Deadly Devotion

by Sandra Orchard

  “May I help you?”

  Kate jumped. Why did everyone keep sneaking up on her? She turned and extended her hand to a squat, bearded, dark-eyed man who assessed her with a frown. “I’m Kate Adams from the research center.”

  The man wiped his dirty hands on the rag hanging from his belt loop but made no move to shake her hand. “I told the last lady who came here that we don’t want no more interns.”

  So Daisy had come here. Kate glanced at the floors under the benches. “May I ask why?”

  “They’re lazy. Migrant workers cost less, work harder, and don’t come with paperwork.”

  “Are you managing the operation for Mr. Groen, Mr. . . . ?”

  “The name’s Al. Groen sold the property to Herbs Are Us. I work for them.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t realized . . .”

  A teenaged Mexican boy came through the bay with a bag of fertilizer slung over his shoulder.

  Al jabbed a finger toward a storage area. “Over there.”

  The boy slid his gaze down Kate, then deposited his load in the designated area.

  Al motioned Kate toward the door. “If there’s nothing else, I need to get back to work.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry to keep you, but I was hoping . . .” She shot a quick look around the place.

  The boy leaned against a pillar and watched her as he rolled a cigarette.

  “Pedro, vuelva para trabajar,” Al said, snatching the cigarette out of the boy’s hand.

  The boy snickered and stalked out of the building.

  Al shook his head. “Your intern was a bad influence on that boy. I was glad to see the last of him.”

  Kate couldn’t think of an appropriate reply, given that she hadn’t really known Gord. “Did he happen to leave a forwarding address?”

  “If he did, I wouldn’t give it out. What with privacy laws the way they are.”

  She started to protest, but one look at the man’s hardened jaw told her protesting would be a waste of breath. “Thank you for your time,” she said instead, and strode toward her car. The prickle on the back of her neck told her his steely gaze tracked her exit. She climbed into her car and shifted into reverse. Out the rear window to the left of the rows of greenhouses, she noticed two narrow swaths rutted through the trees—tire tracks on an abandoned laneway, overgrown with two-foot-high weeds and brambles.

  Interesting.

  Resisting the temptation to linger, she turned her attention back to the parking lot. A shadow detached from the corner of the main building. Pedro. His gaze drifted from her to the laneway behind her. He flicked his cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his heel.

  Heart pounding, Kate stepped on the gas, certain she’d stumbled onto something significant. Back on the main road, she turned right at the first crossroad and pulled onto the shoulder about four hundred yards down.

  Her stomach felt like an invasion of gypsy moths had laid siege. But she wouldn’t let that stop her. Everything about this place felt suspicious.

  Given how Al felt about their intern, she hadn’t dared ask him for a tour . . . Okay, maybe not asking had more to do with Daisy’s death.

  Kate stared into the trees, her hand frozen on the car door handle. Was she crazy to risk sneaking through the woods to see where those tracks led?

  Parker’s harsh assessment—people are rarely what they seem—replayed through her mind for the umpteenth time. She’d prove him wrong, at least as far as Daisy was concerned.

  Kate opened the door and plunged into the woods before she could talk herself out of looking. It wasn’t as if she was looking for a grow-op, exactly. She estimated the tire tracks would be about three hundred yards east of the side road.

  The tightly spaced trees choked out undergrowth, which made walking less treacherous. However, the light filtering through the thick branches cast eerie shadows on the rotted leaves layering the ground.

  She counted paces, willing her heart to stop galloping. Two hundred forty-eight. Two hundred forty-nine.

  Two hundred and fifty paces in, she spotted a tin roof through the trees. She slowed, straining to step soundlessly. The roof belonged to a dilapidated potting shed with cracked windows, rotted wood cladding, and a shiny new padlock on the door.

  Her pulse quickened all over again. She could think of two or three reasons why someone might lock a rotted old shed—none of them good.

