Shadow of Doubt (An SBG Novel Book 2) (24 page)

“She’s not answering,” Bob Harris yelled from the passenger seat of the rental car.

Cappy gripped the steering wheel. “Where’s her protection detail? Aren’t they with her?”

The Senator punched the dashboard. “No.” He jabbed a button on the phone again and ringing filled the rental car. “She demanded to be left alone. Said she needed time by herself.”

“And you let her go without
anyone
watching over her?” Cappy blinked. No way could he have heard that right. Even a politician wasn’t that dumb. “Your son just died and now you’re telling me you’ve received a call that your wife’s next. Jesus Christ, Bob. What were you thinking?”

“First off, I’m Senator Harris to you—”

“Screw the posturing. You’re lucky I’m not calling you something a lot worse instead.” He depressed the gas pedal more. They couldn’t afford the speeding ticket, but needed to make the hour-long trek shorter somehow.

“Fuck you, Cappy.”

“Whatever. Are your men at least in the same state or are they all back in Indiana?” Cappy signaled to get around a Honda Civic obviously out for a Sunday evening drive and clogging up the road. 7:16 p.m. The sun had set a few minutes ago, making driving hazardous with that weird light-yet-dark twilight.

Victor had strung them along for almost an hour, giving his operative enough time to—

“You’ve reached area code—”
Senator Harris hung up on the digital voicemail message and hit another button, his hands shaking so hard it was a wonder he hadn’t dropped the device. After a single ring,
“Hello,”
blared out of the speaker.

“Code Red. April,” the Senator snapped. “Send every man to the lake house
now
.”

“Be advised,” Cappy interjected, knowing the man wasn’t thinking tactically. “A death threat has been issued against April. We have reason to believe the killer is on site.”

“Understood,”
a male voice answered.
“We’re already loading in the vehicles. ETA one-point-three minutes.”
He hung up.

“I should call the police or FBI,” the Senator moaned, cradling his head.

“You can,” Cappy agreed, passing another slow-timer. “But we have no clue what surprise Victor may have left behind. If you want to risk the local authorities becoming entangled in SBG business, call them.”

What a clusterfuck. An image of Michelle’s battered body rose in his mind. He couldn’t imagine what the Senator was going through since political marriages were rarely about love, but if Michelle had been threatened? The leather on the steering wheel squeaked underneath his tightening grip. Yeah, heaven help the bastard who dared touch her.

The GPS chimed in with a warning that his next turn was coming in a half mile.

The Senator’s phone rang. “Hello,” he barked, his knuckles white, gripping the device. “She safe? You get there in time?”

Audible swallow.
“I’m sorry, sir,”
the man whispered.
“She’s de—”

A low keening wail emanated from the Senator, raising the hairs on Cappy’s body. Shit, no. A lump lodged itself in his throat. Even with all the straying, it was obvious now that Bob Harris had really loved his second wife.

Cappy slammed his palm into the steering wheel. Such a goddamn waste! Why hadn’t Bob come to them sooner?

“Sir? Sir?”

The Senator rocked back and forth. The abject grief pouring off the man sucked Cappy in. Son of a bitch. Pain radiated from his throat from trying to swallow against the tears crowding the corners of his eyes. Too many senseless deaths.

“Sir!”

Cappy cleared his throat and gruffly answered, “I’m here.”

“We’ve secured the perimeter. Two of my men are searching the area, but so far we haven’t found the bastard who did this.”
Rage and grief poured through every word of the man’s report.

Not surprising the assassin had split. Cappy’s call had tipped the asshole off.

A scraping noise filled the speaker before the leader of the protection detail stated,
“The son of a bitch left an envelope addressed to the Senator.”

Blood pounded through his veins. “Have you opened it?”

“No, sir. It feels like it may contain pictures, though.”

Oh God. What new hell had Victor wrought?

“Check,” Cappy answered, giving up the pretense of following the speed limit, and smashed the gas pedal down. “Secure the envelope and call nine-one-one.”

The Senator flinched and lifted his head. The tears tracking down his ravaged face broke Cappy’s heart. Dear God. The man had lost his son and now his wife. And for what? Victor’s twisted power games?

A low growl emitted from Cappy’s throat. First chance he got, he was calling the warden and unleashing hell on the former CEO.

“Understood,”
the leader stated.
“Any particular story you want me to give?”

