After what seemed like too short a minute, she pushed away.
“I’m sorry,” she said, turning away and grabbing for some Kleenex on her desk.
“Don’t. It’s not your fault,” he said to her back as she blew her nose and wiped her face. He shoved his hands in his pockets, at a loss for what to do now. “You’ve been through so much. I’m amazed that you’re still standing.”
“I’m fine. I’ll be okay.”
“I know.” He stepped to the door. “Take your time. I think the pizza is here. You come out when you’re ready.”
He left her there and felt hollow and lost with every step that took him farther from her.
Mortified she’d so completely lost control, and doubly so that she’d felt so safe and warm in Luke’s arms, Abby shut herself in her bathroom. Her shoulders seemed to burn with the memory of his strong embrace.
Get a grip, she scolded herself.
She rinsed her face off, not wanting everyone to know she’d been crying. Their voices wafted in, along with the smell of pizza. Grabbing a towel, she dried her face and checked it in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, but that could be from lack of sleep. She felt reasonably certain no one would rush to the conclusion that she’d been crying. She was about to join the crowd when Woody called out.
“Abby, someone at the door to see you.”
“Be right out.” She wondered if it was the coroner or the last units clearing the scene. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the living room, and there in the doorway stood Jessica Brennan. Abby almost said, “Thank you, Lord,” out loud. If she needed a shoulder to cry on, it should be someone neutral like Jessica.
“Wow, last thing I expected was to see your house full of men,” she said with a laugh.
“It’s been a long day,” Abby said. She sighed as she accepted her friend’s hug.
“I guess.” Jessica looked at her with an odd expression. “I just wanted to come by and say that now I know why you’re so good.”
“What?”
“So good at being a cop. You’ve been a victim and you really do understand.”
Abby lost her voice for a moment. Victim? No. On a mission, yes. But no victimhood for me. But she realized Jessica spoke of her parents.
“It was so long ago . . .” She held her hands up, not really sure what to say.
Jessica wiped her eyes. “Yeah, but still, how horrible!”
“Do you want to come in? We’re having pizza and trying to clean up a mess.”
Jessica peered into the house. “What happened?”
“Come in and I’ll explain.”
Jessica joined the group and Bill told her what had happened. Abby stayed close to Woody and Jessica, fearing even a look at Luke.
Between pizza and talking, they were eventually able to put the entire house back together, though some things had been destroyed. She was out a television set, a DVD player, and a coffee machine. The food helped; she was hungrier than she thought and figured that was why she’d lost control so easily. She vowed that it would not happen again.
Her laptop was unscathed, so she and Jessica went online to pick out replacement items while Luke talked at length with Woody about the threat to him and his family by the mysterious pair under the bridge. Abby caught snippets.
“They must have been watching me, my house, for a while,” he said. “I never realized.”
“You’ll be more vigilant now,” Woody said.
“You bet,” he said with steel in his voice. He could take care of himself, of that Abby had no doubt.
Asa didn’t contribute much to anything, but he did speak to Abby for a few minutes.
“I don’t think you should have ever told Rollins who you were,” he said. “This Triple Seven can of worms should have stayed closed.”
“Why?” Abby asked.
“After all this time, do you really think you’ll solve it?”
Regret pinched her heart. “No, I’m out of it. Carney and O’Reilly will get it and I’ll stay out.”
For the first time all night, Asa smiled. “That’s for the best. I’m sure you’ll see that someday.”
When everyone left and Abby had the house to herself again, a tight knot formed in her stomach, not over the incident with Luke, but over Asa. He knew something he wasn’t saying. A disturbing question rose in her thoughts and would have kept her awake if she weren’t dead on her feet.
What if he’s known all these years who the killers are and he’s been hiding them?
“IT HAD NOTHING to do with the Triple Seven?” Ethan asked, his face scrunched with concern on the screen of Abby’s computer. It was Sunday night. He’d heard about the attack in her driveway because he had set up a Google alert for her on his phone.
“No, we’re not sure why it happened. The injured man won’t talk.”
“I’m glad you thought so quickly and that you’re okay.”
This was a pleasant talk over Skype, and they had mended a few things.
“But I’m not happy to see the Triple Seven in the news.”
“I’m out of it, Ethan. Another team has been assigned the case. And you might hear a lot more about it. There’s a PI here—he’s related to the cook who saved me.” She told him about Luke and that he was investigating the Triple Seven case privately. She didn’t mention the embrace and flushed as she recognized how difficult it was to forget that.
“I’ve decided that I need to let it go,” she said. “You and Dede have been right all these years.”
“Good.” He paused and Abby knew he had something significant to say. “Abby, you are such a smart, gifted woman. I know that your gifts would be so much more valued and valuable out on the mission field.”
“We’ve been through this. I’m not called to the mission field like you are.”
“Just pray about it. That’s all I ask.”
Abby did her best to keep smiling and promised that she would, but after they ended the call, she knew that even without the Triple Seven, her heart and her mission were in helping people devastated by crime.
