Count on a Cop 49 - Julianna Morris

by Honor Bound

  “You disapprove of women in law enforcement?” Kelly was genuinely shocked.

  “I disapprove of you in law enforcement. There’s a difference. I’m sure Mitch didn’t want you to be a volunteer firefighter, either. It’s the caveman instinct—protecting your woman. I want another chance with you, but I’m not going to pretend to be something I’m not to get it. That includes my job. You’re right that there are risks, even in being a police chief, but there are risks in everything.”

  She pressed her lips together.

  So much for the “men will say anything in bed” theory.

  At Ben’s insistence they entered through the police station so a uniformed officer could be assigned to “protect” her. She rolled her eyes and continued into City Hall with her guard in the rear.

  “They”, whoever “they” were, had gotten what they were after—Simon’s drawings. The problem was Ben’s reaction to the breakin. He felt he should have prevented it and was going over the top to take care of her.

  “Mrs. Lawson,” said the mayor, intercepting her at the main staircase. “I’m sorry to hear of the incident at your home yesterday. Sadly, my misgivings about our present police chief are growing, along with the crime rate in our once-safe community.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Mayor.”

  Low-life creep, she added silently.

  Phillip Stone was doing his best to throw blame on someone else. And he obviously hadn’t heard any rumors that she and Ben were lovers or he would have been more circumspect.

  “I’ll understand if you want to take the rest of the week off,” the mayor said genially. “Or longer if necessary. Being a victim of crime is a terrible shock.”

  She met his gaze. “Yes, but maybe it was just bored kids playing hooky. We should initiate the Teens Project, so it’s easier for judges to sentence troubled youth to community service instead of the alternative.” She said it as a distraction. The mayor hated the Teens concept. He hated anything new and different and politically risky.

  “The police think it was teenagers who broke in?”

  No. The police chief thinks it was your smarmy brother, with you as an accomplice.

  “Who knows?” She shrugged. “I may accept the offer to take some days off, but at the moment Henry Jefferson is having a security system installed at my house. I’d be in the way if I went home.”

  “Do whatever you need. I know what it’s like to be targeted, but as mayor, I don’t have the option of seclusion. I can’t show fear.”

  Kelly clenched her jaw. Phillip Stone talked in political sound bites. It was annoying. As for not showing fear…the story of the firecracker and his terrified lunge into the limo had raced through City Hall. In a world of cell phone cameras and video cams, he was lucky no one had captured the event and posted it on the internet.

  “That’s…nice,” she said. “I’ll see you later, Mayor.”

  She closed her office door and paced around the desk, banging her thigh on the chair with every pass.

  “Damn,” she mumbled, rubbing the spot after whacking it especially hard.

  Her heart wanted to take a chance on Ben…her head was more cautious. She’d thought anything was possible when she was eighteen, but her life had been shattered three times since then, once by Ben himself. Could she risk it again?

  Kelly slipped her phone in her pocket and went out of the building again, needing to clear her head. She barely noticed the policeman falling in a discreet distance behind her.

  She walked.

  Up one street and down another.

  Past the fire department where they were giving the trucks their daily polish. Past the historic bakery where schoolchildren spilled from a bus, eager to sample cookies baked in the old-style brick oven. And out to the waterfront where she’d talked to Simon so often. If only she could talk to him now…a wealth of sad wisdom had found a home in his soul.

  She was so preoccupied that when she was seized from behind and dragged, she reacted automatically, jamming her elbow into her attacker’s stomach and grinding her heel into his instep. The arms gripping her loosened, allowing her to spin and drive the base of her hand into the man’s nose, then ram a knee to his groin.

  He let out a muffled scream and dropped.

  Kelly stumbled back in horror as another man came running up, astonishment in his face.

  “Jason McCord, FBI,” he said, displaying his badge and ID with a practiced flip.

  Her assailant lay on the ground, clutching his privates.

  “Ma’am, do you know this guy?”

  She trembled, chilled to the bone. Blood trickled from the former police chief’s nose, but not enough to keep her from recognizing him.

