Exposed

by Suzanne Ferrell

  “Around eleven.”

  “In the morning?” Abrams cocked his head slightly, a sure sign he believed she was lying about being home yesterday.

  “She went straight from the airport to a wedding,” Frank said, just to put a little kink in the guy’s line of questioning.

  Abrams looked his way. “You know this, how?”

  “Mutual friends.” Frank stared right at him.

  “And you were with her until you brought her home.”

  “And afterwards.”

  “I see.”

  Sydney watched the interchange between the two men.

  It was like two grizzly bears sizing each other up before they went into a fight over a fish. She should be flattered. Two handsome—okay, he might be as surly as a bear, but Castello was still handsome—men were sparring off in their corners over her. Only she wasn’t a fish, or anything else resembling food or property.

  She needed to put a stop to this and get the detective’s Q&A session over, so maybe he could help them figure out where her brother was. Besides, she glanced at Castello, wearing his gun and holster, at least one of her bears was armed.

  “Here’s my timeline, detective,” she said, pulling her used airline tickets and hotel receipts from her purse where she’d dropped it on the floor. She handed them to him, breaking the staring contest between him and Frank. “As you can see, I was in Vermont for the past week, flew in yesterday, and as Marshall Castello has said, went straight to a wedding where I was doing the photography for a…” she glanced at Frank who gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. Yeah, they were on the same page. Keep Luke and Abby’s names out of the investigation if possible. “Some friends. The first time I knew anything about my home being up in flames was when I arrived there about…” Again she paused to look at Frank.

  “Nine-thirty.”

  She gave him a slight nod, then went back at Abrams. “Last night. A few minutes later, my home…my home exploded, and Frank took me to…his home, since I had nowhere else to go. Do you have any other questions for me?”

  Abrams took the papers, looked at them, jotted information into his notebook and handed them back to her. “Thank you. Do you know if there was anyone in the house before the fire?”

  And there was the question of the hour. Ian had been there while she was gone, but had he been there when the fire started?

  She inhaled slowly, trying to keep the tears that suddenly burned her eyes from getting worse.

  “Her brother was staying at her house while she was out of town,” Frank answered for her. “We haven’t been able to get in contact with him, yet.”

  There he was, doing it again, running interference for her when it was all just a little overwhelming. She could kiss the big lug.

  What would that be like?

  Whoa. She had no business thinking of kissing Castello.

  His eyes met hers.

  Heat flooded her. She licked her suddenly dry lips.

  He arched one brow.

  “Do you have his information?” the detective asked from beside her, breaking the odd connection between her and Castello.

  “Excuse me?” she said.

  “Your brother’s contact information,” Abrams said, as if he was repeating the information to a confused witness. “Name, phone number, address, email? Maybe I’ll have luck tracking him down.”

  “Oh, of course,” she said, focusing on her phone. “He doesn’t have a fixed address. That’s why he was staying at my place while he was in town, but I do have an email account for him.”

  Once she’d given the detective Ian’s contact number and account, he bid them goodbye, saying he’d be in touch with them once he got the report from the Arson investigator.

  While Castello let the other man out, she picked up her laptop again to focus on the fashion photos she’d been uploading. She needed to be doing something, anything, but thinking about the odd little connection she’d felt to the deputy marshal minutes earlier.

  Her peripheral vision caught him moving around the kitchen, then sitting in the leather chair next to the sofa once more, extending his left leg out in front of him. Feeling his attention on her, she tried to ignore the odd tingling and concentrate on her work. Finally, no longer able to tolerate the silence she looked up to see him watching her with that dark, brooding gaze of his.

  “What?”

  He gave her an almost imperceptible shake of his head, as if to say nothing. “What are you working on?”

  “I need to upload these photos so I can edit them before sending them off to Liv Cartwright.”

  “Who?” he asked, looking totally blank.

  She laughed. “Of course you’ve never heard of her. She’s only the most popular up-and-coming fashion designer to hit the fashion scene in the past few years.”

  Blank face.

  “The client I was doing the photo shoot for in Vermont.”

  “Do you have a lot to do?”

  “I have them all uploaded to my laptop, and sent Liv an email telling her it would be a few days before I can get her the results, because editing will take some time now.”

  “Why?”

  She inhaled and exhaled. “Because the program I use to edit my photos was on the hard drive that got blown to pieces last night.”

  “Did you lose a lot of work?”

  “Not really. I have an automatic backup of everything uploaded to my computer to the cloud.”

  “The cloud?”

  Again she laughed as she closed her computer. “Think of it as an internet safety deposit box for files you want to be able to access anywhere in the world. You know in case your computer gets zapped by lightning.”

  “Or blown to pieces,” he said with a slight lift of the corner of his mouth, repeating her words.

  “Yeah, that.”

  “What program would you need to finish your work?”

  “It’s a special one for editing photos professionally.”

  “And it won’t work on your laptop?” He reached down and rubbed his left leg around his knee area.

