Now You See Her

by Merline Lovelace

  On that memorable occasion, I’d spun on my heel and walked. Out of the apartment, out of the marriage, out of the downward spiral that had been my life to that point. I certainly don’t remember experiencing anything like the savage urge that got me by the throat as I approached Mitch and Diane. It took everything I had not to grab a fistful of a certain blonde’s hair and rip it out by the roots.

  “Hey, Samantha.” Mitch smiled at me before giving the little girl who’d rushed into the circle of his arms an affectionate noogie. “How was the movie?”

  When Trish launched in a passionate recount, I shifted my attention to the woman at Mitch’s side. She was in snug jeans and a boxy, cable-knit sweater the color of ripe wheat. With her hair drawn back in a scrunchie, she looked casual and relaxed. Too casual. Too relaxed.

  “I’m surprised to see you here, Diane. I thought you had a lot of business to take care of this afternoon.”

  “I did, but I got everything done early and decided to join you guys. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Her eyes were clear and direct, although I could swear I detected just a faint hint of challenge. She knew exactly how it must look to find her sitting shoulder to shoulder with Mitch, I realized. And she didn’t care.

  My lingering unease at agreeing to spy on a sister in arms evaporated at that moment.

  “Why should I mind?” I returned coolly.

  Shrugging out of my jacket, I joined them at the table. Trish ran off to find her brother in the jungle of plastic tubes and tunnels.

  “How was San Diego?” I asked Mitch, too pissed to resume my role of Diane’s best friend just yet.

  “Busy. Informative.” He scrubbed a hand across his chin. “Scary as hell. You want something to eat?”

  “I pigged out on popcorn at the movies. I’ll wait until later.”

  Later, when the two of us were alone. When I could give him a sanitized version of my quick trip to D.C. and ask him what he knew about heroin coming in from Southwest Asia.

  My glance flicked back to Diane. She had her chin in her hand. A small smile played across her face as her youngest emerged from a blue plastic tube, squealing with delight. His sister popped out almost on top of him. Grabbing his hand, Trish hauled her brother toward a yellow cave.

  “They’re good kids,” Mitch murmured. “You’ve done a heck of a job with them.”

  She had, I was forced to agree silently. Except . . .

  Joey had spent almost half his young life with his grandparents. They’d shaped Trish, too, during her most formative, impressionistic, inquisitive young years. Much of the credit for their bright, bubbly personalities had to go to the Roths.

  Deliberately, I changed the subject. “Are you still up for Canyon Ranch tomorrow?”

  “I am! Mrs. Hall said she would watch the kids. The spa opens at ten on Sundays, so we’ve got the whole day. I can’t wait.”

  Mitch slanted me a curious glance. “I thought all that decadence pricked your conscience. What made you change your mind?”

  I did a big mental squirm. Feeding Diane a line over the phone was one thing. Lying to Mitch was another. Especially with his green-gold eyes looking into mine. Shrugging, I dropped my glance and snagged a French fry from his tray. It was cold and soggy but gave me time to fumble a response.

  “I thought it over.”

  That was true enough.

  “My team and I have tested some far-out creams and lotions, but nothing in the commercial beauty product line. So I decided it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest to use half of Diane’s gift certificate.”

  Not so true.

  A slight crease formed between Mitch’s brows. We’d spent enough time together now that he understood what my team did. He understood as well the potential for civilian application of the items we tested. Ignoring the question in his eyes, I turned to Diane.

  “Want me to pick you up tomorrow?”

  “Why don’t you drive to my place, but we’ll take my car from there. I’m picking up a new Honda minivan as soon as we leave here. I want to show it off.”

  “They couldn’t repair the Tahoe?”

  “They could, but I decided to trade it in.” Her lips turned down in a grimace. “I knew I could never climb behind the wheel again without thinking about Ollie and that awful day.”

  I could understand that.

