Weaver's Needle

by Caroll, Robin;

  The sincerity of his voice was matched by the seriousness of his expression lit by the dashboard glow. It hit her—with all this man had been through, petty games to discourage her weren’t in his playbook.

  “I know. I’m sorry for jumping to the wrong conclusions.”

  “I can understand why you might think that, after I was such an arrogant jerk at Mrs. Winslet’s.”

  She laughed. “You were a jerk.”

  He laughed with her. “Well, you surprised me. You weren’t what I expected.” He put the truck in DRIVE and eased out of the parking lot.

  “Why? What did you expect? A ghoul with horns?”

  He laughed harder. “Well, you are my competitor, you know.”

  “Yeah. I’d pictured you with horns, too.” She chuckled.

  Funny, she didn’t see him that way anymore. It was nice and comfortable between them. As much as she might hate to admit it, she enjoyed his company. Teasing and all.

  “Horns, huh?” Nickolai eased onto the main road, slipping into the traffic. Everyone and their brother seemed to be on the road. The marathon, of course.

  “Sorry.” Landry chuckled.

  He liked how she let out little snorts when she laughed. It was cute. Endearing. Just like her.

  Whoa! There must’ve been more than chipotle aioli on his burger.

  The traffic halted. He eased the truck to a stop behind the car in front of him. Then he noticed the flashers.

  “Wonder what’s going on?” Landry sat forward and leaned right, then left, peering out the windshield.

  Now he remembered, and groaned. “I saw a flyer about the runners participating in the marathon tomorrow being recognized tonight at some sort of ceremony. That’s why so many of the roads were closed early today.”

  She sat back against the seat and cracked her window a little. A part-spicy, part-flowery, part-muskiness aroma rode under his nose on the gentle evening breeze. Her perfume or shampoo or something, but the smell was definitely right for her.

  He needed to get his thoughts back on track. Focus. Nickolai put the truck in PARK and popped on his flashers, like most all the other vehicles on the road. “Okay, let’s go ahead and get it over with. Let’s talk about the case.”

  “And we were getting along so well, too.” But she smiled.

  “I’ll start. Before we left, I spoke with my partner—er, former partner, to see what the police have on the case. The Winslet murder is big because the head of the whole criminal investigations division, the captain himself, is overseeing the investigation.”

  “I’m assuming that’s unusual?”

  He nodded. “Very. So the Winslet name and money must really be big.”

  “I know. One of us is making someone really nervous. I guess that would be me since I seem to be the target.” She shook her head. “But I can’t imagine any of my leads motivating someone to puncture my tire or risk taping a note to my door.”

  “Yeah, I can’t see Allen Edgar risking being caught. He’d be terrified.”

  “Right.” She stiffened and twisted, putting her back against the door. “Wait. How do you know about Allen?”

  “I met him. Talked to him.”

  “You followed me?” Her indignation was as visible as her rising anger.

  “No.” He needed to calm her quickly or they would undo all the easiness between them. He’d have to put his cards on the table. “I spoke with Joel Easton. He told me about his and Allen’s plot to raise the buying price on Winslet. When Joel said he’d lost the photocopy of the map, I realized Allen probably took it, which he did. When I talked to him, he said he’d tried to sell it to a beautiful woman, and I figured out it was you. How did you find him?”

  “He had copied and pasted the exact listing from Art Source onto a black market of the art world site, so I thought whoever had the map had come back here to resell it.” She relaxed a little. “They had a plot to raise the selling price on Winslet?”

  Ahh, she hadn’t known that. Well, it would build their trust for him to be able to share the information with her. He told her about talking with the driver and the other bidder, the hack, but also Easton’s motives.

  “Wow, that’s pretty devious, but I can understand. If there had been a chance to cure my dad, I probably would’ve done the same thing.” She chewed her bottom lip and sat back against the cushion.

  Nickolai couldn’t argue. He’d probably do the same if he could cure Lisbeth. In a way, he already had compromised his normal stance by taking the case, just so he could afford to get her into that halfway house.

