Gently, he reached up and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you that, not out here, not out of the blue. Are you okay?” He had his head tilted down, trying to maintain eye contact with her. Her body still shook in his arms. He didn’t want to let her go.
Again, she nodded. Then took a deep breath and bobbed her head one more time.
“Let’s go inside and we can talk,” he suggested. Rather than agree, she started to look around. He’d heard her drop her keys when she’d started to run so he slipped one arm from around her and slid his other hand into hers, taking a firm grip. Spotting the keys, he leaned down and scooped them up, then led her to the door.
After opening it and hanging the keys on the hook where he’d seen her put them, he waited for her to plug in the alarm code. When she finished, he pulled her over to the table, took her jacket, and motioned for her to sit. After draping both of their coats over the backs of chairs, he made his way to the kitchen.
He went directly to the cabinets where the glasses and whiskey were kept and poured them each a drink, handing Carly hers when he returned to the table. And because he couldn’t help it, as he moved to take his own seat beside her, he ran a hand over her hair then drew it down over her cheek.
She looked up as he sat down and he could see the questions in her eyes. So he decided to answer them to the best of his ability.
“I’ll start with what I know, then what I think I know, and then we can talk about what I don’t know,” he said. Carly said nothing but her eyes watched his and he took her silence as assent.
“I know your mother and uncle were killed fourteen years ago and you and your brother, Michael Davidson, now Marcus Brown, were taken into protective custody. I know the media reported that your uncle was being investigated for financing a few terrorist groups and I know their deaths were blamed on him getting into business with the wrong people.”
“He wasn’t,” she said. “He wasn’t doing business with terrorists.”
He reached over and took her free hand even as she took a sip of whiskey. “I believe you. That’s why I noted that was what the media reported. I also know that, just prior to his death, your uncle began spending time with two men, Vince Archstone and Joe Kincaid. And I know that, just tonight, you learned that Joe Kincaid is really Joe Franks, an FBI agent who, based on the fact that he was in your lives with an assumed name, was probably either undercover himself or lying to your family about who he was. He may also have been the subject of the internal FBI investigation you told me about the other night.”
Carly gave a small nod, not even questioning how he knew this. At least not yet.
“And here is what else I can guess,” he continued. “I can guess someone thought—and seems to still think—you or brother might know something about what was being investigated at that time, which is why you were both put into the witness security program. It’s not a far leap to assume Marguerite Silva was your handler, wasn’t she?” He asked the question gently, knowing how hard it must have been for her and Marcus to find her body here in their hometown, if he was correct.
She stared at her drink, but then gave a small nod. Conflicting emotions battled inside him; he was relieved she seemed to be coming back to him but anxious about what he now knew.
“So when her body showed up here the other day, you and Marcus, rightfully so, in my opinion, believed it to be a message from someone—someone involved in the murder of your mother and uncle and the investigation of the corrupt FBI agents. You think it was a warning to keep whatever it is you might know to yourselves, don’t you?”
Carly continued to stare at her drink, rubbing her fingertips down the sides. Several minutes passed, before she spoke. “Yes, we do. And we also think Marguerite probably died trying to protect us.”
Her voice cracked on that pronouncement and he rubbed his thumb over her palm, giving her the only reassurance she would accept in that moment.
“And when I learned who Joe Franks was, or really, who he wasn’t, it, well, it shook me up.” Her glass rattled as she set it down.
“I imagine it would.”
She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. It’s not just that he wasn’t who we thought he was, or wasn’t who I thought he was. He was in love with my mother. And she with him. Or so I believed,” she finished.
Drew let this sift through his mind before finding the logic, and when he did, something in his chest constricted. “And you think maybe that was all an act too, that maybe your mother died being betrayed by someone she trusted with so much.”
Carly’s only response was a tightening of her hand under his. He didn’t know what to say. He understood how she would find that revelation hard to stomach, and nothing he could say would make it any better.
“What kind of warning do you think Marguerite’s body was? What have you and Marcus talked about?” he asked instead.
She looked up at him and blinked. Then answered. “That’s what’s so frustrating about this. We have no idea. We don’t know what it means because neither of us knows anything, or anything important anyway, about what happened nearly fifteen years ago. I can see how, if we did know something, Marguerite’s death could be an effective warning—a ‘we know you know something and we know where you live so keep your mouth shut’ kind of thing. But we honestly don’t know anything. I didn’t even know Joe was FBI until tonight. He certainly never said anything. Even after my mom and uncle were killed and he introduced us to Marguerite, he acted like he was doing it as our family friend, not as anyone official.”
Her voice had risen and her hand clenched again in his. Without letting go of her, he sat back and took a sip of his drink. As he did so, she pulled away and ran both her hands over her face, burying herself behind them.