  “We stopped by the dealership on the way here,” Diane continued, brightening. “Mitch convinced the service manager to kick in a video system for the kids at no extra charge. They’re installing it as we speak.”

  “They didn’t take much convincing,” he countered with a wry smile. “Your fame had preceded you. The service manager was only too happy to add to the package. They gave Diane a heck of a deal on both the trade-in and the new-car purchase price,” he explained for my benefit.

  I kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t help thinking Diane was really racking up the loot as a result of that “awful” day.

  Okay, okay. I admit it. That snarky thought stemmed more from my aforementioned urge to rip out her hair by the roots than doubts about her involvement with Oliver Austin. Becoming her new best friend, I decided grimly, might be tougher than I’d anticipated.

  I managed to bury my feelings during the rest of our sojourn at Mickey D’s, but they surfaced again when we left. I had to stand there, a smile pasted on my face, while Diane and the kids piled into Mitch’s pickup for the drive to the Honda dealership.

  They’d wedged Joey’s car seat into the cab’s rear half seat. It took two to get him strapped in, Diane leaning over the front bench, Mitch angled into the narrow door opening. She was flushed and laughing when she plopped back down and waited for him to buckle Trish in.

  The task accomplished, he came around the cab and reached out to zip my vest.

  “The Honda dealership is on Lee Trevino Boulevard,” he said when I had my chin buried in hot pink fleece. “Closer to my place than yours. How about I drop Diane and the kids off and meet you at the house?”

  “You sure she won’t need you to test drive her new car? Maybe scrape the stickers off the window for her?”

  I tried, really tried, to keep the acid out of my reply. Obviously not hard enough. Mitch hooked a brow before he answered.

  “If she does, I’ll call you.”

  Now I felt not only snarky, but stupid. We hadn’t placed any boundaries on either our relationship or our friendship. Both were too new, and too casual. I covered my gaff with a shrug.

  “Your place it is, then.”

  Nodding, he slipped his house key off the ring. “I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Same alarm code?”

  “Same code. I’ll change it tonight.”

  As he did on a regular basis. A necessary precaution given his line of work.

  FIFTEEN minutes later I cruised into the residential neighborhood where Mitch lives. The homes are mostly stucco with some brick and aluminum siding thrown in here and there. Chain-link fences divide the backyards, toys and bikes litter the grass stubble in front. Every second driveway sports a basketball back-board or soccer net.

  Mitch had lived with his family in a three-bedroom ranch-style house until the divorce. When his wife moved out, she took their daughter and, at his insistence, everything that wasn’t nailed down. That was three and a half years ago.

  I pulled into the driveway, leaving room for Mitch to park beside the Sebring, and let myself in through the front door. The soft beep of the alarm system gave me ten seconds’ warning. I knew Mitch had rigged both active and passive sensors. I punched in the code and took care of them both.

  My footsteps echoed as I passed the empty living and dining rooms. Mitch had replaced only the bare minimum of furnishings when we first met. A man-sized leather recliner, a TV, an end table and lamp in the den. A table and two chairs for the kitchen eating area. A bed, nightstand, and lamp in the master suite. That was it.

  He’s since added a few extra touches. Most notably an overstuffed sofa lo
ng enough for me to stretch out with my head in his lap while we watch TV. Or for us to stretch out on together while we engage in more strenuous activities.

  I wasn’t in the mood for either at the moment. Tossing my jacket and purse on the chair, I kicked off my shoes and dropped onto the sofa. I did my best to talk myself out of my foul mood but was still working on it when Mitch’s dusty pickup pulled into the driveway.

  “Did you get Diane and the kids all set with their new minivan?” I asked when he appeared in the den.

  He nodded and shrugged out of the suede bomber jacket I’d bought him for Christmas to replace the one speared by a tree branch. The jacket joined my fleece vest on the chair. Lifting my crossed ankles, he sat at one end of the couch with my feet in his lap. His fingers kneaded my sock-clad toes. His gaze locked with mine.

  “You want to tell me what that was all about back at McDonald’s?”

