by Julie Miller
“Yes, ma’am,” Keir and Duff chimed in together.
“And I hung your jacket in the laundry room. Don’t forget it.”
“No, ma’am.”
While Millie scuttled down the hallway to her room, the brothers fell into their old routine of clearing the table, just as they had done growing up. Keir encouraged Kenna to relax and stay put. There weren’t that many pans and dishes to rinse and load into the dishwasher.
But when Jane Boyle excused herself to go upstairs to her room to make a phone call, Thomas got up and left the table abruptly. “I’ll help.”
“We’ve got this, Dad,” Keir assured him.
But the point wasn’t up for discussion. Thomas carried his plate and coffee mug to the kitchen sink. But just as quickly as he’d gotten up, he switched mental gears and grabbed his jacket off one of the pegs at the back door into the garage. “You boys finish up. I have errands to run. Is anyone parked behind me?”
Without waiting for their answers, the door closed behind him. The garage door opened and a truck engine started before Keir heard his father drive away. “What was that all about?”
Duff had watched his father stride out the door, too. “I’m not sure. But things have been tense since I got here last night.” He rinsed out his milk glass and loaded it into the dishwasher. “Maybe he’s just frustrated about the lack of progress on the church shooting. I know it’s hard on him to see Grandpa like that. He’s called in every marker he has to get some answers.”
Keir handed the last glass to Duff. “He’d tell us if he found out something, wouldn’t he? I mean, it’s not like when Mom died and we were just kids. I know at the time he sugarcoated the true details about her murder. But we’re all grown-ups now. We deal with this kind of stuff every day.”
Duff dried his hands on a towel while Keir started the dishwasher. “I probably didn’t help, dumping on him like I did last night.”
“About what?”
“Work stuff.” Duff glanced around to make sure the others were out of earshot before he nodded toward the foyer. “Meet me out there.”
Keir grabbed his suit jacket from the laundry and followed Duff out to the foyer. “What’s up?”
“I’m the one who should ask ‘What’s up?’” Duff unzipped the gym bag he’d set on the front hall table and pulled out his shoulder holster and badge. “Isn’t Kenna Parker the mouthpiece who made you look like a dumb-ass on the Colbern—”
“Yes,” Keir cut him off, bristling. Although he wasn’t sure if he was taking offense at his brother pointing out how he’d screwed up, or at him bad-mouthing the woman who wasn’t as cold and ruthless as half the department—including him—had pegged her to be. He draped the jacket over the banister and started unrolling the long sleeves of his shirt. “I’m doing my job. I found her wandering in an alley near the Shamrock Bar sometime after she was assaulted last night. The perp dumped her off there. She doesn’t remember the attack at all.”
“That’s rough. Somebody did a real number on her.” Duff slipped the straps of his holster over each shoulder and adjusted the gun beneath his arm. “Any leads?”
“Nothing useful. I’m taking point on the case for now, until somebody tells me differently. Hud’s helping with the legwork.” Keir shrugged into his jacket, straightening his open collar over the damp lapel. “Right now I just need to keep an eye on her.”
“For medical reasons? Legal ones? Or have you got something else going on with her?”
“She’s got no family to take care of her. And her emergency contact who showed up at the hospital was a self-centered prick. I wasn’t sending her home with him. For all I know, he’s the one who assaulted her.”
Duff clipped his badge onto his belt and pulled his worn leather jacket from beneath the bag. “You got a bad vibe on this guy?”
“He was asking an awful lot of questions about what happened. And not one of them was, ‘How are you feeling?’ He has access to the security system at her house and told her she needed a shrink and a plastic surgeon.”
“That’s cold.”
No kidding. “Maybe there’s some professional jealousy. He’s as good a suspect as anyone right now. Besides Hoodie Guy.”
“Hoodie Guy?”
Keir pulled up the picture on his phone to show his brother. “He was close to the dump site and at the hospital.”
“I don’t see any gang colors. The neighborhood around the Shamrock is open territory anyway. Too many cops hanging out.” Duff shook his head and Keir pocketed the phone. “A woman like Kenna Parker could have a lot of enemies.”
“Tell me about it. It’d be nice to know where to start, though.”
Duff pulled his jacket on and zipped the bag shut. “You need anything, you’ve got my number. I might answer.”
Keir grinned at the ribbing, knowing either of his brothers, sister or father would be there in a heartbeat if he said he needed help. But he was still curious about the question Duff had dodged earlier. “What did you have to come over here to talk to Dad about?”
“I’m gearing up to do some undercover work. There’s an outside shot it’s related to the church shooting.”
A bolt of energy shot through Keir’s blood. “How so? Why didn’t you or Dad say anything sooner?”
“Like I said, it’s a long shot. The ATF and state police have been running down some leads on how illegal arms are getting into the city.”
“Like the Mauser rifle and Glock nine mil our perp used.”
Duff nodded. “They were looking for volunteers who know the area, and I was first in line. If I can find out who’s selling the guns—”
“Then maybe you can find out the bastard they sold them to.”
