The Third Secret

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “It’s registered to the U.S. Department of Defense.”

  “What? Why would the government own a pleasure yacht?”

  “My guess would be to have meetings that they wanted to keep quiet. Or to be out on the water in an unmarked boat. I’m sure the government owns more than one.”

  “So Cook’s vacation wasn’t really a vacation? He was working?” The man was employed by Homeland Security. Maybe he’d been involved in some project with the Department of Defense.

  But then why had there been no record of any involvement?

  “Or it was genuinely a vacation. It’s possible that the yacht was used for incentive rewards. Do you know when he supposedly took this vacation? Or who he was with?”

  “Nope. It was just a comment made in passing.”

  Another dangling piece of information that did nothing but create more questions.

  And then Ben told Erin something that picked up her day a bit. Something that had her calling Rick Thomas rather than Caylee as soon as she hung up.

  20

  Rick saw Erin’s number show up on his phone screen. He waited for the call to switch to voice mail. Waited for her to leave a message.

  “It’s ringing.” Steve stared at the phone. And then at Rick. “It’s ringing,” he said again.

  “I know, sport. It’s business. I’ll get it later.”

  Nodding, Steve rolled the dice and moved his cardboard figure over the colorful trail on the board, which lay on the floor between them. It was an educational game he’d bought Steve. Rick counted silently, watching every move.

  Steve, who’d been lying on his stomach, sat up. “Gotcha,” he said, sending Rick’s figure back.

  “Ah, no,” Rick groaned. And he cheered, too. Steve had counted correctly.

  He took his turn, teasing Steve, trying his best to make the game half as much fun as the kite-flying he’d put a halt to half an hour before. He’d seen someone on the beach again. Couldn’t tell if the person was male or female, but he or she had definitely been facing the Lakeside residents on the beach.

  He’d accidentally-on-purpose tangled his string with Steve’s, and then stepped on their kites, breaking them, soothing Steve with promises of a trip to the toy store the next day, as he’d rushed Steve back inside.

  Rick was afraid he’d been seen.

  With Steve.

  “I told Angela about the three brownies.” The random announcement was issued with a bit of trepidation.

  It took Rick a second to follow Steve’s thought process, not sure why brownies would upset him. And then he remembered the night he’d eaten the extra brownies at Steve’s urging. And Steve’s promise not to tell Angela.

  “That’s good, sport,” Rick said now, looking Steve in the eye. He smiled. And rubbed Steve’s shoulder. “You did exactly the right thing.”

  “That’s what she said, too.”

  “Well, she’s absolutely correct. I’m proud of you.”

  Steve was still frowning. “And you didn’t get in trouble?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did she yell at you, though?”

  “No. She said it was okay because you and I were having fun.”

  “Maybe next time we have brownies for dessert I can have three, ’cause it’ll be fun.”

  “No way, sport! You have to eat your dinner first. You know the rules. And you know what happens if you eat too many brownies after dinner.”

  “I throw up!” Steve laughed. And then sobered. “Or get the runs. I really hate that.”

  “Everybody does,” he said sympathetically.

  Rick’s voice mail message flashed. But he waited until Steve had fallen asleep and he’d tucked him into bed before making his exit.

  And he stopped to speak with Angela on his way out, as well. Making sure that Steve would be kept under lock-and-key surveillance anytime he wasn’t with Rick. At least for the time being.

  Until Rick could figure out whether he was being paranoid or he’d been followed.

  He used his scrambled phone to return his attorney’s phone call.

  “It’s Rick,” he said as soon as she identified herself. “You said you had something.”

  She told him about the yacht. Tried to engage in dialogue regarding the boat’s ownership, to come up with possible scenarios. Rick didn’t want to.

  Department of Defense made perfect sense to him. Relieved him, actually.

  And the reason for that was something she could never, ever know about.

  “Charles talked to you about the trip,” Erin persisted. “Did you have the feeling that he was really on vacation? Or was he down there on a job?”

