Danger in Deer Ridge (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Terry Odell

  His eyes went round as the full moon. “For real?”

  Grinch nodded. “For real.”

  “I guess … I guess it would be okay if he stayed with me. Tonight, anyway.”

  Grinch tousled Will’s hair. “I know Billy’s in good hands.”

  “Can we do a song now?” Dylan asked.

  Grinch laughed and tousled his son’s hair too. “Sure. How about a new one?”

  Back in the den, Elizabeth picked up her wine and drained half the glass before she sat in the recliner. A weariness shrouded her face. “I haven’t heard that song in ages.”

  “‘High Hopes’? I figured a little positive thinking was in order.”

  She finished her wine and twirled the glass by its stem. “You certainly managed to turn Will’s mood around. Thank you so much.”

  “No, thank you. You’ve been a great example of parenting. Dylan’s … he’s like a different kid. I owe you. Big time.”

  “No, I’m the one in debt.” Her tone was disturbingly formal.

  Somehow, the mood had shifted. An awkwardness sat in the room like the proverbial elephant. Earlier, there’d been a lighthearted undertone to their banter. But now, the boys were asleep and everything had gone rigid. It was as if walking through the room would shatter the atmosphere. As if Elizabeth had stayed upstairs with the boys, and Julie Ann had come down with him.

  Despite what he ached to do, now wouldn’t be the best time to try a touching experiment. He leaned against the edge of the desk, well away from her. “Lizzie? What’s the matter?”

  “I’m a thief.”

  Chapter 22

  Another seedy bar. Music he didn’t recognize as anything but noise, combined with lyrics that seemed to be nothing but curse words faded into nothingness as Victor stared at the photo Kane shoved across the table. He squinted at the blurred image, focusing on the face inside the red circle Kane had drawn. Scowling, he tore it into four pieces. “A kids’ football game? I’m paying you top dollar and you give me this kind of crap? That kid could be anybody.”

  He shoved the pieces back at Kane. “And I can tell you this—my kid doesn’t play football. Whoever you’re paying for these pictures should be looking in libraries. Or museums. Or art galleries. And for God’s sake, why can’t they use a decent camera? It’s not like they cost an arm and a leg anymore.”

  Kane shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do. What about her?” He laid another photo on the table. “Remember, she might have dyed her hair, changed the style. She might have gained or lost weight.”

  Victor moved the flickering candle closer and tilted the picture, trying to capture more light. The woman’s image was sharper than the one of the kids, but it wasn’t definitive. The shape of the face might be right, but she was angled away from the camera in such a way that he couldn’t make a positive identification. Beyond that, she wore huge, dark sunglasses and a baseball cap, an item of clothing totally foreign to Julie Ann. Her hair was dark and curly, but he tried to discount that, as Kane had suggested.

  “I don’t think so,” Victor said.

  “You don’t think so? The woman was your wife. You can’t give me a yes or no?”

  What was he supposed to say? That he’d barely noticed her for the past six years? That none of the pictures he had were candids like this one? His Julie Ann was always properly groomed and knew how to pose for a camera. Victor disguised his embarrassment behind a show of anger. “You give me a picture that doesn’t look like a five-year-old took it, and maybe I’ll give you a positive answer. Aside from the fact that the woman seems to be hiding from something, I don’t see that she has a lot in common with Julie Ann. If this is the best you can give me, I’m going to have to say probably not.”

  “Probably? Are you asking me to repeat this one, or can we eliminate it? There are three more possibilities, and unless you want to pay me to personally fly all over the place, you get what you get. Runaways are cautious, and they spook easily. Plus, in these one-horse towns, there aren’t detective agencies, and strangers are conspicuous. I can’t hire top-of-the-line PIs to do the work. It takes a lot of discreet searching. Chamber of Commerce sites, local rags, church groups, neighborhood watches, community groups—then finding someone who’ll buy my story of why I want pictures of people.”