  “We both agree it’s probably not Allen.”

  He shook his head. “I’d guess not, but I’ve been wrong before. Still, I’m not sure what he would gain by trying to scare you off.”

  “It’s not logical. He wants me to pay one hundred thousand dollars for that copy of the map. I can’t see him wanting me to leave before he got some money.”

  “That was my thinking as well.” Nickolai swallowed. He had informed her of what he knew about her lead, shared on a lead he had that she didn’t. Now was the tough part. He swallowed. “I think maybe you’re a target because of the copy of the map you have.”

  Again her eyes widened. “What?”

  He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not following you. I’m not stalking you.”

  “Then how do you know what I have?”

  Transparency and honesty were his best options here. He reached into the console and handed her the copies he had from Margaret. “Because the printer recorded a copy when you made your copies. It’s easy to print off another copy or two.” Maybe even three in this case.

  She took the papers, shaking her head. “And I thought she was so nice. Even felt sorry for her because I think her husband treats her like a second-class citizen.” She set the copies on top of the console. “Aside from that, I can’t see her stabbing my tire or putting the note on my door. Maybe I’m wrong, but she seems too mousy and timid for that.”

  “I agree, on all counts.” Traffic was still stalled. “Did you know there was a housekeeper in the back of the office when you were in there? A lady named Vanessa?”

  Those amazing eyes of hers widened again. “No. Did you talk with her? Could she be capable of everything?”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t got to talk to her yet. She had already gone home by the time I spoke with Kohl and Margaret in the office. That’s the owners’ names, in case they didn’t tell you. Anyway, it’s not just her we need to talk to. Apparently Margaret made a copy for Vanessa’s boyfriend because Vanessa asked for it. She said her boyfriend collected stuff like that.”

  Landry shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

  “I know. I can’t wait to get his information from Vanessa tomorrow and pay him a visit.” Cars began to move. Nickolai turned off his hazard lights and pulled the truck out of PARK.

  “Oh, I’m going with you.” She paused. “I mean, I’m going to talk to him as well, so maybe we could talk with him together.”

  He hid his smile with the turn of his head. “Sure. Something else. When I was in the office, Kohl mentioned that a Phillip Fontenot had arrived and asked about our group.”

  “That’s who was arguing with Stan!”

  “What?”

  She told him what she’d overheard from Stan and another man arguing in his motel room. “Of course, I didn’t want to pry, so I don’t know any more than that. Now that I know it was Phillip … according to Monica Courtland, Bartholomew’s assistant, Phillip and Bartholomew were best friends. They even had a lunch date scheduled for the day Bartholomew died.”

  “So you spoke with the assistant?” Good work. He hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

  “I went to see her. At first, it was odd, because she said everyone was broken up about Winslet’s death, but it looked pretty much like business as usual around Winslet Industries. At least to me.”

  “What was your impression of her?” Nickolai followed the line of cars inchin
g forward.

  “Old beyond her years, and I don’t mean in a good, mature type of way. I mean in the lacking fun way.” Landry smiled and shrugged. “She came across as uptight. Maybe it was from her years of working for such an older executive like Winslet.”

  “Wonder what her story is. I might need to call my partner and see if there’s anything about her in the case file.” Hopefully, Chris could access that information, or give him some background on the girl.

  Landry nodded. “But she was very clear on the relationship between Bartholomew and Phillip. According to her comments, they were best buds. She said when Phillip came to the office for lunch, as was pretty common, Bartholomew lost his formal manner.”

  “And now he’s here.”

  “Even more, Stan thinks Phillip has a crush on Winifred, and Phillip didn’t deny it.”

  Nickolai resisted making a face. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Here’s one even better. According to Phillip’s response, Stan has a crush on Winifred that was apparent before Bartholomew died.” “That is interesting.” Could be a good motive to murder Winslet. Two men interested in the man’s wife?

  “I’m thinking we need to talk to Stan and Phillip.”

