Running Blind (4 page)

“The reception is in the ballroom,” Jenna said, leading the way through a long hallway.

“A ballroom? I thought ballrooms went out of style a century ago.” Richard Dougherty spoke in a hushed voice as they made their way through wide double doors and into an expansive room.

“Apparently they're back in style,” Kane replied, but Nikolai wasn't sure he agreed.

Maybe ballrooms were in vogue, but the cavernous room echoed with the sound of quiet conversation and clinking glassware, and Nikolai couldn't imagine that such a place would ever be in style. The waitstaff milled around the mourners, offering drinks and finger foods. Off to one side of the room, in a back corner where it was barely noticeable, a poster-sized photo stood on an easel.

“That's Magdalena. Would you like to see what she looked like?”

“Sure.” He followed Jenna across the room and studied the photo of the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman. “She was lovely.”

“As lovely on the inside as she was on the outside.” A tall dark-haired man moved toward them, his brown eyes meeting Nikolai's briefly before he turned his attention to Jenna. “I'm glad you made it, Jen. I was worried this all might be too much for you so soon after…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head.

“You know I wouldn't be anywhere else, John.”

John? As in John Romero, Magdalena's husband?

Before Nikolai could ask, the other man pulled Jenna in for a hug, keeping his arm around her waist as he met Nikolai's eyes again. “You must be Nikolai. I was hoping Jenna would ask you to come. I know that if my wife had survived, she would have wanted to thank you for saving her best friend's life.”

“I'm sorry that I wasn't able to save her as well.”

“I am, too, but I know that you did all you could.” John offered a sad smile that didn't sit well with Nikolai. Something about the guy's response seemed rehearsed. As if he'd stood in front of a mirror and practiced just the right smile and just the right words.

Then again, his family had been in the spotlight since Magdalena's death. Some people were jumping to Magdalena's defense. Others were whispering about the possibility of drug addiction and illegal drug trafficking. Perhaps John merely wanted to avoid more undue attention and was hiding his true emotions because of that.

“How is little Benjamin doing?” Jenna's mother asked, and John offered a more relaxed smile.

“As well as can be expected. He's down in the playroom with some of his buddies. My mother and the nanny are watching them.”

“I think I'll go down and see him.” Jenna stepped away from John's arm, and Nikolai wondered if the embrace had made her uncomfortable. Did she know John well? Or were they simply two people brought together through their mutual love for Magdalena?

“Would the rest of you like a tour of the house? It was Magdalena's pride and joy. Showing it off makes me feel a little closer to her.”

The Doughertys were quick to accept the offer, though Nikolai was sure he saw tension in Kane's shoulders as he walked away. Maybe he, too, sensed something phony about Magdalena's husband.

And maybe Nikolai was looking for trouble where there wasn't any.

He didn't join the group following Romero. Instead, he followed Jenna back through the large ballroom and into the corridor. He expected her to find the basement door and retreat to the playroom, but she veered to the left, walking into a large
dining room. French doors opened onto a covered patio, and she pushed them open, walking out into the gray day.

She probably wanted to be alone, and Nikolai probably should have respected that. But there'd been something about the look in her eyes when Romero talked about his wife, something about the tension in her face that begged questions.

He crossed the room, walked out onto the patio. Rain pattered against the roof and dripped from the eaves, the sound quiet and soothing. “Did you come out to get away from the crowd or from Magdalena's husband?”

“Both,” Jenna responded, not turning to look at him.

“You don't like him?” He walked up beside her, the wind splattering rain across the porch.

“Magdalena loved him.”

“That wasn't my question.”

“I've never thought my opinion of John mattered much. He was Magdalena's husband. He supported her dreams and her humanitarian missions. He's a good father to their son.” She shrugged.

“But you've never liked him.”

“I've never
not
liked him. It's just that aside from Magdalena, we had nothing in common. Now that she's gone, we have nothing to say to each other.”

“Has he asked about your time in Mexico?”

“Once, but the details were too difficult for him to hear. Magdalena and Benjamin are his life, and he couldn't stand to think of Magdalena terrified and hurt.” She shuddered, and Nikolai put a hand on her shoulder.

“I'm sorry for all you've been through, Jenna. I know how difficult it is to lose someone you love.”

“Then you'll understand why I need your help.”

“I understand that you want your friend's killer to go to jail, but you have to understand that the likelihood of that happening is slim to none.”

“Did you think that's what I was going to ask you to do? Go after her killer?” She turned and they were inches apart,
her hair dark with rain, her skin dewy. Long lashes brushed her cheeks as she blinked, and Nikolai found himself being pulled into her gaze, losing himself in the pale blue of her eyes.