  “It could. I prefer to use the mouse and the hard drive. It gave me more accuracy and control.” She cocked her head sideways. “Why?”

  “There’s a hard drive in my office at the other house. You could upload the program to it.”

  “I hate to impose. You were kind enough to let me spend the night last night. In fact, I should probably start looking for a hotel for the night.” She opened up the laptop to bring up the search engine.

  Suddenly, he was standing beside the couch. “Put it away.”

  “Excuse me?” she said, tilting her head to stare up at him.

  “No need for you to get a hotel room. The Victorian Village house is big enough for two. You’ll have the space to do your work until we figure out what happened to your home.” He held out her laptop case.

  What he said made sense, and it was kind of him to make the suggestion. Only problem was, it sounded more like a command than a request.

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already grabbing her camera case again and headed for the garage. Gathering her computer, case, phone and purse she hurried after him.

  “You know you have to stop doing that,” she said, scrambling into the passenger side of the SUV once more.

  “What?” he asked as he pushed the button on the garage door opener.

  “Kidnapping my equipment and holding it hostage until I comply with your decisions.”

  He just gave her that arched-brow, Vulcan stare and pulled out into the growing dusk.

  She huffed, crossed her arms in front of her and stared straight ahead until he drove left instead of right towards the interstate.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Dinner.”

  Great. She was trapped in a moving vehicle with a one-word-wielding caveman looking for food.

  * * * * *

  Seated in Wendell’s Pub, a little spot not too far from the townhome that featured goo
d beer and comfort food, Frank was enjoying the company of the woman across from him and the steak sandwich when his pocket vibrated. Wiping his mouth with the linen napkin, he pulled out his phone and checked the ID. “Hey, Doyle.”

  “Got the initial arson report results for you.”

  He wasn’t going to ask how Doyle had gotten his hands on that report so quickly. A few years ago, Jake had told him the man had tentacles that extended deep into the police department, even after his disability forced him to retire.

  “And?” Frank stared across the table. Sydney had finally stopped pouting at him when they entered the pub and was now working heartily on the chicken chopped salad she’d ordered. He like the fact she had a healthy appetite. Couldn’t stand women who picked at their food like a bird.

  “You’re not going to like it.” Doyle’s gravelly voice said on the other end of the line.

  The hairs on his neck started to tingle.

  “What did it say?”

  “The fire was started with an accelerant. Gasoline.”

  “Anything else?” he asked. Sydney, fork halfway to her mouth, sat, watching him intently.

  “They found what looks like the making of a bomb near the front of the house.”

  Now the hairs were doing a Texas two-step on his neck. “That’s very interesting.”

  “Don’t know what that little lady’s messed up in, but someone wanted to either hurt her or send a very loud message to her.”

  Or someone she knew.

  “Thanks, Doyle. I’ll get back to you later.”

  “Who’s Doyle?” she asked, then ate the last forkful of her food.

  He motioned the waitress for the check. “A friend of Jake Carlisle’s.”

  “Another FBI agent?”

  “Private Eye. Former cop.”

  “Jeez, Frank, it’s like pulling teeth to get any information out of you.” She narrowed her eyes at him, like she wanted to launch herself across the table at him and strangle him. He smothered the smile that image gave him.

  Despite how cute her current state of agitation made her, he didn’t think he should push his luck. The waitress came to the table. He took the check, pulled out some bills and handed it back to the waitress, waiting for her to move away before answering. “Jake asked him to see if he could get some information for me.”

  “What kind of information?” she asked, as she gathered her purse and jacket.

  “I’ll tell you in the car,” he said, standing and waiting for her.

  She cast that same slant-eyed look at him as she walked by and headed out the door. “I don’t know what it is you couldn’t tell me here.”

  “In the car, Syd,” he said just to irritate her.

  “That’s not my name. Do not call me that,” she said, and stomped off in the direction of the SUV.

  Suddenly, headlights flashed to the right of them, as a familiar, dark-blue sedan drove around the corner of the parking lot, headed straight for Sydney. And it was picking up speed.

  “Syd!” he yelled, as he ran and barreled into her.

  Something slammed into him, knocking him sideways, his arms locked around Sydney as he rolled to protect her from the impact of the ground.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Frank?” Sydney struggled to move in the death lock he had on her. Her head resting against his chest, she wasn’t sure if that was his heart pounding beneath her ear or her own pulse thrumming so damn loudly. Lifting her head she tried to get his attention again. “Frank, are you okay?”

  “Yes.” He opened his eyes, the lines around the corners crinkling with pain for a brief second. Releasing his hold on her he reached up to brush her hair off her face. “Are you?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. We need to get out of here,” he said, struggling to sit up while still holding on to her with one hand.

  Get out of here? Was he crazy?

  “We need to call the police.” She managed to stand and pull her phone out of her purse.

  He grabbed the phone from her and shoved it in his pocket. “No. No police.”

  “What do you mean, no police? Someone just tried to run us over!” She said, as he pulled her by her elbow towards his SUV.