  He nodded. “And I was thinking …” The traffic began to move at a much better pace. “Maybe we should drive out toward the Superstitions. See if we can make out any of the landmarks from the picture you got.” This was it … the true test of faith. If she agreed, they’d made progress, and that would make him happier than he cared to admit.

  But if she said no …

  Nickolai held his breath and waited for an answer.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Should she agree or refuse? Should she tell him about the man going camping? Wasn’t that the million-dollar question?

  Landry snorted at herself. More like the fifty-thousand-dollar question.

  “Or, if you’d rather not …” The dejection in his expression filled her with unexpected smugness.

  She didn’t think that was considered becoming in anyone. She cleared her throat. “I was just wondering if it would be better for us to find this Phillip first….” She checked the time illuminated on the dashboard. “Since it’s dark out.”

  He nodded.

  “Unless you’d rather do it separately. I mean, I just thought since we were both going to find him anyway …” Goodness, she tripped over her own tongue, which annoyed her all the more.

  “No, I think we should. I mean, we need to find out who’s behind these stunts.”

  She smiled, warmed. “Good. Then we agree. We’ll find Phillip tonight, then maybe drive out to the Superstitions tomorrow. Actually, I think the map is in the Superstitions.”

  “Really?” He shot her a quizzical look.

  “Yeah. The waitress saw a man with the original map. In a protective sleeve. He went to the military surplus store and bought a tent and other camping supplies. She recognized the area as Weaver’s Needle.”

  “And you weren’t going to tell me?” Nickolai grinned. “You little sneak.”

  “Like you would’ve told me before tonight?”

  He shook his head. “No, I guess I wouldn’t have.”

  She rolled down her window a little more as he picked up speed.

  The cool evening air filled the truck’s cab with a most comfortable crispness. Landry closed her eyes and laid her head back on the headrest. It had been a while since she’d been just this … relaxed when working a case. Maybe it had something to do with Nickolai Baptiste. Maybe not. Maybe she was just flat-out exhausted with worry about the business and her dad’s legacy and making everything work out. Or maybe, just maybe, she’d accepted that she had to give it all to God and stop taking the worry and fear back. Last night, she’d done just that. Today had been a good day, overall, despite flat tires and ominous notes.

  “Um, Landry?” Nickolai’s voice was edged with importance.

  She sat upright. “What?”

  “My brakes are out.” He pumped the brake pedal. It went all the way to the floor. Again. Again.

  And again.

  Minutes stood still as her consciousness and emotions and rational thoughts all collided.

  “What?” She gripped the dashboard and stared out the front windshield. Cars stopped at the red light about five hundred yards in front of them. The stoplight sat at the bottom of a pretty good-sized hill.

  “Behind us,” Nickolai ground out.

  In that split second, she realized the cab of the truck was lit up from more than the dashboard. She turned. Made out the eighteen-wheeler bearing down on them. Faced front—four hundred yards.

  There was no shoulder.

  Her heart pounded. The tangy taste of metal filled her mouth. Oh, God, please help us. Please let that truck stop.

  Three hundred yards.

  Traffic flashed by in the opposite lane.

  Nickolai rolled down all four windows.

  No place to go.

  Two hundred yards.

  No options.

  “Brace yourself.” Nickolai laid on the horn.

  No one could move anyway. Landry gripped the console with her left hand and the door armrest bar with her right.

  One hundred yards and gaining.

  Landry closed her eyes and prayed.

  She registered the sound of the eighteen-wheeler’s brakes squealing just before the loud crunch of metal echoed inside the cabin. She slammed backward then was instantly flung forward. Landry opened her eyes and gritted her teeth, clenching her hold on the console and bar tighter.

  As if in slow motion, she swayed as the truck turned almost 180 degrees to the right. The trucker’s grill ground with Nickolai’s bumper.

  Landry’s muscles tensed as momentum shook her, knocking her against the passenger door. She registered the jolt of pain in her shoulder a nanosecond before the side of her head grazed the locked and tightened seat belt. Her head rolled back against the headrest.