“That’s what’s driving me crazy. I don’t know what to do to fix this. I don’t know who is involved. I don’t know what they want from us. And if I don’t know any of that, I don’t know how to protect my friends and their families either. Because if they went after Marguerite, why would they hesitate to go after one of our other friends if we don’t play by whatever rules they’ve set out—rules that we’re not even aware of?”
Her frustration came at him in waves. It didn’t hurt that he knew a thing or two about how she might be feeling. Not exactly, of course, but he’d been in his fair share of situations that made the phrase “between a rock and a hard place” seem quaint.
After another long stretch of silence, Carly took a final, big sip of her drink and stood. He did the same and, after taking their glasses to the kitchen, he rinsed them at the sink and set them out to dry. As he did so, she came and leaned against the counter beside him.
“How did you know?” she asked, her arms braced across her stomach. He had known that question would come.
“I overheard you and Marcus in the café the other day talking about someone named Naomi who was associated with Vivi. It shouldn’t come as a big surprise that all this, that you,” he emphasized, “are of concern to me. So I looked her up and figured out who she was. From there it wasn’t hard to sort out what you might have gone to her to ask for help with. And then, of course, you confirmed you’d done just that.”
“But my name, who I really am?”
“Who you are isn’t a name, Carly. Who you are is who you choose to be. Who you are, in my view, is a capable, caring, loyal woman who is in a difficult situation—but I know that’s not what you were asking,” he rushed as she opened her mouth to, no doubt, point out he wasn’t answering her real question. Drying his hands, he turned and leaned his hip against the counter, facing her.
“I saw you leave the house today, on your way to Marcus’s. You were driving fast and a bit erratic, like something was bothering you. At first, I’ll admit, I thought you were running off to meet another man—Marcus,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “Which, if you are wondering, did not make me feel good. But that’s neither here nor there,”
he added when she frowned at him.
“It took a few minutes, but I realized the most likely reason for you to act so out of character, or what seemed like out of character to me—driving that way—was if something had happened with the case. I knew it meant more to you than you were letting on, so I took a gander and guessed that whatever had you bothered had to do with Marguerite. And since I knew who Naomi was, I called her.”
Again, Carly frowned. “And she told you?”
“Not exactly. I told her what I knew and I also told her I had seen some papers of yours with the name Sophia Lamot Davidson on them.”
“You saw my papers?”
“They were sticking out of a folder when you dropped your purse on the table after getting back from Naomi’s,” he answered. “I didn’t see the actual papers, but the tops had the search string visible and I read the name.”
Her brow furrowed at this, but when she said nothing more, he continued. “Eventually, she called Vivi, verified who I was, and then she and I had a long chat.”
Carly’s eyes went wide and she went a little white. “Oh god, does Vivi know?”
Drew shook his head. “No, she doesn’t. It turns out that as soon as I mentioned your mother’s name, Naomi had started digging. She’d put two and two together before calling Vivi and before she’d told me. She’s aware of the sensitive nature of the situation and assured me that while Vivi may not let it drop, she has accepted Naomi’s request to let she and I handle things for now.”
“That’s not going to last long,” she muttered.
“I know, it probably won’t,” he said. “But it should give us enough time to figure out what to do.”
She looked up. At first she said nothing, but he waited for the question he knew would follow.
“How did you know I was at Marcus’s and, come to think of it, how did you know when I’d be home these past few nights? I can’t imagine you’ve been waiting hours for me.”
Okay, not the question he’d expected. He’d thought she would ask about his statement, about them figuring out what to do together. Then again, her actual question didn’t surprise him entirely.
He ran a hand over his face, then met her eyes. “I placed a tracker on your car before you went to Boston. I knew there was more to this case than you were letting on and I didn’t like the idea of you going at it mostly alone.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “You bugged me?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t bug you. I can’t hear anything you’ve said in your car, there’s no audio on the device. In fact, it’s not even inside your car. But I wanted to be able to know where you were in case something happened.”
A beat passed again. “I see you’re not rushing to offer to remove it.”
“I will if you want me to,” he said. But no, he didn’t plan to make the offer.
“Do you think I’m in danger? I know that sounds stupid to even ask, but since this whole thing started I’ve only been able to talk to Marcus, and neither of us is a dispassionate observer in this whole mess.”
He shook his head. “No you aren’t a dispassionate observer, but neither am I. Not really.” He paused and let those words sink in, then continued. “But yes, I think you could be in danger. I know you and Marcus have been worried about your friends and their families and yes, maybe even a little about yourselves. But I would wager that, given what happened to Marguerite, it’s your friends you are worried about most. I get that, but I also wouldn’t underestimate the danger both you and your brother might be in.”
He waited for her to respond and when she did, she surprised him once again with her train of thought. “It’s weird to have someone else refer to him as my brother,” she said. “It’s been so long since anyone has and when we were put into custody we were told we even had to stop thinking of each other that way. Sometimes I wonder if we were too successful.”
