“Worse than usual. Is the sketch artist here?”
“Yes. Congressman Jeffries is with him.” Margaret’s gaze shifted to Cassie, and she smiled. “You’re Cassie Danvers. I think we’ve met at one of Harland’s parties.”
“I think we have,” Cassie agreed. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Nicer if it weren’t under these circumstances, right?” Margaret took her arm as if they were old friends and walked her into the office.
Gavin followed, Glory on heel beside him. She knew the building, the office, the people, and her body was relaxed, her tail wagging happily.
Harland was standing near the window, a dark-haired man beside him. An inch shorter than the congressman, he wore black slacks and a dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. There was no doubt he was the sketch artist. He had a pencil in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.
“Cassie,” Harland said, crossing the room and taking her hand. He looked thinner, the hollows beneath his cheekbones more pronounced. “I’m glad you were up to this. I was worried that with all the stress, you might not feel ready to provide a description.”
“I’d do anything to help the police find Michael’s…” She shook her head. “I don’t want to leave the kids for too long, though.”
“We can get started, then,” the sketch artist said. “I’m Westland Granger, by the way. You can call me West. Everyone else does. Mind if I use your desk to get set up?” He lifted an oversize portfolio from the floor and pulled a large sketch pad from it. “We’ll start with a good old-fashioned pencil sketch. I may switch to my computer system later.”
He sat in a chair and pushed a few of Gavin’s things to the edge of the desk. “Also,” he continued. “Unless you’re all opposed to it, I prefer to work alone with the witness. Too many people in the space while I’m working is distracting.”
“I’m opposed,” Gavin said.
Margaret frowned. “On what grounds?”
“We don’t know who’s responsible for Michael’s death. We don’t know if it’s one person or several.”
“You can’t think I had anything to do with it.” West set his pad on the table and smoothed one of the pages. “I was a thousand miles away.”
“People can call the shots from ten thousand miles away, if they have the money and know-how to do it.”
“I don’t have, either. Even if I did, why would I?” West didn’t seem bothered by Gavin’s comment. “I’ve got nothing to gain.”
“He also has top secret clearance and has had enough background checks in his life for me to feel pretty certain he’s a good guy,” Harland cut in. “I know you’re worried, but I think your worry is misplaced.”
Maybe so. Probably so. They were in one of the most secure buildings in DC. There were cameras and monitors in every office. There was no way for someone to get in or out without being seen.
“How about Cassie decides? Are you going to be okay here by yourself?” he asked, ignoring Harland’s hard look and Margaret’s frown. They both knew him well enough to know he was going to do this the way it made sense to him. If Cassie didn’t want to be left alone with the sketch artist, she wouldn’t be. And he didn’t care who said otherwise.
Cassie eyed West thoughtfully, then nodded. “I think I can take him down if I have to.”
West laughed at that, smoothing his hand over the paper again. “I hear you wrangle eight kids for a living. I’d say you could take me down easy.”
“That’s settled, then. How about the three of us grab some coffee? I’ve got a fresh pot in my office,” Margaret offered, leading Harland into the hall.
“That leaves you,” West prodded, motioning for Gavin to go.
He knew he wasn’t being reasonable. He knew Cassie would be safe in his office. But he didn’t want to leave her there.
He met her eyes, and she smiled, gave a little nod that was supposed to make him feel better about going.
It didn’t.
Not because she was a key witness to a crime he was trying to solve. Not because he had to keep her safe so she could testify at a trial if there ever was one.
Those things mattered, but Cassie mattered more.
He wanted to keep her safe because she deserved it. He wanted to protect her because he couldn’t imagine the world without her in it.
He frowned, leading Glory out of his office and down the hall to Margaret’s corner office. Though her main office was at the White House, she kept one at K-9 Headquarters, too. Gavin liked that about her. That she was eager to stay connected with the team, to work with the group she’d so carefully put together only added to the respect the group had for her. When he stepped through the open doorway, he found Margaret alone, leaning toward her computer screen, a frown carving deep lines into her face.
She didn’t look up as he dropped into a chair.
“Where’s Harland?”
“He realized he had a checkup with his doctor and left. Which is good. I wanted to speak with you in private.”
“What’s up?” he asked.
She studied her computer screen, then typed something.
He waited her out. Margaret was never rude, but she was always focused. She worked harder than anyone Gavin had ever met, and she expected the same dedication from her team.
Finally, she leaned back, eyeing him from across the table. “You seem to be growing fond of Cassie.”
There was no sense denying it. “And?”
“It’s not going to interfere with the job, is it?”
“You don’t know me very well if you think that’s even a possibility.”
“I do know you well. That’s why I’m letting you decide if you want to keep this case or hand it over to someone else.”
“I’ve got no reason to hand it over.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” She smiled. “You know that we’ve got a meeting with Rosa Gomez’s sister tomorrow, right? I was thinking that Cassie could be there. Tell her about Juan’s routine. What he likes to eat. When he sleeps. That sort of thing. We all want this transition to be as easy as possible for him and for her.”
