Whisper of Warning

by Laura Griffin

  “I know who you are.”

  “We need to talk.”

  He studied her up close for the first time. She had a certain toughness about her, despite the blond hair and the cream suit. Her purse and shoes were cream, too. Very feminine, but the outfit didn’t hide the edge.

  She sighed. Then she zipped the phone back into her purse and folded her hands in front of her. She gave him a look that said, “Bring it,” but her tightly clasped hands said something else.

  “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “I have?”

  “You have.”

  Another sigh. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “I want to talk about the LivTech case.”

  A server appeared with a bowl of minestrone and a breadstick that smelled like garlic.

  “Thank you,” she said to the server. Then to Nathan, “The transcript’s a public record. You can read about it.”

  “True enough. Thing is, I’m more interested in what’s happened since the trial.”

  She scooped up a spoonful, and he admired her for ordering red soup while wearing an outfit like that. “Which means?”

  He leaned back in the booth. “A dead attorney. Two dead jurors. Kind of weird, don’t you think?”

  She dabbed her mouth with a napkin and some of that pink lipstick rubbed off. “I wasn’t aware there were two dead jurors.”

  “Martin Pembry washed up on the shores of Laguna Madre yesterday morning.” He shrugged. “I’d think you’d be getting a little jumpy.”

  “Jumpy?”

  “’Bout your safety.”

  She reached for her drink. Her gaze was nonchalant, but she gripped the cup too hard.

  “I can get you protection. If you’ll give me an idea what’s happening, I can line something up.”

  She looked away. “What makes you think I need protection?”

  “Don’t you? Isn’t that why you’ve been leaving work every night at five? Going straight home, locking the doors up tight?” Her gaze snapped to his, and he continued. “Security guard at your condo seems extra cautious about your visitors these days. You telling me you didn’t give him a heads-up?”

  She’d gone rigid at his words. Maybe she didn’t like the idea he was watching her. Maybe she didn’t like the idea someone else might be, too.

  She picked up her purse and slid from the booth. “I have nothing more to discuss, Detective.”

  He looked up at her. “You could be next, you know. You’d be smart to talk to me, let me help you.”

  “Thanks, but I can take care of myself.”

  She turned and walked away. Nathan watched her go, then looked at the abandoned soup. She’d hardly touched it.

  But his business card was gone.

  Fiona’s wedding day was blue and bright and full of promise.

  Especially for Will.

  He watched the smiling couple emerge from the church, followed by a crowd of guests. Fifty-two, by his count—not a tiny wedding, but not nearly large enough for Will to drop in unnoticed.

  From his blind across the street, he watched Devereaux and all the other guests head for their cars. The ceremony had been simple, with a minimum of fluff. Fiona wore a knee-length white dress, no veil, no train. She wore a smile, too, and it flickered for just a moment as she gazed up and down the street, as if looking for someone.

  After the couple left the church, Will retrieved his Chevy from a nearby parking garage and made his way across town. The reception was at their house, where Courtney had stayed and where Will had wolfed down breakfast five weeks before. Will had staked out the location ahead of time and found an empty house on the street just behind Fiona’s. He backed into that driveway now and angled his Suburban under the shadow of a massive oak tree. Fiona’s backyard was visible through the chain-link fence across the street. Will cut the engine. He waited.

  The September sun was hot, and they’d planned an indoor party. Guests were mingling, though, and little clusters kept forming on the back deck as people stepped outside to have a private conversation or maybe a smoke. Will’s skin turned damp beneath his black T-shirt. His boots felt heavy. He took a cool swill of Gatorade and continued to watch and wait.

  Hurry up and wait.

  His phone vibrated in the pocket of his jeans. Devereaux. Damn, had he spotted him out here?

  “Where are you?” Devereaux demanded. “I thought you were on shift today.”

  “I’m off the clock. Why?”

  “I’m at the station. You won’t believe what just came in.”

  Will’s chest tightened, but he didn’t say a word.

  “You remember that lady lawyer? Tried the drug case with Alvin?”

  “Lindsey Kahn,” Will said. “What about her?”

  “I went to visit her yesterday on a hunch. She’s been dodging me for days. Anyway, I gave her my business card, and now her boyfriend just called and said she never came home from work yesterday.”

  Will’s skin went cold. “She’s missing?”

  “Her car’s at her health club, but no one’s seen her since yesterday at five.”

  Some movement across the street caught Will’s eye. A flash of white…

  Shit.

  “Anyway, the boyfriend’s worried. Says she’s been nervous lately. Paranoid about her safety all the time.”

  Will cursed himself as Fiona walked up the driveway. She yanked open the passenger door with a squeak, and Will winced as she slid her immaculate white dress over his ratty upholstery. She closed the door.

  “I’ll call you later,” he told Devereaux, and hung up.

  For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Then her attention shifted across the street, where her wedding reception was in full swing.

  “Congratulations,” he said lamely.

  “Thanks.” She cast a glance around the truck and seemed intrigued instead of horrified. “This thing’s big. I’m surprised I didn’t see you at the church.”

  “I was on foot.”

