“And?” Marcus pressed. Carly gave a fleeting thought to telling him to mind his own business, but then, judging by the look on his face, decided that it wouldn’t go over well.
“And, it turns out he’s some sort of law enforcement. Vivi would have to tell you what kind,” she said, dodging that bit of information. Since she hadn’t known he worked for the CIA before yesterday, she didn’t want to say anything, assuming he preferred that information to remain on a need-to-know basis. She also didn’t want Marcus to point out that the CIA wasn’t technically law enforcement. “He was helping a bit yesterday at the lab, too. He has some sort of expertise in torture and Vivi brought him in to help us understand the different . . .” Her voice broke a bit and she looked out the window to blink away the moisture from her eyes. What had happened to Marguerite still felt so raw and brutal that it seemed ridiculous to be sitting there in that café, explaining herself to Marcus.
She cleared her throat. “Anyway, he didn’t have much of a chance to weigh in, since the marshals showed up. Now, can we talk about whether or not we reach out to Naomi?” she asked, bringing the topic back around to something worthwhile.
Marcus narrowed his eyes at her, but then conceded, to an extent. “Yeah, let’s talk about Naomi, but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that now is not a good time for you to be getting involved with someone.”
She and Drew were so far from involved that she rolled her eyes, not bothering to respond. “Do you think we should ask her?”
“Do you think she’ll tell Vivi?”
Carly thought about it before answering. “I’m pretty sure I could get her to keep it from Vivi for now, but I am concerned about putting her in any kind of danger.”
Marcus bobbed his head. “Is there any way we can tell her what’s going on without actually telling her?” he asked, his cryptic question making perfect sense to her.
Again, she mulled his question over. “I think we probably could. We could tell her enough about the situation, about the fact that someone knew enough about computers to be able to erase any trace of Marguerite from the official databases before killing her. That would probably give her some indication of the risk she could be taking if she agreed to help.”
“I hate bringing someone else in . . .” Marcus’s voice trailed off.
“But neither of us loves the idea of everything being in the marshals’ hands either,” Carly said. “It’s one thing to leave the investigation of Marguerite’s death to them, but they don’t have the same concerns we do about what kind of message was being sent. If we don’t understand the message, we can’t play by their rules.”
“And if we don’t play by their rules, or at least appear to be, more people we care about could get hurt,” Marcus said, finishing her thought. They both sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating their situation.
“We could run.” Marcus made the suggestion again, only this time much more halfheartedly.
She inhaled deeply as she met his eyes. Running held no appeal to her and, to give Marcus credit, she didn’t think it appealed to him either.
She shook her head.
He leaned back in his chair then confirmed her thoughts. “I know, I don’t want to run either. Whatever happened all those years ago is bubbling to the surface. Maybe this time we can stop it.”
“Once we know what ‘it’ is,” Carly added.
“Exactly.”
And they needed Naomi in order to figure that out.
“I’ll call Naomi later this morning to see if she can meet with me tonight. I’ll take my own car this time, but park outside the city and take the T in.”
Marcus nodded, signaling both his approval and the conclusion of their breakfast meeting. They both stood and cleared their dishes. She slid on her police jacket as they stepped outside and when Julie from the quilt shop across the street waved, Carly waved back. Acting to all the world like the day was business as usual, when inside, she knew that, after that day, “usual” might take on a whole new meaning.
• • •
Drew took a sip of coffee as he stared out Kit’s kitchen window. Pure laziness had driven him into town to pick up breakfast and he was glad it had. As he took in the riot of fall colors that dipped into the small valley before him, he thought about what he’d overheard of Carly and her partner’s discussion.
His fingers tightened on his cup and the paper buckled in his grasp. Irritated with himself, he set the cup down, grabbed a mug from the cabinet and dumped his coffee into it. He didn’t even try to relax.
She and her partner were not planning to let things go. With a wry smile he acknowledged what he’d realized the night before—she had said only that there wasn’t much she could do, not that she planned to do nothing. And apparently she now had a plan to do something. Something involving someone named Naomi. Someone named Naomi who had some connection to Vivi.
What the hell could she be looking for? he thought. Sure, a lot of folks in law enforcement were in the field precisely because they were incessantly curious, but he sensed that she had more at stake than just nosiness.
And as he stood before the window, his bagel sandwich getting cold on the counter, he considered how the interests of Carly and the marshals might overlap. They would both want to know what had happened to Marguerite, and no doubt both would want justice. But where their interests diverged is where his thoughts lingered. If he were a marshal, he’d want to know why Marguerite had been killed and by whom. But if he were Carly, he’d want to know why Windsor. Why had the body of a US marshal been left in their town when it was clear she hadn’t been killed there?
The marshals would be interested in that too. But it would be more urgent for Carly. It involved her town, her friends, her people.