  She hid behind the trunk of an enormous maple tree and surveyed the building. The ground around the door was well-trampled, and faint indentations led toward the tire tracks she’d spotted earlier. Indentations that could only have been made by exceptionally large boots. She squinted through the trees for any sign that Bigfoot might still be around. As if to assure her that the coast was clear, a chipmunk hopped from a branch onto one of the window ledges, disappeared through a hole in the glass, and a moment later scurried out with its cheeks stuffed.

  Kate crept to the shed and peered through the dirty window. The room appeared empty. Although from the slick streak across the dusty table, something had recently been removed.

  She edged toward the next window.

  Behind her, a twig snapped.

  She froze. The sound could have been a squirrel, a deer, any number of—

  Leaves crunched.

  Not daring to move, she slid her eyes in the direction of the sound.

  A tall, dark figure rushed toward her.

  She screamed as a hand clamped over her mouth.

  4

  All set to assure Kate he’d followed up on her marijuana find, Tom tapped on the door of her research lab. The woman had too much moxie for her own good, and he hoped the personal appearance would convince her to let go of the notion that Leacock had stumbled onto a drug ring. Because if Kate wasn’t convinced, he had no doubt she’d do exactly what her roommate had said and scour the countryside for proof.

  For all his FBI training, he hadn’t known what to make of the speechless look Kate gave him when he’d asked for her promise not to look for grow-ops on her own. And her hesitant nod when he repeated the request hadn’t given him the warm fuzzies that she’d heed.

  If only he could keep her distracted with a more innocuous theory. Problem was, not a single plausible idea came to mind, except for the obvious ones. The nephew killed her for her money, or Kate had.

  He tried the doorknob. Locked.

  “She’s not here.” The supervisor he’d interviewed during the initial investigation, Darryl Kish, stepped out of the office next door, brown lunch bag in hand. The man was an oddity. With the height of a basketball player and the build of a football player, he looked more like a mafia hit man than a lab geek.

  “Has Miss Adams gone out for lunch?”

  “No, she’s checking on Daisy’s interns.”

  Tom stifled a groan. Despite the brief time he’d known Kate, he was fairly certain that check on was code for interrogate. He’d interviewed all of Leacock’s interns following her death. Kate wouldn’t find any leads there.

  Kish locked his office door and shoved the key into his pants pocket. “I should say her interns, now.”

  “Oh?”

  “This morning the board voted unanimously to promote Kate to Daisy’s former position.” His gaze drifted down the long, empty hallway. “Of course, the appointment won’t be a surprise. Daisy groomed Kate for the job from day one.”

  “You don’t think she’s up to the job,” Tom ventured, noting the cynicism in Kish’s voice.

  “She’s young, unproven. She’s got ambition. I’ll give her credit for that, but ambition only carries you so far.”

  “Ambitious in a climb-the-ladder kind of way, or a save-the-world kind of way?” Tom asked, not wanting another reason to suspect Kate of murder.

  “Oh, she’s definitely a save-the-world gal. Probably why Daisy took such a shine to her. Depression robbed Kate’s mom of a lot of years, which is what made their newest discovery all the more important to Kate.”

  Yes,
Tom recalled how Kate’s eyes had lit up when she explained the unprecedented calming effect of the herbal combination she and Daisy had created. If she had a personal stake in the research’s success, she certainly wouldn’t want to bump off her colleague.

  “Daisy tried to bring Kate back to terra firma. One set of positive lab results does not a cure-all make.”

  Hmm. Tom didn’t like where that kind of disagreement might have led. “How long ago did Miss Adams leave?”

  “A couple of hours ago.” Kish glanced at his watch. “Maybe more. Why? Are you here about Daisy’s case?”

  “No. The case is closed.” Tom cringed. His tone came off sounding as harsh as the chief’s had when he’d caught Tom skimming the grow-op files this morning. Tom handed Kish a business card. “If you see Kate, please ask her to give me a call.”

  Satisfied Kate’s fruitless interrogations would keep her too preoccupied to get herself into trouble, Tom returned to his car and headed to the station.

  Miles of flowering fruit trees lined the road. The contrast of their bright colors to the greening grass was a welcome change from the dreariness of winter. He loved this time of year—a promise of new beginnings. Just what he needed.

