Tell It Like It Is

by Stanalei Fletcher

  “That’s just it.” He frowned. “I thought they were shadows.”

  “Well, Northstar has all the letters, now. We’re expecting an update from Byron tomorrow. Right, Shelby?”

  Shelby started at being drawn into the conversation. “Yes, ma’am.” She warmed at the inclusion, much like when Kane had done it earlier. Not an unwelcome feeling, just unfamiliar.

  Rosalee glanced at Phillip and then back at her great-nephew. “See? Shelby has everything under control. Why don’t you and your dad spend the night? That way you’ll be here in the morning when the call comes in.”

  Dismay replaced Shelby’s earlier warmth. From the moment Kane stepped into her space, he’d set off a vibration that shimmered around them. She couldn’t remember being so hyperaware of anyone before. And that feeling was unwelcome. It would make for a long night, knowing he was sleeping just down the hall.

  “I’ve had enough to drink. I’ll vote for not driving home tonight.” Phillip raised an eyebrow in his son’s direction. “You apparently don’t have to go to the office in the morning…”

  Kane stiffened as the comment hung in the air.

  “What’s this?” Rosalee asked, glancing between father and son.

  Kane looked over at his dad with a scowl. “With all that’s happened tonight, I didn’t get a chance to tell you. I’ve been suspended for a week, pending a review. It’s standard procedure to be put on administrative leave after a shooting.”

  “You shot someone?” Rosalee gasped. “Oh, Nelson, did you kill him?”

  “He didn’t leave me a choice, Aunt Rosalee.”

  “The poor man.” She reached over and took Kane’s hand. “My dear boy.”

  “I don’t want you to worry.” Kane patted the back of Rosalee’s hand.

  Shelby inwardly winced. She knew firsthand that taking a life, even in self-defense, was never without consequences. One of the reasons she never carried a gun was because if she had to defend herself, she wanted to be certain the attacker’s intent was to harm and not simply threaten. She’d been down the self-doubt road once before and swore she’d never do it again. She also realized the suspension left Kane unarmed. Something to think about when leaving Rosalee in his care.

  “I insist you stay the night.” Rosalee’s tone left no room for argument. “I refuse to let you go home to that empty apartment all alone.”

  “Honestly, I’ll be fine.” Kane tried to appease his aunt.

  “No.” Rosalee shook her head. “I won’t hear of it.”

  “You’d better give in, son,” Phillip added with a yawn. “Your aunt knows how to work the witching hour to her advantage. Don’t fight this battle.”

  Shelby had never dealt much with family dynamics, but she spotted the moment Kane caved. Rosalee may be a prolific author, but her powers of persuasion took very few words.

  He gave his aunt a defeated smile. “Okay. You win.”

  “Always.” She turned to Shelby. “Right, Miss Northstar?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Shelby still wore the dress that was the result of her own lost argument with the author. Now that the party was over, she should change into something less frivolous.

  “Good. Since that’s settled, I’ll ask Marta for some warm milk and head to my room.” She placed her hand in Kane’s and he helped her stand. “You gentlemen know where your rooms are. We’ll plan morning tea and breakfast around nine—ish.”

  Phillip stood too. “I think I’ll head up with you. I’m exhaust—”

  A scream reverberated from the kitchen.

  Everyone’s gaze jerked toward the doorway. Kane made to move, but was held back by Rosalee who clutched his arm. He reached under his sport jacket, but stopped and his hand came out empty.

  Right, Shelby remembered. No gun.

  She made the split-second decision to leave Rosalee in Kane’s protection while she ran toward the kitchen. Tossing her cell phone to him, she said, “Call 9-1-1.”

  “Wait!” he said as he positioned himself in front of Rosalee.

  “Stay with her.” Shelby continued running. A second scream rent the air as she reached the door. This wasn’t an oops-I-dropped-something scream, but a blood-curdling, someone is killing me with a knife scream. Marta.

  Using every ounce of control to keep from rushing headlong into an attacker, Shelby lowered to her knees, stealthily pushed the swinging door open, and peeked in.

  At first, she didn’t see anything. The screaming had stopped. Then she heard a soft whimpering.

