Paper Bullets (24 page)

The news was full of gloom and doom and random acts of violence. It might seem like I had more than my share—two kidnappings in less than a year might make anyone wonder if she had her own personal little raincloud following her around—but safety, total safety, was an illusion.

The door to the interview room opened, derailing my thoughts. McCarthy took a step inside the room but didn’t shut the door behind him.

“The Bureau would like to thank you for your cooperation,” he said to me. “You’re free to go.”

CHAPTER 31

I BLINKED.

After all that strategizing, all that planning and worry and the police escort from the hospital to the F.B.I. field office, after all that waiting with my lawyer in an interview room, it all boiled down to Special Agency McCarthy thanking me for my cooperation and telling me I was free to go?

Beside me, Norton stood up. If his old bones were as stiff as mine, he didn’t show it. “Thank you,” he said to McCarthy.

Seriously. That was it?

I must have looked as confused as I felt. Norton held his hand out for me and gave me the slightest shake of his head.

I got the message:
Not here.

I stood up, trying not to favor my wounded leg. “Thank you,” I said.

McCarthy waited by the door for us to leave the room. He escorted us down the hall and into the waiting area.

I’d been wrong. Kyle must have been pacing. He was on his feet with his hands on his hips.

He didn’t say anything, just gave me a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, and we all left together.

The F.B.I. field office was in an innocuous-looking building in south Reno that looked like any other office building except for the bulletproof glass in the windows. By the time we got outside, it was nearly full dark, the sky a deep rosy lavender behind the mountains to the west. Most of the windows in the building were dark, the majority of the agents and support staff gone for the day, and those dark, bulletproof windows looked a little too much like malevolent staring eyes for my comfort.

That wasn’t the best attitude for someone who occasionally worked with law enforcement officers—who was
dating
a police detective—to have, but I was just about fed up with the way the police and the Bureau had treated not only me, but Melody. I’m sure someone higher up the food chain would justify everything that had happened as being for the greater good, but they’d still used us in their attempt to hook a bigger fish.

As annoyed as I was about being used, I still didn’t understand why they’d simply let me go.

Once we were out in the parking lot and away from the building, Kyle put an arm around my shoulders. “Anyone up for coffee?” he asked. “There’s got to be a Starbucks around here somewhere.”

I’d been given my purse and my cell phone at the hospital. That and my clothes were the sum total of the personal belongings I’d been allowed to take from the crime scene. My car had been impounded by the police. It was pretty much toast anyway, what with the damage from two collisions and all the bullet holes. My insurance company was going to have a field day with the claim.

I sighed. “Wherever we’re going, I’m going to need a ride until I can arrange for a rental car.”

Kyle grinned at me. “I think I’ve got you covered.” He looked at Norton. “Coffee? I’m buying.”

Kyle didn’t usually drink coffee in the evenings. The fact that he’d mentioned it twice meant he wanted to have a conversation with the both of us, but he didn’t want to have it in the parking lot.

Norton must have picked up on the subtext as well. “Best offer I’ve had all day,” he said.

We found a Starbucks a few blocks away in a shopping center that also boasted a Walmart Supercenter and an abundance of fast food restaurants. I ordered an iced tea and lemonade combination while Norton settled for an iced decaf latte. Kyle was the only one who ordered coffee.

We sat at an outside table and watched the sporadic traffic go by. The valley was cooling off thanks to an evening breeze from the west. It made living in this desert town bearable during the summer, and sitting outside was pleasant even with the occasional blaring car stereo. Although after the day I’d had, anyplace where no one was holding me at gunpoint, shooting at me, or placing me under arrest was all right by me.

“So,” I said, drawing the word out. “Don’t take this the wrong way—I am definitely grateful to be here instead of back there—but what the hell just happened?”

Norton shared a look with Kyle. “They snagged a bigger fish,” he said. “That’s what I’m thinking. You?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said. “That’s my read.”

“Gordino?” I asked.

