Secrets of the Lynx (7 page)

“My wife, Cynthia, and little Mike changed my life. I never thought I’d get married, but it was the best thing I ever did.”

As they walked back out to the pickup, Kendra noticed how quiet Paul had become. “What’s up?”

“I’ve seen two of my brothers settle down and I know they’re happy, but the marriage scene....” He shook his head. “It sure isn’t for me.”

“How come?”

“I’m a confirmed bachelor,” he said, then before she could press him for more of an answer, he added, “What about you? Is there a guy back in Denver?”

“Not in Colorado, not anywhere at the moment, but in case you’re wondering, I have no intention of becoming one of those career marshals married to the job. I want...more...for myself.”

“Like what?”

She shook her head, signaling him to drop it.

“A woman of mystery...” Paul smiled slowly.

The impact of that very masculine grin spread an enticing warmth all through her, and she avoided looking at him, afraid she’d give herself away.

Paul was big trouble, no doubt about it. He was a man who loved flying solo, yet he was built to perfection and could entice any woman with a pulse. Everything about him, from those wide shoulders to those huge hands, spoke of raw masculine strength. The steadiness of his gaze mirrored courage.

“I imagine you’ve got no shortage of girlfriends,” she said.

“I can usually find a date,” he said.

She suspected that was the understatement of the year. A man like Paul probably left a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he went.

* * *

T
EN MINUTES LATER
they reached their destination, an old brick building just one block south of Main Street in the business district. Paul drove his pickup down the alley, then parked beside what had been a loading dock. The big steel back door had a massive padlock attached to it. This entrance had clearly not been the one compromised.

“Let me go in first,” Paul said, pointing toward the door and interrupting her thoughts. “If we come across squatters, I don’t look like a cop, so we’re more likely to avoid a confrontation.”

“I don’t look like a cop either. I’m in plainclothes, just like you.”

He shook his head. “You’re wearing business district clothes—dressy slacks and a matching jacket to look professional and cover up your handgun. You’re also wearing sensible shoes, not heels, so you can fight or chase a perp. I’m wearing jeans, a denim jacket, worn boots and a working man’s shirt.”

“Okay,” she said, glancing down at herself and shrugging. “Remind me to dress country. For now, take the lead.”

She smiled as he moved ahead of her. He was long-legged, slim-hipped, and had the best butt she’d seen in a long time. Sometimes being second in line had definite advantages.

Chapter Five

Paul unlocked the door, then slipped inside noiselessly. He heard a faint scuffling and saw a mouse dart behind a discarded cardboard box. Against the wall stood an array of damaged exercise equipment, most missing key parts, like the treadmill without a walking surface.

They went through the two-story building quickly, verifying no one was about. Checking inside a large closet, they found that a weight bench had been placed beneath an access panel in the ceiling. The bench was dusty and revealed the imprints of small shoes—probably a woman’s.

Paul climbed up and lifted the access panel. There was a built-in ladder there leading to the roof. “This is how she’s been getting into the building. My guess is she’s pried open the hatch on the roof, and climbs down.” Paul stepped off the bench and brushed away the dust, not wanting to leave his boot prints behind.

“Hopefully we’ll find Annie before she realizes that we’re on her trail,” Kendra said.

“If she comes in after dark, she probably won’t notice the absence of dust on the bench,” Paul said.

They resumed searching and after a few minutes they found signs of an occupant in the men’s locker room.

Paul tried the faucet at one of the three small sinks opposite the shower area. “No water, but it looks like Annie has made herself at home.” He gestured to a mirror that had been wiped clean.

“She probably chose the men’s room because it’s closest to her exit,” Kendra said. “What we still don’t know for sure is whether it’s Annie who’s living here or someone else.”

Kendra walked around and saw the roll of blankets on top of an anchored wooden bench opposite a row of metal lockers. Farther into the room, two matching weight benches placed side by side served as a table. An empty can of soup, plastic spoon, and a bottle of soda had been placed on top of it.

Paul opened the locker closest to the blankets. “Take a look, Kendra.”

Taped to the back of the locker was a small photo of two women in their late teens.

“That’s Yolanda,” Kendra said, pointing to the tall girl on the left.