He let out a frustrated breath and dumped the rest of his now cold coffee down the drain. Digging into Marguerite Silva held too many risks, he had no jurisdiction to investigate the death of a federal agent, but maybe he could find out more about this Naomi person. Of course, if Rina ever got wind of his plan, his ass was toast. Politically, investigating Marguerite would be worse, but to Rina, investigating any US national within US borders required not just a sign off from her, but a damned good reason, too. He was pretty sure his personal interest in Carly wouldn’t make the cut.
But his plan didn’t really include investigating Naomi. He just wanted to know who she was and if the help she provided, if any, could put Carly in any danger. The question as to why he cared enough about her safety to risk a good set down from his boss would remain buried in the darkness of his mind for the moment. The mystery of Naomi was a much easier problem to tackle.
After two hours and a couple of favors called in, he sat at the kitchen island staring at his computer. He had a pretty good sense of Naomi DeMarco at this point. She and her twin brother had made quite a name for themselves in certain circles. Hired by all the major agencies, including his own, to test the security features of the vast network of computers and communications that connected the agencies to everything from each other to agents deep undercover, Naomi and Brian were known to be the best. Their IQs weren’t as high as their cousin Vivi’s, but only by a couple of points—margin of error, really. Knowing that Carly would be dealing with the best, no matter what she and Naomi discussed, gave Drew some measure of comfort.
But what, specifically, did she want help with? Was she looking for some trace of whoever had had the access and knowledge to erase Marguerite from the system? Or did she want information on Marguerite herself? Or the investigation the marshals were conducting?
Drew shook his head as he reread the information a contact had forwarded. Carly would want it all. Not only had she made an oath to protect and serve her town, but he knew that oath held more meaning to her than just words. And because of that, she’d want to know everything about Marguerite Silva. That would take some digging. Digging that someone like Naomi DeMarco would excel at.
Sitting back, he ran a hand over hi
s face as her question from the night before ran through his mind. What did he want from her? A date? For some reason, they seemed beyond that stage. Dates were for getting to know someone and, though he had no real reason to, he felt like they already knew each other quite well. Sex? Maybe, yes. But even he couldn’t let his mind go there—because it wouldn’t be just sex with her. No, he knew beyond a doubt that if they crossed that bridge there would be much more to it than just physical pleasure. And what lay beyond that bridge was a dark, dangerous place he needed to be sure of before entering. The phrase “This way there be dragons” came to mind.
But did he want a relationship? He laughed out loud at that thought. He liked the concept, sure. But he hadn’t been able to maintain a real relationship with a woman since college. There were a lot of reasons he could throw out as to why—his career being first and foremost. His erratic schedule made it difficult to make plans, but more to the point, the fact that he couldn’t talk about what he’d seen or what he’d done or even where he’d been ninety percent of the time tended to limit conversational topics. Not to mention what keeping those secrets did to him. And with each passing year, the effects on his own psyche from this forced silence were becoming harder to ignore. In the past few years, he’d become poor company.
So what did he want?
Time, he thought. Time was the only thing he could admit to wanting from her now. He wanted time to be with her and do the simple things in life—things he didn’t usually get do because his job wouldn’t let him or, when it did, he didn’t have anyone he really wanted to do them with. He wanted to sit on her porch with her like they had the night before, to cook and eat a quiet meal together, and maybe go for a walk or curl up and watch a movie, just the two of them. He just wanted to be with her.
Of course, she might not be interested in giving him any time, but at least he now had an answer to her question. An answer he planned to share with her when she returned from Boston that night.
Chapter Seven
Carly exited the Park Street T station, cut over to Beacon Street, and started heading west into Boston’s Back Bay. At just past seven, darkness had fallen hours before. The vintage street lights cast shadows as she walked toward Naomi’s home, a beautiful brownstone near the Public Garden that fronted Beacon Street and had a view of the Charles River from the back. The building had six floors: two that Brian and Naomi used for their business—the garden and first—two for Brian’s living quarters—the second and third—and two for Naomi’s—the fourth and fifth.
Standing on the stone stoop of the historic structure, she rang the buzzer. Moments later, the lock released and she pushed open the heavy door. Once she’d taken the elevator to the top floor, the doors opened directly into Naomi’s apartment. A kitchen and dining room lay to her right, a large inviting family room to her left, and the stairs down to the bedrooms in front of her. The family room featured picture windows looking out onto the river and a large fireplace, presently roaring with warmth. Carly smiled, it wasn’t quite like fall in Windsor, but it was still fall.
“Carly,” Naomi spoke, as she came up the last few steps from the floor below and enveloped her in a big hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Naomi,” she said, returning the hug. “It’s good to see you too. Thanks so much for agreeing on such short notice.”
“Nonsense,” Naomi brushed her off. “As you can see, I had big plans for the night,” she said with a laugh, gesturing to her leggings, bulky wool sweater, and fuzzy slipper boots.
Carly laughed too, but not because of Naomi’s outfit. With nearly flawless skin and hair with hints of red that made her green eyes stand out, Naomi could go out wearing a pillowcase and still look better than most people.
“Here, come.” Naomi motioned her into the kitchen. “I was going to pour myself a glass of wine, would you like one? Or maybe some tea or coffee?”