Cappy thought a moment. “No. Stick as closely to the truth as possible. The Senator called asking you to check on his wife. Omit why. If pressed, just state how he worried about her being by herself while grieving for Colin. The rest can basically stand minus the discovery of the envelope. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“I’m a chauvinistic pig!”
blasted from Sonya’s jacket.

Michelle, Sandra, and Sonya whipped their gazes toward the sound.

Sonya snorted and Sandra burst out laughing.

“I’m a chauvinistic pig!”

Michelle blinked and couldn’t hold in her giggle. Dang, she hadn’t laughed this much in a long time.

“Gets me every time. Best five dollars spent on a ringtone.” Sonya got up and took her phone out of the inside pocket.

“I’m a chauvinistic pig!”

“I reassign the ringtone as needed,” Sonya explained. “This time it belongs to SAC Bingham.” She sent them a hard look. “Not a word from either of you.”

“I’m a chauvin—”

“White.”

The tiny respite Michelle garnered a second ago dried up. Jeremy doing everything he could to protect her was one thing, now her Fate rested in this woman’s hands. She wouldn’t rat out Michelle and set up a transfer into their custody, would she?

“Your partner, Stiles, breezed in here a few hours ago and now isn’t answering his phone. Neither is Senator Harris,”
SAC Bingham snapped, his annoyance seeping through the speaker loud and clear.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Sonya replied, completely cordial.

“Stiles mentioned you accompanied the Senator to Kansas. Anything I should know about?”

Tension coiled inside Michelle to the point she could strum it like a chord.

“He wanted to visit Victor Dalmingo.”

“Why? And why now?”

“You’d have to ask him,” Sonya replied, still unfazed. “I only know he had some questions he wanted to pose to the prisoner directly.” Sonya waited a beat then asked, “Is that all, sir?”

Heavy silence, then,
“No. We got the results back from the preliminary tests we asked for from the search.”

Sweat coated Michelle’s hands and she could scarcely breathe. This was it. The moment when everything about the case would change.

“Her dress came back negative for Colin’s blood and champagne.”

Sonya’s gaze flew to Michelle’s and a wide grin spread across her face. Sandra celebrated by pumping her fists and bouncing.

“I see,” Sonya replied with no hint of gloating, though her eyes held plenty. “Do Raymond and I now have clearance to pursue other leads with this case?”

The anvil pressing against Michelle’s chest shattered and she sucked in a large breath. Would everyone finally believe her? She may have asked that to the universe, but her heart zeroed in on Jeremy. Had he doubted her innocence after hearing Talon’s theory? The mature part of her told her he had a right to be wary and guarded; the man wasn’t stupid or naive. Her inner two-year-old stomped her foot and stuck her tongue out at objectivity.

“Yes, but only you two do. I’m not calling off the search for Michelle Holman. The U.S. Marshals still want her and she’s still a person of interest in this case.”
Annoyance laced the lead FBI agent’s every word. “
I want to be kept apprised of every move you two make and every answer you find. Understand me?”

Some of the relief leaked out of Michelle. She wanted to be done with this whole nightmare.
No you don’t!
Her heart retorted.
That would mean your time is up with Jeremy.
How twisted was that? She didn’t want to be hunted by law enforcement or the cartel but felt a bit of happiness that the bad news meant she got to spend more time with a man who already stated he wouldn’t stick around.
You now have more time to convince him.

“Of course, sir,” Sonya answered. “I’ll check back in tomorrow.”

SAC Bingham hung up.

“A toast!” Sandra cheered, bolting out of her seat. “The Senator’s plane seems to have every amenity a pampered politician could ask for. We need to find the booze.”

“Are you guys allowed to drink?” Michelle really liked these two women. Even before the SAC’s call, they had treated her with nothing but respect, never hinting whether they thought her guilty or not.

“Right,” Sandra agreed, her voice drifting back from the galley. “Junior juice for us and adult juice for you.”

Sonya finished typing on her phone what Michelle assumed was a text to Raymond, and rested the device on the couch’s armrest.

Sandra returned with a flourish, her hands full of glasses, plastic bottles, and a wine opener. Sonya grasped the wine bottle with a fancy label Michelle had never heard of out from under Sandra’s arm and plunked it on the coffee table. It only took a moment for them to pour their respective drinks and collapse back onto the couch.

Sonya raised her glass filled with fruit punch and cried, “To Michelle. Shove it in your face, Talon, with your macabre theories when she told you she was innocent.”