Paul nodded. “I’m guessing that’s Annie next to her. This must have been taken ten or fifteen years ago.”

Kendra edged up next to him and studied the photo. “Memories may be all Annie has to hang on to these days.”

“Do you want to wait around and see if she shows up?” he asked.

“I don’t think she’s coming back anytime soon,” Kendra said, picking up a small plastic bag on the top shelf of the locker. It held minute traces of a white, crystalized substance. “She’s either out looking for another hit or trying to raise the cash.”

“Next stop, that alley over by the bus station?”

“Yeah,” she said.

Paul’s phone rang as they reached the door. He listened for a second, then spoke. “Whoa! Slow down, Nick. I’m going to put you on speaker, then start again from the beginning. Tell me exactly what happened.”

“Okay, Mr. Grayhorse. It’s like this. A stranger came into the coffee shop while I was bussing tables. He said you weren’t home and asked me if I’d seen you around. He had a badge, but it wasn’t from the Hartley P.D. and didn’t look like the ones the federal marshals carry. When I asked him who he worked for, he said he was a cop with the Bureau of Indian Affairs,” Nick said, and scoffed. “But he was paler than me.”

“Nick’s blond,” Paul mouthed to Kendra.

“You didn’t let him think you didn’t believe him, did you?” Paul asked Nick.

“No way, I didn’t want to piss him off. I just nodded.”

“Smart move. Have you called Preston?”

“Not yet. I followed the guy outside to take a look at his license plate, but he drove off before I could get his number. He was driving a dark green pickup, not one of those generic white sedans or SUV’s, and he didn’t have government plates.”

“Maybe my surveillance cameras picked him up. Here’s what I want you to do for me, Nick,” Paul said, then gave him precise instructions. “You got all that?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

“Be careful, okay?” Paul ended the call and placed the cell phone in his jacket pocket. “Because my apartment is over the coffee shop, I want to avoid it for now. Nick will bring me what I need to access footage from my cameras. With luck, we’ll be able to make a positive ID.”

“Do your cameras cover the area outside the coffee shop, too?”

“They track most of the parking lot,” he said. “There are a few blind spots, but the guy would have to have had some serious training to spot those.”

“Let’s go meet Nick then. The kind of clients Annie’s looking for probably won’t show up until the end of the work day, dinner time or later, so Annie probably won’t be there yet.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

* * *

K
ENDRA KEPT HER
eyes on the rearview mirror. “Nick sounds like a sharp young man.”

He nodded. “He’s a good kid. He’s had some rough breaks, but he’s managed to weather them all. I have a feeling he’ll go far in life.”

A long silence settled between them as Paul drove through town toward the northeast part of Hartley.

“The guy who’s after you isn’t coming across like a pro,” Kendra said at last. “A professional hit man gathers intel below the radar.”

“And seldom misses—unless that’s his intent,” Paul said as he passed a slow-moving bus. “I’ve been giving this some thought, and the fact that the rounds came really close and were tightly grouped tells me that it wasn’t meant to be a hit. It was a warning.”

“A warning against doing what? You can’t testify against Miller even if he did kill your partner. You never got a look at the shooter. Are you involved in another case you haven’t told me about?”

“No, nor have I investigated anything that hasn’t been solved—except the hit on the judge.”

She said nothing for several long moments. “I’m getting a real bad feeling about this.”

“Yeah, me, too,” he answered. “There’s more to this attack than we’re seeing, and in our line of work, the unknown is what always gets you.”

As Kendra glanced at Paul and their eyes met, she felt a spark of awareness. Almost instantly, she pushed that feeling aside. She was here to do a job, and nothing could be allowed to interfere with her work. The colonel had drilled that into her until it had become a part of everything she was.

“Nick wants to go into the marshals service someday,” Paul said, breaking into her thoughts. “He’s only sixteen and has a long way to go, but I think he’ll make it.”

“You really like that kid, don’t you?” she said, noting the slight gentling in Paul’s voice whenever he spoke of him.

“Yeah, he reminds me of my brothers and me in a lot of ways. Nick was in a truckload of trouble this time last year. His mom had died six months before and his father had buried himself in work,” he said. “That’s why Nick started running around with the wrong crowd. Before long, he was in over his head. He wanted out, but the street gang was putting a lot of pressure on him.”