  “Yes,” she croaked. “His name is Frank Stone. He’s the mayor’s brother.” Yet even as she said it, disbelief crowded her mind. Things like this didn’t happen in Sand Point. “I…I didn’t realize there was an FBI office in Sand Point.”

  “There isn’t.”

  “Then why are you here? I don’t get it. I had a police officer with me—where is he?” Her voice rose with each question, bordering on hysteria.

  Agent McCord winced. “He observed a member of my team tailing you and tried to take him down. I’m afraid he’s on his way to the hospital with a dislocated shoulder.”

  As Kelly collapsed on a nearby bench, two more men arrived in a dark blue sedan. Unlike Agent McCord they looked like tourists, but they gave her a thumbs-up and administered first aid to Frank Stone while reading him his rights.

  She’d done exactly what she’d been taught, part of which was to target the guy’s nose so his eyes would water and she could get away. Henry had grilled the response into her when she was a kid. But the sheer violence of it horrified her.

  “Please tell me what’s going on.” Kelly’s stomach roiled. “Why is the FBI in Sand Point?”

  Agent McCord sat next to her on the bench. “Your friend Simon was my partner. His name was Simon Pollard and he took a leave of absence to track the antiquities smugglers he believed were responsible for his daughter’s death. Finding them was the only thing he lived for.”

  Kelly suddenly had trouble breathing. Simon…an FBI agent? It didn’t seem possible.

  “What was he doing living on the streets? It doesn’t make any sense.” She pressed her hand over her mouth to keep from throwing up. If she’d ached for Simon’s loneliness before, it was a thousand times worse now.

  “He was one of the finest agents I ever knew, but we all thought he lost it when Gillian died. She was his only family and he became obsessed with finding her killer. At some point he decided there was a connection to Frank Stone, which led him to Sand Point. Simon was on the case for over two years.” Agent McCord stopped and looked at her closely. “Are you okay? Here, bend over. You’re white as a ghost.”

  He supported her as she bent low and tried to regain her composure. She wanted to act cool and collected, but her body was betraying her. Too much had happened.

  When she sat up, her skin was cold and beaded with perspiration.

  “Better now?”

  Kelly nodded numbly. “But I want to understand.”

  “So do I. Simon and I spoke periodically, but I didn’t know where he was until several weeks ago. He convinced me there was something big going on here, so I took him off the grid. I didn’t want anybody checking up on him and blowing his cover.”

  “He mentioned his daughter a few times. I thought they were estranged…I didn’t know the rest of it.”

  “That’s because he was in deep cover. I’m surprised he told you as much as he did. I was coming down to find out more when I was alerted about his murder. The FBI has opened an official investigation, but we’ve kept the local authorities out of the loop since we can’t be sure how far the corruption goes.”

  “The new police chief has doubts about the mayor, and he’s definitely suspicious about Frank. Ben. I have to tell him what’s happened.” Kelly reached for her cell phone.


  “Wait, you can’t speak to Chief Santoni yet.” Agent McCord leaned forward, giving her a high-wattage you-can-trust-me smile. “This has to stay confidential. We still haven’t cleared him.”

  “Ben Santoni isn’t involved,” she said and dialed before he could stop her. When Ben answered she breathed a sigh of relief and said, “It’s me. I’m by the Sea Mariners’ Memorial—the one on the south end of the waterfront. I’m okay, but something happened.”

  “What?”

  “Frank Stone j-just tried to grab me. Turns out the FBI has been watching him and Simon was one of them. They’re telling me all this stuff about him and what’s going on and I…I really, really want you to come down here.”

  “I’m on my way, Kelly. Hold on.”

  BEN RAN TO HIS JEEP. It didn’t matter that Kelly had assured him she was all right, he wouldn’t believe it until he saw her with his own eyes.

  He seized the radio and called for the officer who was supposed to be guarding her. No answer.

