Carly didn’t need any more encouragement so she said thanks, signed out, and headed home, where she promptly undressed and crawled into bed for a two-hour nap.
After waking up and having lunch, she debated getting back into bed for another nap or maybe to watch some movies, but six boxes sitting in the garage attached to the main house were calling to her. And the fact that if she fell asleep again, she’d never sleep that night.
Pushing aside the thought that maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing—considering Drew’s late-night visits—she traipsed out to the garage and started hauling her belongings back to the carriage house.
Setting them down in the family room, she opened the first and started to wade through the items. Smiling at some of the things she’d decided to save, like an old wool sweater, her prom dress, and her school yearbooks, she started dividing things into piles—things to keep and put away, things to throw away, and things to give away. The dress and sweater, which were still in surprisingly good condition, went in the latter pile.
Halfway through the third box, a box of books, she picked up one of her old favorites—The Black Stallion. She’d inherited the horse-loving gene from her mother and she remembered begging her mom for the book when she’d been about seven or eight years old. For a long moment, she sat and looked at the familiar cover, remembering not just the day she’d received the book but the day she’d gotten her first pony, the day she’d gone to her first show, the day she’d won her first blue ribbon. She didn’t remember her first day riding though; she’d started so early, she couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t ridden.
With a sigh for the life that was gone, she placed the book on the pile of stuff to keep and put away. But she’d placed it too close to the edge of the stack of books already in the pile and the hardback tipped and fell. And out came a picture.
Carly sucked in a breath. Slowly, she picked up the photo. In it, she wore her black riding jacket and white shirt as she stood next to her riding instructor holding a tri-colored championship ribbon. She remembered that day well. It wasn’t the first time she’d won a championship ribbon, but it had been the first time she’d done so on a horse born and raised on their family farm. The petite mare had been one of her mother’s favorites.
Unbidden, tears came to her eyes and a wave of longing pressed down on her. Gently caressing the photo, she knew she should put it away. After one last look, she went to slide the picture, and the memories it had invoked, back into the book, but something else in the image caught her attention. Wiping her eyes with her palms, she held it back up.
In the background, but clearly visible, Joe Kincaid stood smiling. The sight gave her pause and on a whim, she hurried upstairs to her computer. Scanning the image, she cropped the photo so that only Joe’s face showed. Opening up her e-mail, she typed up a quick note to Naomi and attached the image. She didn’t know whether Naomi could run facial recognition or not, but on the off chance that she could, the image would help.
Within seconds, Naomi responded, saying she had a few other things to work on but would run the image through her programs while she worked and would let Carly know if she found anything. Wishing she could have an answer right away, but knowing how unreasonable that was, Carly made her way back downstairs to finish her unpacking. She had barely gone through one more box—one more box of mainly things to give away—when her phone rang.
Hoping to hear Naomi’s voice, she answered before looking at the number.
“Hello?” she said.
“Carly Drummond?”
Not Naomi, but a voice that did sound familiar. Only she couldn’t place it.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“It’s US Marshal Mikaela Marsh. Is this Carly?”
Carly, who had stood up to answer her phone, sank down into the upholstered chair in her living room.
“Yes, it is. Do you have any news for me?”
Marsh paused on the other end of the line, then started speaking. “We found where Marguerite was killed.”
Carly felt a sharp stab in her heart. “Where?”
“An old abandoned textile distribution building.”
“In DC?”
“Yes.”
“How did you find it? Did it give you any information?”
Deputy Marsh let out another sigh. “I take it from your questions you weren’t the one who called the tip in, or arranged to have it called in?”
That gave Carly a pause. “Someone called in a tip?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting. But no, it wasn’t me. Where did the call come from?”
“The phone it was called in on was traced to the DC area, but we couldn’t get anything more specific than that.”
“Because there wasn’t enough time to trace it, or because the data was being obscured?” Given what had happened with Marguerite’s fingerprints and what Naomi had found even in her initial searches, Carly assumed that obscuring the origins of a call would probably be considered child’s play by whomever was involved in this.
“Not enough time or data. The call lasted about forty-five seconds, but by the time the person receiving the call realized the potential validity of the information, there were only about fifteen seconds left.”
“Not enough time to get a trace,” she muttered over the last part of Deputy Marsh’s statement. “And who received the tip, Deputy Marsh?”
“Call me Mikaela, and it was me,” the marshal added on an exhale. “I don’t know how they got connected to me. There hasn’t been any PR about this at all.”
“So it was probably someone who knows something.” Stating the obvious made her feel a bit like Marcus. On the other end of the line, Mikaela said nothing.
Finally, Carly asked what she wasn’t sure she wanted to. “Was there any evidence, any . . .” She let her voice trail off.
Again, Mikaela let out a deep breath. “Yeah, there was lots of evidence that she’d been there. Blood, fluids, a shoe. We’re still sorting through it all, but so far, no evidence of anyone else.”
