“That must be how the Mafia learned of you. While you were doing your chores just now, I called a friend in Chicago. He said that there was no way that the Mafia could get a hold of the list of who was allowed in the courtroom. And if you weren’t followed, the only other way would be that article and the family photo and the obituary.”
She thought a moment. “There wasn’t even a warning about the road my parents were on being dangerous. It kind of hurt. Like they died for nothing.”
Zane could feel her pain, though just as he was to comment on it, she interrupted his thoughts. “Zane, I know it’s dangerous, but there must be something I can do besides cower here reading my father’s notes. Things like finding out who owns the cabin where you put the men. It could belong to your brother.”
“Then he’ll end up there this summer, and we’ll have a few months to find him. I have a few other feelers out, Kristin, so never mind my search for my brother.”
He pursed his lips. Kristin had no idea how hard it was going to be to find a person who’d been hiding successfully for twenty years.
For all they knew, Eloise was dead.
“I should go,” Zane said quietly, hating the possibilities rifling through his mind. “You need to rest, and I need a shower, plus do a little digging into Joey Hamilton’s life. Not to mention who might know how to build a bomb. I know the police will be looking into that, but I plan to help them.”
“Don’t do anything unsafe.”
He studied her in the warm light of the office. As she’d said, it was a nice room. The colors here suited her. “As in jumping into a lake? Don’t worry, most of my searches are from my desk.” He found the corners of his mouth tilting up.
Her lips parted, and for the first time ever, his breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t pull away from the intensity of her gaze.
They were getting involved. It was as if their lives were tightly entangled somehow. Was God offering this woman to him? Was she to be his family, because they would never find her mother or his brother?
Did he even want a family? he asked himself. He hadn’t exactly had a great one growing up. And he probably wouldn’t be very good at handling one now.
He rose, too tired to analyze his thoughts anymore. When she followed him to the door, he said, “Lock up everything, okay? Keep your cell phone handy and turned on. If anything happens, call me, okay?”
She nodded. Those rich green eyes shimmered, not from unshed tears, but from a depth he hadn’t noticed before. She smiled, ever so slightly, her smooth lips bonded together, keeping her smile in firm check.
She was beautiful. So beautiful.
As she reached for the doorknob, before his courage drained away, he dragged her closer to him.
Their third kiss. She returned it, shyly, he thought. She acted as if she didn’t know what to do.
And yet it felt good to hold her, to have her kiss him back. To feel needed and loved and wanted and cared for. Was this what love was? He stopped kissing her, but still kept her close, feeling her uneven breathing on his neck.
Finally, he let her go, walked out the door and closed it firmly behind him.
He heard her lock it, and watched from the edge of the driveway as she returned to her father’s office. Once there, she closed the curtains.
An hour passed before Kristin moved from her father’s desk where she’d been reading his files. As she was stretching, the phone rang.
It was Zane. “I’ve got something of interest for you. You remember that other P.I. I had looking for my brother? I asked him to check out Joey Hamilton. It turns out that Joey’s a retired investigator.”
“Really? Maybe he’d worked for my father at some point, and Dad asked him to do one last search?”
“My thinking exactly. He’s been checking out a woman named Tammy Lockhart in Missoula. She’s thirty-nine, with brown hair and green eyes, and works as a cook in a small retirement home outside of Missoula.” He paused. “It’s not uncommon for lawyers to use investigators in their work. It could be unrelated to your search. But I have her address.”
“Wait.” After sitting down, she’d quickly perused one file her father had marked “private.” She found a small notation at the last line.
The name Tammy and an address, in her father’s short, choppy scrawl. She read aloud the address.
“It’s the same,” Zane said.
Her heart pounded. Her father knew of this woman? Had her parents been headed down to Missoula that fateful day to meet her?
Or were they on their way back from it, and having found success, decided to drive to Joey Hamilton’s place to pay their bill?
Excitedly, she asked, “When can we go?”
“In the morning, if you’re up for another long drive to Missoula.”
“It’s not that far.” Yes, oh, yes, she was ready to go. That Tammy Lockhart could be her mother.
“Then I’ll pick you up at eight. We’ll get an early start.” He hung up.
Still sitting at her father’s desk holding the phone, she dialed Jackson McGraw’s number. She wanted to tell him about Tammy, to ask him if he got those men, but at the last digit, she stopped and hung up.
What would he say to her? To stay put, that was what. He’d do the checking, and who was to say he wouldn’t take this woman into protective custody again? To a safe house, where Kristin would never see her?
And yet, there was a small part of her that wanted him to. A part of her wanted to give up, if only to keep everyone safe where they were and to assume Martino’s men would give up.
No, she couldn’t take the risk. Martino had found her mother at the last safe house. Giving up on her search was no safer than hiding Eloise away.
Though, Jackson was only thinking of their safety. Was that because Jackson was her father, and not this Danny Douglas? Zane’s speculation had put a small suspicion in her own mind.
Did she even dare to believe she had a father out there? That the name on her birth registry was written to keep Jackson safe? That Jackson wouldn’t tell to protect her mother?
