Conspiracy to Murder

by Heather Graham

Yes.

  EPILOGUE

  Two Weeks Later

  Finnegan’s on Broadway

  “I was part of it all—and I still don’t get it,” Jensen said, shaking his head. “Okay, back to the beginning. Vivian Richter and Arlo Hampton made some kind of devil’s bargain. She’d kill Henry. He’d kill Ned. And no one would suspect either of them because it wouldn’t make sense. They wouldn’t be guilty of the same crime. But Micah wasn’t going to give up and they both knew he was coming to the opening of the exhibit. So she poisoned herself to throw off any possible suspicion?”

  “Something like that,” Harley said. She’d just finished up the last of the work she’d told Jensen she would do. With Arlo and Vivian gone, he’d fallen behind with the exhibit. She’d also been eager to finish what she’d written about the murder of Amenmose. Everything would be on record at the museum, but it was a museum specializing in the ancient world—and her job here had been to explain what had happened to Amenmose and how it had all fit in with that world.

  For Henry.

  Arlo was still in the hospital. He’d regained consciousness, but the poison had swept away a great deal of his mind.

  He had no idea he was guilty of conspiracy. Sadly, he wasn’t even sure who he was anymore, or what he’d done.

  Vivian’s attorney was still telling her to shut up. She, too, however, had apparently had some kind of mental breakdown, because she wouldn’t stop talking to the press. She was going to go for an affirmative defense and claim that she’d been horribly abused by her husband and that he’d made her say things that weren’t true. She also insisted that Henry Tomlinson had killed himself and that she’d long been a victim of chauvinism and abuse at the hands of both men.

  “It’s crazy. All crazy, huh?” Jensen asked her. “And you know what’s even crazier? That horrible woman killed Henry and her husband, she tried to kill you and me and that cop—and I still love being at the museum.”

  “It’s a good museum. Henry was a very special man, and loving the museum just honors him,” Harley said.

  “Hmm. And what about that cop? He was a jerk, and…well, you know, he came by to apologize to me.”

  “McGrady,” Harley said. “Yep. He apologized to me, too. And thanked me for saving his life. He told me he’s going to be a good cop—and that it’ll be because of me! I sure hope that’s true.”

  “You can find out, I guess.”

  Harley smiled. “Not for a while,” she said softly. “For right now—”

  She stopped talking and got up; she saw that Micah and Craig had come into Finnegan’s. She waved, so the two of them could see her.

  “Still don’t see why you have to go to Washington,” Jensen said.

  Harley flashed him a smile. “Because I’m in love,” she told him.

  “Yeah, yeah. And okay, he’s decent. And I’m happy for you both.”

  “Funny, he says you’re decent, too. And he’s happy we’re friends.”

  By then, Micah had come to the table. He greeted her with a kiss and Jensen with a handshake.

  Craig reached the table next, and then Kieran arrived from her day job. Kevin came over, then Kieran’s youngest brother, Danny, and her older brother, Declan, joined them. Micah and Harley were surrounded by friends and family, and they were toasted. It was something of a goodbye party.

  They might come back to New York eventually; a transfer was always possible for Micah. But Harley wanted to train with the FBI academy and work toward joining a profiling team.

  Washington was best for both of them right now. Harley wasn’t giving up her uncle’s apartment; they’d be up visiting often enough.

  Everyone talked; everyone had a great time.

  Joe, Roger and Belinda came later—with Belinda being the happiest of the bunch. Her fiancé was back from his deployment overseas and their wedding was coming up.

  “Will there be any kind of Egyptian motif?” Joe asked Belinda, smiling.

  “No!”

  “What about you guys?” Jensen asked Harley.

  “No! Grace Church, and you’re all invited. We’ll let you know when.”

  “No zombies, mummies, or any form of ancient lore?” Joe asked.

  “No!” Harley and Micah said together, the word emphatic.

  They celebrated awhile longer. Then it was time to split up, and they hugged and kissed each other on the cheek and promised to stay in touch.

  The most difficult thing for Harley was to say goodbye to Kieran and Craig, but they wouldn’t be far away and they’d all go back and forth often.

  “I know you don’t have a firm date for the wedding yet, but what are you thinking?” Kieran asked Harley.

  “We have no solid plans yet. We just know where,” she said. “What about you two?”

  Kieran laughed. “We have no solid plans, either. Not yet. All we know is that we will have a wedding, and oh, yes! The reception will be here!”

  Micah caught Harley’s hand. “We have a lot of dating to do,” he told Kieran and Craig. “And apparently my proposal was lacking. I’m going to work on a better one. I’ll fill you in on how that goes. We might take a honeymoon before we actually do the marriage thing. I want to make sure Harley knows we have some great history down Virginia way, too. It’s not ancient, but it’s pretty cool. I’ve got a friend who’s working a dig in Jamestown. We can visit him for a while. And meanwhile, we’ll date…”

  They left. They went to spend their last night in the apartment with the great windows and the beautiful loft that they’d have for a while.

  “Yes, we need to date…” Micah said.

  Harley whispered in his ear.

  He smiled. “Oh yeah. That, too. Lots and lots of that!”

