“You two are becoming regulars around here,” Detective Lannigan said. “Do yourselves and me a favor and try not to come across any more bodies. The ME’s beginning to complain, says the morgue is overcrowded.”
“We’ll do our best,” Rachel promised.
“One more thing,” the detective said. “The bullets the ME dug out of Jenae Natter came from a .38.”
Back in Rachel’s car, she and Grey tried to get a handle on the information about the weapon used to kill Jenae Natter.
Rachel’s brow creased in thought. “A .38? It gets the job done, but it’s not the kind of weapon that was fired at you or that took out the kidnapper.”
“No. That makes me wonder.”
“If you have more than one person after you?” At his nod, she asked, “Just how many people have you managed to make angry enough to kill you?”
“It’s like I told you the last time you asked—it’s a gift.”
* * *
Rachel smiled, as Grey had hoped, but he knew he hadn’t fooled her with his joking. She was too smart, too perceptive.
Despite his light words, his heart was heavy. Every hour that passed, every minute, every second, put them that much further away from finding Lily and bringing her home safely.
Was she afraid? Were the kidnappers treating her well? How much did she understand?
Part of him broke with every question until he practically choked on the pain.
Deep in his heart, he felt that Lily was still alive, but that could be a father’s natural hope to see his baby girl again and not the truth. How could he know? How could he know anything?
The idea that Lily wasn’t alive shredded his heart to tatters. Could he go on if that were the case? He didn’t know.
For now he was operating under the assumption that she was alive. All he had to do was to find her. That meant putting away any feelings he might have for Rachel. He’d already overstepped the boundaries by kissing her. And then again by holding her longer than necessary after they’d both nearly died from the IED.
It was too late to change what had happened, but he could keep things professional from now on. Though he didn’t move, he could feel himself pulling away from her emotionally. Deliberately, he blanked his eyes of the warmth he’d shown earlier.
Apparently, Rachel sensed his stepping back for she looked at him with questions in her eyes.
He squared his shoulders.
“Money’s at the root. It has to be,” she said as though nothing had happened. “If that’s the case, the no-ransom thing doesn’t make sense. It never did. Ransom is a onetime payout. What if this is bigger than that? What if it’s not just part of Lily’s trust that’s the prize, but all of it? You said it was worth a hundred million dollars.”
“Then why not ask for that amount in the first place?”
“I’m still figuring that out. Who is named as executor if you’re no longer around?”
“Roberta. She already has the authority to act as temporary executor when I’m not available.”
“But she still has to answer to you for any large withdrawals, right?”
“Right,” he agreed slowly. “What are you getting at? You can’t seriously suspect Roberta of kidnapping her own grandchild. I’m the first to admit that she’s not the most grandmotherly woman, but she’d never hurt Lily. Besides, she hasn’t taken a dime from the trust. She paid for everything while taking care of Lily, including hiring a nanny.”
“What if you’re not just deployed? What if you’re dead? Roberta would have the freedom to do with the trust as she saw fit.”
“I’m not buying it.”
“All I’m asking is that you think about it.”
“Okay.” But he wasn’t taking it seriously. He couldn’t.
They finished the drive to the address they’d found on the back of the envelope at the cabin. Grey had wrestled with his conscience; he knew he should tell the police about what he and Rachel had found, but Lannigan would only tell them not to go there themselves. He couldn’t wait. They were so close to finding Lily. How could he delay tracking down the man who had arranged the kidnapping for even an extra minute?
In an upscale part of the city, the home was impressive without being large. The door was slightly ajar, and they stepped inside.
A man lay facedown on a beautifully woven rug. Blood had seeped into the fibers in an obscene design.
“Is he—?” Rachel asked.
“He’s dead.” Grey rolled the body over. Wingate Michaels.
“So Michaels was in on it all along,” she said.
Michaels must have been the man who hired the kidnapper and likely the one who had murdered him.
Grey didn’t answer.
Two people dead in only a couple of hours. Someone was tying up loose ends. It wasn’t much of a jump to suppose that Michaels had killed the man at the cabin. A .22 Hornet lay near the body, still in its case, told its own story.
“Was Michaels familiar with explosives?” Rachel asked.
Grey called up what he knew about the man. “He worked for his father’s construction company during summers between college semesters. He didn’t have to work, but it made him look good. He could have learned about explosives there.”
“Like the bomb that was placed in your house. But setting up the IED is a different matter. That takes specialized training.”
“You can learn just about anything online these days,” Grey mused aloud. “Or his partner could be the one who knows about explosives and set it up beforehand.”
“You’re thinking of Kelvin.”
Grey felt the familiar hardness in his heart when the ex-soldier’s name was brought up. He hadn’t forgotten the hatred in Kelvin’s eyes when he talked about being kicked out of ranger training or that he blamed Grey for it. “The man at the cabin said that he was contacted through the dark web. Kelvin wouldn’t have any problem knowing how to do that.”
“Could Michaels and Kelvin have been working together?” Rachel asked.
