Shadow Point Deputy

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  “You didn’t sleep well?” Cole asked, hoping she hadn’t been afraid or uneasy about being there alone with him all night.

  “Eventually,” she said on a yawn, “but my baby brother wants to use my truck to help a friend move, and he’s not buying my stories or excuses about why he can’t use it. I fielded his interrogative texts until after midnight when I finally insisted he knock it off so I could get some rest before work this morning.” She rubbed her forehead. “I just keep lying to him, and that’s not who we are. Ryan and I made a pact when he came to live with me. We promised to always be straight with one another.”

  “You don’t want him to use your truck because whoever tried to run you down could mistake him for you in your vehicle,” Cole guessed.

  “Exactly.” Rita dropped her hand and took a long curious look at Cole. “Why are you dressed for work so early?”

  “I’m meeting the maid at Mr. Minsk’s house in an hour.”

  Rita blanched. “An hour?” She wrinkled her nose. “All right. I can be ready in ten minutes.”

  Cole smiled.

  “Good. I told West I’d bring you to the station while I interviewed the maid.”

  “No!” Rita started, nearly spilling her coffee. “I only agreed to go to the station today because I’d be with you. You can’t just leave me alone there. What if the killer is a friend or relative of one of the deputies? That would give him access to the jacket and the station. What if he turns up to kill me again and you’re not there?” She spun in place and headed back down the hall to his room.

  “Where are you going?” Cole called. “Rita?” He followed her as far as the closed door. “Are you mad? Is this a protest?” What was happening? Cole latched his fingers behind his head and stared at the ceiling. “I know you’re scared, but you’ve got to trust me or I can’t protect you. At least trust my judgment. You will always be safe with my brother.” He moved his eyes back to the door. “And don’t walk away when we’re talking. This is ridiculous.”

  The door whipped open a moment later.

  Rita had swapped her pajamas for dark jeans and a red V-neck sweater. “I’m going with you.” She raked a brush through her hair as she headed for the bathroom and began to brush her teeth. “Just because we didn’t see the guy from the coffee shop in the criminal database last night doesn’t mean he isn’t a criminal.”

  She spoke around the busy brush and load of toothpaste bubbles. “It only means he doesn’t have a record. And just because he wasn’t in your personal photos doesn’t mean he isn’t somehow in your circle. So I’m coming to Minsk’s place. I’ll wait in the car while you talk to the maid. Then you can take me to the station to make a formal statement afterward.” She finished up and checked her face in the mirror. “I want to be where you are.” A swipe of lip gloss and some eyelash stuff later, she turned puppy eyes on Cole.

  Cole processed her demands.

  He didn’t like taking her out on a call with him, but knowing she was afraid to be without him, even at the sheriff’s department, gave Cole a deep ache in his chest.

  “Please?”

  He rocked back on his heels. “Fine.”

  “Thank you!” She perked up.

  “Don’t forget to call off work.”

  “Right.” Rita grabbed her little purple phone off the counter and pecked the screen before pressing it to her ear. Sixty seconds later, she’d delivered the world’s worst performance over voice mail, complete with dry coughing and a gratuitous moan. According to Rita, she’d be out the rest of the week.

  Cole hoped to have eliminated the threat against her well before that, but he wasn’t opposed to having a little extra time with her afterward.

  He’d protect her.

  She’d learn to trust him. Maybe even see past whatever she might have heard about his usual dating style. Not that he was looking to date Rita.

  Was he looking to date Rita?

  “Are you ready?” she asked, sliding her feet into little white sneakers.

  Not even close, he thought wryly. “Yep. I’ll give West a call on our way. Let him know there’s been a change of plans.”

  “Really?” Rita’s sharp hazel eyes went soft with relief.

  “Come on.” Cole opened the front door and held it for her to pass.

