Fatal Secrets

by Barbara Phinney

  She froze immediately, but did not turn. His grip on her was tight, his whole weight shifting them both away from the stove that stood so close to the door.

  Finally, she looked down. The cook was busy steadying a large pot of steaming soup. Her flailing could have tipped it over onto her and Zane.

  She blew out a sigh. Once the soup was safe on another burner, Zane released her.

  She spun around. “What was that for? You could have made it a whole lot worse for both of us! Why not just tell me to come in here?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t see the soup, either, until it was nearly too late.” He was steering her through the hot, fragrant kitchen, around the startled cook and his pot of soup. As they passed him, Zane shoved a pair of ten-dollar bills into the man’s hand. “For our meal. Table eight. Thank you.”

  His left hand wrapped firmly around her elbow, his right hand flipping out his cell phone, he moved them swiftly through to the back door. “I needed to get you out of the hallway quickly and I didn’t want us trapped in the washrooms,” he continued. “Let’s go, Kristin, I’ll explain later.”

  They hurried outside. Zane threw a fast glance around them. Then, taking her arm, he led her around the corner of the restaurant.

  Curious, Kristin leaned forward to peer back around the corner. The back door to the restaurant’s kitchen opened, and out walked the cook. He scanned the back alley, then returned inside. A heavyset man with a swarthy face and dark scowl stepped out behind him.

  Zane pulled her back. “That man walked in, sat at one of the front tables and watched you. As soon as we started to eat, he called someone. A minute later, another man came in, sat at another table. Both then got up and began to walk our way.”

  “Did you recognize them? Do you know them?”

  “No, but I know they weren’t there for the quesadillas. I saw the first one in front of the café this morning.”

  She gasped. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I studied the crowd after you said you’d been pushed. Let’s face it, if he was in that restaurant just to have a bite to eat, he wouldn’t have followed us out the kitchen door, right?”

  She bit her lip. Had he been the man who’d pushed her in front of the truck? “What else did he do?”

  “When he reached into his jacket, I saw a gun. As soon as you headed down that hall, I pulled a chair toward our booth, as if we were expecting company. The waitress ran into it, and spilled a drink. That pretty much delayed him from reaching us. That’s when I followed you. You had your back to me and I needed you out of there immediately. I’m sorry if I was a bit rough. You struggled and were going to knock that hot soup all over yourself.”

  “You scared the daylights out of me.” She sighed and leaned against the brick wall. “Are we going to call the police?”

  “Just because we’re suspicious doesn’t mean they’ll be. They think you imagined being pushed.”

  “I didn’t imagine it.”

  After punching in some numbers, Zane brought his cell phone up to his ear. “This is Zane Black. I’m calling to let you know that there will be someone staying in my office for the next few days.” He covered his phone. “This is my building’s security service.”

  Irritated, Kristin listened to his call. What was he doing? Did he think she’d just go where he told her? As soon as his cell phone clicked shut, she spoke. “You want me to stay in your office?”

  “I’m not going to take any chances here.”

  Someone around the corner of the building knocked over a garbage can, then swore loudly. Kristin jumped, and in the same moment, Zane dragged her down the alley. When they reached the main road, he hurried her into the next business, a sporting goods shop.

  Standing behind a tall rack of windbreakers, she asked, “How will going to your office do any good?”

  She remembered what Jackson’s words had been that last night he saw her mother. Someone had learned the safe house’s location. As a result, Eloise had to abandon her in order to keep her safe. How was Zane’s office going to do what a federal safe house couldn’t do?

  “It’s got excellent security. And before you say you don’t need security, think. You attended the Martino trial because it was related to why your mother is in hiding. An FBI agent wants you to stop looking for her, probably because it’s too dangerous for both of you. You need to be more than a little careful.”

  She remembered Jackson’s words. The Martino family wanted to honor the old dying don. There was no way they could have learned where she lived. “But Jackson said that traveling around for a while would throw off any person who tried to follow me. And the security inside that courtroom was tight because the judge didn’t want it turned into a sideshow. The spectators would have had to register before going in.”

  “Maybe someone has that list. And when he called, did Jackson warn you something might happen to you?”

  “Yes. How did you know that?” she asked softly.

  “I guessed it, based on all you’ve said, but now that you’ve told me, I can see I’m right.” He pulled a face and glanced out the window again. “It’s got something to do with your mother and Martino.”

  It was as if he could read her mind. Was she that transparent? “What else do you know?”

  “I don’t know enough about the trial, but I will by tomorrow morning. In the meantime, you need to stay somewhere safe, like my office. No arguments, either, okay? This is your life here, and if you die, you’ll never find your mother.”

  Again, Zane looked out the front window of the store, toward the restaurant. She hated the way he’d manipulated her need to find her mother. And yet, he was so right. She didn’t want to die without ever finding her mother. Or worse, put her mother, the woman who’d done everything in her power to save her life, back into danger.

  Her stomach growled. “Yeah, I know,” she muttered to it. “Stress makes you hungry.” She’d missed most of their lunch and it was showing.