Carly glanced around the sizable kitchen and spotted a single-cup coffee machine. “Coffee, please.”
Once they each had beverages in hand, Naomi grabbed her laptop and they made themselves comfortable in the family room—Naomi sitting at a small writing desk, her computer now plugged into a thick cable that disappeared into the wall, and she on a comfy upholstered chair.
“Okay, lay it on me, what do you need?”
Carly looked down at her cup and paused before answering. Then, because she had to, she told Naomi the truth. Well, part of it. She told her about Marguerite’s body being found and the same story she’d told Drew about having worked with her before, years ago. She also added the name Joe Kincaid, a family friend who had introduced her to Marguerite, and Vince Archstone, one of Joe’s colleagues. She didn’t know if either of them had had anything to do with Marguerite’s work, but they were all muddled together in her mind as being a part of that time.
“So, let me get this straight.” Naomi leaned back in her chair. “You want to look into Marguerite Silva, and these Joe and Vince characters, because you’re worried there is something going on that might affect Windsor?”
“I know it sounds a bit far-fetched—”
Naomi’s frown cut her off. “No, it doesn’t. I mean if you all knew each other back then, and then she shows up dead in your backyard but has no ties to Windsor other than you, I think you have the right to ask some questions,” Naomi said. “But you don’t trust the marshals?”
She wagged her head. “I do. I think they will be the best agency to try to figure out what happened to Marguerite and I trust that they are motivated to do that. But they aren’t as motivated as Marcus and I are to make sure that whatever happened to her doesn’t have any effect on Windsor.”
“Or on you and Marcus, since you knew her,” Naomi added. Carly hesitated, then nodded, hoping Naomi wouldn’t ask just how they’d known each other.
“And you say her identity was erased from the official systems altogether?”
She was about to answer “yes,” then stopped herself. “Well we didn’t have time to run it through the DNA databases, and I don’t think facial recognition had been done either. But Vivi didn’t find her in any fingerprint databases.”
Naomi seemed to mull this over then she sat forward and started keying something into her computer.
“Not to make light of the situation, but this could be fun,” she said, quirking an eyebrow at Carly before returning her attention to the screen. “I do have one more question though.”
“Yes?”
“Why haven’t you told anyone else about this? Or have you?”
Carly had expected this question and had prepared her answer. “Marcus knows I’m here, and technically we’re the only police officers for Windsor. But I know that’s not your question. I haven’t told Vivi and Ian yet because Marcus and I agreed to look into it first. You know how Ian worries, and if it turns out to be nothing, then he doesn’t need to be bothered.”
“But if it turns out to be something?’ Naomi asked, frowning at her computer.
“Then we’ll bring in the others.”
Naomi looked up, startling Carly with the intensity of her look. “Promise?”
Carly hesitated, then agreed. “Yes.”
“Good, because I’m not sure what we’re going to find, but it’s going to be an interesting night.”
Her stomach sank. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I’ve been online for less than three minutes and I’ve already found at least one trip wire.”
“Trip wire?” she was pretty sure she knew what Naomi meant, if not exactly what she was talking about.
“Not a real wire, of course, but the technical equivalent of one. If I’d gone bumbling through it, someone, somewhere, would know I was looking for information on Marguerite Silva.”
Carly swallowed, suddenly unsure of the wisdom of her decision to go to Naomi. “You don’t have to do this, Naomi. I don’t know who these people are and I don’t want to put you in any danger.”
Naomi waved her off and con
centrated for a few more minutes.
As the silence extended, she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Did you get around it?”
At the question, Naomi looked up. Then smiled. “Go around it? Why would I want to do that? I’m going to follow it.”
Oh god, Carly thought.
• • •
Three hours later, Carly crossed Route 128 heading west on the Massachusetts Turnpike on her way back to Windsor, a stack of papers at her side. Naomi had been able to find some reports and information, most of which she’d e-mailed to Carly, but there had been a few things they’d printed up for her to look at later—mostly reports about Marguerite’s last movements, credit card expenses, and phone usage. Carly planned to identify Marguerite’s patterns and then see if there had been any deviations in the days before she’d been killed.
But she had other papers too. Before leaving Boston, she’d stopped by an Internet café near where she’d parked her car and ran a few searches she didn’t want anyone, not even Marcus, to find out about. There were other people she’d known from that time, people she wanted information on without anyone else knowing, and being in Boston had given her the opportunity she’d needed to do a little of her own digging.
As the city and its suburbs faded away, she glanced at the files on the seat beside her then let her mind drift to the question of Joe. She had hoped to find a connection between Marguerite and anyone named Joe Kincaid, but she and Naomi hadn’t found a thing—not even a phone call. Naomi had then done a deeper search, and while they’d found several Joe Kincaids, none had been the man she remembered. It didn’t make any sense to her. Joe had been the one who had introduced her and Marcus to Marguerite. Didn’t it follow that they would have had some traceable connection to each other?
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