  Rounding a bend in the road, his attention strayed to a plastic-covered greenhouse tucked behind a copse of trees. Tom slammed on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road. A person’s determination was like a river. You could only keep it dammed up for so long. If Kate used the excuse of checking on her interns to do more serious sleuthing, she could wind up in serious trouble.

  He dug out the list he’d compiled of suspected grow-op sites under surveillance by the department. A couple of the locations were near the placements of two of the interns he’d interviewed, and Kate was probably foolish enough to waltz into a suspicious-looking greenhouse and start asking questions.

  Tom drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. Hank had warned him to steer clear of the drug task force’s territory . . . but it hadn’t been an order, exactly. More like friendly advice. Besides, if Tom intended to reassure Kate that he’d investigated her theory, the least he should do was drive by the locations Daisy might have discovered.

  Hank need never know.

  Tom pulled back onto the road and took the next left. Cruising along Turnbull toward the first location, a splash of yellow on a side road caught his eye. He slowed at the crest of the hill. The yellow belonged to a VW Bug parked on the shoulder. A VW like Kate’s. He turned onto the side road and parked behind the car. A quick search on the license plate confirmed his suspicions.

  What did the woman think she’d find in the middle of the woods?

  Tom checked her car. Nothing seemed amiss.

  No houses were in view, only trees. Aside from the warble of birds and the distant rumble of what sounded like a generator, the area was quiet. He scoured both sides of the road for signs of which way Kate might have gone and found a faint trail leading into the bush.

  A cut-short scream broke the calm.

  Tom’s heart climbed to his throat. He grabbed his radio and called for backup, then sprinted toward the sound of the scream—certain it had been Kate’s. He prayed that she’d merely been frightened by a wild animal.

  Tree branches slapped his face. He hurdled a log, laser focused on the direction of the scream. Why hadn’t she just trusted him to look into this?

  A small shed came into view thirty yards ahead of him.

  He shoved away the image of what he’d found the last time he came across an abandoned shed in the woods. Slowing his pace, he strained to hear over the roar of his pulse thrumming in his ears.

  A thud. A grunt. A whimper. Then the scrape of something—or someone—being dragged across the ground.

  Tom reached under his suit jacket and drew his weapon. “Stop! Police. Come out with your hands up.”

  Sounds of a scuffle erupted from behind the building.

  “Let go of me,” Kate yelled, but Tom still couldn’t see her.

  He stepped closer. His grip, slick with sweat, tightened as his index finger skimmed the trigger guard. “I said, come out with your hands up.”

  For one long second, the smell of dank earth pressed at his throat.

  Then Hank stepped into view.

  “Hank?” Tom’s gaze cut to the shed. “What are you—?”

  Hank yanked an enraged Kate to his side, her cheeks dented with finger impressions, her hair knotted with rotted leaves.

  Tom eased his grip on his gun, but he wasn’t ready to holster it. He didn’t even want to think about what this looked like. “What’s going on here?”

  “I caught her sneaking around,” Hank said from between clenched teeth, his fingers clamped around Kate’s arm.

  Kate shoved Hank away and wrapped trembling arms around her waist. “You didn’t have to cover my mouth or drag me behind the shed.”

  “I was trying to keep you safe. Tom could have been anyone. Like one of those drug dealers you’re bent on finding.” Hank clenched and unclenched his hands. “If you don’t want to end up like your friend, you’d better stop playing Nancy Drew.”

  Kate gasped. “So you admit someone killed her?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Kate’s gaze sought Tom’s, and he fought the sudden urge to pop his boss in the chops. From the look of Hank’s fat lip, Kate hadn’t hesitated. Good for her. Tom pinned Hank with a fierce look and pitched his voice low and menacing. “How’d you know she was here?”

  Hank wiped his hand across his swollen lip. “How did you?”

  “I saw her car. When I got out to investigate, I heard a scream.”

  Hank’s eyes narrowed as if he expected an explanation as to why Tom happened to be in the neighborhood.