  Trying to ignore the pangs, she glanced outside herself at the main street in Westbrook. Zane’s car was in a parking lot at the other side of the restaurant. To reach it they’d have to walk past the place.

  Zane fished out his car keys. “Stay here. I’ll get the car. I’d call a taxi, but I’ve been here two years—”

  “And you’ve only ever seen one. I know. We have only one taxicab in this town. Everything is walking distance.” She glanced at the approaching clerk before watching Zane leave.

  Kristin hovered in the back of the store, declining the offer of assistance from the clerk. Within a few minutes, Zane reappeared and she quickly exited the store.

  “I’m not going to your office, Zane,” she said firmly.

  “My office has everything you need.”

  “It’s not that. I’m not fussy. It’s just that you have a business to run, and I don’t think those people who have hired you would appreciate a strange woman living in your office, even if all their personal information were secure. Why don’t I go to a hotel in Kalispell?”

  He considered her suggestion. “All right,” he finally said. “I’ll call and make the reservations.” When he pointed to where his car was, he handed her his keys. “Go to the Broadview Hotel. Do you know it?”

  She nodded. “But I need some things before I can go.”

  “No. Don’t go home. I’ll see to it that they provide whatever you need, a light lunch and some personal stuff. The hotel is excellent at security, too, so use the valet service at the front entrance. Don’t stop along the way, either.”

  Lifting her eyebrows, she took the keys. “Am I allowed to watch TV?”

  “Don’t be sarcastic, Kristin. This is for your own good. I’d rather err on the side of caution until I know all the facts here. Yes, it’s probably better that you stay in Kalispell. I’ve got a lot of reading to do on the Martino family and I may not be able to do it all at home.”

  She hadn’t expected Zane to agree to the hotel, and now that it was done, she
found herself not wanting to give up her search for her mother. Not even for a day.

  She looked at the keys he’d given her. “What about leaving you here without a car?”

  “I have another one. I’ll stop by the hotel tomorrow.” As if on an impulse, he squeezed her hand. His fingers felt warm and comforting and she found herself wanting to cling to them. “I’m sorry for all that’s happening to you, Kristin, but you need to take care of your own safety right now, and not to worry about anyone else.” His voice dropped. “That includes your mother.”

  She looked up at him, seeing him strong and lean and in control, knowing the right thing to do. In that moment, she didn’t want to leave.

  Foolish notion, she told herself. Zane didn’t need her breathing down his neck.

  And yet, was she really doing the right thing here, trusting Zane?

  Yes, he was trustworthy; she knew that because she’d checked his credentials before calling him.

  “Go. I’ll be there tomorrow morning.” With a gentle shove, he directed her toward his car. She looked up at his face, but he was already scanning the area. She had no choice but to leave.

  Zane didn’t watch her leave. He watched everyone else, instead. But no one seemed interested in a woman trotting out to a run-of-the-mill car. Within the minute, Kristin had slipped from the parking space and driven away. He followed her taillights with his eyes until she turned and headed toward the highway, avoiding the center of Westbrook.

  On his walk to retrieve his other car, he spotted the two men arguing outside the restaurant. He’d also seen the gun the bigger man carried. They continued to argue as they climbed into a car. He memorized the Illinois plate number.

  Someone was after her, all right. And that someone was getting desperate.

  Which meant that all his other work would have to cease immediately. Including dealing with that small lead she’d mentioned about the painting.

  She shouldn’t be looking for her mother at this time, either, but he wasn’t sure he could convince her of that, certainly not when these circumstances seemed tied to the missing woman. He’d been lucky to get her to agree to the hotel. Hunger had probably weakened her resolve. He’d heard her stomach rumble, so the promise of a meal must have helped. Zane almost smiled at that thought.

  But he grimaced instead as he walked to where he kept his second car. It looked as if he was taking her case, after all. He flipped open his cell and called his answering service, telling the woman to hold his calls, adding that he was going to be busy.

  He had some homework to do, reading up on the Martino crime family and just how they might find out where Kristin lived.

  The next morning, despite the long night he’d put in, Zane headed into Kalispell. Entering the hotel, he spied Kristin stepping off the elevator. When their gazes locked, she offered up a guilty smile. “I was hungry, and the room-service breakfast was just coffee and cold toast.”

  He tried a frown, but it wouldn’t form. Her soft, gently contrite smile repelled any anger at her for slipping out of her room. “Let’s go, then. The restaurant serves a decent breakfast.”

  They sat at a far table by the window that faced a series of grid-line streets. At the end of the budding trees and short buildings, he spied the downtown mall. Zane could see both outside and through the restaurant entrance to the front desk. Their food arrived, a full breakfast of fresh pastries, boiled eggs, that great coffee they had here and juice.

  Zane watched as Kristin helped herself to food and a large mug of coffee. Montanans loved their coffee, and since coming here, he’d learned why. It was good.

  “Last night,” he began, accepting a cup from her, “I checked in to the recent Martino trial. That woman you spoke to, Olivia Jarrod, did a bang-up job at testifying. She’s a brave woman, especially considering she’s pregnant and her husband had been shot saving her life. You’ve got to admire that kind of strength.”