Carly let the images that information brought forth sift through her brain. She didn’t want to but she needed to because it should have been close to impossible to have been able to do the things that had been done to Marguerite without leaving a trace.
“No cigarette butts?” she asked, remembering Marcus’s report to her.
“No.”
If they hadn’t left those, then they probably hadn’t left the knife or whatever they’d used to hit her either. “There were indications that she’d been bound, right? Did you find any rope?” she asked, thinking maybe there could be transfer DNA from whoever had tied her up.
“She was, but there wasn’t any rope either. It’s like a cleaning crew came through and swept the area clean except for the blood, fluids, and her one shoe.”
Again, that information gave her pause. To only half clean a crime scene? That didn’t make sense. “Do you think it was staged?”
“It crossed our minds, but the state of the evidence confirms it’s been there since her time of death.”
“What the hell?” she said, earning her a dark laugh from the marshal.
“Yes, our sentiments exactly.”
The two women remained on the line in silence. Hesitantly, Carly asked another question. “And have you discovered anything else? Anything about how this might be tied to the FBI investigation?”
This time Mikaela paused before answering. “We haven’t yet. I did dig through Marguerite’s paper files though, and I came across the name of Anton Perelli—he was a deputy director at the bureau at the time of the investigation.”
“Was?”
“He died of a heart attack about a month ago.”
“Um, I hate to ask this and sound like a conspiracy nut, but was it suspicious?”
“No, it wasn’t. Heart disease ran in his family. With the stress of his job, his lack of fitness, and his cholesterol numbers, it came as a surprise to no one.”
It wasn’t a critique and Mikaela knew it. “We certainly don’t have as much as we’d like to have, given that we have her body and the crime scene. We do have one last internal lead, though. Marguerite’s former boss at the time of the investigation. He’s due back in town from his vacation in a few days.”
“And you think he might know something?”
“Hard to say, but since Marguerite was working for him when she became part of that investigation, we need to ask.”
Maybe he knew more, but they wouldn’t know one way or the other for another few days.
Carly let out a long breath. “Well, thanks for calling,” she said. “I appreciate the update.”
“You’re keeping your promise?” Mikaela asked. Carly didn’t ask which promise. But she also didn’t want to lie to the woman who’d just shared what she’d shared.
“I took your warning to heart, Mikaela, about the computer searches, and I don’t have the knowledge to do that smartly. I don’t want to put myself, Marcus, or anyone here in town at risk by calling attention to ourselves. In fact, I’ve been given a few days off and am at home unpacking,” she answered without answering.
“Good,” Mikaela said. “If anything happens up there, you’ll let me know?”
“Yes, I will. And thank you again for calling. Marguerite went above and beyond the call of duty when she met Marcus and me. It’s been a few years since I last saw her, but she meant a lot to both of us.”
Mikaela murmured something that sounded like “you’re welcome” then promised to call if she heard anything more. After hanging up, Carly took a look at her two remaining boxes and decided to take a break.
After making herself a cup of tea, she grabbed a blanket and went to sit out on her back porch to watch the evening descend. Wrapping herself up, she sipped her drink as the sun dipped behind the hills, casting the scattered clouds into brilliant hues of pink and orange. She gave a moment’s thought to the last few times she’d been out on this porch with Drew. He’d enjoy this sunset. She didn’t know him well, but she imagined he would.
As she sipped her tea, she stilled her mind and let the evening unveil itself to her. When darkness took over and her mug was long empty, she stood, stretched her legs, and returned to the house. She was placing her mug in the sink when her phone rang again. Her short break had returned some much needed calm to her perspective, but that all went out the window when Naomi’s number appeared on the screen.
“Naomi?” she answered.
“Carly?” Naomi’s voice sounded strained and anxious.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
Naomi took a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t think you’re going to like what I just found out.”
Chapter Nine
Drew sat in his car on the side of the road about a quarter of a mile from Carly’s driveway. He wasn’t hesitating to visit her this time, but he thought he’d seen the headlights of her car driving toward him—more like speeding toward him—and he’d pulled over out of instinct.
Sure enough, it was her. He watched as she blew past him, not slowing a bit. Her car disappeared in his rearview mirror as he pulled out his phone. Opening the app that corresponded to the transmitter he’d left on her car, he sat and watched the little red dot make its way toward town, then north onto the Taconic Parkway. Eight minutes later, the Berkshire Spur of the Massachusetts Turnpike took her west. Frustration weighed on his chest as he turned his car around and headed back to Kit’s house. He knew her destination—Albany, to see her partner.
Drew dropped his phone on the kitchen island when he returned to Kit’s and made his way to the picture window over the sink, where he stood. He didn’t let himself think anything, he didn’t let his mind process any thoughts because he knew he wouldn’t like them. Jealousy, frustration, and desire weren’t emotions he was used to feeling in any prolonged capacity.
