by LENA DIAZ,
Kent reached into his suit jacket and pulled a picture from his pocket. “Is this your picture, Miss Parrish?”
She stared at the black-and-white photo of her in a business suit, smiling at the camera. “Yes,” she whispered. “But I’ve never seen that picture before.”
“Really?” He plopped it on the chief’s desk. “I find that hard to believe, since it’s on the home page of your company website.”
She dragged her gaze from the photograph back to the agent. “What?”
“You did create an LLC under your name, correct?”
“Well, yes. I’m self-employed, so registering myself as a limited liability company makes sense. Of course I—”
“And you have a website?” He rattled off a URL.
She shook her head. “No, no. I don’t have a website. I’ve never needed one. Most of my cases are referrals from other clients.”
“I’ve got signed affidavits from six different companies you performed audits on in the past twelve months. Every one of them had hundreds of thousands of dollars stolen from their accounts right after you performed your audits. You’re telling me that’s a coincidence?”
She glanced around the room, but no one would look her in the eye anymore. She swallowed against the thick lump in her throat. “You have to believe me. I’ve never heard of any of the companies you mentioned at the start of this meeting. I don’t have a website. I’ve never seen that picture before. I don’t...I don’t know what else to say, except that if you think an auditor has access to company accounts, you don’t have a clue what an auditor does. I rarely even get a log-on ID when I audit a company. They provide me printouts, statements, company financial records, which I review. That’s it. I couldn’t embezzle from them even if I wanted to.”
“I agree, which is why this case puzzled me for so long. I eventually came up with the theory that you must have found a weak link at the companies you embezzled from. An employee with access to the accounts, perhaps someone you blackmailed because you found evidence of mismanagement or wrongdoing. Rather than report it in your audit, you used the evidence against the employee to get them to give you company funds.”
“I’m hearing a lot of conjecture,” the chief said, rapping his fist on his desk. “But I’ve yet to see one iota of proof against Miss Parrish.”
“My entire briefcase is loaded with proof, but I’ll make this easy for all of you.” He looked at each one of them until they were all focused on him. “You had another shooting, aside from the one at Gibson and Gibson. A shooting involving Miss Parrish, correct?”
The chief shot Dillon a surprised glance before looking back at Kent. “Yes, we did. We killed one of the shooters but haven’t established an ID on him yet. The other one is still at large.”
“Perhaps I can help you with that.” Kent pulled another picture out of his pocket and held it up for them to see before placing it on the desk.
Ashley drew in a sharp breath as recognition slammed into her. “Baldy,” she whispered.
“What’s his name?” Dillon demanded.
“Keith Johnson. He worked for one of the companies Miss Parrish audited. He had direct access to the company’s accounts. I’m guessing she cut him out of the profits and he went looking for revenge, or perhaps he wanted to force her to give him his share. Makes sense, since he didn’t try to kill her. He only tried to abduct her.”
The chief glanced at Ashley, then looked away.
“I swear, I never saw that man before that night on Cooper’s Bluff,” Ashley said, watching Dillon, hoping he would look at her.
But he didn’t. Instead, he stared at the picture on the desk.
Kent held up another picture.
Ashley clasped her hand to her throat as she stared into the cold, dead eyes of Iceman.
“This man is Luther Kennedy. I’m willing to bet he’s your second shooter.” He looked at Dillon, who gave him a crisp nod.
“Luther is more or less a thug, with a history of charges that never stuck. But for some reason, Todd Dunlop trusted him. He was his right-hand man. He handled security and a host of other tasks for Mr. Dunlop, with full access to his accounts. He’s one of only a handful of people who could have funneled money out of the accounts of Dunlop Enterprises. We believe he must have been Mr. Dunlop’s go-between, personally carrying company papers to the woman who was auditing the company. Ashley Parrish.”
“Obviously Luther’s the hired hand,” Dillon said, “but what makes you so sure he’s the one who accessed the accounts and worked with...the auditor on the side? You mentioned a handful of people could have funneled the money out.”
“Yes, but only one of them had motive. The handful of people includes Dunlop’s wife, daughter and two sons, all of whom live a wealthy, pampered lifestyle with no motive to try to steal Todd Dunlop’s money. But Luther, even though Dunlop relied heavily on him, was given only a moderate salary. He had financial problems and bad credit, and toward the end, before Todd Dunlop went on his rampage, witnesses said Luther and Todd argued a lot. One witness even said Luther asked Todd for a loan and was refused. After ten years of being his errand boy, that had to sting. Let’s face it. The only one with access and motive is Luther Kennedy.”
Special Agent Kent plopped the picture of Iceman down on the growing stack of pictures on the chief’s desk. “Look, Destiny is a small town, with a few thousand residents. I understand you don’t get complicated cases very often, not like we do in Knoxville. And it’s perfectly understandable you wouldn’t connect the dots like I did. You don’t have the resources out here in the country, or the experience, but I do. And I’ve already done the legwork. I’m not here to convince you. I’m here to take Miss Parrish into custody.”
This time all eyes focused on Agent Kent, and their gazes weren’t friendly.
