Cold Target (42 page)

He was very aware that whoever was behind the deaths would probably come after him now. He welcomed that. He was prepared.

He also realized they had more discreet ways of destroying him than murder. Most likely they would try to plant drugs on him or his property. Both his troubled history at the department and a brother who was serving time for drug distribution would assist any such effort.

He didn't intend for that to happen. Nor did he intend to discuss it with Meredith. He wouldn't give her an excuse to escape his protection again.

As smart as she was, she'd probably already considered the possibility.

“Want a drink?” he asked her now.

“I would love one,” she replied, “but I don't think I should. I need to keep all my wits about me.”

He sat down next to her. “Do you remember everyone you saw today at the funeral? I know some of them but not all.”

“I think so.”

He had taken the guest book after the service. He handed it to her. “See if there is anyone you remember who didn't sign the book.”

She worked mechanically, jotted down a few more names, then gave it back to him.

“I think we can delete the mayor,” he said. “He was too young at the time.” He went through them all, crossing them off or putting a check next to their names as possibles. The possibles were people who were in their mid-fifties or older. Another requirement was someone with political power. Someone had exerted influence to have him taken off the Prescott case.

Newcomers—anyone who hadn't lived in New Orleans for the past thirty years—were crossed off the list.

When they finished, he had sixteen names of possible suspects, all of whom were considered among the city's elite.

He handed the list to Meredith. She studied it silently. “And now we see whether any of them has a daughter born in February 1970.”

“Yep.”

“They are all prominent enough to be subjects of newspaper stories. We can eliminate them one by one.”

“Bingo,” he said.

“We might be on the wrong track.”

“But it's the fastest train we have now. You could go through your father's files, but that might take weeks, even months.”

She stood, looking uncertain.

Overload, he realized. “Let's go to my house,” he said, trying to interpret her uncertainty. “Dom can meet us there.”

“And we have Beast,” she said.

“Did Sarah say anything about Nicky?”

“She would like to keep him if no one claims him.” She gave him a wry smile. “I thought about keeping him, but Sarah has children. She's home more than I am. Especially now. It's best for the dog.” Her voice was wistful.

“There are always dogs needing a home,” he said. “In the meantime you can share Beast. He'll be more than happy to oblige.”

Her smile was heartbreaking. He felt like Lancelot. Ivanhoe. All the heroes he'd admired as a boy. He'd never felt like that before.

He leaned over and touched his lips to hers. Gentle. Achingly tender. His heart caught, skipped a beat. His hand touched her cheek. It was cold.

He released her lips. “Let's get out of here,” he said.

He locked the door as they left the house. She stopped suddenly as she saw a car parked across the street, then relaxed as she seemed to recognize it.

“Mack Thomas,” he said. “He's been watching the house and my car. He's very chagrined that you lost him.”

“He shouldn't be. I've been helping battered wives escape husbands for several years now. I know all the tricks.”

“So should he,” Gage said critically. Still, he gave a small wave as they walked to his car. “Do you want to take yours?”

She nodded.

“I'll follow you.”

“And Mack will follow you?” she asked with a slight smile. “We'll look conspicuously like a parade.”

“He will go ahead and check out the house,” he said. “You can meander a bit.”

“No one would go inside with Beast there.”

“Beast, unfortunately, is a marshmallow. Anyway, it's just a precaution.”

“I think I should go home. Alone. I don't want anyone else hurt because of me. I have a gun. I'll be careful.”

“Isn't going to happen, love.” The word slipped out, just as it had earlier. “I'm not going to leave your side.”

She looked at him. “Even if I asked you?”

“No.”

Her face clouded with fear, but this time he knew it was for him, not herself.

“The sooner we find whoever is behind this, the sooner you can get your life back,” he said. “It won't be soon if we're at cross purposes, or if I have to spend valuable time trying to find you. It won't lessen their need to get me out of the picture. I already know too much.”

“And Dom?”

