Double Cross (7 page)

9:25 A.M. SATURDAY

Abby walked outside Silver Hospitality toward the new wing’s construction, her daily inspection. And that’s exactly what she wanted everyone to think while she called Special Agent Laurel Evertson with an offer.

Slipping the business card from her pants pocket, she memorized the agent’s number and pressed it in. She breathed in a mix of fresh air and a prayer.

Special Agent Evertson answered on the second ring.

“This is Abby Hilton. We met on Thursday.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I won’t take up much of your time, but I wanted to talk about the case.”

“Something new?”

“I’d like to work undercover.”

“You what?”

“Hear me out. I’m at the facility six days a week. I have access to everything
 
—files, gossip, visitor logs, the computer, and even the kitchen. I don’t ask permission, just do what I want discreetly. I could do a little snooping and report to you.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Humor an old lady,” Abby said. “But don’t tell my grandson. He’d have a hissy fit.”

“Mrs. Hilton
 
—”

“Abby.”

“And I’m Laurel. As innocent as what you’re suggesting seems, it could be dangerous.”

“I’m already packing.”

“Whoa. They allow you to carry a weapon at Silver Hospitality?”

“Who’s going to tell them?”

Laurel laughed. “I suppose you could keep your ears and eyes open.”

“And my fingers. I’ll report in when I find something suspicious.”

“And you’ll be careful?”

“Who’s going to suspect an eccentric old lady?”

“Do you have anything to tell me now?”

Abby hesitated. “Observations maybe.”

“I’m ready.”

“A staff member quit after Daniel talked to her regarding the scam.”

“What’s her name?”

“Liz Austin. She helped in the kitchen. The job didn’t fit her personality. I told the agent here yesterday, but he acted like I was a client.” Abby drew in a breath. “Whatever I say is to be held in strict confidence. I overheard Liz talking to Chef Steven. She offered herself in exchange for the rear kitchen door to be unlocked. Said she needed to take smoke breaks.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“None of my business, and Marsha Leonard, the director, is a longtime friend. Never married and very much in love for the first time. With the chef.”

“So she’s involved with a staff member.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t tell Daniel about the unlocked door?”

“I didn’t want to bother him about one more thing. Now that I think about it, it was a stupid move on my part. But it’s been locked since she left. And Russell Jergon hasn’t returned either.”

“I haven’t heard a word that the security cameras exposed anyone smoking or entering the building through the rear entrance.”

“The girl had an iPad in her purse. Used it constantly. I’m smart enough to understand the technology is there for her to temporarily disable the cameras.”

“Wish I’d known this sooner. Thanks, I’ll look into Liz Austin. Abby, your financial institutions are aware of the fraud, right? They have special procedures to protect clients from fraud.”

“After the money went missing, Daniel went with Earl and me to the bank, and we spoke to a vice president. Earl had obviously given the salesman his account number, so nothing could be done but close out the account and open another one. We were told if the bank became aware of a client who might be suffering from Alzheimer’s or any other physical or mental illness, they contact the Texas Health and Human Services Commission. The situation would be investigated to determine if the report was valid. Often, in the early stages of the disease, the client wouldn’t be doing anything unusual for them to suspect a problem. Most everything is centralized and electronic.”

Abby sighed before continuing. “Daniel is the brains behind keeping us old people safe. He made sure the new account and the others are flagged so nothing can be withdrawn without all three of our signatures. A child or family member can’t waltz into the bank and announce a parent has Alzheimer’s and demand to be added on the account. Only an owner can make those arrangements unless the courts direct it.”

“I feel better that he’s looking out for you.”

“He’s a good man. Needs a good woman to complement him.” She wrapped up the call and pumped her fist into the air. Yes! About time she was useful again. And she already had her game day shirt on.

Abby processed what she’d learned and headed to Chef Steven’s domain. Her first undercover assignment. She stood in the kitchen doorway and studied the bald, chubby man.

“What do you need, Miss Abby?”

“I’m bored. Is there something I could do? No need to tell the health department.”

He waved a spatula like he was conducting a symphony. “I sure could use an assistant. I’ve got bananas and strawberries with a garnish of kiwi and mint ready for morning break, but the napkins, cups, and glasses haven’t been arranged appropriately.” He opened the oven to the delicious scent of fresh-baked pecan tarts. “I’m behind. Been that way since Liz quit.”

She stacked china cups, crystal, and white linen napkins onto a wheeled serving cart. She’d already posed the question to Marsha about using items that could break or injure a client, but the facility’s handbook expressly stated using the best.

“Great job,” he said.

“I’ve done my share of cooking food for crowds, but not at your caliber. Just point me to what you want done.”

“You’re a sweet breath of fresh air.”

“What were Liz’s responsibilities?”

“Clean up, serve.”

“And keep you company?”

