Double Cross (16 page)

12:45 P.M. MONDAY

Laurel whipped across two lanes of traffic. Late for a hair appointment, and her locks had taken on the look of a drenched golden retriever. A dark-green pickup shadowed her rearview mirror, resembling the one that had tailed Daniel and his grandparents and the one from the Kroger parking lot when she and Thatcher did their acting stint. If this was the same person, then why was she being tailed after she’d murdered an FBI agent? A crystal ball would help. She picked up her phone from the console and called Daniel. By now he’d been briefed.

“Got a truck on my rear. Matches the description of the pickup that blasted the rear windows out of your truck.” She rattled off the license plate number. “Check on it, would you? Maybe this one isn’t stolen.”

“Give me a minute. Do you have a visual?”

“Looks like only the driver. Hard to tell with the tinted glass.”

“Be careful, Laurel. Remember Josie Fields might not want you as a part of Cayden’s operation. Where are you?”

“Just past the railroad tracks heading east on 1960.” She changed lanes. “They must have been watching my apartment, and that says Cayden or Wilmington. Except . . .”

“Except what?”

“Seems too soon for Wilmington to turn on us. Wish I
could see the driver.” The pickup tailed inches from her bumper. She registered every detail. “I’m getting off this busy street, turning left onto Champion Forest Drive.” The truck turned with her.

Stepping on the gas, she raced down the street. A bullet pierced her trunk. Two more pelted the bumper. She whipped into the right lane past a retail center with a popular breakfast restaurant. Couldn’t stop there. A half mile later, a huge church loomed behind a massive parking lot. Empty, and just what she needed to get rid of the green monster and its gun-totin’ driver.

In the middle of the parking lot, she whirled her car around and skidded to a halt. She exited and crouched low, her breath coming in spurts. No place to run in the parking lot. The pickup sped toward her.

She fired repeatedly into the pickup’s windshield. It headed straight toward her, its speed failing to diminish. She stepped to the rear and rolled over the trunk. Her feet hit the pavement as the vehicle roared toward her. She stumbled and ran to her right, clearing the truck’s path just as it pounded her car and pushed it into a light pole.

A dark-haired man stepped out and aimed. Laurel cut him down.

Daniel swung into the parking lot and hurried to her side. “I called Preston. He said for you to get out of here now. They’ll handle it.”

She glanced at the body sprawled out on the parking lot, lifeless open eyes. Who was he? Why?

“Laurel, I left my car running. Yours isn’t drivable. Get out of here. Not sure what’s happening, but this isn’t the first time this guy has struck today. I’ve already called for backup.”

She nodded and headed to his patrol car. “All right. Find out who he is. Call me. I’m heading home.” She stopped. “Is this the same truck that chased you?”

“Yes. Now get out of here.”

12:55 P.M. MONDAY

Daniel snapped a pic of the dead man with his burner phone and sent it to SSA Preston. It was the same man who’d assaulted the owners of the bakery. His hardened features spoke of a rough life, and the tats were typical tough guy but not gang related. The man lifted weights and had needle marks on his arm. He wore latex gloves, increasing the unlikelihood of fingerprint detection, but his right knuckle held blood. The Asian bakery owner’s? Once the gloves were turned in to the FBI, they’d undergo a thorough search.

Daniel wanted facial recognition done on the woman from the bakery. Where had she gone? Wilmington’s men were typically more high class than these two. He took another pic of the man’s P220 Sig. Grim reality hit him. The gun used was a .45, the same caliber that had taken a chunk out of Laurel’s shoulder. He’d find out if ballistics matched today.

Bits and pieces slowly rolled together.

If the man had been out to kill Laurel, why didn’t they take her out one of the many times she came and left from her apartment? Knowing who fired the shot would help. He’d investigated enough crimes not to put a hasty conclusion into a report until all the evidence lined up, but this tempted him.

Climbing inside the man’s pickup soured his stomach. The interior reeked of spoiled food and stale beer. A few to-go bags from McDonald’s and a boatload of empty beer cans littered the truck. A party gone south.

A black SUV arrived behind an ambulance. Special Agent Thatcher Graves emerged from the vehicle and walked his way while his partner, a man Daniel didn’t recognize, spoke to the paramedics.

“You started sooner than you expected,” Thatcher said. “Got a call this truck was chasing Laurel.”

“Whoa.” Daniel didn’t attempt to cover his anger. “Why are you here? You might have blown Laurel’s and my cover.”

“Relax, Hilton. I know what I’m doing.”

