Jan Coffey Suspense Box Set: Volume Two: Three Complete Novels: Road Kill, Puppet Master, Cross Wired

by Jan Coffey

  But if any records Mitch had failed to destroy were found, it wouldn’t matter if Juan had no memory at all.

  “I don’t want you to do anything stupid in Buffalo,” Curtis barked into the phone. “No burning the hospital to the ground or shooting up the place. From here on, everything that is done is to be done discreetly. There are to be no traces of foul play that leave a trail. Understood?”

  His contact agreed.

  “Now, are you sure that Mitch’s body isn’t going to be discovered? That there’s no way they’re going to identify him?”

  “We put him in a solid waste incinerator,” the other man said. “There’s nothing left.”

  He didn’t want to know where or what they had done with the rental car.

  “I might have a follow-up job in Fullerton, California.” That’s where Mitch lived.

  “Tell me when and where.”

  “I’ll get back to you on that,” Curtis said, ending the call.

  He sat at his desk and buried his head in his hands. He needed to calm himself and try to think straight. His head was pounding.

  An idea occurred to him. Mitch’s wife Elsa had been invaluable to him before. Maybe that was the angle he should pursue again. Curtis looked at his watch. It was 11:42 p.m. here on the east coast. They were two hours behind where she was in Arizona. She’d told him that she was staying there all week.

  Curtis found Elsa’s number. He dialed it. The phone rang few times. He didn’t want to leave a message. Just as he was about to hang up, a woman’s sleepy voice answered. It sounded like Elsa. He immediately introduced himself and apologized for calling too late.

  “You’ve heard from Mitch?” she asked excitedly, not allowing him to say anything else.

  Curtis tried to think quick on his feet. She wouldn’t be in a mood to answer any questions unless he had some good news for her.

  “I haven’t heard from him directly. But couple of our mutual friends have spoken to him,” he lied.

  “Oh, thank God!” She let out an audible sigh, totally awake now. “I called the police in Fullerton again from here this afternoon. But they still thought I’m overreacting. And I guess they were right. So what did he say? Where is he? Why isn’t he answering my calls? I’m going crazy here. This is not like him at all.”

  “I wish I had all the answers for you, but I don’t,” he said softly. “From what I can gather, it sounds like he’s dealing with some academic related issues.”

  “Yes,” she responded. “He’s been feeling down about his work for the last few months. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  “I’m sure it’ll work out,” Curtis said. “I just thought you’d want to know that he’s okay and someone has talked to him. I’ll see if I can get word to him that you’ve been worried.”

  “So is he in New York?” she asked

  “I think he’s in New York. That’s the impression I got. I’ve been trying to call him myself since you and I talked. As you know, my schedule has been pressured these days. Things are happening with Nanocure.” He figured his wife had been telling Elsa all about it during their weekly calls. “You know, Elsa, I was thinking. I could use some of the files from the early days for this presentation I have to make next week. But I wasn’t sure if I have the stuff in Connecticut or if Mitch has it. Now with the snow we’re dealing with, there’s no way I can shoot up to Connecticut and back easily. The roads are still horrible. By any chance, do you know if Mitch keeps a storage place? This stuff would probably be too old and musty to keep in your house.”

  Curtis hoped the barrage of information might confuse her enough to just answer the damn question.

  “Well, let me think. There was the storage place in Reno I told you about. But it did strike me as strange that he had that place. He’s had a storage unit in Fullerton for eons. He got it when I complained one time about the boxes in the basement ten or fifteen years ago.”

  He knew it. It was so much like Mitch to save every scrap of paper that might cover his ass. He never should have trusted him to destroy those materials.

  “Do you know where in Fullerton that storage place is?” he asked. “If I can get hold of Mitch, I’m going to see if I can convince him to send one of his graduate students up there to check on that material for me.”

  “No, I really don’t. I never went there with him,” Elsa explained. “We always had plenty of the room in the basement for our other things.”

  How many storage places could there be in Fullerton, Curtis thought. He quickly typed the information into a search engine. Four of them popped up right away. There could be more.

  Elsa was getting chatty again. She was telling him about the grandchildren and their kids and how he and his wife should come to California for a visit when she got back there. Curtis’s mind was busy making a list of everything that had to be done. He had to contact his people again.

  Curtis searched for a polite way to end the call. His exit came when the door to his office slowly opened and his grandson David, sleepy-eyed, walked in.

  “Grandpa, I’m thirsty.”

  “Did you hear that?” Curtis said into the phone. “I have a sleepy boy here that shouldn’t be out of bed this late. I have to go.”

  Elsa perfectly understood and said goodbye, thanking Curtis profusely.

  He hung up the phone and came around his desk. As he picked up the small child, David put his head on the old man’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around his neck.

  “I thought I saw a glass of water next to your bed when I came in to kiss you goodnight before.”

  “I know.” David let out a contented sigh. “But I just missed you, grandpa.”