“Not really. She had her own agenda.” He paused, and his face reddened. “She liked spending time with the clients, which is not a bad thing.”

“I agree. Earl loved her. Said she was ‘hot.’”

He laughed. “I shouldn’t have sounded critical. The one thing I valued were the afternoons. She gave me time to complete paperwork and visit with Miss Leonard.” He shrugged. “It would have been nice if she’d cleaned things to my satisfaction or prepared the afternoon snack. But I’m being critical again.”

“How long did she relieve you? I know Marsha cherished those times.”

“Almost two hours. She and I have an ongoing chess tournament. We use the computer up front, and when the facility is
quiet, we play viciously.” He paused as though reflecting on the times with Marsha.

If the scammers had found a way inside the facility during the afternoons, jobs were on the line, and the chess games were on the computer. Abby stole a glance at the rear door. A camera panned the room. Could it be temporarily disconnected?

“I’m sorry Liz left you stranded.” Abby swept strawberry stems into a dustpan. “Maybe I can do more.”

“Thank you, Miss Abby. But I’m supposed to have new help on Monday. Maybe this one won’t be texting her boyfriend or playing games on her iPad.”

Interesting. “Did he ever show up here?”

“You sure are interested in the goings-on in my kitchen.”

She smiled and placed Waterford pitchers of lemonade on the cart. “Oh, just chatting.”

He handed her a tray of fruit. “And I’m picking on a precious lady. You can take these to the clients, and I’ll bring the tarts.”

He hadn’t responded about seeing the boyfriend, which said he had . . . and the boyfriend being inside the building without signing in could cost him his job. If the cook confessed to how Russell Jergon might have gained access to the elderly, he and Miss Leonard could be charged with neglect.

Or be charged as accomplices.

5:00 P.M. SATURDAY

Daniel parked his truck in Silver Hospitality’s parking lot and focused on his grandparents’ welfare. Tonight he’d talk to them again about safety precautions until this thing at the facility settled. When the Alzheimer’s diagnosis threw them for a spin, Daniel assumed their health would be the most critical issue for the future, not someone stealing their money.

The scammer must have a database of wealthy elderly with
dementia. If he were looking to swindle defenseless people with dementia, what would he need to target them?

A medical database containing their health history, doctors’ names, hospital records, prescriptions, or insurance company details.

A bank database with account numbers.

Addresses where the victims could be found.

More than one database would have to be merged to compile the scammer’s targets.

After picking up his grandparents, Daniel listened to Gramps chatter while he drove home. He was a high school basketball star in love with a redheaded cheerleader.

Daniel glanced in his rearview mirror. A dark-green Dodge pickup had stayed on his bumper for the past several blocks. The driver wore a ball cap pulled down over his eyes. Daniel’s sixth sense had always been suspicion. . . . For the next few minutes, the pickup tailed him through a series of left turns.

He merged into the left lane, squeezing between two cars.

The pickup inched in behind him. Horns blew.

A quarter mile later, Daniel eased back into the far right lane.

The pickup moved with him.

“Gran, Gramps, duck down. Now. The idiot on my bumper is up to no good.”

Both must have heard the urgency in his voice, and they leaned down in their seats. The driver needed an attitude adjustment and a course in respect and courtesy.

That’s when he saw the gun poking out the driver’s window.

5:25 P.M. SATURDAY

A bullet destroyed Daniel’s side mirror. Another pop burst the rear window.

“Stay down!” Daniel pulled his weapon from its holster and steered his truck to the right side, then whipped it ninety degrees toward the shooter’s truck. “Gran, you okay?”

“Yes. I have my gun.”

“Don’t use it. Both of you get out and move toward the front. Now. The engine will protect you from gunfire.”

The truck had stopped, which meant the shooter wasn’t giving up easily, whoever he was.

“You’re in his sights,” Gramps said.

Thank God, he was lucid. “That’s what he thinks. Go. Take care of Gran.” Daniel switched off the engine and opened the door, firing at the dark-green truck. His grandparents exited, and another bullet sped past his head.

A shot from his grandparents’ direction alerted him to Gran unloading her S&W. She always had his six. Daniel continued to pump bullets into the truck while moving around the open door to the front of his truck. Bending, he called for backup and glanced in the direction of Gran and Gramps.

That’s when he saw the blood drops.

“Who’s hit?” he whispered, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and returned fire again. Sirens sounded in the distance.

“Just some blowback shrapnel across my calf,” Gramps said. “Looks like gravel or glass.”

“Gran?” Daniel said. “Is
 
—?”

The shooter backed up and raced in reverse to a hill leading down to a feeder, still shooting. The continuous fire stopped Daniel from sending a bullet into the tires or gas tank. The shooter bumped over the hill to the feeder. Vehicles slammed against each other to get out of the truck’s path.