“I might be off the grid for a while. But I wanted to come up with a plan on how I could keep tabs on Grandpa’s recovery and if KCPD gets any new leads on the shooting.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“I’d like to use you, Liv and Niall as couriers. Dad will fill you in on the contact plan we figured out.” Duff looked down the hallway toward the kitchen, as if their father were still there. “Keep an eye on him, too. Dad’s worried I’m going to let things get too personal because I’m chasing down a lead on the shooting. You know what happened the last time I had a personal stake in an undercover op.”
His brother had nearly died on that particular assignment. “You’re smarter now, right?”
Duff grunted at the question that was both a teasing jab and an expression of concern. “I’d like to think so. But if there’s a chance I can get a name on our shooter, I have to do this.”
Although he hated the idea of his big brother putting himself in that kind of danger, Keir agreed. He’d do the same if he was in a position to do so. “Don’t worry about things at this end. We’ll keep pressing for answers on Grandpa. Let us know if you find out anything. Be safe.”
“You know I’m too tough to take down.”
“I know.” Keir extended his hand. “Watch your back anyway.”
Duff pulled him in for a hug, then pushed him away, glancing back toward the kitchen. “Watch yours. I don’t know if a high-powered attorney who defends bad guys with more money than you or I will ever make is someone you want to get involved with.”
“I’m not involved.”
“Dude, you brought her home for breakfast. You’re involved.”
Chapter Five
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Kenna pulled open the passenger door on Keir’s black Charger and dropped into the front seat before he could get out and open the door for her. She could tell she’d startled him. He’d been so intent on studying the image on his phone that he hadn’t heard her leaving the house. “Are you looking at the man with the hood again?” she asked, nodding to the picture.
“N
o. It’s the man who shot Grandpa.”
With that bald pronouncement, the reprieve of relative normalcy she’d enjoyed for the past hour with the Watsons faded. “Did you find him?”
“I wish.” Keir handed her his phone. “Duff and I were discussing the progress on the investigation—or lack thereof. This guy was no amateur. There was no DNA on any of the shell casings, and he didn’t leave any other trace behind. All we know so far are the two types of weapons he used—an M-98 Mauser and a Glock handgun. KCPD has combed through a list of legal owners without anyone suspicious popping.”
“What about illegal weapons?” She knew the sale of unregistered guns was a thriving business, and not every gun owner bothered to get a license.
“Duff thinks he might have a lead on that. But getting the information won’t be easy. And if he can’t track down the supplier, I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until one of the weapons is used in another crime. Then we could at least match ballistics.”
“I can see why you’re having a hard time identifying a suspect. Is this your only photo?”
“It’s the best one. And that’s with enhancement from the crime lab.” He reached over to swipe the screen back to the image of the man he’d seen lurking in the neighborhood where Keir had found her. “I sent Hoodie Guy to the lab, too, to work their magic. Even if we can’t see his face, they can determine his height and see if there are any identifiers on his clothing. I don’t know that he’s the perp who hurt you, but I’d sure like to talk to him.”
More comfortable thinking like a defense attorney than a victim who couldn’t identify or discard a potential suspect, Kenna swiped her finger across the phone screen to take another look at the man who’d shot Seamus. Even if KCPD made an arrest, they’d need a lot more evidence than this photograph to convict him or even get the DA to take the case. She studied the slightly blurred image of a man in a black ski mask, wearing gloves and a long black coat. There was a handgun strapped to his waist beside a big, shiny, silver and brass belt buckle that reflected the light streaming through the stained glass windows. She touched her fingertip to the indistinct rectangle of shiny metal with something that looked like a star engraved on it, which he proudly wore as if he was some kind of rodeo champion. But there was nothing heroic about the image. He held his rifle to his shoulder like a well-trained sniper and was firing down from the balcony of a church.
Kenna’s breakfast curdled in her stomach as she imagined how helpless everyone in the sanctuary below must have felt. “This guy looks like he knows what he’s doing. You’re lucky there weren’t more casualties.”
Keir shook his head as she returned the phone with the disturbing images. “I don’t think it was luck. A guy with that kind of weaponry who could enter the church full of cops without being detected, and then escape as if he’d vanished into thin air? I think he did exactly what he came to do.”
“Shoot your grandfather?” She looked out to the welcoming gray facade of the Watson family home, thinking how comfortable she’d been spending time there. “It’s easier to believe someone would try to kill me than to harm one hair on that sweet, charming man’s head.”
“Hey.” He started the engine before turning to her and winking a handsome blue eye. “I’d like to keep everyone in my city in one piece, if you don’t mind.”
Kenna knew at least half her mouth was smiling. “Thanks. But I read the newspaper reports. There were several injuries at the shooting. Why do you think he was targeting Seamus?”
“The other injuries were from shrapnel—all minor. One lady twisted her ankle and the organist had a heart attack.” Interesting clarification. Keir continued, “The guy didn’t hit anyone else, and I don’t believe he was a lousy shot. Maybe he was targeting our family—upsetting Liv’s wedding, making each of us question every case we’ve worked, every criminal we’ve put behind bars—sending some kind of message we don’t yet understand. If somebody wanted to hurt us, he certainly hit us where it would do the most emotional damage by going after an eighty-year-old man.”