  “Dios mío. Dios mío.”

  Shelby crept farther into the room until she could see three-fourths of the kitchen. There were no bodies on the floor. No extra pair of shoes moved about. Cautiously, she rose from her crouched position and took stock of the room. The housekeeper was alone.

  “Marta.”

  Marta stood with her back to the double sink, clutching a rosary to her chest. Her breathing was fast and her dusky skin had turned sallow. With wide, terrified eyes she stared at something near the back door.

  With a cursory glance, Shelby noted the closed door. Scanning the room again, she confirmed Marta was the only occupant.

  “What happened?” She slowly approached the other woman.

  Spanish burst from the housekeeper, who pointed a trembling finger at the back door. Shelby leaned over and picked up the broom Marta had dropped. Gripping the handle as a weapon, she sidled toward the door, ready to ward off any attacker.

  But the attacker wasn’t alive.

  In fact, it was quite dead. And bloody.

  At first, Shelby thought the carcass was some bird the dog had dragged into the house—except Oscar was upstairs in his kennel.

  Upon closer examination, she saw it was a rat. Not the variety that prowled the back alleys, living out of garbage bins, but a white rat. The kind sold at pet stores or found in test labs. The pool of blood told Shelby it had been killed just before someone slid it through the minuscule doggie door.

  She wasn’t the squeamish type. Even though dead rats weren’t routine in her job, she could usually handle a rodent without it bothering her. Except this one did.

  It wasn’t the rat, or even the fact that it was dead. It was the way it had been killed that sent a chill racing up her spine.

  The pointed end of a writer’s quill speared the poor animal’s chest. It would have taken several minutes for it to die, bleeding out, struggling to find release from the pain. True, it was a rodent, but what had been done to it was cruel—torture with a message.

  Shelby glanced at the housekeeper who still trembled.

  “Marta,” Shelby said gently as she walked toward her.

  Marta didn’t move. She just stared at the rat, whimpering.

  “Marta!”

  This time she blinked and looked up.

  “Good.” Shelby nodded. “Keep looking at me. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. That will help you from going into shock.”

  Marta nodded. “Sí.”

  “I want you to go into the other room.”

  Marta’s stare strayed back to the dead rat, but her whimpering stopped.

  “Marta!” Shelby placed a hand on the housekeeper’s arm. “Look at me.”

  Her gaze returned to Shelby.

  “Rosalee’s out there with Agent Kane. Do you hear me?”

  Marta nodded.

  “Okay.” Shelby smiled to reassure her. “Tell Kane I need him in here. Then you and Rosalee go upstairs and stay in her room. Make sure to lock the doors. Stay away from the windows. Under no circumstances, are you to bring Rosalee into the kitchen. Do you understand?”

  Marta nodded again. “Sí.”

  “Good. Don’t let the dog out, either. I don’t want him wandering in here. Go. Now.”

  Shelby gave the housekeeper a gentle shove in the direction of the dining room. That was all it took. The woman was running as fast as her stout legs could carry her.

  Alone now, Shelby swore. How could this happen on her watch? Som
eone had gotten close enough to the house to push that rat into the kitchen. Someone who knew the layout of the estate, and waited until all the guests had left. Someone who’d wanted to prove how vulnerable Rosalee was.

  A moment later, Kane rushed into the kitchen. “I’ve secured Aunt Rosalee in her room. What happened? Marta is practically in hysterics—” He saw the rat on the floor and swore.

  “It’s a rat.”

  “I see that,” he growled. “How—” He stopped.

  Shelby didn’t answer. Who, why, and how were the questions she was asking too. She nodded to the phone in his hand. “Did you call the police?”

  He tore his eyes away from the dead creature and looked at her. “Yeah. Uh, actually, I called my team. They should be here any moment.”

  “I hope they bring a forensic kit. We’re going to need to bag this as evidence.” She grimaced at the dead rat. “And I want a full sweep of the back door and yard. That area was clear not even an hour ago when I checked.” Which meant she’d missed something, and someone had gotten too close to her client. On her watch.