  Her gaze lingered on the backseat, and he winced again as she picked up the file there. She dropped it into her lap. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she flipped through the pages. She paused on an autopsy photo of Walter Greene. The remains were charred, but someone in Fiona’s line of work would know precisely what she was looking at.

  Will watched her and waited. She flipped through the pages and stopped on an incident report—one of several domestic disturbances contained in the folder.

  “Mom married him during one of her dry phases,” she muttered. “Said he helped her find God.”

  She continued to thumb through the papers and paused on a mug shot of Courtney at age eighteen. She’d been picked up on a DUI, and she looked it. Fiona frowned at the picture.

  “I shouldn’t have moved out,” she said.

  Will didn’t respond.

  “Sometimes I wonder how things would be different—”

  “Don’t.”

  She glanced up.

  He reached over and gently closed the file. He took it from her lap and dropped it onto the backseat. No one should have to think about this crap on her wedding day.

  She looked down at her lap now and twisted her wedding ring. “I don’t think she killed him.”

  Will didn’t say anything. The evidence was inconclusive, but the motive and the opportunity were pretty overwhelming.

  Fiona cleared her throat. “I don’t know what set her off, really. She wouldn’t talk about him. I think she saw him somewhere unexpectedly, and she just snapped. It was a Friday, I remember. I dropped by her apartment. She’d made these flyers, and that weekend she snuck into his church and put them in all the hymnals.”

  Will didn’t respond. One of the flyers was stuck in the file somewhere. Rev. Walter Greene: pedophile. They were printed on fluorescent orange paper and would have been impossible to miss in the middle of a church service.

  Fiona gazed over at her house. “Why don’t you come in with me? Join the party
?”

  He looked at the deck where people were laughing and drinking. The last place Fiona should be right now was in his stuffy Suburban.

  “She’s not coming.”

  His head whipped around. “You talked to her?”

  “She called this morning.”

  Will couldn’t breathe. It felt like a sandbag was sitting on his chest.

  Fiona looked out the window. “She didn’t say where she was or anything.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That she loved me. That she was doing fine, settling in. But she wished she could be here.”

  Will stared at her. Courtney was alive. She’d called her sister, but she hadn’t called him.

  She was alive.

  Fiona looked at him, and the stress of these past few weeks was visible again in her face. “She’s a tough person to care about. You should know that up front.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “You make it sound like I have a choice.”

  He felt her gaze boring into him, that protective sister gaze. She wanted to know what he felt for Courtney. She wanted to know his intentions. But he didn’t want to explain himself to Fiona. Hell, he didn’t even understand it. All he knew was Courtney had him tangled up, and the only way he’d get untangled was if he found her. Guilty or innocent, he didn’t really care anymore. He just needed her back. He needed her safe.

  “So will you come in?” she asked.

  “Thanks, but I can’t.”

  “Why not? Why sit out here melting, when you could be inside having crab cakes?”

  “I’m not dressed for it.”

  She scoffed. “This is Austin. If you’re wearing shoes, you’re dressed for it.”

  “I can’t leave my weapon.” And he couldn’t exactly waltz into her party with a Glock hanging out of his jeans.

  “Stuff it in your boot and come on.” She jerked her head toward the door. “I married a cop, remember? Half the people in there are packing.”

  He smiled slightly.

  “Come on, I insist.”

  He glanced up at Fiona’s house again and made a decision.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  She smiled. And then she surprised him by leaning over and pecking him on the cheek.

  “I see why she likes you,” she said, and got out.

  He tucked his gun into his boot and followed her across the street to a narrow stone path between her house and her back neighbor’s. She picked her way over the cobblestones and pulled open a back door.

  He followed her inside and felt a blast of cold air. It was dark. They were in a bedroom. He remembered Courtney’s stuff piled beside the couch and decided it must be the master because they didn’t have a guest bedroom. Fiona opened the door to the hallway and nearly bumped into her new husband.

  “Hi.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed him. “Look who I found.”

  Will stepped into the hallway as Jack eyed him with hostility.

  Fiona squeezed Jack’s hand. “Why don’t you get Will a drink? I need to check on the food.”

  She disappeared, and Jack crossed his arms.

  “Congratulations.” Will held out his hand, and Jack hesitated a moment before shaking it.

  “You want a beer? Wine?”

  “Beer,” Will said. “Whatever you got.”

  They headed into the living room, where people were chatting and laughing and drinking. A buffet table had been set up in Fiona’s art studio. Bunches of brightly colored flowers filled vases all over the house, and some sort of jazz-sounding music floated from the speakers. It was a festive, low-key party, and Will felt bad for crashing it.

  Jack handed him a cold glass of beer and then disappeared to talk to his invited guests.

  Will wasn’t much for parties. He didn’t like small talk. He nodded at a few people he recognized from APD, then busied himself admiring the vibrant paintings lining the walls. These would be Fiona’s landscapes and waterscapes. He recalled the desert picture from Courtney’s house. Last time he’d seen it, it had been lying on her living room floor, slashed.

  Will glanced through the gauzy curtains to the deck outside, where Fiona and Jack stood visiting with their friends.