  The right thing for protocol and the right thing for Rita were in opposition at the moment, and it put him in a tough place. With any luck, no other conflicts like this one would come up, because, given the choice, Cole had a feeling he’d always choose Rita. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

  The snaking hillside road to Minsk’s house wound its way past a smattering of high-end homes overlooking the town. Minsk’s property was unapologetically larger than the rest and situated at the top of the mountain, stark white against the towering evergreens and surrounded by an elaborate garden with a wrought-iron fence.

  “Good grief,” Rita said, leaning forward in her seat as Cole maneuvered the cruiser onto the broad circular drive. “I had no idea this was up here.”

  A middle-aged woman in traditional gray-and-white servant’s attire bustled through the arching ten-foot door before Cole could shift into Park.

  He twisted his hat onto his head and gave Rita a warning look. “Wait here.”

  She rested back against the seat and crossed her arms.

  A moment later, he offered the dark-haired woman a handshake and what he hoped was a comforting smile. “You must be Mrs. Sanchez.” Her wide brown eyes and olive skin reminded him of his mother’s best friend, Anita. Their accents were slightly different, but there was warmth and kindness in both women’s eyes.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “Please, come.” She hustled him inside and shut the door.

  The home was enormous. The Garrett boys could’ve played a nice game of catch in the foyer alone. What would one man do in a house so big? Not that Cole didn’t value nice things. He did, but he was also beginning to realize how deeply blessed he was to be surrounded by family and friends. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, and for your willingness to meet here.”

  “He’s been gone three days.” She lifted the corresponding number of fingers on one hand and shook them.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry we weren’t able to find him sooner. The sheriff stopped by twice to check on him, but there was no answer. He’d hoped Mr. Minsk was on a business trip.”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “He was working here. All the time. No rest. No sleep. Then, poof. He was gone.”

  “Did he keep a home office?” Cole asked. He knew all about the demands of a high-pressure career and lack of everything else that came along with it. “I’d like to take a look at his private calendar and personal computer, as well.”

  “Of course.” She started up a sweeping staircase. “This way.”

  Cole followed her into a surprisingly plain room with understated furniture and a desk covered in messy files. He lifted the lid on a compact computer. “Is this his only laptop?”

  “Yes. He used it all the time. That and his cell phone.” Her voice cracked, and she cupped her hands over her mouth.

  Cole swiped a finger over the touchpad, and the computer’s screen flickered to life. No file icons on the desktop. A quick pass through the drives came up empty, as well. The device was like brand-new. Nothing personal. No history. Strange for a man who’d allegedly used it all the time. Unless... “Have you touched this since he went missing?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Has anyone else been here?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” she said, shrugging, “but I only come twice a week.”

  “Did you notice any signs that Mr. Minsk might’ve had company in between your visits?”

  She raised her shoulders again.

  Cole turned his attention back to the clean laptop. Could Minsk have known
he was in danger and cleared his files to protect himself? If so, what was he hiding? And from who?

  Cole set the laptop aside. He rummaged through the piles of papers, wondering where to begin. There was no way to do the job justice with Rita waiting in the car. “I’m afraid I’m going to need to get some help in here.” He looked up to catch the maid’s eye. “We’ll have to go through everything in detail.” Beneath the mountains of documentation was a solid wood desk. No giant paper calendar like Cole had hoped. Of course not. Minsk was a wealthy businessman. He probably kept all his appointments on a cell phone.

  Cole took a photo of the cluttered desk and sent it to West. Sorting the mess could take all day. He definitely needed help. Before that, he needed to get Rita to the sheriff’s department. She’d be safe there while he investigated. Uneasy, he knew, but safe.

  He teetered a moment, torn between needing to leave and needing to stay. A set of blueprints caught his attention near the bottom of one haphazard pile. Cole worked the papers free and carefully uncurled the edges. It was hard to say what he was looking at without context. “Do you have any idea what Mr. Minsk was working on?” he asked Mrs. Sanchez, still positioned at the office door.