“Is there something else that you need?”

“Magdalena was a woman of faith. She was committed to God, to her family and to humanity in that order. She never, ever would have done anything that would hurt another person.
Ever
. Now people are talking about her as if all the things she did while she was alive mean nothing.”

“The circumstances of her death were unusual.”

“That doesn't mean she was guilty of a crime.”

“What is it that you want me to do, Jenna?”

“I want you to prove that Magdalena had nothing to do with the Mexican Panthers.”

“That's a tall order.”

“You seem like the kind of person who would be up for the challenge.”

Nikolai could have said no. He'd said it before to other people in other situations. As sorry as he felt for Magdalena's family, he could have walked away, let things play out however they would. It was the responsibility of the Mexican police and the DEA to uncover the truth about why Magdalena had been executed.

He
could
have said no, but he'd always liked a challenge, and he'd always had a passion for the truth. And he found he couldn't look in Jenna's eyes, couldn't see the sorrow there and deny her request.

“I can't promise you anything.”

“I don't need promises.”

“Then I guess I'm your man,” he said, before he could think better of it.

“Thanks.” Jenna smiled, shivering again as the wind blew more rain under the porch.

“Thank me after I've done the job. Come on. We'd better go in before you freeze.” He took her hand, started to lead her
back to the door. A sharp crack split the air, and Nikolai dove for cover, grabbing Jenna by the waist and pulling her down, covering her body with his as another crack followed the first. Dirt and grass flew into his face, water and mud splashing into his eyes. He blinked it away, scanning the area beyond the porch. Trees lined the back edge of the property, and he was sure he saw someone there.

“What's going on? Is everything okay?” Someone called out from the house, and the figure in the trees moved away.

“You okay?” Nikolai looked down into Jenna's face.

“I will be once I can breathe again.”

“Sorry.” He stood, searching the tree line again, tracking the figure. “Go in the house, okay?”

“What—”

“Have someone call the police. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

“Nik—”

He didn't wait to hear what Jenna said. The shooter had disappeared, and if Nikolai planned to catch him, the time for doing so was now.

And he
did
plan to catch him.

Jenna had escaped death in Mexico, but it seemed that it was hunting her again. Why?

It was a question only the gunman could answer, and Nikolai had every intention of making sure he did.

J
enna pushed herself to her feet, her legs trembling so much that she wasn't sure she'd stay upright. Her palms were scratched and bleeding, and her head had renewed the pounding that seemed almost constant since she'd been injured in Mexico.

But things could be worse.

A lot worse.

She could be dead.

She shivered, the concerned voices of people inside the house barely registering as she tracked Nikolai's progress. He'd reached the tree line and slipped into the shadowy cover it provided. She wanted to follow him, but her legs weren't cooperating, and she stood frozen in place, staring at the trees and praying.

“What's going on? Jen?” Kane appeared at her side, his eyes filled with concern.

“I don't know. I think someone was shooting at us.” Her voice was trembling, and that irritated Jenna. She didn't want to be scared, didn't want to feel weak and helpless.

“Can someone call the police?” Kane called out as he urged Jenna into the house. “Did Nikolai go after the guy?”

“Yes.”

“I'll see if I can give him a hand.”

“What's going on? Someone said they heard gunshots.” John stepped into the room, pushing through the crowd that
had formed, his hair mussed, his face pale. Jenna's mother and father were right behind him, and Jenna did her best to look less shaken than she felt. She'd given them too much to worry about in the past few years.

“Someone took a potshot at Jenna and her friend,” Kane explained.

“I can't believe this.” John smoothed his hair, frowning as his gaze dropped to Jenna's hands. “You're hurt.”

“Just a few scrapes. I'll be fine.”

“Why would someone do this?” Jenna's mother hurried to her side.

“We'll let the police figure that out.” John pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed quickly.

“I'm going to help Nikolai search for the gunman.” Kane disappeared outside, Jenna's father following him.

“If everyone else will go back to the ballroom, that would be great. I'm sure Jenna needs a few minutes to compose herself.” John gestured to the door, and the crowd dispersed, excited whispers drifting from the hallway as they left.

“I just can't believe this happened the day of Magdalena's funeral. Haven't they already done enough?” John paced across the room and lifted a decanter from a shelf. “Would either of you care for a drink?”

“No. Thanks. Hasn't
who
already done enough?” And since when did John drink? In all the years Jenna had known him, she'd never seen him with anything more than an occasional glass of wine. Seeing hard liquor sitting in the dining room made her wonder if he'd changed in other ways as well.

