Weaver's Needle

by Caroll, Robin;

  Nickolai stared after her, blinking repeatedly to clear the dirt from his eyes. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t been willing to listen, to believe him. He’d dealt with her type before—determined to prove themselves in a man’s world. Usually with a big ole chip on their shoulder.

  Only, he didn’t think she had a chip on her shoulder. She might have been blunt with her suspicions, but she hadn’t been arrogant or rude. She’d actually been reasonable and basically called him to a truce.

  He got into his truck and clicked on his seat belt, sure of one thing: no matter how much he didn’t want to respect Landry Parker, he did.

  Might as well try to get to Allen Edgar’s house again. Give himself a little space from Miss Parker. She could infuriate him like few others, and he didn’t want to think about what that might mean.

  Surprisingly, his GPS had no more glitches and directed him right to the address for Edgar’s mother, where Easton had assured Nickolai he’d be. He knocked firmly on the door.

  A woman, about seventy or so, with gray hair sticking out at odd angles answered. “Yes?”

  Nickolai plastered on his most reassuring smile. “Hello, ma’am. Sorry to bother you this late in the afternoon, but I need to speak to your son, Allen. Is he home?”

  She looked him up, then down, then up again. “What’s this about?”

  “I want to discuss with him a possible job opportunity using his advanced computer skills.” Wasn’t lying—if he was able to hack like Easton claimed, Edgar would have a skill set.

  She smiled and opened the door. “Of course. Come in.” She pointed at a door just off the kitchen. “He’s down in his room in the basement. Just go on down.”

  Nickolai nodded. “Thank you.” That was easier than he’d expected. Mom would probably love him to get a job and get out of her basement. He descended the worn carpeted stairs until he reached the bottom.

  A man—kid, actually—matching Easton’s description of the hacker jumped off the futon, nearly knocking his laptop to the floor. “What are you doing down here?”

  Interesting he was more concerned about what Nickolai was doing in his room rather than who he was. “I need to talk to you about your extracurricular computer activities.” He advanced toward Edgar.

  The pasty color of Edgar’s face paled, if that was even possible. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do. You see, I’ve already talked with Joel, who told me all about your hacking skills.” Nickolai took two steps toward him.

  The kid nearly stumbled back onto the futon.

  Nickolai played his hunch. “And I know you’re the one who stole the copy of the map from Joel.”

  Edgar’s eyes widened.

  Bingo!

  “That’s between you and Joel. I just care about the map.”

  The kid walked sideways to get away from Nickolai. “Look, I still have it. I haven’t sold it yet. She hasn’t come up with the money.”

  Wait. She? “Did you try to sell it? The copy?”

  He stopped moving. “It’s the map, man. Why are you and her so hung up on it being a copy? It’s the exact same as the one sold for a million bucks.”

  Nickolai tried to follow the kid’s thought train, but it was a bumpy ride. “Who is her?”

  “The chick I met earlier at the bar and grill. From the website where I listed the map.”

  “You listed the copy?”

  Edgar sighed. “It’s the map.”

  “So you say. When did you list it?”

  He shrugged. “Not even a week ago. The pretty lady’s the only one who replied even though I discounted the price to a hundred grand. That’s a steal when the other guy paid a million.”

  “The other guy …” Nickolai relaxed his stance, hoping to reassure the kid and keep him talking. “What do you know about him?”

  The kid crossed his arms over his chest. “Not much. Apparently he’s loaded. I mean, he forked out a cool mil for that old map that you can’t even read all that great.”

  “Do you know who he is?”

  Edgar shook his head. “Some rich guy in Louisiana, I think. I’m not real sure. Joel could tell you more about him. He met him and all. I just bid against him in the system to get him up to a million dollars because that’s what Joel needed.”

  Clearly, he wasn’t the murderer nor did he have the original map. Truth be told, Nickolai wasn’t all that sure the kid could find his way out of his mother’s basement without help.