But then, as he watched the moon, brightening the valley before him as it rose in the night sky behind the house, logic managed to wend its way into his brain. Carly was a cop, through and through. Her speeding just didn’t make sense. Not when looked at in the vein of being on the way to meet a man. Especially not a man she saw every day at work.
This train of thought didn’t make him feel any better
Because the only reason he could fathom for her to speed off to see Marcus Brown was Marguerite Silva. Before that thought had even completely registered in his mind, he had his phone in his hand, an e-mail from a colleague filling his screen. Two minutes later, the phone rang at the number included in the message.
“Hello?” came the voice at the other end.
“Hello,” he said. “Is this Naomi DeMarco?”
She paused. “May I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Drew Carmichael. I’m a colleague of your cousin Vivi and a friend of Carly Drummond’s.”
She made a ‘hmmm’ sound on the other end of the line. He should have expected her to be more circumspect than most. He could have pulled rank and called in favors, but that would have taken time. So instead, he laid it all on the line.
“You have no reason to trust me, but if you call your cousin, she’ll vouch for me. But before you do, let me tell you what I know and what I need from you.”
On the other end of the line, she gave a small chuckle. “You’re a bit presumptuous aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I am even under normal circumstances, but this circumstance is far from normal, so bear with me.” When she didn’t say anything, he continued, laying out everything he knew about Marguerite and what Carly had told him the night before—well almost.
“An interesting story, Mr. Carmichael, do continue.”
“I also know she was looking into someone by the name of Sophia Lamot Davidson, but I don’t know if those were her searches or yours.”
“Sophia Lamot Davidson?” Naomi repeated.
“Yes. What she has to do with anything, I don’t know. But I do know Marguerite Silva is of primary concern to her.” Drew took a moment and let what he’d said sink in. Naomi didn’t speak but he could hear the sound of her keyboard clicking away in the background.
“And what do you want from me?” Naomi asked.
“Have you talked to her recently? Have you given her any new information?”
“And why would you ask?”
It dawned on him that Naomi DeMarco had yet to confirm she’d even spoken with Carly, but still he persevered. “Because I saw her driving away from her house a short time ago and, judging by the way she was driving, she was agitated and distracted by something. I’m concerned about her.”
Again silence fell across the line. He didn’t have much more to add, so he just silently hoped that maybe Naomi would believe him—or would believe him enough to at least call her cousin to confirm his identity and make sure that it was okay to talk to him.
“Ah, shit.”
His chest tightened. “Ms. DeMarco?”
“Hold on. I’ll call you back.”
He stared at his phone for a long moment after she’d hung up, then set it down. He drummed his fingers on the countertop and willed it to ring. Five minutes and twenty-two second passed before it did. He answered before the first ring ended.
“Yes.”
“Drew?” Naomi asked.
“Yes.” He didn’t like the anxiety in her voice.
“I think we may have a problem.”
• • •
Drew leaned against the porch railing as he waited for Carly to come home. The app on his phone told him she would be there in less than six minutes. He wished he could be waiting for her inside her house, with the lights on and the fireplace lit, not out there on her porch in the dark. Not after what he’d learned.
The headlights from her car swept over him as she pulled into the parking area, momentarily blinding him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The air, cold enough to hold almost no
scent, chilled his face and lungs. When he heard the engine switch off, he opened his eyes and watched as she opened her door and unfolded from the driver’s seat.
Her blonde hair fell around her face and she tucked a strand back even as she pulled her jacket tighter around her body. Shutting the car door, she started toward him.
He pushed off the railing so she would see him.
She hesitated at his movement, then continued. “Drew?” she said, coming to a stop in front of him. “Is everything all right? You don’t look,” she paused and cocked her head. “Well, you look like something is bothering you. Is everything all right?” she repeated.
He regarded her hazel eyes for a long moment as question after question came spinning through his mind. But only one thought made it out.
“I don’t think it is—is it, Carolyn Davidson?”
He knew she was going to run a split second before she did and when she turned to bolt, his arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her back toward him. His action hadn’t been well thought out and she slammed into him with more force than he’d anticipated. His other arm immediately went around her, holding her in place.
And based on the wild look in her eyes, he had about ten seconds to make her trust him before she started fighting.
“Carly, it’s me. It’s Drew. I’ve been Kit’s friend for fifteen years and have been coming to Windsor long before you even moved here. I’ve been with the CIA for nearly twenty years, I have never been with the FBI. I was twenty-five and stationed overseas when your mother was killed. Carly, look at me. You know me. You know I would never hurt you. I’m not one of them.”
She didn’t really know him, not in the usual sense anyway. But he did believe she knew him in a way that mattered in this moment.
He could feel her shaking in his arms.
“Carly, look at me,” he pleaded.
Slowly her eyes came up.
“It’s me,” he said quietly. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you.”
After a long moment, she gave a jerky nod.
“It’s,” her voice sounded thin but at least she could speak. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve heard that name.”
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