“Who do you think? The Mexican Panthers. They stole my wife's life, and now they want to steal her reputation, ruin her in the world's eyes. I won't have it.” He poured amber liquid into a shot glass and drank it quickly.

“I don't understand, John. How does trying to kill me accomplish that goal?”

“Trying to kill you? Do you really think they'd have missed
if that's what they were up to?” He poured another shot, took a sip.

“I don't know, but I don't think that drinking yourself into a stupor will do anything for Magdalena's reputation or for yours.” Jenna spoke more sharply than she intended, and her mother gave a subtle shake of her head. Unlike Jenna, Lila had an easygoing and laid-back personality. She rarely lost her temper, and when she did, it was for good reason. Compassionate and empathetic, she had a nonjudgmental attitude, and Jenna knew she could learn a lot from her mother's example.

So far, she hadn't. Jenna was more the “tell it like it is” type. The kind who tended to speak first and think later. And no matter what the circumstances and hardship, she couldn't silently watch a grown man drown his sorrows when he had a young son to care for.

John stiffened, frowning down into the amber liquid before swigging the remainder of the drink. “Two drinks isn't exactly drowning my sorrows, Jenna. And after the week I've had, I don't think anyone could fault me if I
did
try to drown them.”

“My point is that drinking won't change anything.”

“You sound just like my poor wife. She was always nagging people to do things differently. Face your problems rather than hide them—that was her motto.”

“That was one of the things I admired most about her.” Jenna responded, surprised by John's words. Had he resented Magdalena? They'd seemed like such a strong couple, completely supportive of each other.

“Yeah. Me, too, but it makes her death even more shocking, don't you think?”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean.”

“She was always trying to solve everyone else's problems, always rooting for the underdog and pushing for people to rise above their circumstances, and all along she had her own problems. Things she wouldn't face and never shared. If she
had…” His voice broke, and Jenna stepped forward, put a hand on his arm.

“What are you talking about, John? What problems?”

“I didn't want to tell you this, Jen. I didn't want to ruin your memories of her.”

“What?”

“Several DEA agents were here yesterday. They brought in dogs to search for drugs. They found…a lot. Magdalena had a hidden stash taped to the underside of her dresser drawer. She had more up in the attic. I don't know if she planned to sell them or use them. I just don't know.” He dropped into a chair, rested his head in his hands, everything about him defeated.

“Maybe—”

“What? Maybe someone else put them there? Maybe our housekeeper or one of the workmen who did renovations when we bought the house? Don't you think I thought of that? Don't you think I told the DEA the same thing?”

“There's no way Magdalena was using illegal drugs. I would have known.”

“Did you know she took methamphetamines during her last year of medical school?”

“What?! No!” Magdalena and drugs would never have gone together.

“She did. She—” Voices carried in from the still open French doors, cutting off John's words.

“The men are back. Thank goodness. I've been worried sick,” Jenna's mother said, hurrying to the doors, embracing her husband as he walked into the study. “Did you see anyone?”

“Unfortunately, no. Are you okay, Jenna?”

“Yes.” Only she wasn't. Not at all. Magdalena taking drugs during medical school didn't fit into the image she'd had of her friend. No matter how much she twisted and turned the information, it just didn't seem like something the woman Jenna had known would do.

“You don't look fine.” Kane lifted her hands and studied the shallow scratches.

“You worry too much.” She pulled her hands away, offering a smile that she didn't feel.

“And you don't worry enough. You didn't hit your head when you fell, did you? The doctor said—”

“I know what the doctor said, and I didn't hit my head.” But she did have a headache, a pounding, splitting, horrible headache that she knew from experience wouldn't go away without heavy-duty painkillers and several hours of deep sleep. She couldn't afford either of those things. Not when she still had so many questions that needed answers.

“We did hit the ground pretty hard.” Rain dripped from Nikolai's hair, sliding down his cheek as he approached. Handsome and compelling, he was a hero come to life. What woman wouldn't feel weak-kneed looking into his eyes?

“I hope I didn't hurt you,” he said, his dark gaze scanning her face. Deep rich brown, that's what color his eyes were. She'd been wondering.

“Jenna?”

She pulled her thoughts up short, forcing herself to focus on the conversation rather than the man. Nikolai was, after all, nothing more than that, and she had more important things to wonder about than the color of his eyes. “I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine.” He lifted her hand, frowning as he saw the scrapes on her palm.

“A few bumps and bruises are nothing compared to a bullet. I really
am
fine.”

Jenna took a few quick steps forward to prove her point, sharp pain shooting through her head at the movement. She swayed, reaching out to steady herself, her hand landing on something firm and hard.