“So you helped out. How did you deal with it?” she asked.

“The gang leader’s a punk with a bad attitude, but I’m badder.” He gave her a quick half smile.

* * *

T
HEY PARKED IN
front of Bookworm’s Bookstore ten minutes later. The hand-painted sign out front advertised their coffee bar and Wi-Fi connection in big, bold letters.

“Bookstores have really been impacted by the economy. These days they have to diversify just to stay alive,” she said.

“All the small businesses in this area have taken a hit, especially the mom-and-pop places, like Bookworm’s.”

“Yet you started your own agency,” she said.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t easy staying in the black, particularly at first. I’ve got my pension and disability, and I had to rely heavily on those to get by.”

They’d just stepped inside the shop when they heard someone calling out.

“Hey, Mr. Grayhorse.” A teenager she assumed was Nick stood and waved, then hurried over to greet Paul. “I brought your laptop. It’s over there,” he said, pointing to the corner table.

Paul took one of the three seats around the square table and opened his laptop. “Nick, did you look around your dad’s coffee shop before you came over?”

“Yeah, but that guy hasn’t come back,” he said. “I also warned my dad to watch out for him. If he comes in, Dad’ll give you a call.”

“Great. Now think back carefully and tell me exactly what this guy looked like,” Paul said.

“Like I said, he was just a regular guy. Tall, about your height, brown hair, brown eyes. I don’t think he spent a lot of time outside, because he had light skin. He’d roast in the sun. Oh, yeah, I think he had freckles.”

“Did he have any kind of accent?” Kendra asked. Miller had been known to speak with a slight Texas drawl. The light skin also fit. Miller was a natural redhead, though he repeatedly dyed his hair.

Nick, obviously unsure whether to answer her or not, looked back at Paul.

“Excuse my manners,” Paul said. “This is U.S. Marshal Armstrong, Nick.”

Nick shook her hand, then said, “He spoke just like everyone else—normal, you know, no accent.”

“Was his voice higher or lower pitched than Paul’s?” Kendra asked. People often knew far more than they realized.

“Um, higher. And he talked faster, too, like he was in a hurry.”

“Thanks,” Kendra said. Reaching into her jacket pocket, she brought out her notebook, took out a photo of Miller, and showed it to Nick. “Could this have been him?”

Nick studied the photo. “Hard to tell. This guy’s wearing a cap and sunglasses and the photo’s bad. Looks like it’s been Photoshopped, too.”

“Yeah, but it’s the best we’ve got,” she said, disappointed.

“Were you able to direct the feed from my surveillance cameras?” Paul asked Nick.

“It took a while, but I got it to work,” he said. “I tested it out, too, so it’s all set. No matter where you log in you’ll be able to monitor everything from your laptop.”

Paul powered up his computer and entered his password. After a few keystrokes, he had the screen he needed. There was a small compass on the lower right hand side. “With this software I can redirect the cameras with the touchpad and conduct a real time 360-degree sweep of the area. If I catch anyone watching my apartment, I can zoom in on their location, lock on the cameras, and they’ll track that person as long as he stays in range.” Paul manipulated the touch pad to demonstrate.

“Sweet,” Nick replied.

“One more thing, Nick,” Paul said. “If you see the guy again, don’t approach him yourself, you hear me? We have reason to believe he could be dangerous.”

“Okay, no problem, Mr. Grayhorse.”

After Nick left the shop, Paul remained at his laptop, sipping coffee while Kendra finished off a cheese Danish.

“I’ve looked at the prerecorded feed from all the angles. He’s either incredibly lucky or he knew where to find the cameras and stayed away from them.” Paul took his final swallow of coffee, logged off his laptop, and closed it up. “I’ve also checked real time surveillance, and things are clear over at my place. There are lots of people in and around the coffee shop underneath my apartment, so I think it’s safe for us to make a quick stop by my place.”

“Why take the risk? If we’re going to have a face-off, I’d rather it go down away from a crowd of civilians.”

“You need a place to change clothes, otherwise the people who hang out around that alley will take one look at you and scatter,” he said. “They survive by avoiding anyone who might be a cop.”