By Monday morning, Abby was glad her days off were finished and she could bury herself in work. The better part of her weekend she’d spent explaining to friends and people at church why she’d been hiding her true identity. Everyone understood, but a few were hurt because they felt she didn’t trust them. She really had no idea how to respond to that and prayed she’d have the opportunity to show them they were wrong.
She was first in the office purposely because she wanted to catch up without interruptions. At some point in the day she’d also have to go to the range and retrieve her duty weapon. Happy though she was to be back, she was thankful Jacoby had forced her to take the time off. The horror of the attack had faded, but the memory of Luke’s embrace lingered and Abby wasn’t sure how to deal with that.
She also still pondered her conversation with Ethan. It wasn’t the first time he’d said he thought Abby would be an asset to him and his team. They ended the call praying together, but it continued to nag her how Ethan seemed to think it would be an easy thing to walk away from a career she loved, a career she was good at.
First things first, she started a strong pot of coffee. She needed something to get her mind off disturbing thoughts about loyalty and Luke Murphy. She hated how she kept winding back to the feel of his strong arms around her. True, she could cut herself some slack for the weak moment, but she couldn’t forgive herself for still thinking about it days later.
The trouble was, she and Luke would always have strong interests in the Triple Seven. She’d come to realize his sharp mind and instincts could be a huge help. Yet the more she was around him, the more she wanted to be, and that was not helpful. She’d solve the case and their connection would end. Period. She did not want any further entanglement.
When Abby forced her thoughts off Murphy, they veered onto disturbing questions about just what Asa knew. If he did know something, she hoped and prayed that it was his secret al
one. Her mind could never fathom that sort of betrayal from Woody as well.
Sighing, she tried to clear her mind of all but getting caught up on mail and e-mail. There were still numerous e-mails from journalists and news outlets. She responded to all of them by referring them to press relations.
An e-mail came in as she hit Send on one of them. The new one was from Fred Wright, the OC detective.
She picked up the phone and called him.
“That was quick.”
“You got me early. What’s up?”
“Just thought you’d like to know about the autopsy on that guy from the shooting on the bike trail. A ricochet killed him.”
“Ricochet?”
“Yep, best we can figure, the bullet fragmented on the bridge pylon and a big piece hit the guy in the sweet spot. He died instantly. So Murphy was probably the target and the other guy a poor marksman.”
“Lucky for Murphy. Did you get an ID?”
“Not yet. Prints aren’t in the system. And the gun he had on him, the serial number had been filed off.”
“Thanks for the information.” Abby hung up, wishing that case were hers but glad in the end that it was Wright’s because he would share what he could.
A few more e-mails caught her eye. The big man and his partner who’d been at her house were identified as Dac Malloy and Trevor Taylor, residents of Las Vegas, Nevada. Bill had cc’d her on e-mails he sent to LVPD, requesting information, if they had any, on the pair. Since the big guy had been seen at Crunchers, he also made inquiries about George Sanders.
Good thinking, Roper.
There were return e-mails from the Las Vegas cops waiting, and she saw the direction the answers to his inquiries were taking their investigation. Malloy was well known to the LVPD as Las Vegas muscle, had many arrests for assault on file. George Sanders was also well known to the PD as a wannabe high roller and a mean drunk.
Did Malloy and Taylor come here to lean on Sanders for something, or did they work for him? Abby drummed the desk with her pen and frowned. If that is the connection, it was possible Nadine saw or heard something she shouldn’t have. But if that’s what happened, why did Nadine run away? And why try to kill her? If Sanders was the problem, why not go after him?
Every question spawned another.
The last e-mail she opened was a note from Bill. Sanders had retained counsel after their visit. He’d called in his big-name attorney: Ira Green. That sounded familiar, and when she scrolled though an earlier e-mail, she saw that Trevor Taylor had invoked his rights in the hospital and wielded the same attorney. Hmm.
The coffee finished brewing, and she poured a cup. She stepped to her mail slot to retrieve her snail mail and intraoffice mail. As she hadn’t been in since Wednesday, there was quite a stack. She grabbed it, bunching it together as best she could so it would fit under her arm, and returned to her desk and dumped the pile. A generic gray-and-white media envelope caught her eye immediately, and she pulled it from the stack.
Leaning back, she looked at the neatly printed handwritten address, as if it had been copied directly from her business card. She opened it, and out came a DVD and a note written on notebook paper.
Detective Hart, I don’t know where to turn. Please help me. I’m hiding because I saw something I shouldn’t, and now I’m in trouble. If they find me, they will kill me, and if they know I sent you this DVD, they’ll kill my whole family. They have my phone; they know all my contacts. Please watch it and put them in jail so I can go home.
Nadine
The security video Murphy mentioned.
Shock brought a burning sensation to Abby’s throat, and she stood, pressing one hand to her mouth and the other to her stomach. She was glad beyond measure that she had the office to herself. It was several minutes before she could pick the disc up and put it in the DVD player. She powered on the TV and hit Play. As the black-and-white picture came into focus, she could see that it was a static surveillance video with a view of the front and side of a small building. There was a time stamp on it. What she was watching had taken place a month ago. It was couple of minutes before she realized she was looking at the office at Crunchers—the porch and the front door, and the door farther down the side of the trailer.