  Business was business, Curtis thought, but in the end, family was what really mattered. Family and this little boy, in particular.

  ~~~~

  Chapter 34

  Thursday January 17, 11:10 p.m.

  Reno, Nevada

  No phone calls, no one showing up at the door, not a single car driving past the room…nothing.

  Bryan had talked to his team members in and around the motel a few times, and it had been the same.

  He pushed himself up from the chair he’d been sitting in near the door and stretched his legs and back. He’d slept, more or less, for about an hour on the last leg of the flight out here, so he was feeling good, but he knew he needed to keep his blood flowing. He needed to stay alert.

  Lexi was cuddled up on one side of the bed, her hands tucked under her cheek. The book she’d been reading was on the floor. She was sound asleep. He’d spent most of the past hour, since she’d fallen asleep, watching her. Something about the way her lashes fluttered on her skin as she dreamed, the curve of her ear, the soft rise and fall of her breast. He’d had to look away more than once as he felt the stir of desire. It wasn’t just her looks. He was attracted to everything about Lexi Bradley—her no-nonsense approach to problems, her sense of humor, her intelligence, her compassion, her independence, her intensity. The list went on and on.

  It wasn’t like him to be attracted to someone in this kind of situation, but she wasn’t like anyone he’d known before.

  And he guessed she was somewhat interested in him, too. At least, enough that she trusted him. Still, neither had done anything to jeopardize their working relationship. He admired that in her, too.

  Maybe when they were finished with this case, he’d try his luck and see if she’d consider seeing him again. He hadn’t felt like this since his divorce. He wondered if this simply meant that he was finally getting back to normal. The image of Juan in the hospital bed immediately came to his mind. The helplessness she must be feeling from not being able to do anything for him recalled bad memories. He felt every inch of his body grow tense. The pain was back.

  He walked to the bathroom. His throat was dry. He filled a glass with water and stared at the sediment floating in the clear water. It was so much like him, so much like what was going on inside of him. Every now and then everything settled
. For that moment, he felt as if things were normal. But inside he knew that it was just that no one had stirred things up. But all the old feelings were right there, ready to emerge and cloud the waters.

  Bryan poured out the water and put the glass on the sink. Turning the water on to run, he leaned over the sink and stared at his face in the mirror. His brother Bobby had had his eyes and crazy curly hair. Everyone had always said the Atwood brothers looked so much alike.

  He picked up the glass and filled it again. He didn’t look at the water this time, but drank. As he did, he looked in the mirror. The wrinkles around his eyes were getting more and more pronounced. The years were adding up.

  Lexi made a soft noise in her sleep, and he put down the glass. He was crazy to think about all that now. He hadn’t gotten enough rest on that plane. It was catching up to him, whether he admitted it or not. Still, he had a job to do…and a woman to protect.

  Walking back in the bedroom, he pulled the blanket higher on Lexi’s shoulder. She’d kicked off her shoes and climbed under the covers fully clothed. He picked up her book and put it on the side table then switched off the light on her side of bed. Before he could straighten up, though, Lexi’s eyes opened.

  “Anything from Buffalo?” she asked sleepily.

  “No.”

  “How about from our mystery friend?”

  He shook his head. “Go back to sleep.”

  “No. No. It seems like that’s all I do around you. Sleep.”

  She stifled a yawn and then smiled at the hurt expression he faked for her amusement.

  “I didn’t mean it like you were boring,” she said, adding with a straight face, “Well, not exactly boring.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  She leaned over and looked at the radio-alarm clock bolted to the side table.

  Bryan thought she looked stunning with her hair a mess and her eyes a little puffy with sleep. She caught him looking at her and ran a hand through her hair. He walked to the window, pulling the shade aside slightly and looked out at the dark parking lot. He had to put some distance between them.

  When he turned around again, she was sitting up, a couple of pillows stuffed behind her. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she was watching him.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked her.

  “Yes, room service.”

  “I already made that call. I ordered eggs benedict, fresh squeezed orange juice, the pastry platter, and some fresh fruit.”

  “And what did they say? You should have your order around the year 2025?”

  “Actually, the response was slightly less civil,” he smiled. “There’s tap water that tastes horrible. There’s a coffee pot over there.” He pointed to a table near the door to the bathroom. “The expiration date on the package of coffee passed about a year and half ago, but I’m sure it’s still delicious.”

  “Hey, I’ve never had a patient get sick from drinking old coffee.”

  “Do you want me to make some?”

  Lexi shook her head. “Not yet. I have this nice warm feeling right now from sleeping.”

  Bryan sat down on the chair.

  Rather than picking up her book again, Lexi continued to watch him. He took a minute more of her scrutiny before reaching his limit.

  “Okay, what is it?”

  She bit her lip, not saying anything, but she continued to look at him. Bryan didn’t think she was trying to memorize his features. There was certainly nothing romantic in the look. She didn’t seem to be looking at the extra head he’d grown in the past hour, either. It was more of a look of interest, as if she were trying to understand him…or maybe phrase a question, but she couldn’t quite find the right words.