“I have my doubts. I suggest you leave the scene, since you’re supposed to be dead.” His insides burned. Thatcher’s arrogance could get good people killed.

“Don’t worry about me. For the record, Laurel and I were at Quantico together, training you haven’t had.” Thatcher made his way to the body. “One of Wilmington’s or Cayden’s men?”

“Good guess.”

The other agent snapped pics, a steady clicking. Thatcher bent to the dead man. “I want everything on him
 
—records, his buds, underwear size, blood analysis on the glove. Now.”

So the case now had a hero.

Thatcher stood and studied the surroundings. “This parking lot is about the safest place for a shoot-out with a minimum of casualties.”

Daniel pointed to the church. “The staff would appreciate your comments, especially since they have a preschool on the other side.”

Thatcher groaned. “Good call.”

Thatcher’s cell alerted him to a text. “Have an ID already.” He scrolled through the message. “The name’s Trey Messner. He went off the grid from 2010 to 2012. Wanted in British Columbia for questioning in a suspected murder. A year ago he appeared in Miami. Pending further investigation.”

“Is Wilmington mentioned?”

“I’ll find out. And if Messner visited Wilmington before he was released from prison.”

“Check on the reported elderly scams in Miami. See if Messner was there then.”

“I’m also requesting Messner’s pic be sent to the offices in other states and law enforcement where elderly scams are reported,” Thatcher said. “Wilmington claims to be innocent, but that’s hard for me to swallow.”

“Possibly. Why jeopardize his freedom to scam innocent people who don’t know what day it is? His style was drugs, bank fraud, prostitution, and gambling. Then give to charities. Check the bullets that the FBI pulled from my truck to see if they match Messner’s gun.”

Thatcher grinned. “Might recruit you yet, Mr. HPD. Keep your eyes open and your head down.”

If Preston wanted Daniel risking his life, he’d better give Special Agent Thatcher Graves a few guidelines.

4:38 P.M. MONDAY

Abby picked a burnt-orange mum from her flower garden, stuck it in her hair, and yanked on a weed. A clod of dirt dumped on her favorite boots, the same ones she’d worn with Earl to hunt big game in Africa and bear in Alaska, the same boots from her trek along the Amazon and her hike to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro. A chuckle rose deep in her throat. The trip to the Amazon had almost been her last encounter with nature when she nearly stepped on an anaconda. Same boots. Still fit like a glove, better than her house slippers.

She stood and stretched her back. Getting old was for those who were finished living. Not Abby Hilton. Too much of this earth yet to experience.

Reveling in the spectacular display of fall color in her backyard, she spotted a cropping of weeds near a bottlebrush.

“Like life,” she said. “Just when the days ahead look blessed, some jerk gets money hungry and goes on a scammin’ and killin’ spree.”

“Gran, who are you talking to?” Daniel said behind her.

“What are you doing sneaking up behind an old, defenseless woman?”

“Old, maybe.”

“Watch it.” She adjusted her baseball cap over her eyes and
admired the second love of her life. “Did you finish your shift to help me pull weeds?” She startled. “Where’s your uniform?”

“I’m taking some time off until the scammer’s arrested.” He scratched his left shoulder.

She’d read him for years, and he was keeping something from her. “How long?”

“I have a few weeks’ vacation coming.”

She wagged a gloved finger at him. “Daniel, when you’re ready to tell me the truth, I’m ready to listen.”

His face held a trace of a smile, but his body language told a different story. “The nurse said you didn’t eat much lunch, and squash casserole and meat loaf are your favorite.”

“I’m out here because I need to think. You know my best thoughts come when I’m working with my hands.”

“Let me help.” He pulled a handful of weeds. “I’d be upset too if my friends were dying and I didn’t know if it were natural.”

“What if you were afraid someone you loved was next?”

“I won’t let that happen, Gran.”

“Nearly did. My fault. I should have changed the lock on the gate.”

“If anyone is to blame for Gramps walking off, it’s me. And I never considered the gate.”

“Wish I could do something besides pull weeds.” In truth, she wanted to go hunting for two-legged animals who preyed on old people.

“I’m on it with a team of others.”

“How are you going to stop them? By taking vacation time?”

“Now, Gran. I haven’t taken time off in a long while.”

“Hogwash. What’s the FBI saying?”

“Hasn’t been enough time to complete an investigation.”

“They were working on this before we met with them.” She grabbed a weed. “Why was Laurel fired?”

“I’m not exactly in the loop.”

Abby fumed. “How sad if an HPD officer made the arrest.”
Her temper rose with sarcasm, not against him but at the unfairness of it all. “And the stupid excuse to release Laurel from the FBI is a black lie.”

