by Gerri Hill
“Dee’s a cop. She’ll only break the rules so far. The fact that we have these files in our possession and she hasn’t alerted someone is probably driving her crazy.”
“Dee is what? Mid to late forties?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“I like her.”
Finn looked at her quickly. “She’s a little too old for you, kid.” Then she held up her hand. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to call you a kid.”
“I like her. She’s nice. I didn’t mean I was attracted to her. I’m not.”
Finn wouldn’t meet her gaze. She picked up the binoculars instead and pointed them at the deli shop.
“You’re not, huh?”
“No, I’m not. Would it bother you if I was?”
Finn put the binoculars down, but she didn’t pull her gaze from the shop. “It’s not really my business.”
Rylee laughed. “Yet you are quick to tell me she’s too old for me. Which she’s not. Age isn’t a factor. I’m simply not attracted to her.”
Finn smiled then and turned in the seat to face her. Rylee was surprised by the relief she saw there. Was Finn jealous?
“Who did you leave behind in Amarillo?”
“You mean…a girlfriend?”
“Yeah.”
Rylee shook her head. “No, no one. Kat was my only long-term relationship.”
“Kat?”
“Kathryn. She worked for my father too. When we broke up, it was a little uncomfortable there, to say the least. My father…well, he liked Kat.”
“Is that why you moved?”
“Because of the breakup? No. Our relationship wasn’t ever real, if you know what I mean. She wasn’t the one, I knew that. But it was comfortable and easy…until it wasn’t. She wasn’t in love with me any more than I was in love with her. Yet when I ended things, she acted like I’d torn her world apart.” She sighed, remembering the very public scene they’d had in the breakroom at work, tears and all. “Everyone kinda took her side, including my father.” She waved a hand in the air. “Anyway, I’d been thinking about moving away from Amarillo for at least a year before that happened. So the breakup wasn’t the reason I moved, but it—and the aftermath—made the decision much easier.”
“Why was she your only relationship?”
“I don’t know. We were together three years. Before that, I dated some. Not a lot.” She shrugged. “I…I don’t know. When I was younger, college, relationships seemed so superficial…friendship and the romantic kind, both. So many little games. I had no patience for it.”
“No close friends?”
“Oh, I had friends. And we had a group that hung together. Only…” She paused. That had always been a question she’d harbored in her own mind. Why didn’t she have close friends? A best friend? Why?
She never really connected that way with anyone. It was her fault, of course. She seemed to keep people at arm’s length—whether consciously or not, that seemed to be the case. If she was being honest with herself, that was one reason she wanted to move. Amarillo held nothing for her. No lover. No friends. A broken relationship with her father. And a mother who relished heaping guilt on her for whatever reason. She often wondered if it lessened her mother’s own guilt for something.
While she wouldn’t say that her mother was unhappy in her marriage, there was something missing. More kids? Is that where her guilt came from? The two miscarriages? She felt like she was to blame, Rylee supposed. Did shifting that blame—and guilt—to Rylee help ease her own?
“Only what?” Finn asked quietly.
Rylee looked at her apologetically. “Sorry…lost in thought.”
“You want to talk?” Finn offered.
“Oh, no…it’s just…” She paused. “I don’t miss Amarillo. I don’t miss my parents. I don’t miss my job or my friends…I don’t miss all the things that were so familiar to me for the past thirty years.”
“And that’s got you thinking what?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” She turned to face Finn. Was now the time to talk about it? To have a heart-to-heart? Is now the time to tell Finn that she never—ever—did what she did that night? No. Probably not. So instead, she thought she’d pry. “What about you? When’s the last time you’ve been in a relationship?”
“Never,” Finn said easily.
“Never? Surely, at some point in your life—college, perhaps—there was someone.”
“No. College was only a means to get into law school. Then the thing with my father, my estrangement from my mother, the academy, being a cop, then a detective…the years slipped away so fast.”
“You didn’t nurture any relationships, friend or lover,” Rylee said, more a statement than a question. It went without saying, of course. Finn had already told her that she had no friends…no lover. “You’re very attractive.” Those words caused Finn to blush and Rylee thought she looked even more attractive at that moment. “Women didn’t throw themselves at you?”
“I pretty much kept to myself. There’s no glowing personality under this,” Finn said, motioning to herself. “I’ve been called standoffish more times than I can recall.”
Rylee nodded. “Yes, I can see that about you. Yet you seem to have let Dee into your life. You’ve let me in, haven’t you?”
Their eyes met and there was something in Finn’s that she couldn’t quite read.
“I suppose I have. As I said, I can’t seem to say no to you.”
Rylee tilted her head. “Do you find me attractive?” Finn’s face turned red and she seemed to have choked on the breath she’d sucked in. Rylee reached over and squeezed her arm. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”
Finn cleared her throat. “Why…why would you ask?”
“Because…” Rylee glanced out the window, then squeezed Finn’s arm harder. “They’re coming out.”
Oliver Judge and Brett Peterson stood five or six steps from the door, still talking. Discussing. There were no smiles, no hand gestures…just talking. They parted with a firm handshake, then turned in opposite directions.