She watched and after five minutes was about to hit Fast-Forward when the side door opened and a man stepped out, followed by another man she instantly recognized as George Sanders. A third figure emerged who could only be Dac Malloy, and behind him was Trevor Taylor.
Sanders shoved the first man in front of him so hard that the man stumbled and fell to one knee at the bottom of the stairs. Taylor lashed out with a vicious kick to the head that sent the downed man sprawling.
Abby hit Pause and stepped close to the screen. She couldn’t identify the man who’d been kicked, though there was something familiar about him.
Stepping back, she hit Play again and watched as a horrific tandem beating took place. The man in the middle had no chance as Taylor and then Malloy took turns pummeling him. At one point Taylor picked the guy up and held him so Malloy could smack him in the face with something. Abby guessed it was a sap, a sand-filled leather weapon often used by enforcers, and that this was standard operating procedure for the pair.
As she watched the beating progress, recognition slowly dawned. Shock pulsed through Abby and she felt numb. There on the screen, in a time frame covering five minutes and a few seconds, she was witnessing Malloy and Taylor beat Dan Jenkins to death while George Sanders watched.
“HEY, GOOD TO SEE YOU, BULLET.”
Ice Age Orson walked up to the table where Luke sat and extended his hand. Luke stood and gripped it with a smile. Orson was grayer at the temples than Luke remembered, but he hadn’t gone to fat like some of those they’d served with. They were even in height, but Orson was more thickly muscled than Luke. He’d always looked formidable, and time hadn’t changed that.
“Likewise, Ice Age. Have a seat.” Luke motioned to the other side of the booth. He’d gotten them a semiprivate table at a local restaurant called Hof’s Hut.
They both ordered coffee and made small talk for a few minutes.
“Even though she’s beautiful, you didn’t come all the way to Long Beach to see the latest pictures of my daughter,” Luke said finally. “What’s up?”
“Perceptive as always. Actually, I’ve wanted to catch up for a while. Hear you have quite a colorful career going as a PI. You’re a YouTube star.”
Luke smiled. “Go ahead, get your digs in. But the creep is in jail and three girls are safe at home.”
Orson laughed. “No digs here—you got good moves. I also saw a bit about your cold case, the Triple Seven, and I thought it was interesting. You make any headway on it?”
“Yes and no.” Luke told him about his investigation to date.
“Really? Hart’s parents were murdered in that restaurant?”
“Yeah.” Luke felt his heart race a bit at the thought of Abby and worked to stay frosty and professional.
“Her name has come up in my sphere of influence. I know colleagues who’ve worked with her; they say she’s sharp.”
“I agree.” He sipped his coffee. “The thing is, after that interview about the cold case, someone almost killed me trying to warn me away.”
“What?”
“Happened on the bike path where I jog.” Luke filled his friend in on the attempt on his life. “Last I heard, they still haven’t identified the dead guy.”
“That story hadn’t reached me. Glad you’re okay. But not surprised you came out on top. They don’t know who they’re messing with.”
“I’m hoping you might be able to help with an ID. His prints aren’t in the system.” He slid Detective Wright’s card across the table. On the back he’d written the coroner’s case number for the unidentified attacker. “The guys looked ex-military. If there’s anything you can do, I’d appreciate it.”
Orson took the card. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
/> “Is the FBI interested in helping with the Triple Seven?” Luke asked, curiosity growing exponentially.
“Well, that’s partly why I wanted to see you. I’ve just been assigned a new gig. It’s a federal grant, so it may only last until the money runs out, but there’s a lot of money right now. You’ve heard of Senator Harriet Shore?”
“I’ve heard the name. She’s from Virginia, correct?”
“She is, and like you, she lost someone years ago and the crime has never been solved. Thirty years ago her older sister and the sister’s boyfriend were shot and killed while they were parked at a lovers’ lane. So cold cases are near and dear to her heart. She appropriated the money for this Cold Case Task Force, CCTF, and pretty much gave us carte blanche as to how to staff it and work it.”
“And you’re going to work the Triple Seven?”
Orson shook his head slowly. “Nope, I’m hoping you will, under the federal banner.”
“Huh?” Luke was certain his face was a question mark.
“I’m hiring for the CCTF, putting together teams. I can hire retired cops or agents; I can hire PIs; I can hire pretty much anyone I want if I can justify the hire. I have an East Coast team already up and running. It’s made up of retreads from a couple of sheriffs’ offices, a cop, and a DA investigator, headed up by an agent. I want you on my West Coast team.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Luke’s mind jumbled with too many thoughts. “Would I have to move to Washington?”
“No, you’d be based here. You would have to travel occasionally, but only in the western states, and probably the longest trip would be a week.”
“Wow” was all he could say. While Luke loved the freedom of working for himself as a PI, there were times when the license didn’t give him complete access. Sometimes police agencies were downright hostile. Here he was being offered federal access.
Drawing Fire Page 22