It didn’t seem likely. The two were polar opposites of each other. Michaels, a blue blood, practically Southern royalty; Kelvin, a rough-around-the-edges ex-soldier who played and fought dirty. All they had in common was their mutual hatred for Grey.
“If they were working together, how did they find each other in the first place?”
It was a good question, one Grey didn’t have an answer for. Was he allowing his animosity toward Kelvin to blind him to what was really going on?
“Let’s forget Kelvin for the moment and concentrate on Michaels,” she said. “He fits the description that Jenae gave Mrs. Rasmussen of her boyfriend. Dark-haired, tall, good-looking.”
Rachel slapped a hand to her forehead as though something had just snapped into place. “The men who attacked us in the forest. I told you that the detective read off their rap sheet, including the name of the law firm that represented them. It was the firm sharing the floor with Michaels’s offices. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“It’s not. Maggie told me that Michaels inherited the place from his mother’s family. He kept the family name on it. A couple of partners run it, while he takes care of his own clients, but he’s the CEO.”
“It fits. Why would he do this? It can’t just be the money. You said he came from money, plus what he’s made on his own.”
“That’s right. But for some people, no amount is enough.” Grey clicked through memories of Maggie’s ex-fiancé. When Grey had been home between deployments, he and Maggie had attended several of the same events as Michaels did, natural enough since they ran in the same social circles. It had been obvious from the moment they’d met that Michaels had resented him. “He didn’t like me, but I never thought he’d go so far as to kidnap my child.”
After pulling a pair of latex gloves from her back pocket, Rachel unz
ipped the gun carrier, removed the rifle it contained and sniffed it. “It’s been fired recently. Hasn’t even been cleaned. I’m guessing that if ballistics compared a bullet from this, it would match the one in the man at the cabin.”
“Whoever did this didn’t wait long until after Michaels returned home. They were waiting for him.” A sweet odor caught his attention. “Do you smell that?” he asked. “Smells like—”
“Gas.”
Grey grabbed her hand. “Run!”
SIXTEEN
The firemen were finishing mopping up, and several police units had arrived, along with Detective Lannigan. His hangdog expression was more pronounced than usual.
“The medical examiner and his people will be here soon,” the detective said. “The body’s charred beyond recognition, but you’ve already identified it as Wingate Michaels. The ME will confirm that and get what he can from it. I expect the fire marshal will be arriving, as well. This wasn’t an accident.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Rachel said. “We told you that we smelled gas. The stove, I’m guessing. Someone lit the pilot light and left it on, hoping to destroy the body and kill anybody else who was here.”
It had been a harrowing few minutes, fleeing the house, then watching it explode into flames. If she and Grey had waited another thirty seconds, they would have undoubtedly died in the explosion.
Smoke stung her eyes and smudged the air, turning it into a dirty-looking cloud. Soaked wood and drywall added to the acrid stench.
“Thought I told you folks to avoid finding any more bodies,” Lannigan said.
“It’s not our first choice of hobbies,” Grey answered with more than a little acerbity. “How about being glad that we didn’t go up in flames like Michaels’s body did?”
“Sorry. Guess I’m feeling a mite annoyed. Too many bodies and no answers leave me in a bad mood.”
“Us, too,” Rachel said. This was the third time today she and Grey had narrowly escaped death. “I feel like we’re wearing targets on our backs, and I’m getting tired of it. I’m going home to shower and change clothes. Then I want to see your ex-mother-in-law again,” she said to Grey, “and ask her about the blood types. She has the answers we’re looking for.”
“And I want to talk with Kelvin. I haven’t totally ruled him out as being involved with Michaels. Give me a ride to a car rental place?”
“I ought to tell you to quit your investigating,” Lannigan said, “but I’ll save my breath. It’s pretty obvious that nothing’s going to stop you unless I put you in a cell for your own protection.”
Grey speared the man with a hard look.
The detective shook his head. “Don’t worry. I won’t. Just be careful.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said. “We can’t stop now. We’re too close.”
“I get it.” Lannigan’s expression softened when he turned to Grey. “If it were my child, I’d feel the same.” The normally gruff detective had a heart after all.
Grey didn’t say anything, only gave a short nod of acknowledgment.
Rachel understood that he was overcome with fear and hope and everything in between. “Do you think anyone will rent to you again?” she asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.
“Real funny.”
After Rachel drove Grey to a car rental place where he picked up yet another truck, she turned to go, then stopped when he held up a hand. “Check in, okay?”
“You, too.” So far they’d been together, facing whatever danger came their way side by side. Now they were separating, if only for a short while, and she felt part of her confidence slipping.
In the past few days, she’d changed, leaving her ordinary solitude behind and working with a partner, one she both respected and admired.
On her way home to clean up, Rachel mulled over the past few hours. Meeting with the kidnapper. Witnessing his murder. Stepping on the IED. Finding the address that had led them to Michaels’s place. Discovering that Michaels had been involved in the abduction and the murders. And then the explosion.
It was a lot to take in. She kept turning the pieces around in her mind, trying to make them fit.
One piece of the puzzle remained missing, if only she could identify it. She and Grey were close to finding Lily. She knew it. Felt it. All they had to do was to find that lone piece and slide it in place.