  “I didn’t have a feeling one way or the other.” Because Charles had never been on The One That Got Away.

  “I think we need to dig deeper. Try to find out what he was working on, if maybe he was involved in something classified or—”

  “You’d know it by now if he was,” Rick said, driving around the Lakeside Family Care grounds, perusing every inch of every acre, looking for anything different. “Someone would’ve shown up to investigate. Or to offer some explanation about Charles’s life that would keep us from looking any further.”

  “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

  Damn. He was getting sloppy. Or too comfortable with his oh-so-feminine attorney. “I was in the army,” he said. “You hear about all kinds of things when you’re on the inside.”

  “I’ll ask the sheriff what he’s heard….”

  “Was there anything else?” Rick pulled out of the care facility, turning right. A couple of times around the perimeter and then he’d head home.

  And in the morning he was going to hire twenty-four-hour private security for Steve.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, there was.”

  Holding his phone a little tighter, Rick tuned in. “What?”

  “Charles’s sex life.”

  “He’s gay?”

  “No. He had a lover.”

  “What? Where?”

  “A small town called Baldwin. Pope found gas receipts—I don’t know how and didn’t ask—that showed Cook filling up with gas in Temple every Tuesday afternoon after work. And then he’d fill up again Wednesday morning before work.”

  “He drove a tank of gas every Tuesday night.”

  “Right. But there were a couple of times he didn’t fill up before he left town.”

  “He got gas in Baldwin.”

  “Yeah. Pope spent this afternoon there, showing Cook’s picture around. Everyone knew him. Put him with a woman they thought was his wife. Her name’s Bea Wagner. Turns out she’s from Evart. Her husband, Paul, believed she was staying with her sister every Tuesday night. Instead, she and Cook rented a one-room apartment there. I guess she visited it other times, too.”

  “With other men?’

  “It doesn’t appear so. Pope spoke to her and is convinced she really loved Charles. He’s also convinced she’s scared to death of her husband.”

  “Did Paul Wagner find out about Cook?”

  All the streets around Lakeside were quiet. Rick turned haphazardly, and illegally, to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

  “Yeah, the woman—Bea—thinks so. A couple of weeks ago. Right about the time Charles bought the gun.”

  “Where’s the husband now?”

  “He works nights. At some car plant in Evart. Sheriff is going to pick him up for questioning.”

  “You called Huey Johnson?”

  “Of course. The sheriff’s not out to get you. He’s out to get Charles’s killer.”

  Could it be that easy? Could Cook really have been murdered by a jealous husband?

  And his fears, and Sarge’s, the suspicion that a person was watching Steve—were then all conjured up by overactive imaginations and too much adrenaline pumped up over too many years?

  But how did that explain Brady’s and Kit’s deaths? And Maria Valdez’s murder? And what about the stolen and destroyed yach
t? Had that really been an accident? And someone had been in his home the night he’d been out on the boat with Sarge.

  What about the missing Homeland Security emails?

  Too much to be explained away by mere coincidence. Or paranoia.

  Still… Rick turned the truck toward home. If he could be cleared of Charles’s murder he’d be free to travel wherever he needed to go to figure out what had gone wrong with the unit that had been his family for fifteen years.

  He’d be free to slip back undercover and enter the world that was home to him.

  Rick slept Friday night. Well enough that images of a certain serious-faced female with flyaway hair intruded into his private spaces. He woke up with a hard-on.

  And helped himself to a cold shower. He was not going to use his attorney to get his rocks off. With or without her knowledge.

  It was obviously time for him to visit the city. Didn’t really matter which one. And a side of town that existed in every city he’d ever been in. Time to find a woman willing to spread her legs for a few kind words and a free dinner.

  But the idea didn’t appeal to him.

  It was Saturday. Two days since his call to Eddie. Tom Watkins needed to follow up.

  He did while Rick waited for his coffee to drip.