She hadn’t helped the family’s self-doubts by apparently destroying Keir’s most recent case. Instead of apologizing for something she couldn’t remember, Kenna focused on trying to help. “Seamus told me a little bit about the shooting. He said he doesn’t remember being shot or anything that happened until he woke up in the hospital after surgery. But he told me all about your sister Olivia’s wedding—how she wore your mother’s veil, how you and your brothers were acting up at the altar before the ceremony started, how he knew from the sounds that the first shots came from a rifle.” The older gentleman had seemed adamant about sharing what he remembered, as though he was worried he might forget the details the way she had. “Seamus has lots of time on his hands now, and has been doing a lot of reading. He was wondering if you or one of your brothers or sister could pull his case files so he could read through them instead of newspapers and books.”
Keir’s blue eyes narrowed. “He said all that to you? Were you interrogating him?”
Refusing to take offense, Kenna pulled her seat belt over her shoulder and fastened it. “No. I listened. If you don’t rush him, he can articulate well enough to be understood. I could tell it became an exertion for him, but he seemed determined to carry on a conversation...until Jane came downstairs and said he needed to rest.” As she settled more comfortably in her seat, Kenna thought about the pretty, if slightly unsociable, nurse. “Do you know what was bothering her? At first I thought it was me—that Jane thought I was expecting her to take care of me, too, or that I’d ask for free medical advice. But then I realized it wasn’t resentment that had her so distracted, but concern. It was like she was expecting a call that wasn’t coming—or she’d gotten a text about something that upset her.”
“No clue. But you’ve got a good eye for details. I wanted to ask Dad about it, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk.”
“Maybe he’s worried about her. He had a hard time keeping his eyes off her at breakfast.”
“No way.” Keir dismissed her idea with a shake of his head as he shifted the car into Reverse. “He was probably just avoiding an argument, since we had company. He and Jane have rubbed each other the wrong way since he first hired her—Dad’s used to being in charge, and she’s not used to taking orders. But Grandpa has made good strides in his recovery with her, so I think Dad tolerates her for his sake.”
Kenna leaned forward to study the rays of muted sunlight poking through the low-hanging clouds as they headed east. “About Seamus...” This probably wasn’t any of her business, but she wasn’t one to retreat, apparently. There must be something in her personality or legal training that refused to let a subject drop until she got the answer she needed. “He was serious about wanting to take an active role in the investigation. He mentioned it three different times.”
“Grandpa was a desk sergeant for most of his career. He didn’t work that many investigations. He’s been retired almost twenty years. I don’t know who’d still have a grudge against him.”
Kenna was only repeating Seamus’s request, standing up for the stubborn octogenarian the way she hoped she stood up for her clients. “I think he’d appreciate whatever records you could pull for him. He wants to feel useful, like he’s competent enough to help find answers for himself.”
Having made her point, she sat back, turning to watch the houses and tall sweet gum trees in this older residential neighborhood pass by. Fatigue and the achy aftermath of her injuries were quickly sapping the mental boost she’d gotten from her visit with Keir’s family. She was heading home to a place she couldn’t remember and back to that abyss of amnesia where she wasn’t sure who she knew, much less who she was supposed to trust. “I can sure relate.”
Kenna startled when a warm hand wrapped around hers. She turned back to study Keir’s fingers lacing together with hers, resting on the center console. He’d been a
solid rock she could cling to when he held her at the hospital. But she liked this, too. It felt like such a high school thing for two grown-ups to do, but she loved the way their hands fit together, the way Keir’s warmth seeped through her skin and heated the blood that seemed to rush to the place where they touched. Keir’s grasp was a tangible connection to another human being, an anchor to a certain reality, while the people whose faces drifted through her addled brain seemed like ghostly shadows and vague threats she couldn’t be sure were real or imagined.
“We’ll find out who did this to you,” he promised. “I’m going to find out who hurt both you and Grandpa.”
As closely knit as everyone at the Watson house seemed to be, she had no doubt that none of them would rest until they found justice for Seamus and knew for certain their family was safe from any future threat. But Kenna wasn’t holding her breath that she’d find that same kind of unflinching support from anyone at her house. Or that she could count on this kind of support from Keir for much longer. She wasn’t part of his life. He was the Good Samaritan who’d rescued her. And once he’d seen her safely home, he’d go back to his family and his work, and she’d go back to the people and places that she’d forgotten, and get on with her own life.
Still, she held on to the grounding, reassuring contact of Keir’s hand for as long as he was willing.
Kenna was relieved to discover that she remembered the black wrought-iron fence and the redbrick facade of the family estate as they pulled up. He’d already circled the block once, ensuring that there was no one loitering in a parked car nearby, and no hooded stranger standing among the shadows, watching for her return.
The guard shack beside the gate was empty and locked up. Keir called the number from the Weiss Security decal glued to one of the windows and put it on speaker so she could hear the conversation. They confirmed that, although Max Weiss’s company electronically monitored security at the estate, the company didn’t provide guards for onsite security unless specifically requested by a client. The last time any of their people had been there—beyond routine maintenance visits—was for a fund-raising event Kenna had hosted on behalf of the firm...nearly two years earlier.