Daniel touched her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter who finds the most evidence or makes the arrest. When I can, I’ll tell you about Laurel.”

She narrowed her gaze. “That’s what I thought. You’re keeping information from me.”

Sadness swept over his rugged features. “Gran, I’m keeping you and Gramps safe.”

“You’re right.” She glanced around them, drinking in the peace her garden offered. “I simply want it stopped. Earl is eighty-five, and I’m eighty-four. In all the years we’ve been together, I’ve never been more afraid. Not with Jimmy’s death. Not with your mother’s trial or the insurmountable task of raising you and praying I didn’t make the same mistakes twice.” She swallowed her melted emotion. “Don’t let anything happen to you or Earl. Please.”

7:05 P.M. MONDAY

Laurel watched the clock, nervous and filled with anticipation. Wilmington would call by eight if Cayden agreed to a face-to-face with her. She blew out her irritation. Dinnertime came and left, her appetite lost in the heat of this morning’s firefight.

The silence rang deafening around her, her apartment like a tomb. She shivered.

A knock at her door caused her to jump. Great undercover agent.

She made it to the door and stood to one side of it. “Who’s there?”

“Your friendly HPD officer, a real crime fighter.”

Laughter bubbled from deep inside her. Just the man her heart wanted to see
 
—not her logic. She opened the door. The man before her had combed his brown-and-chrome hair back, sported a gold earring, green eyes, a tattoo, and wore a black knit
shirt that showed every muscle. “You must have eaten ego cereal for breakfast.”

“With tiger’s milk.”

She gestured him inside and closed the door. “What’s your name?”

“C. W. Krestle. Driving a black BMW.” He looked around. “Don’t you ever turn on the lights?”

“Not when I’m in a mood. Believe me, after this morning, I refuse to be pried or peeled. Just dark and sour.”

“Sounds like vampire candy.”

She laughed again. “Where do you get these?”

“Just being my charming self.”

She tilted her head to study him, really see him. “Thank you. Even if you are dressed as Wilmington’s bodyguard.”

“Are you doing okay?”

“I’m a friendly FBI special agent, a real crime fighter.”

The rumble of laughter deep in his throat warmed her. “Good one.”

“I’m all right. Hate the idea of a life wasted.”

“Can I help? I’m an Eagle Scout.”

“Be my friend.”

“That’s easy. I would like coffee and a frozen Snickers.”

“Coming right up. Wilmington’s supposed to call at eight. He’s arranging a meeting with Cayden. See if I passed inspection.”

“What about the punk who attempted to run you down?”

She hadn’t shaken it off yet. “I learned a few things from SSA Preston. Have a seat. This case gets muddier and muddier.” She pressed the button on the coffeemaker and pulled out a pod.

Daniel eased onto a chair. “Same gun that pumped a bullet into your shoulder?”

“No.” She frowned at him. “But the bullets matched the ones fired into your truck. So I may still be dodging fire if Wilmington isn’t successful.”

“Josie Fields?”

She nodded and allowed his cup to fill. “She came on to you.
You refused. She’s seen us together with you in your police uniform and doesn’t trust me.”

“I was her alibi, but I made her mad when I didn’t play her game.” He smiled. “Maybe you should have shot me?”

“Then I’d have to deal with Abby.” She pulled a Snickers from the freezer and handed it to him with his coffee.

“You’re not indulging?” he said.

“Stomach is queasy. Comes with the territory.” She’d been lucky. Daniel had been lucky. But that could change in a flash. “Here’s what I learned. Trey Messner, the shooter from this morning, was with Josie Fields at the bakery.”

“Lovers?”

“Worse. Half brother and sister. If she wanted me dead before I killed her brother, imagine her vendetta now.”

Daniel unwrapped the candy and set it beside the coffee. “No wonder your stomach isn’t cooperating. Not sure Wilmington can buy you credibility with that history.” He peered into her face. “I care for you, Laurel. I’d do anything to keep you alive.”

Her eyes moistened. “You have no idea about my past.”

“Let me be the judge of who you are.”

If only she could change the filth. “You’re good and kind, Daniel. You deserve better.”

“I’d like to tell you something. Got another minute?”

“Fire away.” She cringed. “Poor choice of words there.”

“This is personal. Do you mind taking a seat?”

“Okay.” Her pulse sped. Could she handle this?

When she sat, he took her hand and gave a thin-lipped smile.

“Daniel, what’s wrong?”

“I hope everything’s right.”

She’d not overreact. “Go ahead and spill your guts.”