  Will wandered into the kitchen and set his glass on the counter beside the sink. He wove his way through people and asked a woman if she knew where the bathroom was—an inane question in a house this size. He ducked inside the room, locked the door, and then opened the second bathroom door that adjoined the master bedroom. He made a beeline for the dresser, where he’d spotted a woman’s purse when he’d first entered the house. He found Fiona’s cell phone and scrolled through the call history: local, local, local…an out of state number ending in four successive digits. That would be a pay phone.

  And that would be Courtney.

  CHAPTER 20

  Courtney tipped her head back and let the sun warm her cheeks. The last remnants of yesterday’s thunderstorm had blown through the valley, leaving the sky clear and the air so fresh she could almost taste it.

  “Six needs a refill, C.J.”

  Courtney snapped out of her daze and watched Renee disappear into the kitchen with a tray. She glanced at table six and saw that they did, indeed, need more drinks. She grabbed a pitcher of tea from the beverage stand and made her way across the deck that looked out over Silver Creek Canyon.

  Courtney fixed a smile on her face and poured tea. “How is everything?” she asked, using the tone she’d picked up from Renee. I hope you’re enjoying your meal. I’m not at all annoyed to be waiting on snotty rich people. Some of you actually tip well.

  “We need a check,” the man said curtly, and looked at his watch. “When’s that tour leave?”

  “Two-thirty.” His wife replied, forking up her last bite of grilled salmon salad with sugar-free raspberry vinaigrette. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

  “Not if you’re navigating, we don’t.”

  The wife rolled her eyes, and Courtney pretended not to hear as she cleared dishes.

  “Was your trout good, I hope?” Courtney asked, although the guy had practically licked his plate clean. The Silver Creek Inn’s pecan-encrusted rainbow trout was legendary, or so she had been told to tell customers.

  The man just grunted and handed her a credit card.

  “I’ll get this right out.” You pompous prick.

  She took the plates into the kitchen and slid them into the bin with all the rest. The lunch rush was ending, and Pedro stood at the sink, working double-time with his hose of scalding water.

  Courtney stepped over to the computer and pulled up the order. She swiped the prick’s credit card and thought of all the little conveniences she used to take for granted—paying with credit, hopping on the computer at work to check e-mail, picking up the phone and calling Jordan or Fiona whenever she wanted….

  “Pauline needs to see you up front,” Renee said as she swept past.

  “What for?”

  “No idea.”

  Courtney dropped off six’s bill and checked her other tables’ drinks before hiking across the deck, through the lobby, and behind the reception counter to Pauline’s office. Her boss sat at her desk, talking on the phone. She looked up and smiled over her reading glasses when Courtney walked in.

  “That’s right.” She held up a finger, telling Courtney to wait. “I recommend Theo’s Fishing Tours. They’re based in Santa Fe, but they’re real big up here, too.”

  Courtney stepped inside the office but didn’t sit down in the overstuffed armchair by the door. Offices made her uncomfortable now. As did paperwork, and men in uniform, and security cameras. She carefully avoided them. It was a new way of thinking about the world.

  “That’s early for the snow,” Pauline was saying, “but there’s still plenty to do…. Uh-huh…Absolutely.”

  Courtney watched her boss and suppressed a sigh. Her platinum-colored helmet hair added decades to her age, and
for the umpteenth time, Courtney’s hands itched for her scissors. Courtney combed her fingers through her stacked blond bob—which she still wasn’t used to—and glanced away.

  “All right, then. We’ll see you in November.” Pauline hung up and sighed. “I swear, some people can’t make a decision. So.” She smiled and rested her elbows on the desk. “How’s it going, hon? How’s the lunch crowd?”

  “Good. Hardly a lull since breakfast.”

  Pauline’s smiled widened. “Music to my ears.” She picked up an envelope and held it out.

  “What’s that?”

  “Payday.”

  Courtney glanced at the envelope uneasily. Did it have a check inside it? Made out to whom? When Courtney had responded to the ad posted at the local grocery store, she’d agreed to work for tips only, if she could get a break on lodging. Pauline had agreed immediately. She’d given her a small room at the back of the property and promised to keep her name off the books.

  Courtney cleared her throat. “I thought we said—”

  “It’s cash.” Pauline pushed the envelope at her. “I pay everyone in cash.” She winked. “Makes things easier.”

  She took the envelope. “Thanks, but—”

  “You been working your tail off. And you’re good, too. You deserve more than just tips.”

  Courtney bit her lip. She’d never met anyone so straightforward and nice. From day one, Pauline had treated her with kindness and compassion, and Courtney was pretty sure it was because the woman thought she was on the run from a husband or boyfriend somewhere. But she’d never asked, and Courtney hadn’t volunteered a different story.

  “Nice earrings,” Pauline said, nodding at Courtney’s new dangles.

  “I bought them in the gift shop.”

  “I know.” She shook her head, and her own earrings jiggled. “They’re pretty. Just not what I’d expect for you.”

  Courtney tipped her head. “Why?”

  She laughed. “Because you’re such a tomboy! You dress like my son.”

  Courtney gazed down at her flannel shirt and jeans and clunky boots. The outdoorsy look didn’t come easily for her, but at least someone was buying it.