  Ben forced himself to drive within the speed limit. The Mariners’ Memorial was at a quiet end of the wharf, largely empty during the week now that the school year had started and the tourists were only visiting on the weekends. He screeched to a stop and jumped out, assessing the scene with a visual sweep. Four men, one on the ground wearing handcuffs, and Kelly, sitting on a low bench, looked stunned. But unharmed.

  And she’d finally called him, instead of trying to tough it out on her own. He put a hand on her arm, trying to be professional, then gave up and caught her close. She gave a half laugh, half sob, into his shoulder.

  A voice drifted up from the pavement. “You’re going to lose your jobs. Every one of you. This is police brutality.” It was Frank Stone, propped against a car and looking the worse for wear, but still smug. Drying blood stained the lower part of his face and the front of his shirt.

  Ben ignored him and eased Kelly back down on the bench. He wasn’t sure which of them was shaking more.

  “What are a bunch of Feds doing in my town, and where in hell is the policeman responsible for Mrs. Lawson’s protection?” he demanded.

  The guy sitting on the other end of the bench smiled faintly. “I’m Agent McCord with the FBI.” He presented his badge and ID for inspection. “Your officer misunderstood our interest in Mrs. Lawson, and we couldn’t be as gentle as we would have preferred in dealing with the situation. However, he’s receiving medical attention and should be able to return to limited duty in a week or so.”

  Ben gritted his teeth. “We’ll go into that later. Meanwhile, what is your interest in Mrs. Lawson?”

  “Originally our interest was primarily Frank Stone, but their paths converged…mostly because Mr. Stone was planning to abduct Mrs. Lawson.”

  “Allegedly abduct,” Frank snapped from his place on the curb. “I know my rights. I was just saying hello. That’s not a crime.”

  Distaste filled the agent’s face. “You grabbed the lady, covered her mouth and attempted to drag her to an unmarked van with the engine running. Trust me, there’s not much room for interpretation.”

  Ben tried not to go ballistic. “Thank you. I’m glad he resisted arrest.”

  “Actually, we didn’t do the damage. It turns out that Mrs. Lawson has well-developed instincts for self-preservation.”

  Shocked, Ben shifted his gaze to Kelly.

  She’d done that to Frank Stone?

  “Uncle Henry would be proud,” he murmured. “Are you hurt?”

  “My hand aches, that’s all,” she said, pink flags over her cheekbones, though she still looked dazed.

  “You made some great moves when Stone grabbed you,” Agent McCord commented. “Where did you learn to defend yourself?”

  “I grew up next door to Ben’s uncle, the former Sand Point Police Chief. Henry Jefferson was—is like a father to me. He made sure I could take care of myself.”

  “He did a fine job.”

  “Yeah,” Ben echoed, smiling despite himself. But his smile faded as he looked over at Frank. The agents were getting him into their vehicle for a trip to the hospital.

  “Folks,” Agent McCord said, standing up. “This has been entertaining to say the least, but I suggest we continue our discussion in a less public setting.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BEN LOOKED AROUND THE FBI’s temporary headquarters. From the outside it appeared to be just a deserted building. The inside held a wealth of computer and surveillance equipment, concealed by the frosted windows.

  McCord motioned to a meeting table. “Have a seat. Agent Ziggler, get Mrs. Lawson some ice for her hand.”

  The base of Kelly’s palm was swollen and bruised and Ben got angry all over again…or maybe that was fear. What would have happened if Frank Stone had gotten her into his van?

  “What is going on here?” he asked.

  “I was explaining that to Mrs. Lawson when she insisted on calling you.”

  “Start from the beginning.”

  Agent McCord’s story took a while to unfold, but it made sense, especially with what Ben had pieced together himself. Sand Point might be a small town, but it was the largest deepwater port between San Francisco and Portland, and didn’t receive the same scrutiny as higher-profile locations. It was a good spot for bringing in smuggled antiquities—who would expect it?

  “So Agent Pollard spent two years posing as a homeless man to get justice for his daughter?”

  “That’s right. Gillian was an agent with the Bureau and she died working on a case. Finding her killer was all Simon cared about once she was gone.”