“Is this how you handle an interrogation?” His eyes sparkled, and she wanted to melt into them.

“Depends on what I want to know.” Great. She was flirting. “Me as an interrogator? I can get real nasty.”

“We all can be unlovable.”

Her thoughts bolted to what she’d done with Wilmington. “What made you decide to be a cop?”

“I wanted to be in law enforcement ever since I can remember. My idea of a career meant keeping people safe, fighting crime.”

“Were you a superhero fan?”

“Even wore a Superman cape. Had the neighborhood convinced I was a hero.”

He hadn’t changed, but she wouldn’t tell him. She tossed a smile his way. Her heart raced like Phantom when she loosened the reins. “What did you want to talk about?” Relationships cratered when truth surfaced. She should end any hope for both of them.

“I visited my mother in prison yesterday. First time since I was a toddler.”

She inwardly startled. “That must have been hard. Why now after all these years?” His body language was open.

“I needed to square things with her.” Daniel told her about the woman serving a life sentence for murdering his father.

How could a woman abandon her son? Or refuse his forgiveness after pulling the trigger on his father?

“Not sure I’d have the same courage,” Laurel said. “Honestly, I’d be bitter. She’d be the last person I’d ever want to see.” She paused, thinking over the last few days.

“Gramps says we should never say never because then we’ll be forced into walking through our fears. Ready for a family story?”

How ironic. He was about to spill his guts, and his history couldn’t be any worse than hers.

“My dad grew up doing everything opposite of what his parents wanted or instructed. According to Gramps, he showed remorse only when caught. When he was ten, he vandalized a neighbor’s house. The judge determined Dad was the victim of poor parenting and ordered Gramps to spend three days in jail.” Daniel shrugged. “So untrue. Dad went on to brutalize animals, steal, bully, and break the law every chance he could find. He quit
school his senior year after beating up a teacher and went to work at a fast-food restaurant. His rebellion grew from using drugs to selling them. In and out of jail. He hooked up with my mother, and together they made and sold meth. Then I came along. When I was eighteen months old, my parents got into an argument. Both were high. Mom shot Dad and pleaded self-defense, but the courts didn’t buy it. She received a life sentence, and Gran and Gramps raised me.”

“Why did you want to tell me this?”

“I realized I’d never be free of Mom’s influence until I forgave her.”

Laurel studied the man before her. He’d stated his mother wasn’t in the picture, but she had believed it was a small hitch in an otherwise-pristine life. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to consider anything else. “And you wanted to do this?”

“Want had nothing to do with it. I had to. The hate was eating me up, a barrier to my faith. I claimed to be a Christian, and yet I couldn’t forgive. And then there’s you.”

She grew warm.
Here it comes. The end before the flame is snuffed out. End it, Laurel. Do him a favor. You’re selfish to lead him on. It’s
 
—

“Laurel, I’ve seen the odds of a cop and an FBI agent succeeding in a relationship. We’ve only known each other a short time, but I want to get to know you more. I want to put my past behind me and give my best to a relationship with you. The case needs to be solved first, but I wanted you to know how I feel.”

Confusion soared through her. She heard the words, dream words, and stared at the strong hand wrapped around hers. “I don’t understand.”

“In the past, when I dated a girl, it lasted at most three weeks. Then I broke it off before she rejected me. Got myself quite a reputation as a player in college.” He hesitated. “Afraid to trust. Afraid to take a chance on me or her. I don’t want the same thing to happen with us.”

A relationship? It couldn’t happen. “No,” she said, pulling back her hand. “You don’t have a clue about who I am. I’ve done things you’ve never dreamed of. My faith is zilch. You know exactly what I did for Wilmington to propose. We lived together. You need a woman who’s in church, a good woman who doesn’t have history.”

Not a muscle moved on his face, but the warmth in his eyes unnerved her. “Yes, faith must be mutual, but we can explore your questions together.”

“I’m not interested. My list of sins is far too long. Your God isn’t interested.”

“There’s no such thing as God not wanting anyone. No matter what they’ve done.” He stroked her arm. “Your eyes tell me so much more. I have no idea who or what has hurt you, but I’m not those things. And neither is God.”

Laurel failed to control the tears slipping over her cheeks. “This has to stop. Now. I’m glad you have resolution with your childhood and
 
—”

“I’m not giving up.”

“Daniel, I . . . Please go.” Her heart threatened to shatter, but she held her resolve. “We’re two people dealing with a criminal case. That’s all.”

“When you’re ready, I’m right here.” He startled and rose from the chair. “Someone’s coming up the stairs.”