  “But I have the copy of what he gave the man. If she doesn’t come through with the hundred grand, I’ll sell it to you for even less.”

  “Who is this woman?”

  Edgar’s eyes lit up. “I only know her as buyer2409, but man, she’s fine.”

  If she was who he thought she was, Nickolai would have to agree. “Long black hair with smoldering eyes?”

  “That’s her. Drives that rented Jeep and looks like she could be a yoga instructor.”

  Landry.

  “She’s so fine, I was tempted to let her have the map for less than the hundred thousand. I might yet, if she calls me back.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath, kid.” Nickolai shook his head as he turned and headed up the basement stairs.

  If Landry had found Allen Edgar and his copy of the map before him, what other angles was she working that he didn’t know about yet?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Go HOME.

  Landry stared at the letter-sized paper with the magazine letters cut out and pasted on the page. Little tendrils of ice spread out from her spine despite the warm Arizona temperature. She’d been in some dicey situations before but had never been threatened directly. Well, this wasn’t exactly a threat, per se, but the message came through loud and clear.

  “It was taped on your door.” Stan crossed his arms and peered around her motel room, as if the person who’d left the papers might be lurking in the corners. “Whatever you and Mr. Baptiste are doing is ruffling feathers around here.”

  That was true. The serviceman at the local tire shop had confirmed that there was almost no way the Jeep’s tire could have been punctured where it was during normal driving. It’d been punctured to give her a flat, slow enough that she’d be out somewhere and probably stranded. And now this note …

  God, I could really use some wisdom and discernment about now.

  She’d only met with Allen Edgar here, and he didn’t seem the threatening warning letter type. She’d spoken to the waitress and the salesman at the military store, but neither was personally vested in the map. Which meant, Nickolai had to be onto something. But the letter was on her door. Could there have been a mistake? The rooms were all side by side, so it was possible it was put on the wrong door. What angle was Nickolai working?

  “Have you concluded all you need to do here?”

  “I’m still following a few leads. Strong ones.” Going home wasn’t an option for her. Not now when someone wanted them gone badly enough to leave a warning note on her door. “You didn’t hear anyone outside?”

  Stan shook his head and sat in the chair at the little table in front of the window, opposite where Landry stood. “I knew nothing until I came out to get my phone charger out of the car and saw it. You drove up not even fifteen minutes later.” He stared out the window into the darkening space. “I can’t imagine what could be keeping the police.”

  If he expected a response in less than fifteen minutes for a nonemergency call, his interaction with police must greatly be on a whole different level than what Landry had experienced. Or Apache Junction had a much better response time than New Orleans, which was entirely possible, but with the marathon …

  “I can call some of the other hotels and see if they’ve had any vacancies come up. Perhaps you’d feel a bit safer in a different venue.”

  “I’m fine here.” She set the paper on the table and dropped into the other chair. “This doesn’t scare me, Stan.” If anything, it meant someone—she or Nickolai—
was rattling the right cages.

  Stan looked out the window again then stood, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, I doubt we’ll be here much longer anyway, so I guess we’re good to stay put. I’ll check with Mr. Baptiste when he returns.”

  “If he’d feel safer moving, I’m fine staying here alone.” Actually, she preferred it.

  The outside lights of the motel flickered on. Landry could almost hear the hum from inside her room.

  “Oh, I couldn’t allow that. Wini—er, Mrs. Winslet wouldn’t stand for that. No, indeed.”

  “Then we’ll be fine here.”

  “I’m sure—” He leaned toward the window. “Oh, here are the police.” He opened the door and stepped outside.

  Landry grabbed the note and followed the older man as he greeted the two men in their blue officer uniforms.

  “I was about to call back and see what could be keeping you.” Stan stood in front of the police cruiser.

  The officer who shut the driver’s door glared at Stan in the setting sun. “Sir, all nonemergency calls are addressed by priority. There were no injuries or harm in this case, so naturally, it didn’t take as high priority as a break-in and robbery of someone’s home.”