  Holding the scrambled phone to an ear partially covered by his wet hair, Rick stood outside his back door. Far enough to be missed on any bugging devices that might have been planted in his home during the last invasion of his privacy. He’d checked. Hadn’t found any. But he wasn’t taking chances.

  “Eddie, my man, Tom here.”

  “Can’t talk to you, man.” Eddie’s voice was low, rushed, imparting a sense of urgency to a Saturday morning that had started out not half-bad.

  “You busy?” Rick asked.

  “You’re death, man. I got a wife now. A kid on the way. What you did for me before, savin’ me an’ all, I owe you, but I ain’t goin’ down for you.”

  Skin cold, Rick backed up to a tree. “What are you talking about, man? I’m asking for work, Eddie. That’s it.”

  “Someone’s put out the word ’bout you, Tom. You’re all washed up. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Not judgin’ you, man. But I worked hard to get where I am. I can’t be lettin’ my reputation go down with you. Sorry, man.” Eddie’s last words had a definite note of finality. And Rick was left with dead air.

  “Rick, can I speak to you?”

  Stopping in the middle of the richly appointed foyer at Lakeside, Rick turned and faced Jill Williams, social services director and one of Steve’s favorite people.

  “Sure, what’s up?” he asked. Hands in the pockets of his Levi’s beneath the tails of the flannel shirt that covered his holster, Rick was sure he seemed the epitome of calm.

  He had to get Steve out. At least for the day. Lakeside had security. Steve was being kept in the ward. But…

  He had to keep the other man from hugging him, too. Steve would freak out if he realized Rick was carrying.

  But until he knew more, he wasn’t taking any chances with Steve’s safety.

  “I don’t know.” Jill was frowning. Not good. “Maybe nothing. But…”

  Just say it. Rick didn’t utter the command. He waited.

  “A guy approached Steve this morning. I didn’t recognize him and—”

  “I gave explicit orders that he was to be kept under guard. No one other than Lakeside personnel and residents are to be anywhere near him. No outings, no—”

  “I know.” Jill’s nod, her hand on his forearm, stalled Rick’s tirade. “He had a badge. Said he was a sheriff’s deputy. Mandy let him in.”

  Mandy, the weekend receptionist who checked in guests.

  “What happened? Where’s Steve?” Rick strode for ward.

  “He’s fine.” Jill kept up with him. Didn’t try to slow him down. Rick respected her for the quick decision. “I saw what was happening and got Steve out of the room right away.”

  “So the guy didn’t talk to him.”

  “He did. But only for a second.”

  “Did you hear what he said?”

  “He told the guy he doesn’t talk to strangers. That’s all.”

  Okay. Good. But he still had to get Steve and go. Find another home for him.

  Which would terrify Steve. He needed routine. The people he was used to. Familiar things. Security was everything to him.

  And until Rick found a new home for him, there’d be no one to care for Steve while he hunted down whoever was after him. No way to work.

  “Did you get a look at the guy?” Rick asked. “Get a name?”

  “Of course.” Jill handed him a card. “He gave me this. He’s from Temple. I thought maybe you’d know him. He didn’t have a warrant, and I thought maybe you were aware he was coming. But since you hadn’t left word, I had security escort him out.”

  Bruce Halloway. Deputy. Rick saw the county seal. He knew Halloway. The guy drank too much. But Sheriff Huey Johnson stood by him. Vouched for him.

  “Thanks,” Rick said, his mind racing. “I do know him. But you did the right thing.” He spotted Steve in front of the television with a couple of other residents. Steve was laughing. The woman sitting next to him was looking at Steve.

  The woman whose birthday party Steve had recently attended. The skiing victim. She had the mind of a seven-year-old and the body of a thirty-year-old blond bombshell.

  Steve hadn’t seen him yet, so Rick ducked into a corridor, and then into the room that held the Jacuzzi tub that was used for therapy. He hit speed dial before the door shut behind him.