  Tom drilled back with a look that asked the same question. The chief belonged behind a desk, not out here chasing innocent—if somewhat reckless—women through the woods.

  Kate edged closer to Tom, and the movement drew his attention to the rundown shed.

  A shiny padlock hung on the door. Interesting.

  “I stopped by the greenhouse to drop something off for my dad and spotted Miss Adams sneaking around. I figured I’d better find out what she was up to since we’ve busted grow-ops around here before.”

  “I was right,” Kate blurted. “I told you Daisy wouldn’t kill herself. She must have seen where they were growing marijuana and—”

  Tom shoved his gun into its holster. “And it didn’t occur to you that you could’ve put yourself in the exact same danger you seem to think your friend stumbled into?”

  Kate’s eyes grew as round as her open mouth.

  Good, maybe they’d finally frightened some sense into her. Tom returned his attention to Hank. “I called this in. You’d better radio headquarters and call off the cavalry,” Tom ordered, realizing too late he’d spoken in a tone best reserved for subordinates.

  Hank’s return glare could’ve ignited a raging forest fire, but he made the call. Then he stuck his face close to Kate’s. “Remember what I said, young lady.” He cocked his head, waiting for a response.

  Kate remained mute.

  Hank straightened and jabbed a finger into Tom’s shoulder. “I want you on real cases. This one is closed. Got it?”

  Tom bit back a smart remark. As much as he wanted to rip into Hank for how he’d treated Kate, he couldn’t afford to sabotage his job. “I’ll escort Miss Adams to her car and see she gets safely to work.”

  “Then I want to see you in my office.” Hank disappeared into the trees without waiting for a reply.

  Tom gave Kate a stern look. “Do you know how much danger you could’ve put yourself in?”

  Shafts of sunlight speared through the trees, striking a fire in her eyes. “You said growers wouldn’t kill over a little weed.”

  Tom blew out a breath. Not weed, no. He slipped his hand through a broken pane on the shed, wiped his finger through the dust on the counter, rubbed it between his fingers, then sniffed it
. Explosives.

  He could hardly believe his nose, but he’d recognize that acrid smell anywhere. Port Aster was the last place he expected to run across a bomb-making operation. Tom scanned the perimeter, noting the footprints, the tire tracks. Kate had no idea what she’d stumbled onto.

  Did Hank?

  Not likely—he’d been too irritated over being caught intimidating an overzealous civilian to see what was really going on in these woods.

  Tom cupped Kate’s elbow and steered her away from the building.

  “Why did you smear your finger through the dust inside that shed?”

  He shrugged off the question as if the action had been no big deal.

  “It was dust. Wasn’t it?”

  “Fertilizer.”

  “That’s weird. Why would someone store fertilizer in the middle of the woods?” Kate retraced the path she’d trampled from the road. “You’ll want to make sure you wash that stuff off your hands before you touch your laptop. A few weeks ago, Darryl was supposed to fly to Denver for a symposium and missed the plane when security swabbed his keyboard and the detector lit up like a Christmas tree. The guards thought he was a terrorist. Can you believe that?”

  Unfortunately, he could.

  Kate didn’t seem to expect an answer and continued her nervous chatter. “Did you know explosives have some of the same compounds as fertilizers? Security wouldn’t release him until the research center confirmed that Darryl regularly handled fertilizers in his job. I can’t believe how paranoid we are nowadays.”

  “You can never be too careful.” Swatting branches out of their path, Tom kept pace at her side. “Like your promise not to look for grow-ops.”

  “I wasn’t. I was visiting interns.”

  “I visited the interns during my investigation. These woods weren’t on the list.”

  She stopped and extracted a paper from her pocket. “It’s on mine.” She pointed to 1250 Turnbull.

  “This is Turret Street. Turnbull is around the corner.” Tom made a face he usually reserved for his mischief-making nephews. “Normal people go to the front entrance.”

  “I did,” Kate snapped, but she couldn’t mask the way her hand trembled. She stuffed the paper back into her pocket. “I noticed tire tracks heading into the woods and thought I should find out where they led.”