by Kylie Brant
“No.” Travis’s response was swift. “We all go in together. Or I could go alone, if you prefer.”
Her annoyance faded as she considered the other man. He was avoiding looking at either her or Kell. And she knew intuitively that Whitman had warned him about letting either of them out of his sight.
Her annoyance with Burke shifted to the Travis. Deliberately, she asked, “What do you have in mind, Kell?”
“We haven’t gotten dick from the guys we’ve interviewed today.”
“Not true,” the agent said halfheartedly. “We now know Hubbard was a fitness fanatic and that he was seeing a woman for the last several weeks.”
“That no one has met.” Burke turned to look at her. “Guys close up when they see us coming, but you might have better luck. Chances are this guy”—he jerked his head toward the auto garage across the street—“may already have been tipped off by someone we’ve talked to. He might be looking for the three of us. One alone stands a better chance of getting information if that’s the case.”
Travis frowned as he mulled it over. “You mean by talking to him on some pretext.”
The patience in Kell’s tone was admirable. “That’s right. We haven’t gotten too far being up front about what we want. Tim Molitor”—he nodded toward the garage—“might be a little more open with Macy.”
Travis rubbed his chin contemplatively before sending her a look. “Are you comfortable with that? It would mean you having to think on your feet. We’ll come up with a story for you to approach him with, of course.”
“I think I can handle it,” she said dryly. “I do have some experience in the area.”
“Some fairly recent,” Kell add wickedly.
Macy grabbed her purse and glared at him. She’d been referring, of course, to her time with BII and Raiker. Trust Burke to reference her episode with Travis this morning.
“I still think we need to brainstorm a cover story . . .” The agent’s words were lost as she yanked open the car door and got out. Quick reflexes were the only thing that saved her when she immediately slipped on the slick pavement and nearly landed on her backside.
“Watch that first step,” warned Kell blandly.
Sending him her most killing glare, which lacked a little something in light of her ignoble exit, she slammed the door and rounded the hood to march to the corner. She heard the buzz of the window as it lowered behind her. “Word of advice—lose the hat.”
Since no fitting rejoinder came to mind, she chose to ignore him. And kept her eyes warily on the pavement as she crossed at the light, heading toward Honest Tim’s Auto.
It occurred to her that most honest businessmen didn’t feel compelled to advertise that trait, but then her suspicious nature had been acquired early in life. Once she’d crossed the street without incident she stopped to surreptitiously pull out her BlackBerry and do a little belated research. Then she squared her shoulders and headed into Honest Tim’s.
Manufacturing a harried smile for the bored twenty-something girl behind the counter, she asked, “I’m looking for Tim.”
The girl jerked her head to an adjoining door. “In there.”
Macy looked through the door’s window and saw that she was referring to the auto bay. Slipping through the door, she approached a pair of legs that were jutting from beneath a minivan. “Is Tim around?”
The creeper rolled out from beneath the vehicle. Its occupant was in his forties, with a porn-star mustache and a thicket of wiry dark hair. He wore insulated coveralls with an embroidered name tag. She’d found Molitor. “Hi,” she said with phony enthusiasm. “I’m Sandy Jenkins. Nick recommended I talk to you about my fuel pump.”
“Nick?” Wariness flickered across the man’s face as he got up.
“Nick Hubbard. He said you had a car place and that you’d treat me right. I got a quote from E-Z Auto, on Greeley and Seventy-sixth. They want over a thousand dollars for a new fuel pump, installed. I was talking to Nick about it at the gym last week. He said they’re ripping me off and told me to talk to you.” She bumped up the wattage of her smile. “So I’m talking to you. Is that a good price for replacing a fuel pump?”
He grabbed a grease rag from his back pocket and rubbed his hands on it. “You the gal he’s been dating?”
“He’s dating someone?” She strove for a surprised expression. “He didn’t say.” She lifted a shoulder. “We just talk at the gym, you know?”