He nodded. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“And, hopefully, you’ll bring a few more answers. Any change in the kids’ stories?”
“They’re sticking to their guns, refusing to admit anything.”
“You don’t think they’re telling the truth?”
“No. I’m pretty certain that one of the boys was at Harland’s house. Getting him to admit it is the problem.”
“Keep trying.” She glanced at her watch and frowned. “I’ve got a meeting with White House security in ten. Let me know if I can do anything to help move this case along. I liked Michael. He was a good kid. He deserved better.”
She walked out of the office, and Gavin was left with his coffee and his thoughts. The coffee was good. The thoughts weren’t.
Every day that passed without a suspect in custody was a day that justice hadn’t been done. He rose in the morning thinking about that, went to bed at night with it on his mind. He tried to keep his focus on the evidence and the leads, but it was hard.
Glory whined, pacing to the door and looking out into the hall.
“You hear one of your buddies, girl?” He scratched behind her ears, rubbed the scruff of her neck. She was a social dog, a hard worker who loved people and other animals. She got along with cats, birds and kids, too. When she needed to be on guard, though, when she needed to protect, she could. That was one of the things that made her a great partner.
He poured coffee into a second cup, called for Glory to heel. He wasn’t supposed to sit in his office while West worked, but he’d promised Cassie coffee, and he was going to bring it to her. It would give him a chance to check in, make sure that she really was doing okay.
Then, he’d get on the phone, see if the DC police had located the car that had nearly run him down a few days ago, see if they’d found Erin’s vehicle. There were plenty of loose ends
that needed to be tied up, plenty of leads that needed to be followed. It was going to take time. Maybe a lot of it. In the end, Gavin and Capitol K-9 would find the person who’d killed Michael. When they did, they’d make sure he paid.
TWELVE
The sketch was spot-on.
It looked so much like the guy who’d been on her back porch that Cassie shuddered as she handed it back to West. “That looks just like him.”
“That’s what I try to do. Hopefully, we can use this in the face recognition program the FBI has. I’ll give this to Margaret. She can have someone run it through the database. It may take minutes or days to spit out some possibilities. If it gives you any at all. If the guy is a career criminal, he’ll be in there. If not…” He shrugged.
“If not, I guess we aren’t any worse off than we were before.” She took a sip from the cup of coffee Gavin had brought her. Stone-cold, it went down like a bitter pill, catching in her throat and making her long for a glass of water.
“True. I like my sketches to do some good, though. You know? Get the bad guys, put them behind bars. The job is more satisfying that way.” He stood and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck. “Any idea where Margaret or Harland went? I need to clear this with them and hit the road. I have a meeting in Jacksonville in the morning.”
“I can go look for them.” She needed to stretch, too. The process had taken nearly two hours, and her muscles felt tense from sitting for so long.
“Nah. Sit tight. I’ll call Harland.” He walked out of the room, and she was left by herself, the sketch of the man who’d tried to kill her sitting on the desk.
The face was good, the contours of it nearly perfect. It was the eyes, though, that looked the most like her attacker’s—cold and dead. Expressionless.
She wanted to turn the sketch over so she didn’t have to see it. West had sprayed it with something to hold the pencil in place, but she was still afraid she’d smudge it.
She took another sip of the coffee. Her brain was sluggish, her thinking slow. She knew one thing, though. She had to get Tommy and Rachel to talk about what had happened the night Michael was murdered.
Her stomach growled, and she opened her purse. She had eight kids who were always hungry. She should have something in there. A candy bar, a protein bar, a couple pieces of gum. She’d eat crumbs if she could locate a couple.
Footsteps tapped on the floor outside the office, and Gavin appeared, Glory at his side.
“Looking for something?” he asked, his gaze on the bag that was sitting in her lap.
“Food, but I think Destiny cleaned me out.” She closed the bag and met Gavin’s bright blue eyes. “West finished the sketch.”
“I saw him heading toward Margaret’s office. How’d it go?” he asked.
“The image is perfect.” She gestured to the sketch, and he lifted it carefully, studying it for a few seconds.
“Guy looks about as cold as ice.”
“That’s how he looked the night Michael was killed.” She walked to the window that faced the parking lot. There wasn’t a whole lot to see—a few cars, the road beyond the fenced lot, a few tall buildings that she knew were toward the center of the city. She kept looking, anyway. It was better than staring at the face of the man who’d be happy if she and her kids were dead.
“You’re upset by this sketch, huh?”
“Not really. It’s just a good reminder that I need to get the kids talking. As soon as I get back to the safe house, I’m going to talk to Rachel and Tommy.”
“I thought we agreed that I’d work with Tommy.”
“We didn’t agree.” She turned and realized that he was right behind her, their bodies as close as a breath. She backed up, bumping into the windowsill.
“Then, how about we agree now?”
“How about you let me give it another shot before we do?” she responded, trying to ease out from between Gavin and the window, move away from him and the heady scent of outdoors and man that clung to him.
“You can’t keep running away, Cassie,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and holding her in place.