* * *
On the drive to the trucking company where Victor Kelvin worked, Grey reviewed what they’d learned in the past few hours. Once again they had more questions than answers.
The same was true for his feelings for Rachel. He admired her. He cared about her, maybe more than cared, but that didn’t mean love. He’d cared about Maggie and had mistaken that for love.
What he’d taken as love, though, was really a need to take care of her. She’d been sheltered her entire life and, at the same time, constantly under the thumb of a controlling mother. He’d assumed the role of protector, a natural extension of his job in the rangers.
Those feelings hadn’t been enough, even when Maggie had looked at him with adoration in her eyes, and he’d soon chafed under her constant need for reassurance. Six months after their marriage, she’d discovered she was pregnant. Maggie had been ecstatic, and Grey just as delighted. It seemed that their problems had been solved.
Pregnancy, however, had taken its toll on Maggie in terms of morning sickness and mood swings, and Grey had found himself in the role of nursemaid. He’d asked for and received compassionate leave from the army for the space of her pregnancy.
With Lily’s birth, another difficulty had ensued when Maggie suffered from severe postpartum depression, and he’d taken over caring for both Maggie and Lily, but nothing could dilute his joy in his baby daughter. From the first moment he’d held her in his arms, he’d fallen in love with the tiny scrap of humanity.
Lily had let her needs be known with ear-piercing squalls, but her smiles and gurgles more than rewarded his care. She’d kicked her little legs with such glee that he couldn’t help but laugh.
When Maggie had felt stronger, she’d assumed her role as mother and he’d returned to Afghanistan. Then Maggie had fallen ill, dying before he could even reach the States to be at her side. He’d beaten himself up over that time and time again.
All of that had brought him here, to this time and place.
At the trucking company, he searched for Kelvin in the loading area, only to find the man wasn’t there. Impatiently, Grey went to find the manager. “I’m looking for Victor Kelvin.”
The manager, a beefy guy in his forties with a thick neck and broad shoulders, swiped a hand over a sweaty forehead. “That makes two of us. He hasn’t been at work in two days. He’s not much of a worker, but we have schedules to meet, and it’s all hands on deck.” Disgust coated his voice. “If you see him, tell him he’s fired and not to bother asking for references. You can tell him, too, that he can pick up his paycheck, minus the days he’s missed, but if he knows what’s good for him, he won’t be coming ’round here again.”
Grey’s mind wasn’t on Kelvin’s problems at work, though. After getting his address from his boss, Grey drove to the house—a shotgun style that might have been attractive if someone had bothered to fix it up with a coat of paint and a new roof. Unsurprisingly, Victor Kelvin wasn’t into gentrification.
Grey rapped on the door but without success. When the door pushed open, the smell hit him. He followed his nose to the bathroom.
He found the body in the bathtub, covered in kitty litter, an obvious move to cut down on the smell.
It hadn’t worked.
Grey brushed aside enough of the litter covering the face to identify Victor Kelvin. Even with the litter, the bloating of the body was plainly evident. Never a pretty sight, bloating had turned Kelvin into a creature resembling a misshapen whale, his features distorted, his belly distended, the color of his fa
ce a sickly hue. Though Grey didn’t move the body, he was certain that lividity had settled in the tiny capillaries next to the tub surface.
He did a quick check of the house, looking for anything to give him a clue as to who’d killed the man. Though he hadn’t liked Kelvin, he’d never wished the man dead. Not like this. Every life taken, even when not by his own hands, scraped away at the soul.
With more than a trace of déjà vu, Grey called Detective Lannigan, who showed up within thirty minutes, along with a couple of black-and-white units.
The man’s morose demeanor deepened as he surveyed Kelvin’s body. “Three bodies in as many hours. I’m seeing a pattern here.” He gave Grey a sour look. “Victor Kelvin, I suppose. The man you claimed tried to kill you by cutting your brake lines. Wherever you and Ms. Martin go, a body shows up.” The detective scratched his chin. “Just how did you happen to stumble on this one?”
The emphasis wasn’t lost on Grey. “I paid a visit to the place where Kelvin worked and was told that he hadn’t been there for a couple of days, so I came looking for him. I found him like this.”
“Looks like he’s been dead for at least two days.”
“That’s what I figured.”
Another chin scratch. “Guess you have an alibi for the time he was killed?”
Grey’s gaze never wavered. He widened his stance, the gesture one of challenge that Lannigan picked up on. “Are you accusing me of killing him?” Grey asked.
The detective mimicked Grey’s gesture. The whole thing played out like two nineteenth-century gunfighters, waiting to see who blinked first.
Lannigan gave his chin another scratch. “A case could be made that you wanted payback for Kelvin cutting your brake line.”
“That was never proved, and even if it had been, I wouldn’t have resorted to murder. That’s not my style.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is.” Lannigan scraped at his beard so hard that Grey wondered that he didn’t pull the hair right off the skin. He then dropped his hand as though aware of the tell. “I did a run on you. Started with the military. I came up with a bunch of medals and commendations.”
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