  “I wish he’d told me,” Kelly said quietly, still so pale that Ben frowned. Maybe he should have insisted she go to the hospital, as well.

  “You’re too involved as it is.” Ben turned to McCord. “How many men do you have assigned to the case?”

  “Five, including myself, but I can get more within hours. We didn’t bring in a bigger team to keep from being obvious.”

  “Your suit is obvious, along with that narrow tie and nondescript vehicle. Not to mention the earwig you’re wearing.” He gestured to the device in the other man’s ear. “Dead giveaways.”

  “Most of the time we’re in undercover clothes. Nobody noticed us during the community festival, did they? Our performance today leaves a bit to be desired, but we’re good at what we do.”

  Ben was still annoyed. He ought to have known that FBI agents were in town.

  “Was Simon killed because of my book?” Kelly asked.

  “I doubt it,” said McCord. “We checked you out, but that’s because Simon told me about you in our last conversation, and it’s unusual for a young woman to befriend an older homeless man. I initially wondered if you were involved in his death in some way.”

  “I understand…I guess.” She glanced at Frank Stone, who’d been brought back from a quick trip to the emergency room and was under guard on a far side of the warehouse.

  “This is bigger than Frank, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. We figure he’s a middleman—not part of the inner circle, and more than a flunky.”

  “He must know plenty,” Ben said. “And I doubt he wants to go down by himself for murder, attempted abduction, and a dozen other charges.”

  “True, but while we’ve got him cold on attempted abduction, no evidence ties him to the murders here in Sand Point or to Gillian Pollard’s death. He’s slippery. We’ve known for a long time that Frank Stone is dirty, but haven’t been able to prove it. He may not roll over.”

  “He’ll roll for me,” Ben said grimly. “He got sloppy. He tried to grab Kelly, and I’m sure he’s responsible for my uncle’s accident last year. I’ll bet he’s clever enough to realize I have a vested interest in seeing every bone in his body broken.”

  Agent McCord’s eyes gleamed. “In that case, be my guest.” He turned to Kelly. “Mrs. Lawson, since you’re a witness I need to ask you to step out while we’re questioning the prisoner. We have a separate room we�
��re using for living quarters. We can make you more comfortable there, anyway.”

  Kelly went reluctantly and two FBI agents brought Stone to the table. He’d been cleaned up and he glared sullenly. “What do you want? I’ve got rights.”

  Ben sat in silence until Frank shifted and rapped his fingers on the table.

  “You can’t intimidate me, Santoni. You think you’re clever, but my brother is going to get rid of you. The whole town knows you stink.”

  “Mayor Stone has done his best to make me look bad, but he can’t get do anything if he’s no longer mayor.”

  “Phillip will be reelected.”

  “Is that so?” Ben removed his jacket so Frank could see the holster he wore over his shoulders. “He hired a suspected smuggler as the interim police chief, even though he knew about your arrest in Seattle. Hell, he bailed you out and paid for a slick lawyer to make the problem go away. Funny how the case never went to trial because the primary witness suddenly refused to testify.”

  “That’s the beauty of our legal system. Innocent until proven guilty.”

  “Except in politics.” Ben shrugged. “The voters won’t be happy that he hired someone with your questionable reputation. Though, since he’ll be in prison, it’s a moot point anyway.”

  Frank looked taken back. “Phillip hasn’t done anything.”

  “Oh, but he has,” Ben said softly. “Someone’s been leaking confidential information about the murder investigation to the media. The prosecutor will argue that the mayor did it to cover up your involvement. That makes him an accessory after the fact. He won’t be protecting you—he’ll be cutting a deal for himself. Especially when he finds out that you’re the one sending him death threats. He didn’t know it was you, did he? He was really scared. How will he feel when he finds out his big brother sent them?”

  Some of Frank’s cockiness slipped. “Where’s your proof?”

  “DNA evidence, for one. We finally found some on that last letter you sent and I think it’s going to match yours. DNA is a bitch to fight in court.” Ben pointed to a long red mark on the other man’s hand. “For example, that scratch is going to get you convicted for breaking and entering.”