  Time froze. Her senses, overloaded. The swooshing of air as it sliced through the cabin filled her head. The wind caressed her face—cold, and oddly, comforting. Headlights from vehicles split the darkness of night. Her hands cramped against the smooth leather of the truck’s interior.

  Everything went silent and still. No breeze, no movement, no sound. Her chest tightened: no oxygen, no air—her lungs seized, not inhaling. Just Landry’s heartbeat pounding in her head.

  Da-dun. Da-dun. Da-dun.

  She opened her mouth and sucked in air. Everything erupted at once.

  Cold encapsulated her. Shivers vibrated through her. Goose bumps pimpled her flesh. Screams registered. Cries. Lights flashed. Clicks.

  “Landry, Landry … are you okay?” Nickolai’s voice cut through everything else.

  “Yes. I’m all right.” At least, she was pretty sure she didn’t have any broken bones. Not that she could feel at the moment.

  Nickolai reached over and released her seat belt. “Breathe slowly. It’s the adrenaline rushing. Give yourself a minute.”

  She inhaled through her nose. Exhaled through her mouth.

  He opened his door. Light flooded the truck’s cabin.

  She blinked, finally releasing her death grip on the truck. Her hands alternated between cramping and shaking. Lord!

  He opened her door. She hadn’t even registered that he’d gotten out of the driver’s seat. “Come on, let’s make sure you’re okay.” He took her elbow and helped ease her out of the truck. She wobbled for a minute; then his chest was against her back and his arms on either side of her. His breath grazed the side of her face and neck. “You just need to get your footing. Does anything hurt?”

  She couldn’t think. Couldn’t process. The musky scent of his cologne permeated her personal space. It was a familiar fragrance, but she couldn’t place it at the moment. Her gaze went to Nickolai’s truck. The front end looked like it had maybe grazed a tree or pole, but the back end’s bumper was gone. It wasn’t on the ground … oh. She saw it—
attached to the front grill of the eighteen-wheeler.

  God, thank You. Thank You. Thank You. Only You kept us alive.

  “Landry?” She could feel Nickolai’s chest move as he said her name.

  Giving herself a mental shake, she straightened, pushing off from leaning into his strength. “I’m fine.” She did a quick mental evaluation of self: legs okay, arms okay, back okay … only her right shoulder and right side of her head hurt. And her neck, a little. The pain in her shoulder throbbed, while her head and neck just ached.

  “Are you sure?” Concern thickened his voice.

  She nodded then immediately regretted it. “My shoulder hurts, and my head and neck ache, but my shoulder really hurts.”

  “You must’ve hit it against the door.” He handed her the straps of her purse then led her tenderly to the side of the road.

  A woman screamed as the truck driver approached. “You idiot. You could’ve killed us all. What, were you texting?” she snarled at the truck driver.

  “It’s not his fault. It was me. My—”

  She glared at Nickolai and Landry, cutting him off. “Oh, were you playing kissy face? Good thing my kids weren’t in the car with me. I’ve called the police.”

  “I’m sorry. My brakes went out. The pedal went all the way to the floor.” Nickolai didn’t engage in any confrontation. His voice remained steady and neutral. “Are you hurt, ma’am?”

  “I’m fine, except where the seat belt dug into my shoulder.” The woman crossed her arms over her chest.

  Landry could empathize. Her shoulder was killing her now. Hot pain shot down her arm.

  “I didn’t see everyone stopping.” The driver of the eighteen-wheeler’s shaggy beard bounced as he spoke. “Are you okay?” He posed the question to all three of them, but his gaze rested on Landry.

  Before anyone could answer, the whir of sirens filled the air as a fire truck and ambulance pulled up. How could she not have heard them approaching?

  “You need to have your shoulder looked at.” Nickolai led her toward the ambulance. He faced the woman who’d been driving the car in front of them. “You, too. Just to make sure you’re okay.” He quickly filled in the EMTs then turned back as a police cruiser whipped in behind the fire truck.