  “Come on, ask,” he said finally. “I promise not to bite your head off.”

  “It’s a personal question,” she said.

  He contemplated if he should raise the barricades.

  “I asked you a personal question on our way to Reno,” he said instead. “So I suppose you have a right to ask. Of course, I might or might not answer it.”

  Lexi pulled the blanket higher on her lap. “There’s one thing about you that I don’t understand, Agent Atwood.”

  “If it’s only one thing, then you’re way ahead of everyone else. And that includes my family,” he said lightly. “And why are we back to Agent Atwood again?”

  She hesitated a moment, plucking at the blanket as she responded, “I think you know why. I’m feeling like we’re on the edge of some dangerous waters.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t ask the question.”

  Lexi shook her head. “I’ve been thinking about it too long. I need to know, especially after today.”

  “When today?”

  “At the VA hospital in Buffalo,” she said.

  “What did I do?”

  “I saw you looking at Juan in that hospital bed. There was so much hurt there. I can’t describe it, but if there were a mirror, and you could see your face in it, you would understand. You looked like a person…well, in mourning.”

  Bryan was mourning, and he didn’t need a mirror to see it.

  “Even before that. Back in New Haven,” she continued. “You were the only one who seemed to understand what I was going through. The one person who tried to help me. I thought later that it might have had something to do with the work you and Agent Gardner did before, the work on those high school shootings a few years ago. But I’m not sure.”

  “You knew about the work we did before?”

  “Detective Simpson told me this morning, back at my house. I think you were making a phone call.”

  “Then you have your answer,” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” she said gently. “I spent a little time with Hank, too. He’s objective about this work. He seems untouched by it the way you are. But you seem…I don’t know…as if this all has rubbed you raw inside.”

  “Hank is a psychologist. He deals with these kinds of things all the time. He definitely has a thicker skin than I do.”

  Lexi didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t say anything. She reached over and picked up her book. Switching on the bedside light, she opened it on her lap.

  Bryan watched her for a couple of minutes.

  “It’s hard to talk about my past,” he said finally.

  Her gaze shifted from the page to his face. “I know. For me, it feels sometimes like it makes me less strong if I talk about it. More vulnerable, I guess.”

  “But you’re not more vulnerable for having had cancer. As a doctor, you know that getting the disease wasn’t your choice. And you’ve done everything right since then, too. You have to be proud of what you’ve done.”

  “Maybe that’s the way you should think of your situation, too.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t. I was responsible for something that happened. A life was lost, and it was because of me. That is a little different from your situation.”

  Lexi closed the book and put it on the table. “Was it a case you were working on?”

  Bryan rubbed the back of his neck. He stretched it from side to side. How do you say something like this right out?

  “No. I lost my fourteen year old brother. He committed suicide in his bedroom. And he used my pistol to do it.”

  As he’d expected, she looked stunned.

  Bryan got up and walked to the window again. He looked outside. Nothing had changed. As he stood there, the built-in heat and air conditioning unit beneath the window groaned sickly and came to life. The smell of warm dust and mildew filled the air.

  “Please, don’t stop there,” she told him. “You didn’t give him the gun. There has to be more.”

  He continued to look out.

  “How many years ago did it happen?” she asked.

  He turned away from the window, let the curtain fall in place. Lexi had pushed the blanket away. She was sitting on the edge of the bed. Bryan figured she’d decided to ask him bite-sized questions, only big enough that he
wouldn’t choke himself.

  “Eight years ago,” he told her.

  “He was a lot younger than you.”

  Bryan nodded. “Bobby was the ‘oops’ baby for my parents. He was the youngest, and I was the eldest of five children. We were the only two boys, twenty-five years apart.”

  Bobby was closer in age to Bryan’s daughters than he was to any of his own siblings. The three sisters born between them had come two or three years apart after Bryan. Their parents had four children in a span of ten years. And then fifteen years later came Bobby.

  “How old was your mom when Bobby was borne?”

  “She was in her mid-forties,” he remembered. “She had me when she was only nineteen.”

  “And your father?” she asked.

  “He was older. Let’s see. He was fifty-one when Bobby was born.”

  “Your parents must have never needed babysitters for him. I imagine Bobby was probably spoiled by all of you.”

  There was a lot of truth in that. “Two of my sisters and I were already out of the house. But my father passed away only two years later, so we each spent our share of days back there trying to help our mother raise Bobby.”

  “That’s so sad. Your father was young when he died,” Lexi said.

  Bryan sat back down in the chair. He and his father had had their share of arguments when he was young. Bryan was too independent, too stubborn. Too much like his father, he supposed. In those years, he didn’t know how to shut up and let the older man have the last word. But, despite all the yelling matches, they loved each other, and Robert Atwood’s death had been a tough blow on everyone.

  “How did he die?” she asked.

  “He was shot in the line of duty. He was a New York City Police officer.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You went into the same line of work.”

  “Similar, but not exactly. Mine has been a lot more white-collar than his ever was. I was never in the type of danger that he put himself in day in and day out.”