“I think he's put himself into the picture. He wants to find his daughter, and like you, he's hell-bent on doing it.”

They reached her car and he opened the door for her. She slid in, gave him a rueful smile and nodded her head.

He hoped to hell she meant it.

Mack met them at the house, a grim look on his face.

Meredith and Gage had arrived within seconds of each other.

The moment Gage saw his face, he knew what had happened. “Drugs?”

“Cocaine in the bottom drawer of your dresser in the bedroom. Enough to charge you with distribution. I flushed it down the toilet but I think you should conduct a more thorough search.”

“Beast?”

“Wobbly. Whoever planted it probably drugged him.”

He went into the kitchen, aware that Meredith was right behind him. Beast was collapsed on the floor, tongue hanging out, eyes not as bright as usual. Gage dropped next to him, scratched behind his ears. “Bad day, huh, guy?”

Beast looked at him pitiably, as if he knew he failed miserably.

“I knew what I was getting,” he told the dog. “That's okay.”

The tail swished once.

Fury and relief flooded him. Beast was breathing fine. He would have to sleep it off. In the meantime, he wanted to check the rest of the house with Mack. He suspected the DEA or officers from the NOPD would be knocking shortly.

“What can I do?” Meredith asked.

“You take the kitchen. Look under the sink, the fridge, in the coffee can—any place you can conceive of being a hiding place. Mack checked the most obvious hiding place, my bedroom. But they might have left a second stash.”

He took his office. He went through every office drawer, peered behind books in the bookcases. Having been on the drug squad not so many years ago, he knew where to look.

“Gage!”

Meredith's voice. He hurried into the kitchen. She held a plastic bag filled with white powder.

“Where was it?”

“A can of coffee.”

“They're not very imaginative,” he said. He took the package to the bathroom and flushed the contents down, then the bag.

Meredith followed and he saw the worried look on her face. “Gage?”

Hell, she was an attorney, and what he was doing was destroying evidence. He suddenly realized he had placed her in an untenable position.

He tried to explain. “Meredith, if they find this, I'll be in jail in a New York minute. There's still people who would like to see me crucified. At the very least, I would be tied up administratively for days.”

He could call and report it, of course, but his superiors might well have already heard from an anonymous caller. They would claim he called only because someone tipped him off.

She stared at him, and he saw her weigh the alternatives as well. Then she nodded.

They were still hunting when there was a loud knocking at the door.

He hoped to hell they had found it all.

He opened the door. Four officers—two NOPD and two DEA agents—stood there.

He knew the NOPD sergeant. “Joe, what in the hell are you doing here?”

The sergeant gave him an embarrassed but determined look. “We had a tip that you had drugs here.”

“Convenient,” he replied.

Meredith stood next to him. “Do you have a warrant?”

Joe looked at him inquisitively.

“My attorney,” Gage said.

Joe Tipton blinked, then handed the warrant to Meredith. She looked it over. As she suspected, the tip came from an unidentified source.

She stepped back. “Go ahead,” she said. “But don't tear up the place.” She turned to Gage. “Want to make me one of your great cups of coffee?”

He looked down at her. She had on her attorney's face. Blank. Yet something danced in her eyes.

“Great idea,” he said. He opened the door to the kitchen wide. They all entered. Mack was sitting in a chair, a magazine in his hand.

The sergeant stopped. “Mack?”

Mack stood. “Joe. What are you doing here?”

Tipton looked embarrassed. “We had a tip we might find drugs here.”

Mack's brows furrowed together. “Here? Strange. Everyone knows how much Gage hates drugs. He spent years trying to save his brother. They gone nuts over there?”

Tipton's face reddened. “We have to look.”

Mack lumbered up out of the chair. “You can look here if you want.”

Gage watched Meredith's lips twitch. If nothing else, this had served to break into her grief. “What about that coffee? Mack, you want some?”

“I'd rather have a beer.”

“Done,” Gage said.