  “We were threatened.” Stan looked as indignant as he sounded.

  Time to avert. Landry moved around Stan. “Here’s the offending letter.” She held out the paper to the older of the two officers. “It was taped to my motel room door.”

  The man didn’t take the offered note, just stared at it in Landry’s hand. “Hmm, that’s not much of a threat.” He glanced at his partner, who peered over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, it’s more of a suggestion, I’d say.” The younger officer met Landry’s stare and winked at her. “Not a threat of any kind.” He actually winked at her!

  Landry forced her tone to be even. “And while I do perceive the note to be an implied threat, I’m not frightened in the least.”

  “Have you received anything else? Any obscene phone calls? Other notes?” the officer asked as he swatted a bug flying near his ear.

  Landry shook her head and glanced at Stan.

  “We haven’t received anything else that I’m aware of, but more could follow, of course.” Stan rose to his full six-foot-something height, actually looking taller with the straightening. Landry was impressed.

  “But I’m sure you’ll be leaving soon anyway, right?” the older officer interjected.

  Landry’s spine went more rigid than Marcie’s perfect posture. “No, we haven’t made plans to leave yet.” She glared at the man who’d had the nerve to wink at her.

  The older man opened his mouth, but his words were stolen by the rumbling of Nickolai’s truck as he pulled alongside the cruiser. The headlights went out just before the engine turned off.

  “What’s going on?” Nickolai joined the odd little group on the motel room’s sidewalk.

  Landry handed him the note. “Stan found this taped to my motel room door.”

  “Apparently the little lady thinks it’s a threat,” the winking officer said.

  She balled her hands into tight fists at her sides. “Obviously it’s an implied threat, even if you haven’t been properly trained to identify it as such, but it doesn’t scare me.” She shook her head—if only she could dismiss the backward officers as easily—and looked at Nickolai. “Stan found it and called the police to file a report before I got back to the motel.”

  “It’s a threat.” Stan nudged past them to Nickolai. “You’re a cop. It’s a threat, right?”

  “You’re a police officer?” the older of the uniformed men asked.

  “Retired.” Nickolai looked up from the note and met Landry’s stare. “Stan found this on your door?”

  She nodded. The intensity of his scrutiny did strange things to her. Things that felt really unfamiliar and made her seem weaker than she was. Landry cleared her throat. “But it could have been put on the wrong door, or it could be meant for all of us.”

  The older officer took the note right out of Nickolai’s hand. “There are a lot of you out-of-state folk in town for the marathon. Some locals might be put out because of your presence. Nothing personal.”

  Landry had had about enough. She put her fists on her hips. “I would think that the influx of tourists for the marathon would be a real boost to the economy here in Apache Junction.”

  “Are you in tourism?” the younger officer winked at her again.

  If he didn’t stop winking at her …

  “I’m former military police.” That usually shut up guys like him.

  “Really?” Apparently it didn’t work on this one.

  “Yes, really.” Landry shifted, turning away from the young cop and focusing on the older one who seemed to be sizing up Nickolai.

  “What, exactly, are you three in town for? Apparently none of you were participating in the marathon.” The older officer handed the note to the young jerk, telling him to bag it as evidence.

  “We’re just—” Stan began.

  “Does the motel have security cameras?” Nickolai interrupted.

  The older officer put his hands on his gear belt. “We’ll speak to the motel owner soon. For now, we need to file this report.” He nodded to the younger officer. “Get their names, addresses, contact information, and take their statements. I’ll visit with the owner.” He turned and strode across the parking lot toward the motel office.

  Nickolai followed.

  Landry moved to as well, but the winking officer blocked her path. “Now, let me get the information for the report. Let’s start with your name.”

  She gritted her teeth as she watched Nickolai fall into step alongside the seasoned officer. Unfair that he would get the intel and she had to stay here with the flirt.