  The moon shone through the windows.

  They hurried up the curving wrought iron stairway.

  Tonight was an ending and a beginning.

  And a beautiful night, made for love and for loving.

  * * * * *

  The Tactical Crime Division—TCD—is a specialized unit of the FBI. They handle the toughest cases in remote locations.

  A school invasion turned lockdown becomes personal for hostage negotiator agent Evan Duran in 48 Hour Lockdown by New York Times bestselling author Carla Cassidy.

  PROLOGUE

  Sandhurst School for the Gifted and Talented, Pearson, North Carolina.

  “I’ve written a short essay on the board. Why don’t you all rewrite it using our secret code?” Annalise Taylor said, and watched as the three girls seated before her focused on the computers in front of them.

  Tanya Walton was thirteen years old, Emily Clariton was ten and Sadie Brubaker was nine. All of them wore blue trousers and white blouses with the Sandhurst School emblem embroidered in blue and green on the breast pocket.

  The girls came from different areas of the United States, but they all shared a background of abject poverty, some abuse and a lack of opportunities. Until their bright minds brought them to this unusual private school built specifically for children like them, this place where their intelligence was both celebrated and nurtured.

  As the girls continued to work, Annalise walked over to the window next to her desk and gazed outside. The school was located on fifteen acres on the outskirts of the charming town of Pearson, North Carolina.

  From this vantage point, the view was absolutely breathtaking. The Blue Ridge Mountains surrounded the city. With more than a million acres of protected wilderness, there were plenty of hiking trails, secluded back roads and streams and waterfalls to explore. Right now the leaves on the trees were beginning to display the reds and oranges of autumn.

  Annalise turned away from the vista and sat at her desk. She released a deep, weary sigh. It had been a long day. This class was not officially part of the curriculum, rather it was a sort of a
fter-school club to feed the passions of these particular girls, who always looked forward to a little extra time to work and play on their computers.

  A loud boom jolted her out of her mental haze, followed by another and another one. Annalise straightened. Was that…was that gunfire? What was going on? Gunfire! For a moment her brain froze in horror as the three girls screamed.

  Lock the door! Push desks against it! The orders sounded in her head. That’s what she was supposed to do. That’s what she’d been trained to do in a situation like this.

  Heart pounding, she jumped up from her seat and ran toward her classroom door. But before she could reach it, the door exploded inward and a large, burly man with a long gun stood on the threshold.

  “Get down, get down,” he screamed, and pointed to a wall with his automatic weapon. “All of you, sit down with your backs against the wall. Now.”

  “What’s going on? What do you want?” Annalise asked the questions as she gathered her students close to her.

  “Shut up and sit down,” he demanded.

  Terror ripped through Annalise as she moved the girls to the wall where they all slid down to sit on the floor. The girls were crying and she tried to comfort them…to shush them. The last thing she wanted was for their cries to irritate the man with the gun.

  What did he want? Why was he here? Just then a tall, thin man came into the room. “I thought you told us nobody else would be here except these four,” he said, and gestured toward Annalise and the girls.

  “That was the information I had,” the burly man replied.

  “Well, now there’s a dead security guard in the lobby, and two dead women in the main office.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “Let’s go. This has all gone sideways. We need to get the hell out of here.”

  Dear God. Annalise’s heart beat so fast her stomach churned with nausea and an icy chill filled her veins. Bert was dead? The security guard with the great smile who loved to tell silly knock knock jokes was gone? And what two women had been killed? Who had been in the office at the time of this…this attack?

  What were these killers doing here? What did they want?

  The sound of distant sirens pierced the air. The big man cursed loudly.

  “We were supposed to get in and out of here before the cops showed up,” the tall, thin man said with barely suppressed desperation in his voice.

  “Too late for that now,” the big man replied. He turned and pointed his gun at Annalise. She stiffened. Was he going to kill her, as well? Was he going to shoot her right now? Kill the girls? She put her arms around her students and tried to pull them all behind her.

  More sirens whirred and whooped, coming closer and closer.

  “Don’t move,” he snarled at them. He took the butt of his gun and busted out one of the windows. The sound of the shattering glass followed by a rapid burst of gunfire out the window made her realize just how dangerous this situation was.

  The police were outside. She and her students were inside with murderous gunmen, and she couldn’t imagine how this all was going to end.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Evan Duran sat at his kitchen table, dividing his attention between his television and his phone while he sipped his second cup of coffee. It was just a few minutes before ten on a Wednesday, his day off, and he’d slept later than usual.

  Normally he would be already finished with his daily five-mile run, and in the office rather than waiting this late in the morning to even get started on his run.

  He paused with his mug halfway between his mouth and the table when a news alert broke into the talk show that had been on.

  HOSTAGE SITUATION IN NORTH CAROLINA. The bold words scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Evan grabbed his remote and turned up the sound as the female newscaster began the story.

  “Breaking news out of the small town of Pearson, North Carolina, this morning. Last night at approximately five o’clock armed men burst into the Sandhurst School. According to the latest reports, there has already been confirmed fatalities and the hostages include teachers and students. The names of the children are being withheld, but the staff inside include Annalise Taylor and Belinda Baker…”

  Evan stared at the television as he slowly put down his mug. Annalise? A hostage in a school in Pearson, North Carolina? Last he knew, she was working at an elite private college in Missouri.