Another burst of laughter ripped out of Michelle and she lifted her red wine.

“Here. Here,” Sandra called, then drank.

The wine was dry and bitter but the alcohol felt good. She needed to relax, and with her low tolerance, she’d be passed out by the time she finished the glass.

The next hour was probably the most peaceful Michelle had ever experienced. She didn’t participate much other than to accept another refill. Her head spun with a glorious buzz as she listened to Sandra describe the work she was having done on her and Grady’s house while working some shifts at the entertainment center.

They made it so easy to forget the lines of fugitive and agent-slash-associate. This night was about three women, wine, and junior juice.

“Oh,” Sonya said, perking Michelle up from her lull. “Before I forget, I’ve got something for you, Michelle.” She placed her empty glass on the coffee table, hauled her purse off the floor beside one of the recliners, then rooted inside. “Got it.” She held up a piece of paper and Michelle’s heart thumped. “I saw this when I entered the oh-so-classy PussyFoot Motel.”

Michelle’s hand shook as she accepted the memento she never wanted to be without.

“The second I spied Cappy’s name, I swiped it before anyone realized it was there. By the worn edges, I figured you’d want it back.”

Stupid tears crowded the corners of her eyes and she could only blame her fuzzy head for their presence. It was a dumb thing to be attached to, but the scrap of paper had been her only link to Jeremy for six years. She swiped a thumb over his name. Once this was over, it would remain the only link she’d have in the future. He made that point very clear.

“Thank you,” she whispered, realizing she hadn’t said a word.

“Can I ask about it?” Sonya asked softly.

Michelle met her kind eyes. She had no clue where the boldness came from but she blurted, “Can I ask about your scar?” All evening she had been staring at it, comparing it to the boatload she had of her own.

Sonya’s mouth thinned and she cocked her head. “Trade stories?”

Sandra inhaled, then covered by tipping her glass of apple juice up and gulping.

By that reaction, Michelle got the feeling this wasn’t something Sonya willingly talked about, if ever. Michelle could relate.

Michelle nodded. “Ah, yeah.”

Sandra lurched to her feet. “We need more juice and snacks.
Lots
of snacks.”

Ho boy. Did they ever
.

Restocked and resituated, Michelle took the plunge. It took two glasses of wine and a bag of ripple chips, but she managed to tell them every sordid detail, starting with her acceptance letter to become an exchange student to the capture on the bridge. She stumbled over recounting how Maria never made it out of the woods and Luis had been killed the moment they entered the compound. By the time she got to the torture sequence of the tale, Sandra and Sonya were plastered up against her like bookends, using tissues like crazy.

Michelle pulled the small scrap of paper out of her sweatpants and said, “I thought the medic was going to have an aneurysm at the delay when Jeremy scrawled this note and whispered into my ear, ‘If you ever get into trouble again, contact me. I promise I’ll come running, no questions asked.’” She fingered the spot where he brushed a light kiss below her lobe.

“Oh my God,” Sandra breathed, wiping her eyes. “If I didn’t love Grady so much, I’d seriously have inappropriate feelings for my superior.”

A garbled chuckle made Michelle cough and take another sip.

“No wonder Cappy acted like a raging loon when you mentioned Colin attempted to lock you up in handcuffs.” Sonya plopped a Doritos into her mouth. She crunched, then swallowed. “I suspected something bad happened, but damn.”

An oppressive weight lifted from confessing her horrific experience. Michelle couldn’t begin to describe the warmth at having these strong women not look at her as if she belonged in a mental ward or showering her with pity.

She exhaled, her head spinning and muddled from finishing too many glasses of wine in order to make it to the end. “Your turn,” she prompted, nudging the agent and grabbing another Kleenex. “I need a break.”

Sonya’s eyes deepened and she took a shuddering breath. “Um, okay. Where to begin?” She traced a line in the design on her glass, then began in a low voice, “There’ll be parts I’m going to have to gloss over. I’m sorry, but working undercover—”

The generic ring of a telephone echoed in the cabin.

“Mine,” Sandra claimed, straightening enough to pull her phone out of her back pocket while balancing her gun on her thigh. “It’s Cappy.” She held it to her ear and said, “Hey, Cap.” After a pause, she placed the phone on speaker. “Go ahead.”

“The Senator’s wife has been murdered.”