  I started to bat my lashes and play dumb, but it’s not really my style. Nor was confessing to a nasty little bout of jealousy. My voice gruff, I apologized.

  “Sorry I sniped at you. Guess I was just, uh, surprised at how close you and Diane have become in such a short time.”

  “I wasn’t referring to the sniping, although we can talk about that in a minute. I meant that bit about the spa.” He massaged my toes, the crease back between his brows. “Why did you change your mind? What made you decide it wasn’t a conflict of interest?”

  I formulated a half dozen responses before giving him the truth. “I can’t tell you.”

  His hand stilled. “Why not?”

  “I made a quick, up-and-back trip to D.C. while you were in San Diego, Mitch.”

  “To DARPA?”

  “Yes . . . and CID headquarters.”

  The crease cut deeper now. He stared at me for several moments, connecting the dots.

  “This is about Diane and Austin, isn’t it? Something that happened while they were in Afghanistan.”

  I tugged my foot free and sat up. Curling both legs under me, I sorted through the sensitive information Blue Eyes had fed me and contrasted it with the information I’d dug up myself from online sources.

  I knew I was on shaky ground here. Blue Eyes’s instructions had been painfully specific. Tell no one, consult with no one, except him or his designated contact at the local CID detachment.

  Yet this was Mitch. Aside from turning my insides to mush with one of his crooked smiles, he was the coolest-thinking man I knew. He also put his life on the line every time he strapped on his bulletproof vest and went to patrol another dangerous stretch of the U.S.-Mexico border.

  I’d promised not to compromise the sensitive information Blue Eyes and company had force-fed me about the narco trade in Afghanistan. The other aspect of the Austin/Roth case, however, the one I’d become most directly involved in, had reached out to encompass this man sitting so close to me. I couldn’t keep him ignorant of the potential for disaster.

  Only later, much later, would I stop to wonder how much my visceral reaction to seeing Diane leaning against Mitch’s shoulder played in my decision to share my suspicions. At this moment, I sincerely believed he needed at least a sense that the woman might not be exactly what she seemed.

  “I can’t tell you about Afghanistan, Mitch, but you can tell me something. Has Diane ever talked about her in-laws?”

  The abrupt change in direction surprised him. “Not to me. You were the one who told me they’d tried to get custody of the kids.”

  But I hadn’t told him about the murders. I hadn’t had the chance since the cookout, when Diane’s neighbor dropped that bombshell.

  “The Roths were bludgeoned to death,” I told Mitch. “In their own home.”

  His eyes narrowed. I could see the cop in him recalling details, sifting through them, sorting out facts.

  “Diane told the police Austin rotated back to the States some months before she did,” he said slowly. “When were the in-laws murdered?”

  “Two weeks after Oliver Austin checked himself out of a VA hospital and disappeared.”

  “Well, hell!”

  “Yeah, that was my reaction, too.”

  Especially after Agent Blue Eyes contradicted Diane’s assertion Austin had been in the hospital at the time of the killings.

  “I researched the murders online, Mitch. They were brutal. Two people beaten to death in what looked like a break-in gone bad. The newspaper reports were pretty gory, but I’m guessing the police released only selected details.”

  “I’m guessing you’re right.” His voice went flat and hard. “Where were the kids when it happened?”

  “In school.”

  The hard edge didn’t leave his tone. “So what are you thinking? That Diane had Austin take out her in-laws to end the custody battle? Or that he did it for love?”

  I told you the man was one cool thinker. In fifteen seconds flat he’d zeroed in on the questions that had tortured me for hours before I finally picked up the phone to call Sinclair.

  “I don’t know what to think. I’m hoping to God neither she or Austin were in any way involved. But . . .”

  I came up against the brick wall of Afghanistan and stopped. Once again Mitch connected the dots.

  “But whatever took you to D.C. throws enough doubt on the issue that you changed your mind about spending a day at a spa with Diane. Or,” he finished, a muscle ticking in the side of his jaw, “had it changed for you.”