  It wasn’t necessarily his personal history with Annalise that pulled him up from his chair and set him in motion. If there was an ongoing hostage situation, Evan needed to get there to help.

  He went into his master bedroom, quickly changing out of his running clothes and into a white button-down shirt and a pair of black pants. He grabbed his jacket with TCD—Tactical Crime Division—stenciled on the back and headed for the front door.

  Annalise. A vision of her exploded in his head. For two years they’d been a couple. He’d just assumed eventually they’d marry. Instead, almost three years ago she had left him. She’d broken it off with him in a text message.

  He couldn’t think about all the emotions thoughts of her threatened to evoke. Right now there was a hostage situation.

  When it came to hostage negotiation, nobody was better than him. A fact. Not conceit.

  Adrenaline rocked through Evan minutes later as he drove toward Knoxville, Tennessee, to Old City, where the TCD offices were located. While the FBI’s headquarters were in DC, there were field offices all over the country.

  The Tactical Crime Division was a specialized tech and tactical unit combining skilled professionals from several active divisions. Because they were smaller units they were more nimble for rapid deployment and could quickly proffer assistance to address various situations—especially in more rural areas without a large police force.

  As he drove he made a few phone calls, and he finally pulled up in front of the nondescript brick building where TCD’s offices were located. He parked, got out of his car and hurried inside. As he strode down the hallway toward the main meeting room, he could hear Director Jill Pembrook apparently still conducting the morning meeting.

  The main conference room was the heart of the office. It was where assignments were handed out and situations were brainstormed. The agents sat at a long, highly glossed wooden table. On one wall was an oversize FBI logo, and opposite that was the TCD emblem. A large, digital flat screen was mounted on the far side of the room, and a tablet lay at the head of the table.

  Evan burst through the door. Director Jill Pembrook looked at him in surprise. “Agent Duran, how nice of you to join us on your day off.”

  The director was an attractive, stylish woman of substance with cropped steel gray hair and a penchant for dark, custom-tailored suits.

  She’d been with the FBI for over forty years, and she was definitely a force to be reckoned with. Her blue eyes could be warm and friendly or they could frost a puddle of water into a sheet of ice.

  “I just saw the news out of Pearson,” he stated. “I need to get there… It’s Annalise.”

  There was a collective groan from some of the other agents. Evan ignored it. “I’ll need you to arrange a plane to be ready for takeoff. Also, I’ll need Hendrick’s help on this. And I’m taking Agents Brennan and Lathrop with me.”

  “Call off the SEAL team, Duran is on the case, everyone,” “Agent at Large” Kane Bradshaw murmured as the three men headed for the door.

  Evan ignored him. While he liked Kane okay, there were times in the past they had butted heads when Kane could sometimes be a bit of an arrogant jerk. Director Pembrook though tolerated his glib attitude. And while Kane had no official rank as an agent with the bureau—he had an extensive background with deep black ops.

  Hendrick Maynard, the tech guru nodded. “You got it,” he answered without hesitation. “Heading to my desk now. I’ll send you any relevant info ASAP.”

  The director narrowed her eyes, and Evan felt the frost radiating from her. “Agent Duran, you are way out of line.” She paused an
d continued to hold his gaze. “Ten minutes ago North Carolina state officials called for federal help…” She paused and he was wondering if he should offer to submit his resignation. “You will also take Special Agent Rogers along with the others. This is an all hands on deck situation. Rowan as usual will accompany you and provide team support.”

  Rowan Cooper, an attractive woman with long dark hair who worked as a liaison between the local police departments and the TCD team members, also rose and followed the men out the door. She accompanied any crew that deployed to a different location. Her specialty was smoothing over any personality difference or turf wars among different law enforcement units on scene. But her main responsibility was arranging overnight accommodations and making sure the agents had what they needed in order to remain focused on the task at hand.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied to the director. He knew he’d overstepped boundaries by barging in, but he’d felt the need to act immediately when he’d heard about the situation… About Annalise…

  “Plane leaves in twenty minutes. Now go,” Director Pembrook said. To him she added, “Duran…don’t pull this kind of stunt again.”

  Evan would have offered to quit after the assignment if he met any resistance from the director to him heading up the detail due to his personal connection to Annalise. Nothing was going to keep him from negotiating this hostage situation.

  “Never,” Evan replied before turning to leave.

  The team headed for the locker rooms where the agents had go bags of clothing and personal items since they often headed out on a moment’s notice. Rowan was equally prepared for the mission. Usually she would precede the agents to any given location when assignments were handed out, but in this case there was no time.

  He knew he was working with the best team and that they would resolve the hostage situation no matter what. Special Agent Davis Rogers was a former army ranger and had been with TCD for only three years, but he was a good fit. He excelled at tricky reconnaissance, among other things.

  Agents Nick Brennan and Daniel Lathrop were both not only easy to get along with, but they also possessed specific skills that would make them assets.