“What do you think? Who should we follow?”
“Let’s go with Peterson,” Finn said.
But Brett Peterson stood outside his car, now talking animatedly on his phone. Rylee glanced at her watch. It was already after one. They would have to head over to the Petersons’ house soon. He finally got inside, pausing again as he continued talking. Then the phone was slipped inside his jacket pocket and he put his seat belt on. He sat there for a few moments, both hands resting on the steering wheel, before backing out of his parking spot. Finn let him pull out into traffic before following.
“Make notes,” Finn instructed. “Time, especially. How long they were in there.”
“Wonder what they ate?”
“You had two tacos…you can’t possibly still be hungry.”
“They were so small. Let’s don’t ever go to that place again.” She scribbled down the time. “He’s heading back to his office?”
“Looks that way.”
“Well, that was uneventful.”
“I warned you it could take a while to find their clubhouse.”
“Thanks for humoring me by using the word ‘clubhouse’ like you do.”
“What should we call it? A lair?”
“That might be more appropriate.”
She leaned back against the seat, absently watching Brett Peterson’s black BMW that was two cars ahead of them. Yes…why had she asked Finn that question? They’d slept together. Obviously, there had been an attraction. God, that night, it was as if she’d been on fire. But Finn was her boss now. She was attractive and she was her boss. Regardless, there was some mystique about her that Rylee found alluring and…well, a bit fascinating. Finn was self-confident, she was strong and decisive, she was attractive…yet she was perpetually single, having never been in a relationship. Why? Her reasoning that time got away from her didn’t seem plausible. Did no one ever measure up to her standards? Or did she do wha
t she did that night…pick up women at bars? Or would she rather keep her own company than someone else’s? Or maybe there was some hidden flaw that Rylee hadn’t found, some imperfection that turned people off. True, Finn was a little short sometimes, a little abrupt. Personal things, she kept private, only divulging what she wanted and even then, it took prodding on Rylee’s part. She still didn’t know how old she was.
The BMW turned into the small parking lot of the one-story office building that housed Peterson, Barnes, Wilcox and Peterson. Finn kept going.
“Note the time.”
Rylee did. It was 1:26. She put the notepad in her lap, then turned to Finn.
“How old are you?”
Finn arched an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Are you going to make me do a background check on you to find out?”
At that, Finn turned to look at her. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
Finn gave the tiniest of sighs as she turned left on Chaparral Street and headed out of the business district. “I’m forty.”
Rylee smiled. “See? That wasn’t so hard.” Then she playfully slapped at Finn’s shoulder. “You’re only ten years older than me yet you call me a kid?”
“I sometimes feel like I’m much older than forty.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’ve always felt older than my years.” Finn glanced at her quickly. “So is your curiosity satisfied?”
“I suppose for now it is.”
“Good. Then let’s go see what Lori Peterson’s up to this afternoon.”
Chapter Forty-Six
“Push the back arrow,” Finn said as she handed Rylee the camera. “What’s your impression?”
She hadn’t given much thought to the pictures she’d snapped yesterday of Lori Peterson. She hadn’t even bothered to download them. But now that she’d reviewed them, Lori’s facial expression was odd, to say the least.
“Well, with the sunglasses covering her eyes, it’s hard to tell, really. But these first ones where she’s walking up to his apartment, I’d say the look on her face is…scared. In fact, this second one, I’d almost say terrified.”
“My thoughts exactly. Now look at when she comes out.”
“She’s more relaxed. Definitely relief on her face, like what we thought yesterday.” Rylee turned to her. “Relief that the encounter is over with? Relief that she’s intact? Not injured? What?”
“You’re very good at reading people.”
“You think so?”
“Yesterday, you were spot-on when you said there was no affair. I do this thing for a living and I…well, I think I don’t look beneath the surface enough. Or perhaps I’ve been doing this so long, I take everything at face value.”
“When a husband comes to you and says his wife is having an affair and he needs you to get him proof…then you already have a preconceived idea of what is going on. So she goes to an apartment—out of town—and stays inside for over an hour. Your preconceived notion rings true—she’s having an affair.”
“But?”
Rylee smiled. “But…he could be giving her Spanish lessons, for all we know.”
Finn tapped the steering wheel as they watched the Peterson house. It was 2:41 and the cloudy day was darkening right before their eyes. She had looked at radar earlier on her phone—rain was imminent. Would Lori Peterson venture out in that case?
“So she’s not having an affair, yet she went to this guy’s apartment. By the look on her face, it wasn’t something she did willingly. It had to have been initiated by her husband. Let’s forget about the purpose of it for a minute, because we have no idea. But for whatever the reason is that he wanted us to follow her, how—and why—did he get her involved?”
“I’m not following your line of thought here.”
“What did he tell her to make her go there? Not just go there, but hang out for an hour. Did he tell her the truth? That he owes a gambling debt? That he’s been banging a prostitute?”
Rylee shook her head. “Why on earth would he tell her that?”
“Maybe he’s being blackmailed.”
“But Daniel Frazier is dead. Who’s going to blackmail him?”