“Yeah. He’s nuts about working out.” Obviously more at ease now, he made no attempt to hide his once-over. “Looks like you put in plenty of time there, too.”
Honest Tim was a lowlife lech, but Macy forced herself to nod enthusiastically. “I do, but I haven’t seen Nick there all week. Maybe he’s been busy with that woman you mentioned. The one he’s been seeing.”
“Denise . . . or is it Diane?” Shoving the grease rag back in his pocket, Tom scratched his chin. “No, I think it’s Denise. Never met her, you know? And Nick doesn’t say much. But I know they’ve had a thing now for two or three months.”
“Well, I’ll have to tease him about her next time I see him. He’s always giving me a bad time about my reps.”
“No one’s talked to you yet?”
Feigning ignorance, she asked, “About what?”
The mechanic lowered his voice conspiratorially and took a step closer. “A buddy of mine and Nick’s called this morning to warn me. Said some feds are nosing around asking questions about him.”
Feds? She nearly rolled her eyes. Difficult to say if the buddy had screwed up their identification that badly or if Honest Tim was trying to impress her. “Why would they have questions about Nick?”
“You ask me, they’re trying to hang him with that kid’s disappearance. You knew he’s a security guard for Stephen Mulder, right? The billionaire whose kid was snatched a few days ago?”
Macy rounded her eyes and considered that the stage could have used her talents. “OhmyGod, I never knew . . . they think he kidnapped that little girl?”
Tom smoothed his thin mustache. “Sounds like it. I got a theory that Nick took off when it looked like they were gonna blame him for it and is lying low until they catch the real kidnapper. You ask me, he’s holed up with his girlfriend until this blows over.”
“That’s smart, I guess,” she said slowly, her mind furiously racing. Since no one they’d talked to so far knew the identity of the woman in question, it might be a good place for Hubbard to hide.
Maybe even with the girl.
Chapter 7
“I need to talk to the officer posted in the car out front first. I’ll get the key.”
“Go ahead.” Kell was already getting out of the car. “They’ve got the security alarm turned off now, right? I can let myself in.”
“Burke . . .”
He walked rapidly toward the house. It was dark. He was cold and hungry, never a safe combination. And that duo surely accounted for the annoyance he was beginning to feel every time Travis sent Macy one of those looks via the rearview mirror. Seriously. The guy was about as subtle as a lovesick poodle.
Hubbard’s neighbor, Snowblower Guy, was hard at work on the inch of fresh snowfall. The machine actually had a headlight on it. Kell was pretty certain there was no place he could be tempted to live that required frequent use of a snowblower, with or without headlights. Virginia got snow, although nothing like this. But condo living meant he never had to deal with its removal personally. Some things were meant to be delegated.
“Someone’s cranky. Miss nap time?”
Macy’s voice sounded at his elbow, but he didn’t slow to look at her. “No, I missed lunch. And dinner. What is it the two of you have about not eating?”
Amusement sounded in her voice. “Remind me tomorrow to be sure to swing by McDonald’s at noon. Something tells me you prefer the ones with the indoor playgrounds.”
“I prefer the ones with food.” He was already heading around the attached garage to the back before it occurre
d to him that the front door was probably no more of a challenge. And didn’t require wading through a foot of snow. Sure they’d attract more attention out front, but a DPD squad car had been parked out there for days now. They weren’t exactly keeping a low profile.
He hunched his shoulders against the frigid blast of air as they turned the corner into the backyard. Brainpower required fuel. Food provided fuel. Tomorrow he’d make damn sure they picked up a sandwich sometime during the day. Or maybe he could grab something in the kitchen to pack for a snack.
“Geez, it’s dark out here,” he heard Macy mutter. “I thought we left the back porch light on.”
“We did. Probably burned out.” He reached into his inside coat pocket where he’d tucked the kit of picks and plucked out a pencil flashlight. Switching it on, he handed it to her. “Here. You’ll need to hold this anyway so I can get us in.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Travis?”