  She shifted foot to foot. “No. He didn’t talk to me like that, but he was a nice man.”

  He analyzed her troubled stance and unwillingness to enter the room with him. “Are you uncomfortable for some reason?”

  “It doesn’t feel right watching you snoop through his things. I know he’s gone and you’re helping but...”

  Cole relaxed by a fraction. “I know it’s hard, but I appreciate your help.”

  He turned his eyes back to the scrolled paperwork before him. What was this blueprint for?

  Rita said she’d seen Mr. Minsk at the courthouse several times recently. He could have been buying or negotiating a land deal, or researching a property for a buyer. Maybe the blueprint was related to the property, but which parcel and who was the owner?

  Mrs. Sanchez kneaded her hands. “Why would something like this happen to such a nice person?”

  “I don’t know,” Cole admitted, “but I intend to find out.”

  He gave the wiped laptop another long look.

  Was Mr. Minsk as nice a guy as his housekeeper thought? Or was he something else? A few days ago, Cole would’ve said nice guys weren’t shot in the head and dumped in the river, but what did that theory say about Rita? Maybe good people were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time on occasion, and Minsk had been one of them. Like Rita.

  He spread the plans on the desk and turned them around twice, trying to make heads or tails of the thin lines and chicken-scratch writing. “This looks like the docks.” He lowered his face to the awful handwriting along one edge. “Willa. Eleven o’clock.”

  The maid moved reluctantly into the room. “Mr. Minsk spent a lot of time on the water.”

  “Does the name Willa mean anything to you? Was she a business partner? Family member? Girlfriend?”

  “No. Willa is his boat.”

  He spent a lot of time on the water. And at the courthouse.

  There had been talk of revitalizing the docks for years, but nothing had ever come of it. Maybe Minsk had been trying to make that happen.

  Maybe, if Minsk spent a lot of time on his boat, there would be some clues there to help Cole decipher who had killed him and why.

  He stared at the blueprint, hoping for the details to snap together, reveal something more than he could yet see.

  The ringing of the doorbell turned Mrs. Sanchez into the hallway. “Excuse me,” she called over her shoulder, already on her way to the door.

  Cole went to the window and pulled back the curtain from the window overlooking Minsk’s driveway. His cruiser was empty. The rest of the view was strikingly peaceful.

  Was he taking too long, so she’d lost patience, or had she gotten spooked? Either way, he’d known better than to agree to bring her along, and he and Rita would need to have a discussion about what wait in the car meant.

  Cole rubbed a rough hand over his face, waiting for her voice in the hallway. He needed to get going, anyway. West wanted Rita at the station. Someone else would have to handle Minsk’s messy office. He dialed West, then rested a hip against the disorganized desk.

  “Where are you?” West answered without greeting. “I’ve got stuff to do, and I’m down here sitting on my thumbs waiting for you and Rita Horn to show up.”

  “We’re on the way. I stopped at Minsk’s house to talk with the maid first. I’ve got a paperwork catastrophe over here, but I found a blueprint in the mix that might be useful.”

  “If you’re at Minsk’s, where’s Rita?” West’s flat tone was as disapproving as they came. “Tell me you didn’t take our only witness to the murder victim’s home.”

  “She agreed to wait in the car.” Cole listened to the gonging silence of the cavernous home. His gut fisted with warning. It was time to collect Rita and get moving. “We’re headed your way now, but it sounds like Minsk had a boat at the marina. Could be something there that sheds some light. Someone ought to check that out, as well.”

  “Agreed, now get your witness down here.”

  The echo of a single gunshot rang through the massive home.

  Cole freed his sidearm, a bullet of fear lancing his heart. He crept toward the open office door and peered down the long hallway. Years of military and department training snapped into focus.

  “Was that a gunshot?” West asked. His tight voice burst through the forgotten cell phone on Cole’s shoulder.