  Victor squinted at the picture once more. “Cross this one off the list. When can I see the others?”

  “I should have more by tomorrow. Shall we meet here again?”

  Victor drained the rest of his second beer—or was it his third? Too bad they couldn’t meet someplace with a classier drink menu. Dives like this, ordering anything but cheap beer would make him memorable. But there was too much risk that he’d see someone he knew—or someone he knew would see him—at a higher-end establishment. “No. Not here. The music is killing me.”

  Kane’s suggestion of a nearby biker bar didn’t seem much better, but Victor agreed.

  “What about the old woman?”

  Kane waggled his finger as if reprimanding a child. “You leave those details to me, remember. Forget you even heard about her.”

  “Forget? How can I forget if she could be linked back to me? Did she talk? Does she know where Julie Ann is?”

  Kane leaned forward, his voice low, but dripping venom. “My job, the one you’re paying me for, is to make sure nothing will connect to you. You either trust me or I walk right now.”

  Victor nodded, a silent agreement to the man’s terms.

  Kane wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and signaled the waitress for another beer. He leaned back, smiled, as if they’d shared an inside joke. His tone shifted to two friends enjoying a night out, although his words were far from jovial. “And for what it’s worth, she’s alive. But she’s in no condition to talk. My contact plans to make sure it stays that way.”

  Victor bit back any more questions. He slid out of the booth. “See you tomorrow, then.”

  Kane’s gaze slid along Victor from head to toe. He frowned. “And don’t work so hard at blending in. Showing up in new clothes will brand you as a wannabe. Go casual—jeans, t-shirt, maybe a leather jacket if you have one that’s got a few miles on it. The place isn’t hard core. And make sure you don’t get there before I do.”

  “Right. Ten-fifteen.” Victor tossed two twenties on the table. He wondered if Kane arrived early more to get a head start on drinking—at Victor’s expense—than to maintain the clandestine nature of their meetings. But since Kane had never complained that Victor’s money wasn’t covering the tab, Victor didn’t say anything.

  Victor kept his head down as he exited the bar. The night air seemed to go straight to his bones, chilling him from the inside out, even though the temperatures were moderate. One week more. If he didn’t have the ledger, he’d be ruined. Or dead.

  He walked the three blocks to his car, clicking the remote as soon as he was in range. The lights flashed, illuminating the silhouette of a figure leaning against the fender. His heart pounded. His mouth went dry. He desperately wished he’d taken the time to use the men’s room before he left the bar.

  Before he retreated, the person, features disguised by a broad-brimmed hat, strode toward him.

  “Hello, Victor. Surprised to see me?”

  “Damn it, Marie. What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  She smirked. “I told you, I know everything that goes on in your office. Including that disposable cell phone you keep in the back of your left-hand desk drawer. I’m just looking out for your best interest. You’ve been awfully … distracted lately. I was trying to be helpful, but if you’d rather not know—” She pivoted on one stiletto-clad heel and marched away.

  “Wait.” He raced to catch up and grasped her elbow. “What?”

  She wrested her arm free. “Let go of me.”

  He released her and held his hands up in submission. “Fine. Now, will you tell me what’s going on?”

  In the glow of the nearby street light, he saw her feigned pout.
For a fleeting instant, he wondered if he should ask Kane to deal with her as well. He fisted his hands. What was he becoming?

  “Marie—” he bit back the profanity and forced a smile. “Would you please tell me why you went to all the trouble of finding me in person?”

  She studied her nails. “A man came to the office today, after you’d left. He said he wanted to hire you as his accountant.”

  “What’s so unusual about that? It is what I do, after all.” Damn her, she was milking this one, and it would cost him, he knew.

  “Well, he didn’t come right out and say so, but he kind of … intimated … that he didn’t want just any accountant. He wanted someone with your special talents.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist. He was subtle, and if I hadn’t already known about your … special talents … I would have thought he was another potential client.” She took off her hat and shook out her curls. “In fact, it’s possible I was mistaken, and he really was another ordinary client. But there was something … off … about him, and I thought you’d want to know.”