  “I knew she was strong when I met her that day in Jackson’s office. My mother had that kind of strength, too, because she had to leave me after an attempt on her life. That was hard for her.”

  “Did Jackson tell you that?”

  Her chin wrinkled and she deliberately took a mouthful of food. To avoid answering, he noted. It was difficult, he knew it, and though he should be pushing her for more info, as he would have done anyone else, he couldn’t. She was hurting too much.

  Give her time, he told himself. She’ll talk. Last night, as he’d read up on the Martino family, and between phone calls to his contacts out east, he’d thought and rethought about Kristin’s need to find her mother and her fear of telling anyone about it. As much as that need and that fear were at odds with each other, he knew Kristin would find a way to partner them together. She had that kind of inner determination.

  But being told by the FBI to back off was odd. There had to be a good reason for it.

  As he began to frown, Kristin’s cell phone rang. She answered it, then after listening to the caller, she covered the microphone part.

  “That’s my father’s law partner. He says that he has a large letter from me. He’s going up to Westbrook anyway, and wants to drop it off at my house.”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “He’s the son of my father’s previous law partner and he practices in Missoula now. My father handled the cases up in Westbrook. I’ve known him all my life. Well, practically all my life.”

  Zane didn’t like the idea of the man dropping by Kristin’s house. “Have him deliver it to my office. He can shove it in my mail slot by the front door. Were you expecting it?”

  She looked thoughtful. “I’ve been searching for my mother for months, and sending out letters, too. It could be an answer. I had used my father’s work address and I am expecting a photo of my mother.”

  “It could be important, then.”

  She nodded, then told the lawyer where to drop off the letter. After hanging up, she said, “He sounded suspicious, and said he’s on his way to Westbrook. He must wonder why I’m having him drop it off at a private investigative office. The letter should be in your slot by later this morning.”

  “Good, we can enjoy our breakfast, then.”

  They lingered over their meal, with Zane asking her questions about her youth. A nice, enviable youth, he noted. The kind other kids had, not him. Not the kind he and his adoptive sisters had.

  Had he been adopted because his parents had no boys? Was life before he came along easier, before his adoptive father became abusive, believing that was how God wanted fathers to be? Or was it an excuse? Kristin’s upbringing was so very different and yet they both had much in common.

  Finally, after the last of the coffee was drank, they left. Before long, were out on the road, returning to Westbrook, only a few minutes drive away from Kalispell.

  They reached Zane’s office building shortly after. Just west of the town, it had a beautiful view of the surrounding mountains. Out front of the main entrance, a series of delivery slots had been built into the wall by the locked front door. Zane let them in, then unlocked his mail slot. Among some other envelopes was a large brown one, stiff with cardboard inside, he expected.

  Kristin looked at the return address before smiling. “I know what this is. Remember I said I’d found a woman in Chicago who ran a foster home? She remembers my mother, even remembers that my mother told her she was pregnant.”

  “Did your mother ever contact her?”

  “No.” She shrugged. “All she had was this picture of the children there at the time, with their names on the back, and she was willing to send it to me. I just jumped on the chance to get a picture of my mother when she was younger than I am now.”

  The old photograph probably wouldn’t be much help. He wasn’t sure what it could tell them, apart from what the woman looked like more than twenty years ago. But it was important to Kristin, he could see.

  “How did you know where to look for this foster home?” he asked, watching her stud
y the package.

  “Jackson told me the name of the place. It wasn’t that hard to track down. Finding the address of the woman who ran it was harder, but I used some of Dad’s eastern contacts.”

  She was resourceful, if nothing else. Zane watched her slide out a large photograph and hold it between them so they could both see it. It was surprisingly good quality, clear and crisp with bright colors, even after all these years.

  He pointed to a young woman in the back row. “That’s your mom right there, I bet. She looks just like you.”

  “You think? Her face is thinner.”

  “Remember she’s about, what, four years younger than you are now?”

  Nodding, Kristin flipped the photo over. The woman who’d taken the shot had been diligent in writing down all the children’s names. Zane scanned the top row and found what he was looking for.

  “Eloise Hill,” he murmured. “I told you it was her.”

  He’d barely finished speaking when Kristin flipped the photo back, studied the faces, and then flipped the photo to the back again.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She showed him the photo, pointing not to the slim girl in the back row, who was not tall enough for the place, but probably put there to hide her pregnancy. No, Kristin was pointing to the gangly youth who towered beside her.

  “I know who this man is. And I know where he lives.”

  FIVE

  Kristin’s heart pounded fast as she stared at the boy beside her mother.

  “Who is it?” Zane asked.

  “Clay West. Well, I don’t know him per se, but I do know his fiancée, Violet Kramer. She’s a reporter in Missoula who wrote an article on a woman trying to do the right things in her life. A kind of redemption story. What was her name?” She thought for a moment. “Gwyn something. It caught my interest when I was searching the newspaper’s archives, and so I’ve been reading her stories regularly since. I even called her editor not long ago to tell him how much I enjoyed her articles. I had tried to call her, but she was out of the office.”