Closing the file, she turned to the cabinet. Then turned back to the desk, frowning. When they’d first come home, she’d found this file on the desk, and handed it to Zane. But hadn’t she put it away a few days ago? Nothing else was out of place, and she’d had several files out at that time, preparing herself for her first meeting with Zane. But she’d always returned the files to the cabinet. This office was always kept neat. Her father liked organization. Her mother had been neat to a fault. Her own room Kristin kept clean. A place for everything, and everything in its place.
Would she have left this file out?
She’d always loved this room for its neatness. It defined her father and she’d made a point to keep it like that, even after his death.
Did that mean someone else had left this file out?
Had someone been in her house since she was last here?
TWELVE
Doubt rolled over and over in her mind. She lay awake for hours, listening to every sound, analyzing each noise and wondering if she should call the police, or Zane, or panic or pray.
She prayed. Zane had been tired when he left, and all she had was an uncertain feeling. Jackson was in Chicago, and Kristin did know one thing for certain. She didn’t want people traipsing through her house. And finally, she drifted off to sleep, only to awaken too early and drag herself into her bathroom to prepare for the day. She told herself that since she was safe, she’d only imagined the file had been moved.
Downstairs, she went through her usual morning routine of making coffee and toast, as she’d done by herself for the past few months, missing her parents and their small talk, their quirky morning habits and the routine they’d followed for years.
Pushing aside the melancholy, Kristin lifted her head. A car was pulling into the driveway. She checked the clock on the microwave. Almost eight.
But Zane’s arrival changed her thoughts, and the cold wash of danger ch
illed her. She should have called Zane with her doubts, even if he would have insist she go to a hotel. What had she been thinking?
She’d been thinking how her life would be out of her control again.
“Good morning,” she said as brightly as she could manage when she opened the door for Zane a moment later. “What’s that you have?”
He hefted a bag from the coffee shop where they’d first met. Kristin saw that his knuckles were not as swollen as yesterday after he’d subdued that thug. “Pastries, and in this hand,” he said, lifting an envelope in his other hand, “the report from the lab. I picked it up on my way here. You can read it while I drive.”
They climbed into his car, where he said, “Open the lab report first. See what it says.”
She tore open the flap and, after pulling free the paperwork, she scanned it, zeroing in on the bold print at the bottom. Zane leaned over.
“Graphite paint, as I suspected,” he said.
She looked up, finding him a bit too close. And yet she liked having him close. She cleared her throat. “Paint?”
He didn’t seem bothered by being so near. “I figured it was that. Why is that a surprise?”
“It’s only a surprise that you suspected it. But it doesn’t really narrow it down for us. Westbrook U has an art department.”
Zane’s expression hardened. “True. But do you know what a black mark means?”
“No.”
He took the report. “The Mafia uses that symbol to tell people it’s a Mafia hit. At its most basic level, the black on a dead person’s hand can mean that the victim hadn’t cooperated with the Mafia.”
He returned to his reading. “It says here that this particular sample has the same chemical composition of a unique brand of paint that’s made only in Chicago.” Zane fell quiet as he read. Finally, he spoke, and his words cracked slightly. “There’s a short blurb on the paint. It’s used for its luminous gray quality on grisaille. I don’t know what that is, though.”
“That’s a monochromatic painting.”
Zane drilled a stare into her. “Like that Kendall one at the university?”
“It’s not monochromatic, but it used a lot of similar color tones.” She bit her lip. “Come to think of it, it does have a shimmering quality to it.” She frowned at his closed expression. “The paint must be used by half the art department. I’m not sure it would mean anything. Surely the Mafia doesn’t use this specific paint.”
“They don’t necessarily. It’s just odd that it’s used here, while at the same time, the Mafia is after you.”
“Then I’m glad you’re helping me.”
He smiled at her. “Maybe the Lord is giving us what we need instead of what we want.”
A family, she thought. Are we slowly becoming a family? Shyly, she turned away, to take a shaky bite from one of the pastries he set on the dash.
Are we not to get what we hoped for?
Zane seemed oblivious to her desperate thoughts. “On the way to Missoula yesterday, you said your mother had already been in the Witness Protection Program. Do you think she could have returned to it without Jackson knowing?”
“I don’t think so. His brother, Micah, in Billings, was the person I first contacted and he directed me to Jackson. But he would have said something to him, and there would be no reason for him to lie to me. He would just tell me that she’s safe in the program.” She bit her lip. “Do you think that she’s already been found and killed, and someone is hiding the truth?”
“That almost suggests a cover-up within the Marshals.” Zane frowned at his own words. “And if that was true, then why would the Martino family be after you?”
Kristin bit her lip. He softened, and squeezed her hand before backing out of the driveway. “I’m sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut. Especially after the day you had yesterday. Did you find anything useful in your father’s office?”
She thought of the files she’d found open on father’s desk. Should she tell Zane what she suspected? He’d want to protect her. He’d insist she return to the hotel, away from home, the house that was filled at the same time with painful and yet comforting memories.