She grabbed on, realizing a moment too late exactly what she was clutching. Biceps.
Nikolai's
biceps.

“Sorry.” She released her hold, her cheeks heating as she met his eyes.

“No need to be.”

“Sounds like the police are here,” John said, rushing to the dining room door and gesturing to someone. “We're in here, Officers.”

Seconds later, two officers appeared in the doorway.

“I'm Sergeant Lawrence and this is my partner Officer Daniels. We got reports of a shooting here,” the shorter of the two said, frowning.

“That's right,” John said. “Someone took a shot at one of my guests. I just buried my wife, and now I've got to deal with this.” He nearly shook with indignation, and Jenna couldn't help thinking that he was overdoing the part of shocked host. The fact was, someone could have been killed. Indignation was the least of the things any of them should be feeling.

“Do you know who the target was?”

“I may have been.” Jenna spoke up, not comfortable with the direction of her thoughts. Grief did different things to different people. Perhaps the only way John could deal with his grief was to focus on minute details and perceived injustices.

“You have reason to believe someone wants you dead?” Officer Daniels raised an eyebrow and pulled a notebook from his pocket.

“I was involved in some trouble in Mexico.”

“Trouble?”

“The same Mexican drug cartel that murdered my wife tried to kill Jenna. She was fortunate to survive.”

“And you think they may have followed you from Mexico?” the officer asked, his gaze on Jenna.

“I don't know.” Until a few minutes ago, it hadn't occurred to Jenna that she might still be in danger. Not while she was in the hospital. Not when she'd flown to Houston and checked into the hotel with her family.

“The DEA is involved in the case. You can contact the agent in charge. I'm sure he'll be happy to fill you in on the details.” John rattled off the name and phone number of the
agent, and the officer scribbled it in his notebook, then looked up, cocking his head to the side.

“Your wife was Magdalena Romero?”

John stiffened, but nodded. “That's right.”

“I've been following the news about her. I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Me, too.”

“Your wife was a good woman. She treated my son's club-foot last year. Didn't charge a dime.”

“That sounds like Magdalena.”

“Does the DEA have any leads?”

“None.” John didn't mention the drugs that had been found on the premises.

Would Jenna have if she were the one being questioned?

She didn't know. She only knew that Magdalena deserved to be remembered for the good she'd done. Not for her supposed crimes.

“Where were you when the shots were fired, Miss?” The sergeant walked to Jenna's side, his gaze jumping from Kane to Nikolai before finally settling on her face.

“On the patio.”

“Did you see the shooter?”

“No.”

“He was about five-foot-ten. 150 pounds.” Nikolai seemed sure of the information, and Jenna met his eyes.

“You saw him?”

“Not enough details to identify him, but enough to give his height and build.”

“And you are?” Sergeant Lawrence asked.

“Nikolai Jansen. I'm a friend of Jenna's.”

“I see.” The sergeant jotted something on a small pad of paper. “And you were with her at the time the shot was fired?”

“Shots. He fired twice. The first bullet hit a support beam. The second one hit the ground about half an inch from the edge of the porch.”

“It seems like you had a good view of what was happening.”

“Not until after the first bullet hit. I tried to get a visual on the shooter after that.”

“Most people would have been more concerned about taking cover.” There seemed to be a question hidden in the statement.

“I did that, too.”

“You've had crisis training?” This time the question was overt, and Nikolai shook his head.

“Combat training. I saw action in Iraq and in Afghanistan.”

“Yeah? I served four years myself. You an Army guy?”

“Marines.”

“I'm Army, but the way I see it, military is military. Service to country is service to country.”

“I couldn't agree more.”

“So, you say you caught a glimpse of the shooter?”

“Not much of one. We went after the guy, but by the time we hit the tree line, he was gone.”

“Why don't you take me out and show me which direction he headed. Daniels, you want to go see if there's evidence to collect on the porch? Mr. Romero, can you keep the guests here until we have a chance to question them?”

“Sure. I'll go let everyone know they'll need to stay for a while. Jenna, you want to come and help me explain?”

“Jenna looks a little shaken. How about I come and give you a hand.” Jenna's mother patted Jenna's arm. “Go ahead and sit down, Jen. Once the police are done, we'll go back to the hotel and you can get some rest.”

It sounded like a good plan. Maybe even a great one. Closing her eyes for a while, trying to forget that Magdalena was dead and that she had nearly been killed twice—those were things Jenna would love to do. But closing her eyes wouldn't solve any problems. It wouldn't bring Magdalena back or save Jenna from more trouble. All it would do was waste time
better spent trying to find out the real reason for all that had happened.