  Victor herded Marie toward his car. “Get in.”

  She squirmed away and stopped. “What? Where are we going?”

  “Someplace we can talk. In private.”

  Two hours later, Victor watched Marie’s hips sway as she left the hotel room. After double-locking the door, he helped himself to a Glenmorangie from the minibar.

  Marie had good instincts, he’d give her that. The guy was no potential client, on or off the books. One of Louie’s goons—Victor would bet his life on it. He shuddered. Maybe he already had. And lost. He sank to the edge of the bed and punched Kane’s number into his disposable cell. And made a mental note to keep it in his pocket from now on.

  Kane came on the line. “What now?”

  “Things have escalated.”

  Chapter 23

  Elizabeth wandered to the side table and poured another glass of wine. When Grinch had given Will his teddy bear, feelings inundated her. She didn’t want to analyze them, but somehow, she knew she trusted this man with her life. And that meant no more secrets. While Grinch taught Dylan to sing “High Hopes,” she’d convinced herself she would tell him everything.

  Telling herself she was going to come clean was one thing. Doing it—well, no matter what Grinch had said, there was plenty of Julie Ann rattling around inside. Her heart said to trust him. Her head said to trust him. But there was something deeper—all those years of being belittled and beaten had drilled reflexive reactions deep inside her, and set them in concrete.

  She was useless. Worthless. A brainless ornament. Grinch telling her otherwise didn’t make it so. Not inside, where it mattered. At least not in such a short time. It was like telling someone not to be afraid to get on a plane. No matter how many times you told yourself you really, really wanted to fly to some exotic vacation, the fears didn’t go away. You didn’t show up at the airport and say, “I’m not afraid to fly anymore.”

  “You took the ledger to protect yourself,” Grinch said. “As an insurance policy. Technically, I suppose it was stealing, but calling yourself a thief seems a bit harsh.”

  She steeled herself with another swig of wine. “There’s more.”

  His expression softened. “I suspected as much. Are you going to tell me?”

  “I needed money. I had some saved, but it wasn’t going to last long.” She worked on her wine again. “And truth be told, I wanted to stick it to Victor. He’s a collector. An investor. All sorts of things. Stamps, books, art. Baseball cards. Toys. Comic books. If he thought it would be worth something, he bought it.”

  “You took them?”

  “A few. Most of the stuff was stashed in cabinets in a spare bedroom. It wasn’t like he went in and drooled over them. They were no different than his stock portfolio, or his bank accounts. I did my homework and selected some of the most valuable ones. Not more than one or two of anything. So it wouldn’t be obvious there were gaps in his collections.”

  “You have them?”

  She spun to face him. The room spun along with her, and kept on going. She grabbed the edge of the table and squinted her eyes shut.

  Grinch was at her side, taking her glass, then her elbow. “How about you sit down,” he said. Without waiting for her to answer, he guided her to the chair. She sank onto the smooth leather.

  “I didn’t have that much to drink,” she said.

  Grinch picked up the bottle and raised it to the light. He cocked his eyebrows.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Probably more than you thought. Bottle’s over half empty. Plus at altitude, alcohol hits you faster.”

  She took a few deep breaths. The spinning slowed. “I’m all right.”

  “I’m sure you are. Wait here.”

  He disappeared, and Elizabeth lowered her head to her hands, wishing there was a hole to crawl into. Or a way to turn back the clock. All the way to before she met Victor.

  Grinch reappeared with a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap. “Drink.”

  She took the bottle, staring at it. A bevy of emotions swarmed like angry bees. Resentment at being told what to do. Obstinance, not wanting to comply, because she’d told herself she’d quit taking orders when she left Victor. Even knowing Grinch wasn’t like Victor. That he was suggesting, not demanding. That he was looking out for her welfare, not simply feeding his ego.