  “Erin Morgan.” Getting ready to meet Caylee Fitzgerald for coffee, Erin picked up the call that came in over her cell when she saw the name on the screen.

  “I need you to get over here.”

  Picturing the man in a jail cell, Erin got into her car and prepared to drive to the sheriff’s office. “What happened?”

  “Bruce Halloway approached Steve.”

  Steve Miller, she assumed. She’d never heard Rick so agitated. Not even when he’d called to tell her he’d just been arrested. Either time. Certainly not when he’d called to report the murder of Charles Cook.

  Erin’s heart pounded. “Did you hit him?” she asked, immediately working up a self-defense theory. Because Steve couldn’t defend himself—

  “No!” Now he sounded affronted. And far too impatient for someone who’d told her pretty much nothing. “He had no right to be here. No warrant.

  “Listen, I’m sorry,” he said before she could respond to his rudeness. “I don’t know what’s going on. Why would Halloway show up here? Harass a helpless man who had nothing to do with anything?”

  Show up here? “Where are you?”

  “Lakeside Family Care.”

  “In Ludington.”

  “Yes.”

  “You want me to come there?”

  “Yes. If you can. Please. I just arranged for a private security guard for Steve, but I don’t want to leave him. Not until I know what’s going on. Until I know he’s safe. And I can’t take him anywhere else. Not without upsetting him.” He took an audible breath. “Find out what Halloway was doing here.”

  She forgave the man his terseness. Forgave the fact that he was ordering her more than asking, regardless of the words he’d used.

  Telling him she was on her way, Erin hung up and dialed Caylee, canceling their morning chat session.

  Then she called Sheriff Johnson. And started her car.

  21

  “Who is she, Ricky? I don’t want her to come here. Why can’t it be just me and you?”

  He’d put Toy Story in the DVD player, but Steve was ignoring the thirty-two-inch LCD flat screen in his small apartment. He paced back and forth in front of the television.

  “Come here, sport. Sit with me.” With his arm along the back of the couch, Rick patted the cushion.

  He hated that he’d had to ask Erin there. Steve didn’t like new situations, or new people in his s
pace. And Rick didn’t actually want Erin there. Didn’t want anyone to meet Steve—with him.

  Steve’s safety was in not being associated with Rick.

  “I thought we were going to have fun today. And that’s not fun,” Steve whined. “Why did you have to ask her, anyway?”

  “You’re going to like her, buddy.”

  Impatient for Erin’s arrival to get the meeting over and done with, Rick glanced at his watch again. He had to be able to look her in the eye when she was talking to him. A phone call wasn’t good enough. He had to know—from her face, her expression, her body language—that she wasn’t lying. That he could trust her. And he had to be sure no one else heard their conversation. For all he knew her phone could be bugged.

  He had to find out what Bruce Halloway wanted with Steve.

  And he wasn’t going to leave until he knew what was going on.

  “No, I won’t like her.”

  “You like Jill, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And Angela?”

  He had to think. To figure out where these questions were leading.

  “Yeah.”

  “Erin’s just like them.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because she’s not my friend.”

  “Maybe she wants to be.”

  Steve stopped his pacing. “Did she say that?”

  “Yes.” Lying to Steve hurt. Every single time.

  “Well, I might not like her.” The words weren’t promising, but the sulky tone had lessened.

  “If you don’t, we’ll tell her to go away. How’s that?” Rick bartered.

  Steve stared at him, his chin and nose scrunched up with resentment. An expression Rick remembered from their youth. Except the memory evoked a much smaller, pudgier nose.

  “You promise?” Steve asked.

  “Yeah, sport, I promise.”

  But he wanted Steve to like Erin. Which made no sense at all.

  “Okay.” Steve plopped down next to him, flinging his leg over Rick’s. And, with his arms crossed over his chest, gazed at the TV. “I guess I’ll see if she’s nice.”