No front license plate.

White-hot revenge burned through his gut. No one endangered his grandparents and got away with it.

11:15 A.M. SUNDAY

Sunday morning Laurel slept past eleven o’clock. Extremely late for her, but she attributed it to stress. It always knocked her out. Tossing off a quilt, she grabbed her laptop and brewed a cup of coffee, then crawled back into the comfort of her bed. With the thermostat in her apartment set at sixty-six degrees, she might stay there all day and snuggle. She spent over an hour working through her e-mails while drinking two more cups of coffee.

Next on her agenda were the latest reports on what was happening in the city, state, country, and around the globe. Before joining the FBI, media meant little to her. Now every event caught her eye. OCD and addicted.

Thirty minutes later, after another cup of coffee and a pair of brown sugar and cinnamon Pop-Tarts, her mind swung into work mode. She logged into the secure FBI site for updates. Normally she’d catch up on news, then head to the stables on Sunday. Perhaps in a few hours, she’d visit her valiant stallion.

When she spotted Officer Daniel Hilton’s name on a report, she inhaled sharply and her chest burned. The driver of a dark-green Dodge pickup opened fire at him last evening while he
was transporting his grandparents to their home in the Bunker Hill area.

Blinking, she focused on the news bulletin. The bullet shattered the rear window of his truck. An anonymous driver viewed the incident and reported the Dodge truck’s rear license plate, but the vehicle had been reported stolen. No reason was given for the shooting.

Laurel leaned against the pillow. She feared Daniel’s grandparents might be in the line of a scammer’s fire.

She pressed in Su-Min’s name on speed dial.

“Are you heading to the stables to see Phantom?” Su-Min said.

“I’m in bed. Haven’t brushed my teeth or combed my hair.”

“Doesn’t sound like you, but you must have needed the sleep. Are we having our regular Sunday night dinner at six or six thirty? I have soup started.”

Sweet friend. “Mandu?”

“Of course. Lots of dumplings. Can you pick up an apple pie for dessert? But you called me. What’s up?”

“Officer Daniel Hilton, the younger of the two men
 
—”

“The dreamy guy with those incredible brown eyes.”

Laurel shook her head. “Yes, he’s the one.”

“He asked you out?”

“No. Would you hush and listen?” Laurel wished Su-Min would leave the dating thing alone.

Su-Min laughed. “I’m all ears.”

“He was involved in a shooting yesterday evening, and his grandparents were with him.”

“I read the report. They’re okay or I would have called. No arrests, though. I thought we could discuss it tonight. I want to think through this business with Wilmington before we act on it.”

“I don’t think waiting is a good idea.” An inkling told her not to reveal her unofficial meeting with him.

“I’m calling the shots on this one. You have too much animosity to deal rationally where he’s concerned. Don’t cross me on this, or I’ll file a report.”

Shock washed over her. The call ended, and Su-Min’s threat repeated in Laurel’s mind. During their friendship, Su-Min had chosen the religion of the agency and didn’t care who got in the way. Laurel cared for her, but the warning flares looked like a bonfire.

She snuggled beneath the warm quilt. Glancing at her cell phone, she regretted the call to Su-Min. She should have called Daniel directly and bypassed her. His card lay on her nightstand, and she pressed in the number.

“Officer Daniel Hilton.”

His voice sent warmth from her toes to the top of her head. “This is Laurel Evertson. I read about the shooting yesterday and wanted to make sure all of you are okay.”

“Thanks for the call. We’re all fine. My grandparents are a little shook up, that’s all.” He paused. “Gramps had three stitches in his left calf. We were lucky.”

“Tell him I’m sorry. Any leads?”

“No.”

She wasn’t surprised. “Do you think the attack could be linked to the elderly scam?”

“Yep. We talked about the far end of this.”

She wouldn’t tell him about the eight-year history of supposedly the same operation or reveal any of the FBI’s investigation unless HPD was pulled into the case.

Change the subject, Laurel.
She heard country-western music. “You’re off today?”

“Sunday. I attend church unless I’m called in. On my way home now.”

One of those.
Forget it, Laurel.
He’d never be interested in her
 
—even if the thought had occurred to her. His faith just answered her question. “Grandparents in church too?”

“Yep.”

“I see.”

“Hungry? We could catch a pizza.”

Her stomach lurched, but not because of pizza. Was he asking her out? “To discuss yesterday’s shooting?”

“No, to share lunch.”

“I’d be poor company.”

“Can I take a rain check?”

Laurel trembled. She couldn’t handle the rejection sure to come when he learned about her past. “I . . . I don’t think so. Not a good idea.”

“Do you think I want to press you for FBI details regarding the case? Because that’s the farthest thing from my mind.”

“It’s better to keep our relationship professional.” She ended the call while her eyes pooled with tears. It was better this way.