  He must have recognized her internal struggling. “It’s not about me,” he said. “You’ll thank me in the morning. Trust me.”

  She lifted the bottle to her lips. The cool liquid slid down her throat, clearing her head. Grinch hovered. She avoided his eyes as she sipped.

  She drained the bottle and set it aside, willing to meet his eyes. “I do. Trust you. Which scares me.”

  His confusion seemed genuine.

  She searched for the best way to explain. “Years and years of conditioning can’t be undone overnight. I might have had a moment or two when I was instinctively Elizabeth. But that’s far from saying I’m rid of Julie Ann.” She reached for his hand, steeling herself against any flinching, and glad to feel a surge of warmth when he took it. “When I married Victor, I trusted him. It’s not easy to trust a man again—especially one I’m having feelings for. I hope you’ll be patient.”

  “I understand,” he said. “Without trust, there’s nothing.”

  “You’re not upset?”

  “Momentarily disappointed maybe, but no, not upset.”

  She stood, pleased that she was steady on her feet. “I think I’ll call it a night.”

  “I’ll walk you upstairs,” he said.

  She almost protested, but the wine had mellowed her out enough to accept his offer. She revised it from accept to enjoy as she sidled closer to him.

  He walked her to her bedroom and opened the door. “Goodnight, Lizzie.”

  She slid around him and tilted her face upward. He lowered his lips to hers. She closed her eyes. His hand touched her cheek. Bells rang.

  He pulled away. “Sorry. I’ve got to take this.”

  Not bells. His cell phone.

  He turned away, but she didn’t retreat into her room. She leaned against the door jamb, wrapped in the warmth of his kiss, letting her heart slow.

  Grinch’s “Is she all right?” followed by, “Are we compromised?” sent it right back to jackhammer mode.

  Grinch’s responses were more grunts than words. After too many seconds ticked past, he put his phone away. But he didn’t turn.

  “What?” she asked. “Is who all right? Who’s compromised?”

  He dragged a hand through his hair and faced her, his expression no more readable than a marble statue. Which scared her, because she didn’t think he’d conceal his expression if the call hadn’t had something to do with her.

  Victor had always acted as though she was too stupid to understand, or not worth telling. With Grinch, it was different, but the result was the sam
e—stranding her outside the loop. A loop that now affected her survival. Her hands curled into fists. “Don’t hide things from me.”

  * * * * *

  Although her tone suggested anger, Grinch recognized the hurt in Elizabeth’s eyes. Shit, not two minutes ago, she’d been telling him how hard she was trying to shake the grip Victor had clawed into her, and here he was, treating her almost the same way. She was an adult, and hiding the truth wasn’t protecting her. “It’s about Grace.”

  Her eyes popped wide. Clearly, that wasn’t what she’d expected to hear.

  “What happened? Is she all right?”

  He extended his hands, palms up. She accepted them. Hers, warm moments before, were chilled. He squeezed them. “An accident. Hit and run.”

  She paled to the creamy-white of the paint on the hallway walls. Her grip on his hand tightened. He stepped closer, resting his other arm on her shoulder. No point in sugar-coating what Jinx had relayed. “She’s in intensive care. She hasn’t regained consciousness. But the doctors are optimistic. She’s strong.”

  Elizabeth’s head gave a barely perceptible dip. He slid his arm from her shoulder to around her waist and guided her to the bed. She sank onto the mattress like a stone thrown into the fishing pond. He sat beside her, keeping his arm around her, as if that was all that kept her upright. “She’s in good hands. Jinx said she’s at the best hospital in the city.”

  She’d regained some color. He felt her body go rigid beneath his arm.

  “Did they catch whoever hit her?” Her words were clipped, her tone strong.

  He almost relaxed his hold on her, but since she hadn’t pulled away, he stayed where he was. Working on that trust thing, he told himself. As if. He was a man, she was a woman. A woman who felt … right … sitting beside him. Until she indicated otherwise, he wasn’t going anywhere.

  “The police are investigating,” he said.