“Not that big. I’m guessing Sewell turned himself in. He had a front row seat when Richards’ car went up in flames with Richards inside. From what you’ve told me, Sewell is a smart guy. He can put two and two together, and he decided to cut himself a deal.”

Norton nodded. “I agree. He might have had a contingency plan in place all along.”

“But wouldn’t he have done that after Melody was murdered?” I asked.

“Not necessarily,” Kyle said. “Remember, RPD was looking hard at Ryan. Sewell had a sweet thing going. Criminals are a greedy bunch. He wouldn’t have walked away from all that money unless he was sure Gordino knew he’d been skimming.”

“But wouldn’t he think Ryan might have killed Richards, too?” The police certainly had.

“Sewell could write Melody off as a crime of passion,” Kyle said. “Richards was cold-blooded murder.”

“That assumes Sewell knew Richards was using Melody,” Norton said. “That Sewell knew Richards was undercover.”

Kyle thought about that for a moment. Eventually he shook his head. “Not necessarily. Sewell was screwing Melody.” He shot me a quick glance. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” I said automatically. I still had conflicted feelings about her, probably would have for a very long time, but none of that was Kyle’s fault.

“Sewell had known Richards for a long time in connection with Richards’ old RPD undercover drug cop gig. Sewell might have been playing Mr. Big Shot with both of them. Look,” he said, and he started ticking points off with his fingers as he made them. “First, we know Richards was trying to get Melody to entice Sewell to overspend. Second, we know Richards had initially been trying to bust Sewell on drugs. Possession is a nice bust. Possession with intent is better. Interstate transportation gets you noticed by the feds. Third, we know Richards made himself a deal with the feds to go after Sewell. Who says it started with money laundering? Maybe the feds were interested in Sewell in connection with the drug trade, and along the way Richards stumbled on the possibility of an even bigger catch.”

He glanced down at his fingers, frowning.

“Jeez, it might be later than I thought,” he said. “I know I had a point here.”

“You think Richards got Sewell to overspend on a drug buy,” I said. “Or in connection with something to do with the drugs.”

Kyle’s frown disappeared. “Yeah. I do. If Sewell knew he’d spent too much of the boss’s money on his good friend Richards and his girlfriend Melody, the murder of both those people by the same method might have been enough to get his survival instincts to kick into high gear. Say what you will about the feds, their witness protection program is first rate.”

“Witness protection,” I said.

“It’s the only way the feds could guarantee Sewell would still be alive to testify against his boss.”

All that was well and good as far as speculating what happened with the F.B.I.’s interest in me—I doubted we’d ever know for sure—but that wasn’t the end of my potential legal issues.

“What about the RPD?” I asked. “I’m pretty sure I’m not off the hook there.”

Norton’s expression turned serious. “They haven’t officially charged you or Ryan, but you’re right. The state’s case is circumstantial at best. That doesn’t mean they won’t decide to pursue it.”

“Ballistics,” Kyle said.

We both looked at him. He shrugged.

“I pulled in a favor,” he said. “Cops don’t release all the details of a crime. We use it to double check supposed confessions or trip up suspects. The detail nobody released on Melody’s murder was that she’d been shot.”

I blinked. I knew cops withheld certain details, but that was a heck of a detail to hold back.

“They found a bullet?” Norton asked.

Kyle nodded. “She must have struggled. The bullet went through her and lodged in the engine block, but there’s enough left to compare to the bullets recovered this afternoon.”

I couldn’t help but visualize what must have happened to Melody. Her car had been a brand-new Volkswagen Beetle. I didn’t know much about Beetles except that the engine was in the rear of the car. The gunman had to have been practically on top of her when he fired.

Had she known she was about to die? I’d been terrified, but I’d known all along what the gunman planned to do to me.

At least he hadn’t burned her alive like he had with Richards.

“What about the car bomb, for lack of a better word?” I asked. “Wouldn’t he have used the same thing to torch her car that he planned on using on mine? Couldn’t that be another way to prove that Ryan had nothing to do with Melody?”