  “Exactly. The sedan was the same one Abrams drove.” He stopped on the passenger side, pressed the electronic door opener, and nearly pushed her inside.

  Half in and half out of the car, she locked her arm against the car door he was trying to close. “What are you saying? That Detective Abrams just tried to kill us? Why?”

  Frank scanned up and down the parking lot. Then he leaned in closer. “Sydney, I have no idea what’s going on, but right now I need to get us out of here. Before whoever tried comes back.”

  His eyes said trust me.

  Trusting someone didn’t come easy to her. The last man she really trusted was her dad, and he’d never come back. But twice now, this man had come to her rescue. If he thought they needed to leave and not call the police, she’d follow his advice.

  She nodded, swung farther into the car, and let him close the door.

  “Where are we going? Back to the town house or the Craftsman?” she asked after he was in the car, pulling it out of the parking space.

  As he maneuvered onto State Street his body was tense and he kept his gaze moving in a circular motion.

  The street. The side mirrors. The rearview. Repeat.

  He’d gone all Deputy Marshal. Completely alert and working her protection.

  “I don’t know. If it was Abrams, we’ve got to get out of this car and into one not registered. Then a safe place to stop and think.”

  An idea popped into her head. He’d been doing so much to protect her. She didn’t like feeling like a helpless little girl. It was her turn to come up with a plan.

  “I know a place. Head into Westerville.”

  He continued on State Street per her directions. “I thought you only had the one house?”

  “I do…did. We’re going to a friend’s place.”

  He shook his head. “Not sure we should involve more people into this mess or whatever it is going on.”

  She laid her hand on his arm as they stopped at a red light. “She’ll be okay with helping us, and won’t ask too many questions. Trust me.”

  For a moment he studied her, as if he were trying to decide whether or not to do as she asked, just as she’d done to him earlier. He gave a nod as the light switched to green and headed into the small city that had become a suburb of Columbus a few decades back.

  She went to pull her phone out of her purse then remembered Castello had pocketed it back at the pub. “I need my phone,” she said holding out her hand.

  Without taking his eyes off the road, he slipped her phone out of his pocket and into her hand, but held his hand over hers, preventing her from taking it.

  “What?”

  “Remember—” he said, with a glance her way.

  “I know. No police.”

  He released her hand and focused on driving once more.

  Shaking her head, she pulled a number up from her contact list and listened as the phone rang.

  “Girl, you’d better be calling to want to use some of my designs in a big fancy fashion exposé,” the sassy voice on the other side said.

  “I keep telling you that when you have something new and editorial, I’ll happily feature you in any of the mags.” She couldn’t help but smile. Jontae was the queen of retro design and styling for anyone looking for a late-forties or early-fifties look. She liked copying clothes that had been done and adding in vintage from her racks. She was also the first friend she’d made in Columbus when they were both teens suffering from horrendous loss. Jontae’s mother had died from cancer a month before Sydney’s dad died in the tower. “Hey, are you still at the store?”

  “I am. Just closing up since business had slowed to a dead stop. What’s up?”

  “I was hoping I could impose on you to let a friend and I use your garage at the store�
�” Castello’s hand landed on her thigh. She paused, narrowing her eyes at him in question.

  “And make a few calls inside,” he said.

  She nodded. “And make a few calls inside?”

  “Of course you can,” Jontae said. “I just have one question.”

  “Sure, what?”

  “Who’s the owner of that deep voice I just heard? ’Cause girlfriend, if you’ve been holding out on me about your love life, I’m gonna be mighty pissed at you!”

  Sydney laughed. “We literally just met yesterday. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  After they said goodbye, Sydney went to slip her phone in her purse once more.

  “Wait a minute,” Frank said, once more laying his hand over hers and the phone.

  “What? I told you I wouldn’t call the police.”

  “And I believe you.” He gave her hand a little squeeze and a little flutter skittered up her arm. “Do you have GPS tracking on your phone?”

  “Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Turn it off. Now. Before we get near your friend’s place.” He pulled over into a fast-food restaurant’s parking lot.

  She craned her head around to look out the rear window. “Did you see someone following us?”

  “No,” he said, laying his hand on hers and drawing her attention back to the phone. “We don’t want anyone finding us at your friend’s place and I’m sure you don’t want to put her in unnecessary danger.”

  He’s doing it again. Trying to protect not just her, but Jontae, too. And he was right. She’d feel terrible if something happened to her friend.

  “So, let’s close down the GPS function.”

  “Surely you don’t think someone’s tracking me?” The idea gave her the willies.

  “Pull up your Facebook page.”

  She did and a post showed them checking in at the burger joint. Crap. He had a point. She opened up her settings and immediately disconnected the GPS function, despite the shaking her fingers were suddenly doing. “I can’t imagine the police or anyone searching for me through social media.”

  “You’d be surprised what technology we use when we’re trying to find a criminal. You’ll have to do the one on your laptop, too.”

  “What about your phone?”