A DEA agent stayed with them. He stood and watched as Gage poured water into a percolator and took the can of coffee from the cabinet. The DEA agent stopped him. Looked inside. Sifted the contents. Then returned it.

Gage noted the agents were more careful than they usually were. Apparently they had been given rather specific information as to where to find the drugs.

When the coffee was ready, he poured a cup for himself and Meredith, then opened the fridge and took out a beer. He offered it to the agent. “Want to check it before I give it to Mack?”

The agent looked embarrassed. “No. I think we got a faulty tip.”

“I have a lot of enemies,” Gage said.

“Don't we all?” the agent replied, looking as if he would rather be any other place than in a fellow cop's kitchen.

Mack gulped down his beer. Meredith sipped her coffee. If Gage hadn't been so angry, he would have enjoyed watching her play the game. He also realized that now this hadn't worked, more drastic means might be employed.

After another thirty minutes, Tipton returned with one of the other officers. “Sorry about this, Gage. I told them they were crazy but …”

“Do you know who received the tip?”

“Someone from Public Integrity. They passed it on to the drug unit.”

The second DEA agent came in. “Nothing,” he said with a disgusted grunt.

“Anyone in the department will tell you I hate drugs,” Gage said. “I've never used them, and I despise anyone who sells them.” He couldn't hide the quiet fury in his voice, nor did he want to.

Tipton shuffled on his feet. “We had to check it.”

“And now that you have, you can leave,” Meredith said quietly. “I buried my mother today, and Gage and Mack were kind enough to look after me. An anonymous tip may be sufficient grounds for some judges, but I find it very questionable. The department, and the judge who signed the warrant, will hear from me tomorrow.”

“I'm sorry,” Tipton said again.

They left quickly.

She slumped down in a seat. Emotionally and physically exhausted.

Mack went to the door. “I'll be outside in my car,” he said.

They checked on Beast. He was still sleepy but his eyes were brighter. He managed to get up and go outside, though he had a lolling gait like a drunken sailor.

She felt better, though, watching him. Whatever he'd been given wasn't deadly. Perhaps that would have been a real giveaway that drugs were planted.

When he came in, Gage kissed her lightly good night. “You go ahead to bed. I want to do some work tonight.”

“I'll wait.”

“No, you won't. You look exhausted. I'll be in later.”

He was being a gentleman. Too bad she really didn't want a gentleman at the moment.

But she was too tired to argue.

Obediently, she went to bed, hoping he would soon join her, and resenting the fact that she did.

twenty-seven

B
ISBEE

Marty called as Holly was finishing up the last details of a laughing frog sculpture. “Can you have lunch with me?”

“If Harry can come. I haven't found a regular sitter yet.”

“I know of one. I can vouch for her.”

“Perhaps she won't be available?” Holly said hopefully. Since the episode at the library, she didn't want Harry out of her sight.

“Why don't I check?” Marty was at her relentless best. Holly was learning that quality well.

“Who is she?”

“A widow, like you. She's had four children of her own and six grandchildren. She loves children and is the soul of responsibility.” Marty hesitated, then added, “She could use the money.”

Holly sighed. Trying to outmaneuver Marty was a hopeless task. Now she would not only be refusing lunch with the person responsible for her livelihood but she would also be depriving a poor widow of food money.

“All right,” she finally said.

“She'll be over there at one. Is that okay?”

“Perfectly.”
Perfectly not
. But she knew she couldn't hide here in the little cottage forever. She had avoided Doug since going riding on Saturday, refusing several invitations for dinner. She'd pled a sore throat, then work.

The woman arrived at ten minutes to one. Holly remembered seeing her before at the library. Lanky with a weathered face that told Holly she loved the out-of-doors, Teresa Stevens was dressed in blue jeans and a plaid short-sleeved shirt.

She had a smile that instantly put Holly at ease, and she carried some children's books with her. Her face lit when she saw Harry and she stooped to introduce herself.