  “Is she always such a fireball?” The uniformed officer smiled at Nickolai. His teeth were illuminated blue by the neon light blasting from outside the motel office’s window.

  “Who, Landry?” Nickolai couldn’t stop the returning grin.

  “Guess she keeps you on your toes, huh?”

  “I guess you could say that.” On his toes and with his eyes wide open.

  The officer chuckled and stopped just outside the motel office, holding out his hand. “Officer Brian Hogan.”

  “Nickolai Baptiste.”

  “Baptiste?”

  Nickolai nodded, used to those outside of the New Orleans area having trouble with his last name. “I’m from Louisiana.”

  “I see. Guess that’s where you were on the force?”

  “Detective. Retired after nine years.”

  Hogan would understand. He would get it. Most cops did. If a cop retired before hitting tenure, there was a reason. Usually a reason that no one wanted to discuss.

  Hogan swatted a mosquito and changed the subject. “Look, I’ll be honest, I think that note was a prank, at best. Local kids messing with out-of-towners. But I have to ask, why are you here? It’s obvious you didn’t come for the marathon.”

  After years of being on the force and reading people’s evasive answers, Nickolai understood the officer’s inquiry. But also after being a detective trained in picking up subtle clues in others, he sensed there was more to the cop’s probing. The question was, which gut feeling should he go with?

  Best to just give the information that they’d find out soon enough on their own. “Landry Parker and I are both recovery specialists.”

  “Recovery specialists, huh?”

  “Yes. We recover items for clients.” No point in mentioning they didn’t work together. Nickolai conjured up a mental image of Landry’s face if she thought he’d implied she worked for him. He could imagine the fury she’d reflect and he almost laughed.

  “What kind of items do you recover?” Hogan smacked a mosquito on his neck.

  “Sometimes it’s a missing will when someone dies. Or a piece of artwork that fell into the wrong hands. Documents. Deeds. Just about anything of value.”

  “I see. Wh
at are you trying to recover here?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss that at the moment.” Nickolai hated keeping information from the police; it went against his very being, but he had no choice.

  Hogan let out a harrumph. “I see.” He turned his back to Nickolai and jerked open the motel office door.

  Although uninvited and clearly dismissed, Nickolai followed anyway. Unless Hogan told him to leave, Nickolai would do the job Mrs. Winslet had hired him to do.

  Hired them to do.

  The man behind the counter half smiled, half grimaced at Hogan as he stood. “Officer. What can I do for you?”

  “How’s business, Kohl?” Hogan leaned against the counter.

  “Can’t complain. The marathon almost put us at capacity.”

  The woman who’d checked them into the motel yesterday came from the back room and hovered just behind the man.

  “You know, if you weren’t so strict with all your rules and regulations …”

  The man behind the counter shook his head. “It’s what keeps my place off your worry list, Officer Hogan.”

  “Well, speaking of that”—Hogan glanced over his shoulder and made brief eye contact with Nickolai before turning back to Kohl—“I’m here to take a formal report. One of your guests seems to have received a possibly threatening letter put on their room door. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “Of course not.” Kohl’s face turned red.

  “How about you, Margaret? You know anything about a menacing note on one of the room doors?”

  “Of course she doesn’t,” Kohl answered before she could open her mouth.

  “I appreciate your assertion, Kohl, but I was asking Margaret.”

  The man’s face deepened into a crimson color, but he just nodded at the woman. “As my husband said, I know nothing about any letter. What did it say?”

  Her husband frowned at her then Hogan. “Yes, what did it say?”

  “It said ‘Go home.’ ” Nickolai hated stepping on the cop’s toes, but he wanted to see their reactions.

  Both husband’s and wife’s eyes widened. “W–what?” Kohl sputtered. “Of course we wouldn’t have anything to do with that. Why would we try to get guests to leave? This is how we live.”