Kyle shook his head. “I doubt it. The car fire was low tech. Book of matches, slow gas leak. I imagine the crime scene guys will find something a little more creative with Richards’ SUV.”

We all sat there for a while not saying anything.

A group of high school age girls came out of Starbucks, all holding large blended drinks, the kind that reminded me of coffee-flavored milkshakes. The girls were all thin and pretty and dressed in short-shorts and layered tank tops. They were chatting and laughing, and they didn’t pay a bit of attention to us.

That was a good lesson to hang onto. My world had been turned upside down in the last couple of days. Ryan’s had been shattered. And the rest of the world didn’t care.

The case wasn’t over yet, but based on what Kyle had told us, it would only be a matter of time. I’d done what I could to help Ryan. It nearly cost me my life, but in the end I was still here.

I squeezed Norton’s hand. “Thank you,” I said, the words far more heartfelt than the ones I’d said to Special Agent McCarthy. “I think I’m going to be working for you for free for the next year to pay off my legal bill, but thank you.”

He gave me a tired smile and lifted his nearly empty latte. “Paid in full,” he said with a nod at Kyle. “But if you tell any of my clients that I work for coffee, I’m going to double your bill.”

I managed a weary laugh.

I had a daughter to pick up and a wounded leg to nurse, and I was going to need a new pair of jeans. The emergency room doctors hadn’t shredded my pants to get at my leg, allowing me to take them off instead—something I was sure only happened when the wound was a “scratch”—but I was too old to start wearing jeans that had been distressed by bullet holes and blood stains.

At least, not on purpose.

“Well, okay then,” I told Norton. “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but I’m taking the rest of the week off.”

CHAPTER 32

THE WEATHER IN SAN FRANCISCO was clear and chilly with a stiff breeze coming off the bay. It was a good thing Kyle had warned me to bring a jacket and a sweatshirt. It had been in the high nineties in Reno the day before. It was in the low seventies in San Francisco, and where we stood at the far end of Pier 39 it was probably twenty below zero with the wind chill.

Kyle and I were doing the tourist thing. For the last hour we’d been wandering around Pier 39, doing more window shopping than actual shopping, although he had ducked inside a candy store to buy me an oversized lollipop.

The pier was crowded with Labor Day weekend shoppers. I’m not overly fond of crowds on my best days, and these weren’t exactly my best days.

They were far from my worst either, a fact I had to remind myself of more than once when strangers bumped into me and I felt myself tense up.

At least my thigh had healed and the stitches were gone, although I’d always have a scar to remind me how close I’d come to losing my life.

Kyle had told me my feelings were normal given what I’d been through, and that the stress would eventually lessen and I’d start feeling like myself again. I wondered if he had first-hand experience with post-traumatic stress. We still had so much to learn about each other.

The crowd had thinned enough on the upper level of the pier that we’d been able to find a spot at the rail near an empty storefront that blocked the worst of the wind. Kyle was standing behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me close, as we watched the ships and sailboats on the bay.

This was the kind of thing I always used to do with Samantha, only I’d be the one standing behind her with my arms wrapped around her. Of course, that had been when she’d been younger and didn’t mind being cuddled by her mother in public.

Samantha was currently spending a couple of days with Jonathan and his mother in Napa. This was supposed to be Ryan’s weekend, but he wasn’t up to having visitors yet. Melody’s body had finally been released by the coroner only a few days ago, and her funeral would be next week.

Ryan and I had had several long talks. I’d listened to him while he raged at the cruel indifference of the universe and offered an understanding shoulder when he cried, and I never once told him what I’d learned about Melody and Justin Sewell.

Ryan had been through enough. He didn’t need to know that the woman he’d loved hadn’t been faithful to him. He especially didn’t need to hear that from me.

Jonathan’s mother and I had also spent some quality time on the telephone. She’d offered her condolences, and then she’d offered to host Samantha all of Labor Day weekend so that Kyle and I could still take our trip to San Francisco.

While I thought that was a generous offer, I didn’t want to impose. I also didn’t want to leave Samantha in Napa all three days, at least not on her first overnight visit.