“If you can’t stand to be apart from the agent for a few minutes, you know the way back to the car.” They’d reached the back steps. He climbed the first one before stomping the snow from his boots, then continued up the rest.
“You are really a child.”
Ordinarily her clipped prissy tone would have amused him, but he was too irritated. “Just saying you might want to tone down the dewy-eyed sympathetic ingénue bit.” He stopped and pulled out the kit of picks with a bit more force than needed. “I know it was my idea last night, but keep playing it out, and it’s just gonna be cruel. The guy is starting to buy it, know what I mean? And unless you have a longing to settle down and become a Colorado cowgirl with . . .”
The penlight rapped smartly across his head. “Ow.” He reached a hand up to rub at his temple, glowering at her. “What’s your problem?”
“You,” she informed him, “are an ass. And you change your mind faster than a three-year-old in a toy store.”
The fact that her point had merit didn’t mean he had to agree with it. “Shine the light over here.” Once she obeyed, he shoved his gloves into his pockets and went to work on the lock. “I’m just saying. Don’t blame me if you’re fending off Travis’s vows of undying devotion before this is over. The guy is already half-smitten.”
“Since he might be joining us at any moment, I suggest you drop it.” The statement sounded like it had been made from between gritted teeth. “I’m tired of hearing you bang on about it. I had no idea he’d be so . . .”
“Susceptible to those wiles you claimed you don’t have?” The tumblers fell in place on the dead bolt, so he turned his attention to the doorknob lock. “Like I told you, they’re more potent than you . . . What the hell?”
“What?”
“The lock on the doorknob wasn’t secured. So much for Whitman’s crime scene techs. They must have neglected to secure it when they left.”
She snapped on the lights just inside the kitchen and looked around warily. “Unless someone’s been in here since then.”
“Yeah, maybe Hubbard came back and picked up a few things he left behind.”
“You’re impossible.” After taking off her boots, she stalked by him, managing to seem somehow regal and miffed at the same time. He wrestled out of his boots and followed in her wake, more than a little shocked at his loss of control.
What the hell did it matter to him if Travis all of a sudden was tripping over his tongue when it came to Macy? They could use his reaction to her, if this morning was any example. Although from the sounds of what the man had revealed today, he’d probably been through some rough times. Which just made Kell feel like a jerk, further souring his mood.
“Don’t touch anything,” he called to Macy. “I know exactly where those files are.” Her silence wasn’t much of a surprise. He hadn’t met a woman yet who didn’t know how to use the silent treatment to good effect. His guilty conscience just made it more effective.
He took the stairs two at a time and caught up with her halfway to Hubbard’s bedroom. “Look, I was joking, okay?” It was only a half lie at any rate. He snapped on the light to the bedroom as he followed her into it. “Blame it on lack of food. I have the metabolism of a ten-year-old boy.”
“From my observation, the similarities don’t stop there.”
“Good one.” He shook a finger at her admiringly. “You’re better than you used to be with the comebacks. Have you been taking lessons?” The flush that flooded her cheeks at the suggestion had him stopping to peer closer at her. “That’s it, isn’t it? What’d you do, go online for a list of insults? Or ask someone to tutor you?”
“You’re being ridiculous.” The color was still there, but her voice was cool. “Just get the files Whitman wants.” He cast her a long considering look before obeying. He was onto something there. It wasn’t just the flush in her cheeks—it was the absence of a denial.
Crossing swiftly to the closet, he knelt in front of the filing cabinet and pulled the bottom drawer open. He hadn’t relocked it because the crime scene evidence recovery unit was being called in after their visit last time.
He flipped through the files and withdrew the tax records when a small sound alerted him. Turning to look over his shoulder, Kell was shocked to see Macy holding her weapon. “Okay, I apologized once, okay?” It had been an apology of sorts, hadn’t it? Rising, he noted two things at once. The gun wasn’t pointed at him. And the imperceptible cock of her head indicated something in the hallway.