  Chapter Eight

  Three hours later, the rat mess had been cleaned up. The forensic team had combed the area all around the back door. They’d photographed, bagged, and tagged another dozen items besides the rat.

  Right after the incident, Shelby called Northstar, dragging O’Neal out of bed to report on the evening’s events. Having talked to Kane earlier, O’Neal had already tasked his son, Riley, to coordinate the investigation with the FBI. No one on either coast was getting much sleep tonight.

  Whoever slipped that rat through the doggie door knew Rosalee had returned home. They knew she’d be alone after the party ended. Regardless of Shelby’s vigilance, someone had gained access to the property. It was a blatant show of power to prove they could get to the author. Anywhere. Anytime.

  The FBI team took the report, and incident, seriously this time.

  Shelby ducked out of the kitchen, leaving Kane to finish with the forensic team. She phoned O’Neal with another update now that the household had settled down some.

  “I’m done with the kid gloves.” O’Neal’s gruff voice barked through the phone. “Get her out of the house tonight.”

  “Yes, sir.” Shelby cringed at the daunting task of convincing Rosalee to leave her home. At least she had O’Neal’s backing this time. Probably Agent Kane’s, too. “Do you have a place in mind?”

  “Return to Washington.” O’Neal’s voice was hard. “We’ll put her in a safe house with extra guards.”

  That meant another flight, but she’d do it. “Yes, sir. I’ll arrange it right away.”

  Shelby spared a glance toward the kitchen. Until Rosalee said otherwise, she was still under Northstar’s care, which meant Shelby was in charge. She’d update Kane with the plan to relocate the author—after she broke the news to Rosalee.

  Around the house, things slowly returned to normal. Marta settled down enough to prepare a light meal for Kane and his father. Even Rosalee ate a little and decided to do a bit of work on the book since she couldn’t sleep.

  In a way, Shelby was relieved that Rosalee’s family, and by default, the FBI, were now involved. On the other hand, she felt like a fifth wheel. A feeling not all that foreign to her considering the number of foster homes she’d passed through growing up. She reminded herself she had every right to be with Rosalee. It was her job.

  She climbed the stairs and entered the author’s office. Smells emanating from the warm enchilada soup made her stomach rumble.

  Rosalee chuckled as she laid aside her spoon and looked up. “My dear, you must have the constitution of a horse. I can’t imagine how you have any appetite after seeing that awful sight Marta described to me.”

  Shelby winced at her lack of foresight to ask Marta to keep the incident less graphic. “She shouldn’t have given you those details.”

  “Nonsense. It’s not Marta’s fault. What kind of a writer would I be if I didn’t pay attention to details?” Rosalee picked up a pen and started scribbling notes.

  Shelby hesitated over delivering the news that Rosalee couldn’t stay in the house. “How are you doing?”

  Rosalee finished her note and gave a wan smile. “I’m fine. I’ve endured much worse in my day. Although I do have to say, I’ve never had such animosity directed at me in such a personal manner.”

  She sensed fear in Rosalee’s words even though her face gave nothing away. Before she could respond, Kane poked his head in. Oscar stretched from his resting place under the desk and pattered over to sniff at his shoes.

  Kane glared at his aunt. “Why aren’t you in your bedroom resting?”

  “Goodness, Nelson. No one could sleep after all this excitement.”

  He crossed to the desk and leaned down to give his aunt a hug. “I suppose you’re right.” He peered over her shoulder. “What are you writing?”

  Rosalee held up the pad. “The rat incident.”

  “Why?” Shelby had a hard time grasping the author’s need to write down something so horrific.

  “I want to capture these feelings, the emotions of the entire episode.” Rosalee picked up her pen again. “It’s particularly fascinating how the writer’s quill was used to ‘off’ the helpless rodent. It’s just like the Mafia,” she explained without looking up from her notes.

  “How do you mean?” Shelby wondered if this was an insight that might be helpful in their investigation.

  “Here I am, telling the world about my life and what I know of the Mafia’s inside workings.” She swept her arm in a grand gesture. “And right on my doorstep is the rat. The symbolism is so telling. I’m the rat. Killed by my own pen.” She draped the back of her hand across her forehead in dramatic fashion.