“Look at the photos of the wife again. She’s being forced to go to Carlos Hernandez. Why? For show? For us? What if she’s being forced there for some other reason and Brett Peterson hired us to really do surveillance?”
“Like he’s afraid of what might happen to her and wants us here as a witness? But Finn, if something happens to her in that apartment, we’re not going to know.”
“You think I’m grasping at straws?”
“A little. And like you said last night, we can throw out assumptions and scenarios all day long, but that doesn’t make them true.”
“I don’t like being played,” she admitted. “And I don’t like not knowing what’s going on.”
“Ah. Control freak,” Rylee teased. “In that case, continue to guess away.”
Finn started the car. “Garage door just opened.”
They were parked two blocks from the Petersons’ home, on the opposite side of the street than yesterday. Lori Peterson backed out of the driveway but instead of going north, she turned, heading right toward them.
“Duck down,” she said quickly.
“What?”
Finn grabbed her shoulder and pushed her forward. “Duck down. I don’t want her to see us.”
Finn was lying across the console, trying to keep her head below window level. Rylee was bent down, her nose practically on top of the gearshift. Their eyes met and Rylee smiled.
“So this is kinda fun,” she whispered.
Fun? Their heads were almost touching and they were much, much too close. So close that Finn noticed a tiny scar on Rylee’s forehead she’d not seen before. So close she saw the faintest of laugh lines at the corners of Rylee’s blue eyes. And so close she could see the steady pulse in Rylee’s neck, just above her collarbone. She closed her eyes. So close she could imagine moving Rylee’s sweater aside and trailing her lips there…lower, until she—
“Finn…I think that was her that passed by.”
Damn.
Finn sat up, glancing in the rearview mirror to see the silver Mercedes already turning at the corner. Keep your head in the damn game, she chided herself as she made a U-turn on the street and sped after Lori Peterson.
* * *
Like yesterday, Lori Peterson led them to the same apartment complex. Unlike yesterday, she didn’t take Harbor Bridge. She took the long route to get there, going to Mustang Island and Port Aransas, then taking the ferry across to Aransas Pass.
“Why do you think she came this way?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s afraid someone is following her.”
As before, Lori parked across the lot from the apartment’s door. She seemed to sit in her car a bit longer today. Perhaps it was because of the rain. However, when she got out, she did not hurry. Finn snapped several shots of her, frowning as she zoomed in.
“What do you see?” she asked Rylee.
“It’s raining…not a downpour, but still a good rain, yet no umbrella.”
“What else?”
“She’s wearing sunglasses. That’s odd.”
“Uh-huh.” Finn replaced the camera with her binoculars and she only got a quick close-up of Lori Peterson before the door to Apartment 19 was opened. She saw nothing but the shadowy figure of a man as the door closed quickly behind Lori as she went inside.
“Note the time,” she murmured automatically, her binoculars trained on the window beside the door. Cheap mini blinds covered the glass and she saw them part for a second, before closing again.
“I got a bad feeling.”
Finn looked over at her. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think he’s doing to her?”
Finn shook her head. “Don’t do that. You’ll drive yourself crazy if you do.”
“But what if—”
“Rylee…we watch. When she leaves we follow. Nothing more.”
Rylee sat back in her seat. “I’ll never get used to this.”
“Ready to change career paths?”
Rylee smiled at her. “I think I’d miss you.”
Finn’s breath caught and she cleared her throat. “Oh, yeah?”
“And you’d miss me. If I’m not around, who’s going to make sure you eat?”
Finn couldn’t help but think of Sammy in that moment. “Think I need taking care of, do you?”
Their eyes met and again, a smile—a sweet smile—played around Rylee’s lips. “I do,” she said quietly. Rylee leaned closer. “Everyone needs someone, Finn.”
“I’ve managed,” she countered, pulling her eyes away from the smile on Rylee’s lips. Lips that were far, far too familiar. Damn, what was wrong with her today?
Rylee leaned back again, her attention now on the apartment. “You think Dee had any luck on her lunch stakeout?”
Finn wondered at Rylee’s abrupt change of subject, although she was thankful for it. She, too, gazed at Apartment 19.
“I suppose she would have called if there was any news.”
“How long do we continue to watch Lori Peterson? I mean, if this was a real cheating spouse case, how long?”
“Depends. With Connie Frazier, it took a week before I caught them at the Best Western. And as I told Daniel Frazier, I wasn’t actually in the room with them.”
“So the cheating spouse thing, that’s an easy case, right?”
“Most of the time. The spouse in question is usually only worried about getting caught by their husband or wife. The idea that a private investigator is following them around probably doesn’t ever cross their mind.”
“Do you have a lot of cases like this?”
“Not too many. Ten or twelve a year, maybe. Fifteen at the most.”
“That’s not many, no.” Rylee shifted in her seat. “What do you do mostly? Who are your clients?”
“Background checks. Custody battles. Missing persons.”
“Missing persons? Isn’t that a police function?”
“If they file with the police department, sure. But after a couple of days, the police officer is going to move on to other things if there’s no foul play involved.”