He set down the file and withdrew his weapon with one smooth motion, continuing to talk in a slightly louder voice. “It’s not your fault you needed lessons for witty replies, you know. I blame too much British television. No one else in the world thinks their humor is funny, so it’s no wonder your education is lacking in that area.”
Sidling up beside her, he peered in the direction she indicated and saw nothing outside the room but shadows.
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, I wasn’t raised in England.”
Her voice sounded normal. Slightly peeved, which was the norm, at least when she spoke to him.
“Couldn’t prove it by me, Duchess.” He strained to see beyond the hallway into the empty bedroom beyond it. They’d found nothing of interest there the first time they’d searched. According to the report he’d lifted from Travis, neither had the crime scene unit.
He carefully scanned the dim interior of the opposite room. Nothing seemed out of place. “Travis might be different, though.” Headlights from a passing car sliced through the darkness of the space. Silhouetting a black shape crowded into the corner of its closet. He sidled closer to Macy. “I was never much a Monty Python fan, myself.” He caught her eye and signaled for her to head downstairs. Was rewarded by a vehement shake of her head. Big surprise. “But I can actually see the two of you cozied up on a couch watching The Holy Grail together. Or bonding over Benny Hill.” With his free hand, he pointed to her and used his fingers to mime her walking down the stairs. Turning off the lights. Closing the door. And watched, relieved, when comprehension dawned on her face.
“Stop babbling and get the file. I’ll wait for you in the car.” Easing back on the safety, she slipped the weapon in its holster and started for Hubbard’s bedroom door.
Kell hoped like hell she was just playing along and not intent on summoning Travis. The last thing he needed right now was for the CBI agent to come charging in here. He’d worked with Macy before. He trusted her instincts.
The same couldn’t be said for the other man.
He heard the faint sound of the kitchen door closing. He made no effort to move silently as he retrieved the file and carefully placed his weapon inside it. Not a perfect point from which to draw if he needed to, but it would do. Then he snapped off the light and left the room, jogged down the steps.
Macy had left the house dark, and he bumped into the edge of the hallway table as he took the corner too sharply. He recognized her form, slight and shadowy, yet somehow feminine, standing inside the kitchen door. Drawing closer,
he jerked his head toward the outside. She shrugged, indicating that she didn’t know where the agent was.
He reached past her, twisted the knob, and pulled the door open, only to shut it again loudly. Then he set the file on the kitchen counter and retrieved his gun from it. Tiptoeing back toward the stairs, he felt Macy right behind him.
Without waiting for his order, she fanned out, moving to crouch behind one leather couch as he stationed himself around the corner of the dining room. They didn’t have long to wait. A stair tread creaked lightly.
Someone was heading down the stairs.
Kell eased back the safety on his weapon. The intruder was at a disadvantage because he was staying low. Smart. The window of the front door faced the stairs. No movement in front of the window to alert the cop in the patrol car out front. He waited until the figure was within two feet of his hiding place when he swung around the corner. “Stop right there.”
The shadowy figure paused, then rose in one lithe motion and swung a bag in his direction. He sidestepped unharmed, but Macy had already rushed to hem the stranger in. “Drop it. Hands behind your head.”
The first thing he realized was that the person almost certainly wasn’t Hubbard. The figure was far shorter than the security guard’s six-three height. Then when the bag was slowly lowered to drop to the floor with a slight thud, that realization was closely followed by another.
It also wasn’t a man.
Reaching out with his free hand, he felt along the wall until he located the switch for the dining room lights. Flipped it on. “She’s armed.”
“I can see that.” Without lowering her weapon, Macy approached the stranger. “Keep your hands where we can see them.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” the woman started. She was a couple inches taller than Macy, long and lithe where the other woman was short and curvy. Her hair was sandy brown and cut almost as short as a man’s. Her eyes, alight with resignation and worry, were brown.