  Kane chuckled and pressed a kiss to his aunt’s cheek. “I think you missed your calling. You should have been an actress instead of an author.”

  “I almost was.” Rosalee smiled and playfully slapped Kane’s arm. “That’s what brought me to California.” She looked over at Shelby. “Well, that, and Antonio Denato. He had Hollywood connections.”

  “What happened?” Shelby asked.

  “Alas, I was too old.” Rosalee threw back her shoulders and cocked her head. “Who would have thought that being in my twenties was too old to become a movie star? That’s when Antonio ended it between us.” She paused and looked at the ceiling in thought. “No, that’s not quite true. I ended it when I caught the bastard in bed with the bimbo who got the very same role I was auditioning for.”

  She gave a long sigh. “But it worked out for the best. Shortly after that, my sister and her husband were killed in a plane crash and their son Phillip, Nelson’s father, came to live with me. In spite of my shortcomings, we made it, and look where we are now.”

  Shelby made to object to any of Rosalee’s shortcomings, but Rosalee held up a hand.

  “No, don’t say anything. I know where my strengths are. Besides, I’ve shown them all.” She gestured to the bookshelves filled with her work. “My stories will last long after I’m gone. In fact, this incident might even make me more famous.” She gave another weary smile. “If it weren’t so…lethal, I’d find it almost prophetic.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it prophecy.” Shelby shook her head. “What’s happening to you is wrong. And if I get my hands on this guy, there won’t be anything left of him.” She felt Kane’s gaze settle on her, but didn’t meet his eyes.

  Rosalee laughed. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

  Shelby grimaced. “I don’t mean to sound….” She hesitated. “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t apologize. You have no idea how refreshing it is not to be treated like a china teapot about to break.”

  “I’m sure it’s simply out of respect for—”

  “My age?” Rosalee interrupted.

  “I was going to say, your status.” Heat warmed Shelby’s cheeks when she caught Kane staring at her.

  Rosalee burst into laug
hter as she stood. “I do so like you, Shelby. My family walks on eggshells around me.” She reached up and patted her nephew’s slightly flushed cheek. “I’ve never been quite sure why.”

  Kane winked at his aunt. “Maybe it’s because you’re so intimidating.”

  “Nonsense.” Rosalee picked up her tray and walked to the door. “I’m an old woman. What could possibly be intimidating about that?”

  Shelby took the tray from Rosalee. “Let me take this. I need to talk with you.” She hadn’t wanted to have the conversation with Kane present, but he was here now and she had no choice. Putting the tray on the coffee table, she gestured to the couch. “Please sit for a moment.”

  “Oh dear.” Rosalee pouted. “This sounds serious.”

  “It is.” Shelby took a deep breath. “I’ve been on the phone with O’Neal. He wants you to relocate to Washington where we can better guard you.”

  Rosalee paled a little and sank onto the couch, shaking her head vehemently. “No. We’ve already been through this. I have to finish my book by the deadline. I simply can’t work out of a hotel.”

  Shelby met Kane’s gaze over his aunt’s head.

  Was that approval in his expression? A shock rode down her spine. What was it about him that triggered such a strong physical reaction in her? It might have been interesting to explore, except she’d be on her way out of town later today, and the odds of seeing him again were slim to none.

  His gaze lingered on Shelby for a moment then moved to his aunt. “Shelby’s right. I’ll arrange for you to leave the house today. But instead of flying across country, you can stay with me at Dad’s place until this mess is cleared up.”

  “No!” Both Shelby and Rosalee spoke at the same time.

  Rosalee’s eyes filled with a determined fire as she shook her head. “Absolutely not. We’ve been over this.” She glared at Shelby. “And I’m not flying to D.C., either.”

  Her reaction seemed to set Kane back on his heels. “You can’t stay here. Not when someone can get to you this easily.”

  “They won’t if both you and Shelby are with me,” Rosalee countered. “And don’t think you can send Shelby packing just because you’re going to help.” His aunt rounded on him with a pointed finger. “She’s staying with me until the book is finished.”