  “Shh.” Cole hastened toward the staircase. The view from the second-floor balcony coiled his gut. “Maid’s down. Single GSW to the head.” A pool of blood seeped around her raven hair on the white marble floor. A lump formed in Cole’s throat as the image of his empty cruiser thudded back to mind. “Rita’s missing.” He disconnected without waiting for West’s response.

  He shoved the phone into his pocket and took the stairs on silent feet. A near-feral need to protect her burned through his limbs. If Rita was hurt in any way, someone was going to be extremely sorry.

  A second shot erupted before he reached the foyer, ringing Cole’s ears and shattering the window behind his head.

  He dropped into a crouch and pressed his back to the wall. “Cade County Sheriff’s Department,” Cole announced. “Put your weapon down and come out where I can see you.”

  Three more rounds exploded in immediate succession, following Cole down the steps and trashing the column where he ducked for cover.

  Across the open room, a lean man in a bulky coat dashed out of sight.

  Cole gave chase, gun drawn, desperate for a chance to take the shot and terrified he’d find Rita in the same condition he’d found the maid.

  * * *

  RITA PRESSED HERSELF behind a stout hedge at the property’s edge, leaving only a few inches between her shaking toes and a ragged cliff. She hadn’t seen the man in the deputy coat since he’d manifested from the bushes and rung the bell to the house, but she’d counted four gunshots so far.

  How he’d missed seeing her in the car was both a miracle and a mystery.

  She’d ducked on instinct, huddling into the shadowed space between her seat and the dashboard, praying the killer wouldn’t take undo interest in Cole’s cruiser.

  The first gunshot had set her upright.

  The second had propelled her out of hiding.

  The third and fourth shots had rooted her feet in place behind the shrubbery as if she was part of the garden.

  Cole was still inside, and she wouldn’t leave without him.

  Tears streamed over her cheeks as she imagined the killer sneaking up on Cole and pulling the trigger while she hid like a coward. She begged her limbs to cooperate and carry her back to the car where she’d stupidly left her phone in the cupholder when she
fled. She needed to call for help.

  Should she return to the car for her phone? Make a run for the closest neighbor?

  Rita leaned around the shrubbery, seeking the nearest home in each direction and estimating which was closer.

  “Stop!” Cole’s strong voice cracked through the hills.

  Her heart leaped in response.

  “Come out.” Cole moved swiftly in her direction, gun drawn but lowered slightly. He extended a hand to her. “I lost him. I need to get you out of here before he comes back.”

  Rita shimmied free and grabbed his offered hand in both of hers. “How could you see me?”

  “I’m beginning to think I could find you anywhere.” Cole cursed under his breath. He pulled her to him and sighed against the top of her head. “Did you see which way the shooter went?”

  “No. I haven’t seen him since he went inside.”

  Cole pulled back for a look into Rita’s eyes. Confliction danced over his features. “West’s on his way. We’re going to get in the cruiser and go. Understand? I’m not involving you in a shoot-out.”

  Cole led her back through the gardens at a crouched jog. “Stay low,” he reminded her. “And don’t stop.”

  “Cole!” Rita froze. She yanked him back, gripping his stubborn arm in both her hands.

  The shooter had appeared again in the distance.

  “It’s the man from the Rivertown coffee house.” This time, he wore the deputy jacket.

  Cole lifted his weapon, scanning the area.

  “There,” she whispered, wagging one frantic finger. “That’s him!”

  The man’s head turned immediately in their direction. His arm swung forward, gun in hand. The shot cracked in the autumn air.

  “Run,” Cole barked, shoving Rita aside and positioning his body between her and the gunman. He returned fire as they ran, but stayed tight to Rita’s side as far as the cruiser. He yanked the driver’s side door open and stuffed Rita inside.

  She climbed over the console and into the passenger seat as Cole revved the engine to life. He spun the vehicle in a reverse circle, tossing Rita against her door, and pointed the cruiser back down the winding road at twice the posted speed.