Maybe she did leave the file out. It wasn’t as if she’d been on the ball these past few days.
Quickly, she threw a glance over at Zane before tucking away the pastries. If she didn’t set them far from her, she’d eat the lot of them.
They’d reached the highway and were cruising along it before he spoke again. “I am beginning to read you like a book, Kristin. Something’s bothering you.”
She sighed, giving in. Convincing him there was nothing wrong seemed to demand more energy than she had. “Well,” she began, “I noticed that the file I gave you had been on the desk. I thought I had put it in the filing cabinet before I met you, that’s all. I’m not sure, though.”
“Do you think someone broke in and read the file?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have a burglar alarm, right?”
“Yes, and it was set. There was no sign of a break-in. I’m probably wrong. Forget I said anything.”
“No, I won’t. I will, though, check out that alarm when we get home.” He tightened his jaw. “You should have called me.”
She nodded. And it scared her just how much she regretted not calling him.
The file incident bugged Zane. He didn’t like unexplained incidents. Sure, considering all that had happened, Kristin could be mistaken, but not when he weighed the facts of her getting pushed into traffic, the two thugs following her, or even those same thugs taking a dunk into the lake. And the most notorious Mafia family in recent history was after her.
Zane had spent most of last night doing serious research into what Joey Hamilton had been investigating. His P.I. friend had felt badly enough about the dead end on his brother to help him out, and together, after several long phone calls, they’d discovered who Joey had tried to investigate back in January.
Tammy Lockhart lived and worked in Missoula, and fit the general description of Eloise Hill. And she cooked for a living.
He yawned. He hadn’t had time to call Jackson McGraw, though he’d planned to. He wanted to know everything about that pair he’d fished out of the lake. But considering that the local police hadn’t yet contacted him, it meant that the waiter from the rest stop hadn’t told the police anything, and for now, he’d take that as a gift and keep quiet, even where the FBI was concerned.
They ripped past that rest stop, with Zane feeling relieved that Kristin didn’t ask to stop there. They tore past the turnoff to the lake and still she stayed quiet. Small mercies, but he’d take them.
Missoula greeted them just after noon. Zane had a good idea where Tammy Lockhart lived and found her small suburban house without any trouble. They pulled into the driveway and parked behind a Honda Civic. He’d already learned that the woman had the day off.
As they got out, a large dog bounded over to them, his tail wagging and his bark loud and insistent. Without waiting for a pat, he raced to the front door and jumped up, his nails scratching the panels. It was obvious from the scratched-up paint that he’d been doing that for hours.
“Looks like he wants in,” Kristin murmured. “She must not be home.”
“Whose car is that, then?”
Kristin shrugged, stepped up to the door and rang the bell. The dog barked again, for the moment allowing her to pat his head.
Still no one came to the door.
Leaning past her, Zane turned the doorknob. The lock clicked easily and the door opened a crack. The dog nosed his way in and disappeared into the cold, dark house.
“Ms. Lockhart?” he called out. “Are you there? We’ve let your dog inside.”
As if to answer, the dog barked in the back room, then whined loudly. Then barked again. Cold dread washed over Zane as he stepped over the threshold. An odd smell drifted into his nostrils, a bit acrid and metallic, and he knew what it was.
“Stay here,” he said.
Kristin gripped the doorjamb. “Why? Do you think something’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stole carefully down the dim hall, following the dog’s pitiful whines. In the cool, back kitchen nook, he found what he suspected.
Tammy Lockhart was lying on the floor, two gunshot wounds in her chest.
THIRTEEN
“Didn’t I tell you to go home and give up this search?” Clay growled at Kristin as they stood just outside the front door.
Zane stepped between them, glaring nose to nose at the police officer, who’d been the first to respond, probably because he’d heard Zane Black’s name.
“This isn’t her fault, West,” Zane snapped back. “I did the search for this woman last night based on what Joey Hamilton had found out back in January. Obviously, someone else did the same research that Joey Hamilton did.”
Clay pulled a face. “Joey Hamilton? You both should have known better, especially with that old nutcase.”
Kristin squeezed between the two men. “A woman is dead, so both of you stop throwing the blame around here.” With her palms on their chests, she physically separated them. “Look, Clay, as far as I knew it, the two men Zane fished out of the lake were the only two after me or Eloise. And we still don’t know if the Mafia did this or not. Your coroner refused to confirm the time of death, and you have no other proof.” She drew in a breath. “For all we know, a jealous boyfriend could have done this.”
“You should have taken Jackson’s advice and given up your search. Vincent Martino has escaped custody and is most likely here searching for you or your mother.”
Both Zane and Kristin frowned. Kristin spoke first. “Jackson told me that he believed Vincent was here looking for me. But how would you know that? For that matter, why is Jackson telling you all this?”
“I can’t answer those questions. But every law enforcement office in the country is on the lookout for Vincent. And we know that Salvatore is close to death. It’s logical the son is going to do everything he can to avenge his father, preferably before he dies, so he can tell him about it.”
Fatal Secrets Page 12