  He was furious. Coldly, quietly furious. I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t too thrilled with my role in all this, either.

  “I’m not out to nail Diane, Mitch. I swear, I’m not. I’m just helping find the answer to some . . . some inconsistencies.”

  For a big man, he can sure move fast. I wasn’t expecting his lunge. Or the iron grip on my upper arms.

  “You little idiot. It’s not Diane I’m worried about. She’s a cop. She can take care of herself. You’re the one breaking me out in a cold sweat.”

  Well! I was trying to decide whether that grim assertion should make me feel more gratified or insulted when Mitch gave me a small shake.

  “Listen to me, Samantha. If the Roths’ murders were not the result of a burglary gone bad, we’re talking a cold-blooded killer here.”

  Insulted. Definitely insulted.

  “Right,” I huffed. “The kind who opens fire at a crowded strip mall. I was there, remember? Right beside your tough, I’ll-take-him-down cop.”

  He jerked back, bringing me with him, as my words hit home. We stared at each other for long moments while the ugly, unspoken accusation hung in the air between us.

  “Let’s get it out in the open,” Mitch said finally, easing his grip. “Do you think . . . Does whoever you’re working with think Diane crashed her vehicle into Austin with deliberate intent?”

  “With deliberate intent? Yes. It was kill or be killed. The question now is, did she know it was Austin?”

  I didn’t want to believe Diane Roth knew or guessed the shooter’s identity. I didn’t want to think she’d made a desperate attempt to silence a man who might implicate her in two brutal murders and, possibly, drug smuggling on a staggering scale. Yet I couldn’t get around that small, intentional lie about the hospital.

  “My gut tells me she didn’t know who the shooter was, Mitch. Everything happened so fast. Diane and I both acted instinctively. And I witnessed her reaction when the responding officer pulled up Austin’s ski mask,” I added, the scene all too vivid in my mind. “She was shocked out of her gourd.”

  Some of the tension cording the tendons in Mitch’s neck eased. I translated that as relief that the woman we’d both spent hours with, the woman so obviously devoted to her children, hadn’t deliberately made mush out of a possible coconspirator.

  We settled back down on the sofa, closer together this time. With my back snuggled against Mitch’s chest and my head tucked under his chin, I talked him through what I’d learned from my online research about the murders. That much was unclassi
fied. That much I could share.

  All the while, my conviction grew that he needed to know the rest. I wasn’t the only one who could get chummy with Diane. This afternoon had made that painfully obvious.

  Plus, Mitch would be a whole lot more effective at pulling information about Afghanistan from the woman than I would. They were both law enforcement types. He knew how her mind worked. He could get into it more easily than I could.

  I decided to contact Blue Eyes after I left Mitch’s place. The secure phone he’d given me was tucked in my purse. I itched to get to it as Mitch and I dissected the details of the Florida murders.

  I wasn’t surprised when he glommed on to money as a possible motive. I stretched my vow of silence enough to confirm that half the Roths’ estate would be held in trust for the kids.

  “That doesn’t mean Diane couldn’t borrow against the trust,” Mitch countered. “Or break it, if one of the kids was in desperate need of, say, an expensive medical procedure.”

  “She’s military. The kids’ medical needs are covered.”

  “True.”

  He shifted, easing me a little to one side. Just enough for his five-o’clock bristles to scrape my temple as he laid a completely new wrinkle on me.

  “Then you might want to have whoever you’re working with check to see who gets guardianship of Diane’s kids if anything happens to her.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  GREAT! Just great!

  As if I didn’t have enough on my conscience after agreeing to spy on Diane and the nasty thoughts generated by the sight of her cozying up to my own personal Border Patrol agent. I felt guilty enough over my newly assumed role as a snitch. Now I had a whole new set of worries to contend with. Like who would assume guardianship of the kids if something happened to their mother. And whether that person, whoever it was, knew about the kids’ inheritance.