“Carly, don’t,” he said, reaching out to brush his thumb down her cheek. “You and your brother did what you needed to do. But the game has changed and you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”
When she turned to look at him he could see the debate in her eyes, but then, one more time, she surprised him. Without a word, she stepped close to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Instantly, his came around her and pulled her close. Resting his cheek on her hair, he wondered how long it had been since someone had hugged her, had told her she wasn’t alone. Then again, he couldn’t remember how long it had been since someone had just simply hugged him.
Feeling a bit bowled over by the realization, by the fact that it had been so long since he’d offered and received this uncomplicated, yet powerful, comfort, his arms tightened around her. She burrowed against his chest and adjusted her own arms. And for a long moment they stood there.
But then, slowly, Carly pulled back. Stepping away from him, she shook her head.
“I’m sorry, I don’t . . .”
“Don’t,” he cut her off. He didn’t want to hear her apologies or her excuses. She held his gaze and seemed to understand that he’d needed the contact as much as she had. She pursed her lips, then looked away.
“I should be going,” he said with a glance at the clock on the microwave. He and Naomi had agreed to talk again in the morning, but he had some calls he wanted to make that night. He should tell Carly. He would tell her, but he’d do it in the morning. Maybe this way, she’d get a good night’s sleep without thinking about some of the things he and Naomi had decided Naomi should look into.
A good night’s sleep without him.
He cleared his throat and stepped away. Picking up his coat from the chair, he slid into its comfortable warmth. She’d followed him to the table then proceeded him to the door.
“Thank you, Drew,” she said as she opened it.
He turned to look at her. Then he dipped his head and brushed a light kiss across her temple.
“You’re welcome. We’ll talk tomorrow, and don’t forget to set the alarm after I leave.” Something about the statement caused her to give him a small smile. He responded with his own then, before he knew it, found himself seated in his car.
When he pulled into Kit’s driveway fifteen minutes later, he let a small smile tug at his lips. He realized she hadn’t asked him to remove the tracker from her car.
Chapter Ten
To say Drew woke early would be a lie, since he hadn’t really gone to sleep. Throughout the night he’d drifted off for a few minutes here and there, but with what he’d learned from Naomi and his most recent conversation with Carly floating in his head, he was, simply put, worried.
He rolled over in bed, looked at the time, and accepted that sleep would be elusive to him until he figured out how to fix things—figured out how to solve this problem. Carly and Marcus were doing a good job on their own and he didn’t belittle their plans or any actions they’d taken so far, but, well, he was a guy. When someone he cared about had a problem, he had to fix it. Whether they wanted him to or not.
He tucked an arm under his pillow and gazed out the massive windows of the guest room in which he lay. Floor-to-ceiling windows had been installed in nearly every room on the southwestern side of Kit’s house. He still remembered how exposed he’d felt the first few times he had come to visit, as if anyone could be looking in at any moment.
But over time, he’d come to enjoy the view they offered. And he’d come to realize that with the house set so far back on her property, the beauty they let in far outweighed the risk of someone spying.
With an annoyed groan, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Gazing out the window wouldn’t accomplish anything. He needed a plan. But what kind of plan could he put in place? He had no jurisdiction, and given that he’d been part of the investigation for all of ten minutes before the marshals had taken it over, the request for interagency cooperation that Vivi had initiated now meant nothing.
He needed help. Not something he ever readily admitted to.
Turning his head, he glanced at the clock again. Seven forty-five. She’d be awake. Before he could second guess himself, he grabbed his cell and dialed a familiar number.
“Drew?” Dani answered.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?”
She laughed. “Not hardly. TJ has decided he’s a morning person. Luckily, so is his dad, so those two are out for a run while I’m enjoying my breakfast.”
He paused at the domestic image she’d painted. It wasn’t what he had ever expected of Dani, but he had never seen her happier. He also hesitated because, now that he had her on the line, he wasn’t sure what to say.
“It’s about Carly Drummond, isn’t it?”
He sighed. “Was I that obvious?”
“I worked with you—sometimes night and day—for over ten years. For good or for bad, we’re pretty damned good at reading each other.”
Her words carried a lot of truth, but as he heard them now and imagined her sitting in the kitchen of her Portland home—six-months pregnant with twins, her husband and young son out for a run, and her happy about it all—they rang false. Like he hadn’t known her at all.
“I wasn’t always so good at reading you, Dani.”
She let out a sigh herself. “I changed, Drew. You were always good at reading me, sometimes too good. Do you remember how mad I would get at you when you wouldn’t let me do things? It was only because I knew you were right. You were right to stop me or push me. But this, this life I have now, wouldn’t have been possible without you. Not without the support and encouragement you gave me after my parents died, not without the mentorship you gave me when I was with the agency, and not without the chance you took getting us on that mission in Maine. Now, before you start to argue, why don’t you tell me why you called—because I know you didn’t call to hear me sing your praises, your head is already big enough. What’s going on with Deputy Chief Drummond?”
“She’s in trouble,” he said, before he gave himself the chance to stop.
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