still, he gave it one last try to convince her not to go. He drew in a breath for patience. “You’re bent on proving Crane is dirty and responsible for your parents’ deaths. Now he calls you less than a day after you met with him, a meeting where I might remind you he threatened your life, and wants you to come to see him? It’s got trap written all over it.”
“He sounded scared. He said he trusted me to tell the truth. I’m going, so stand down.”
Though Nicco wasn’t happy about it, he accompanied Scout to the hotel.
When they reached the room number Crane had given her, they found the door ajar. Nicco went in first. “Stay back.”
Leonard Crane, throat slit from ear to ear, lay on the marble floor of the classy hotel he’d chosen as his hidey-hole. At least two thousand a night, Nicco judged. He took in the half-eaten plate of caviar, the split of champagne, and mentally added another two to three hundred dollars to his original estimate.
Nicco hurried back to where Scout waited at the door, intent on telling her not to come in, but she was already pushing past him.
“You don’t want to see this.”
“Too late. I already have.”
“Don’t touch anything.” He circled the body. A scrap of paper, barely visible even from that angle, extended from Crane’s fingers, as though the killer had ripped a page from his grasp.
Nicco knelt, saw that the scrap held a number. Careful not to disturb anything, he copied the number in a small notebook he carried.
High-Risk Investigation Page 12