He cleared his throat, his face turning slightly red. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it to. I wasn’t trying to criticize your abilities.”
The chief straightened in his chair and smiled. “Of course not. Think nothing of it. This office has always had an exemplary relationship with the feds and I’m sure you wouldn’t intentionally do anything to jeopardize our long-standing tradition of cooperation. How about we start all over? No one offered you coffee when you came in, did they? How do you like it? Black?”
Kent relaxed against his chair, looking relieved. “Actually, some cream and sugar would be great. Thank you, Chief Thornton. I appreciate your understanding in this matter.”
“Of course, of course. It’s not like we’d try to give you the runaround, or turn a blind eye. Chris, go get Agent Kent that coffee. Make it quick.”
Chris almost knocked his chair down in his eagerness to leave the office. He hurried out and shut the door behind him.
“Agent Kent, why don’t you set that briefcase up here on my desk? If you’ve got information that can help me clear the Gibson and Gibson shooting as well as the Cooper’s Bluff fiasco out of my in-box, I’m all for it. Show me what you’ve got.”
Kent glanced at Ashley. “I don’t think the suspect should be privy to all of this information.”
“Right, what was I thinking? You know us country folk. Not used to how you do things in the big city.”
Ashley detected an edge to his voice and wondered if Kent had picked up on it, too.
“Detective Gray,” the chief said, “get Miss Parrish out of here, please. And if I don’t see you before you leave on vacation, give your mama my best.”
Dillon shot to his feet and grabbed Ashley’s arm, pulling her to her feet, as well. “Will do, Chief. Nice to meet you, Special Agent Kent.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
Ashley’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She looked up at Dillon, but he was stone-faced and silent as he pulled her toward the door.
The door opened and Chris stood there with a cup of coffee in his hand. He gave a slight nod to Dillon before hurrying inside without looking at Ashley.
Dillon pulled the door shut behind them and leaned down next to her ear. “Hurry, we probably only have a few minutes.”
“What? What do you mean?” She stumbled trying to keep up with his long strides. Her feet, though much better, were still sore.
He immediately slowed and let go of her forearm. His fingers instead entwined with hers as he pulled her toward the door.
Ashley glanced around in confusion. Everyone in the squad room had their backs to her, as if they were purposely avoiding looking her way. Her cheeks grew hot and her stomach clenched into a hard, cold knot.
“What happened while I was in the chief’s office? Did Chris tell everyone I’m a thief? Now they all hate me.”
Dillon stopped at the door and looked back at his fellow officers. For the first time since the nightmare in the chief’s office had begun, he smiled. “No, they don’t hate you. They’re showing you their solidarity. They’re turning a blind eye.”
She frowned. “A blind eye?”
His grin widened. “Yep. And now I’ve got to start my formerly unplanned vacation.”
“I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“We’re about to give Special Agent Kent the runaround.”
Chapter Ten
Ashley sat on Dillon’s bed while he shoved the folders he’d grabbed from his library into a duffel bag that was much like hers, except that his was camouflage-green.
“Are you absolutely sure Chief Thornton is okay with this?” Ashley asked. “I wouldn’t want you to lose your job or anything.”
He paused in front of her. “Do you remember the chief saying he had a long tradition of cooperating with the feds? Well, trust me, he’s never cooperated with the feds. He’s old-school, resents their interference. Me, I never had a problem with them, until now.” He turned and opened another drawer in his dresser.
“So he was speaking some kind of code then? When he talked about turning a blind eye and giving someone the runaround and you going on vacation, he was telling you to take off with me and hide me?”
“Pretty much.”
“But isn’t that illegal?”
“It violates the spirit of the law but not the letter. Agent Kent never got around to arresting you. And he didn’t serve you or anyone else with a subpoena or a warrant. So technically, all we did was have a conversation. I’m now on vacation, and I happened to take you with me. You’re a witness in an investigation whose life is in danger until we catch Luther Kennedy. So the chief can argue later that you’re just in protective custody.”
“Sounds dicey to me. I’d red flag that like crazy in an audit.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I probably would, too.”
He shoved a thin blanket into the duffel bag and zipped it closed.
“Dillon? Why are you helping me? All those things that man said about me... If it wasn’t happening to me, if he’d said that about someone else, I’d believe him. Why are you helping me, and why is the chief helping me?”
He plopped down on the bed beside her, making the mattress bounce.
“Honestly, the chief is probably responding more to Kent’s denigration of us country folk than to anything else. He doesn’t appreciate city slickers coming in here and acting like we’re a bunch of idiots because we talk slow and there’s only one red light in town. He’s protecting his investigation more than anything else. He’ll be pushing Chris and the others to figure out exactly what’s going on, hoping to show up the FBI and prove the local yokels can out-investigate the feds.”
“I guess that makes a little more sense than blind faith in me, since we basically just met. What about you? Are you helping me because you want to prove Destiny cops are as good investigators as federal ones? I’d appreciate your honesty.”
“My honesty?” His gaze slid away from hers and he stared toward the front window, but Ashley didn’t think he was seeing anything outside. His gaze was turned more inward, as if he was remembering something. Or someone.
“Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on, what you’re in the middle of,” he finally said, his voice low, halting. “My instincts tell me to trust you, that you’re innocent. But the evidence says otherwise. The only thing I’m sure of right now is that you need protection. I’m not going to turn you over to anyone until I’m sure you’ll be safe. We’re going to get out of here and lie low until everything is sorted out. Once Luther is in custody and the investigation is over, if the evidence shows you’re guilty, I’ll put you in a cell myself.” His gaze slid back to hers. “How’s that for honesty?”
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I guess I asked for that, didn’t I?”
He put his hand beneath her chin and tilted her head up.
“If you’re innocent, you’ve got nothing to fear, not from me or the law, anyway. Okay?”
She pushed his hand away. “Okay.”
He frowned and looked as though he was going to add something else, but the squawk of a radio filled the room.
“John Wayne and Daisy Duke, this is Billy the Kid. Come in. Over.”
He rolled his eyes and grabbed a small black phone-looking device with an antenna off the top of his dresser. It reminded Ashley of the walkie-talkies she and her siblings played with as children, but the device Dillon was holding looked a lot more sophisticated.
“This is John Wayne,” Dillon said. “Over.”
“Rosco P. Coltrane is ticked off like you wouldn’t believe. And he’s smarter than he looks. Boss Hogg advises you to get out of Dodge ASAP.”
“Ten four, Billy Bob.”
“Ah, negative. This is Billy the Kid. No Billy Bob here. Estimate you have fifteen minutes, tops, to make your getaway.”
Dillon cursed. “Got it. Thanks. Over.”
He shoved the walkie-talkie into the side zipper pouch on his duffel bag.
“Was that Chris?” Ashley asked.
“Yep.”
“And you understood that?”
“Yep. He said Special Agent Kent figured out I was hiding you and he’s ticked about it. He’s on his way. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Chief Thornton told us to get out of here before Kent gets here.” He tossed the duffel over his shoulder and grabbed her duffel off the foot of the bed.
“So I’m Daisy Duke?”
He cocked a brow. “Only if you want to be.”
She grinned. “Abso-freakin-lutely.”
* * *
“HORSES? WE’RE MAKING our getaway on horses?” She was wearing a pair of borrowed boots, while Dillon and his farm manager, Griffin, saddled Dillon’s stallion and a mare. Apparently with the expectation that she and Dillon were actually going to ride the darn things.
Dillon pressed his knee into the mare’s side, forcing her to blow out a breath so he could cinch the saddle more tightly. “You have a better idea?”
“Well, yeah. When you moved your car out behind the shed, I figured we were going to head down some private road at the back of your property that no one else knows about.”
“Nope, there’s no secret road out here. And everyone in Blount County knows my bright red Jeep. We can’t risk Kent seeing it since it was parked in front of the police station when he got there. Too obvious.”
“And riding a horse isn’t?”
“Not where we’re going.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You have ridden a horse before, haven’t you?”
“Sure. When I was fifteen.”
“It’s like riding a bike, ma’am,” Griffin called out. “You’ll remember how.”
Dillon nodded, as if Griffin had quoted some sage advice. “Plus, Gracie here is an ol
d trail mare. As long as she has a horse in front of her to follow, she won’t give you any trouble.”
He finished securing Ashley’s duffel bag behind the saddle and turned around. “Need a leg up?” He bent down and cupped his hands. “Or are your feet too sore? I could lift you up.”
Ashley stiffened. “I can mount all by myself, thank you very much.” She put her boot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn and hoisted herself up. She swung her right leg over the mare’s back and gently settled into the saddle, all in one quick, smooth motion.
Dillon’s brows rose. “I thought you said you hadn’t ridden since you were fifteen.”
“I haven’t. But I might have neglected to mention that I was in a saddle since before I could walk and have so many riding trophies on my mom’s mantel the fake-gold paint practically blinds you when you walk into the house.”
She expected him to laugh, or accuse her of being a ringer. But instead his expression turned serious.
“Your mom’s mantel, huh? Imagine that.” He strode to the bay-colored stallion Griffin had finished saddling, the one Dillon had told her he’d named Boomerang. He gracefully and expertly mounted the horse, making Ashley feel like an amateur.
“Nice form,” she grudgingly complimented.
He gave her a curt nod.
The two-way radio crackled again. “Billy the Kid calling John Wayne. Over.”
Griffin’s old, wrinkled face split into a wide grin. “Is that Chris?”
“I’m humoring him,” Dillon muttered. He held up the walkie. “Go ahead, Billy. Over.”
“Annie Oakley spotted Rosco P. Coltrane headed your way, two minutes out.”
A pained look crossed Dillon’s face. “Is Annie Oakley someone I know?”
“You see her every day, Mr. Wayne.”
“Got it. Tell Annie thanks for the warning. Over.” Dillon shoved the radio into a holder he’d strung around the saddle horn in front of him.
“Who’s Annie?” Ashley asked.
“I’m guessing Officer Donna Waters. She’s the only woman I see every day. Griffin?”