“I’m not running away. I’m just…” Putting a little distance between us? Getting some air? Clearing my head so I can think again? None of them seemed like the right thing to say, but all of them were the truth.
“You’re running because you’re afraid that I’m not going to listen to what you have to say. You’re afraid I’m going to take over your life, destroy the peace that you have with the kids.”
Maybe. Probably. She didn’t want to admit it, though. It seemed almost childish to want to cling so hard to control. “I just don’t want the kids hurt.”
“Then you’re going to have to let me and my team protect them.”
“That’s what I’m doing. That’s why we’re in the safe house.”
“You’re in the safe house, but you’re tying my hands.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” he said calmly, not a hint of irritation or frustration in his voice. “I need to talk to Tommy. I need to push him to give me some real answers, some truthful ones. I understand your reluctance, but you have to understand my position.”
She did. That was the problem.
She glanced at the desk, the face of the man who’d tried to kill her, who might have killed Michael Jeffries. “All right. You can talk to Tommy.”
“Alone?” he pressed.
“Yes,” she snapped. “Alone.”
“No need to be a sore loser,” he said mildly.
“I’m not a sore loser,” she replied. “I’m a hungry one. I didn’t eat breakfast. I didn’t eat lunch, and my coffee was cold.” Her voice wobbled, and she had the insane urge to cry. It was completely out of proportion to the situation. She knew it, but she was tired, hungry, frustrated.
“You’re tired,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “That’s the problem. You need to get some food and get some sleep.” His hand drifted from her shoulder to her nape, his fingers kneading the tense muscles in her neck. She wanted to lean closer. “We can talk after that.”
“I thought we already talked.”
“We talked about the case, about Tommy, about your empty stomach. We didn’t talk about you.” His thumb brushed against the tender flesh behind her ear, swept along her jaw. “I want to hear more about your grandmother and your childhood.”
“It’s a boring story.” She ducked away from his arm and took a couple of quick steps across the room.
“Nothing about you is boring,” he responded, and she blushed.
“Pretty words, but I’d rather have a hot meal.”
“I can arrange for that, too,” he said, his hand on her lower spine as he walked her into the hallway. The air was cooler there, their footsteps echoing on the tile floor. The sound didn’t cover the thundering pulse of blood in her ears.
“What are you doing, Gavin?” she asked, because that was the kind of person she was. She didn’t wait around hoping to figure things out. She asked, got answers, formulated plans, implemented them. She’d learned to take care of herself a long time ago, and then she’d learned to take care of others. What she’d never learned was how to let other people take care of her.
“Getting you some food, bringing you back to your kids.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Isn’t it?” They reached the staircase, and he walked down in front of her, Glory at his side. Dog and cop made a good-looking pair, a great team, and she thought that if anyone could make sure the kids stayed safe, it was the two of them.
“What’s with the offers of bringing me food? What’s with the compliments? I’ve already told you everything I can about the guy who shot Officer—”
“Do you really think that’s the kind of person I am?” He cut her off as he opened the door at the bottom of the stairs. Watery sunlight streamed into the stairwell. “The kind who does things so he can get things?”
“No,” she responded honestl
y as she walked outside. She didn’t think that was how he was. He seemed more like the kind of guy who took care of everyone in his life. “And I’m sorry if you thought I was implying it. I’m…just not used to having someone looking out for me.”
“Maybe it’s something you can get used to, then, because I always look out for the people in my life.” He unlocked the SUV, holding the door as she slid into the passenger seat.
I’m not in your life, she almost said, but he closed the door, led Glory around to the back, and she let it drop.
The fact was, she was in his life.
The other fact was, she didn’t really mind having him look after her.
She wasn’t sure if she should be worried about that, and she was too tired to think about what it meant, so she laid her head back against the seat, closed her eyes, tried to let the sunlight and the rumble of the engine and the soft sound of Gavin on his cell phone fade away.
The problem was, every time the world faded, his face appeared—blond hair and dead eyes.
She jerked upright, her heart thundering, her body cold with fear. She’d been trying hard not to let the kids know how afraid she was. She’d hidden the truth from Virginia, too. Admitting the depth of her terror wasn’t going to help anyone. It certainly wasn’t going to help the kids sleep better at night.
“Cold?” Gavin asked as he punched a code into the closed gate, waiting while it slid open.
“A little,” she said, even though she felt a bone-deep chill that she didn’t think she’d ever be able to shake.
“Here.” He slid out of his jacket and tucked it around her upper body, surrounding her in warmth and with his masculine scent.
She could have pushed the jacket away, told him that she didn’t need it, but she just burrowed in deeper, closing her eyes again. This time, the image of the man with the cold dead eyes didn’t fill her head. This time, all she could see was Gavin’s face, his vivid blue eyes, his smile.
*
They were being followed.
Gavin glanced in the rearview mirror, spotted the white panel van six cars back and hanging there. He slowed down, pulling into the right lane and letting a couple of dozen cars pass. The van stayed where it was, puttering along at Gavin’s pace.
Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection DetailHidden AgendaBroken Silence Page 14