Her beauty shone from inside, a beacon to any male with half a brain. That she was the total package made her a magnet. If not for an iron will and determination in pursuing her goals, she would’ve recognized the hungry looks received from men in her day-to-day life.
“Give it time, Nugget. Please. Give it time.” He needed it to grieve her loss before she left.
“I will, and I understand why you invited Laredo tonight. Sorry for falling apart. I guess there’s just too much going on in my life right now. Thanks for understanding.”
When she disentangled her arms, he stood, afraid if he didn’t leave, he wouldn’t resist the invitation written in her gaze.
Chapter Sixteen
Mitch’s body still hasn’t surfaced. Denny had never shoved a wooden picket in someone’s stomach before and hadn’t stuck around to face the consequences. At the time, there hadn’t been a lot of blood, no intestines, and no foul smell to indicate a punctured bowel. Maybe some of what dripped down came from splintered wood cutting Mitch’s hands. Either the guy still lived, or Larry had buried the body.
Life sucked. The entire situation was full of holes.
He pegged the little PI for a night owl considering the work she chose. Leaning against an oak on the edge of the woods adjacent to her home, he watched for traffic along the quiet lane. It hadn’t been difficult to find the address. The dumb twit listed it as an office. Maybe she claimed it as a tax advantage.
She lived in a duplex, which begged the question: did she live on one side and use the other as office space? The heap of scrap metal she drove vetoed that idea. There was a car in the far side of the drive, which he assumed belonged to another family occupying that half of the building. Her car wasn’t present, which meant she could be out partying.
Farther down the road, three other houses formed a broad cul-de-sac. One vehicle had passed in the last half hour, perhaps a third-shift worker. An overhead light in the garage had brightened the interior, then went dark with the door grinding shut. Various lights tracked the resident’s path to the second story before all succumbed to the shadows.
The investigator’s quarters sidled up to a broad stretch of woods. Convenient. He’d parked his car several hundred yards away on the opposite side, where another middle-income neighborhood enjoyed larger homes and a recently repaved road. Lack of streetlights emboldened him to park on the shoulder beside a wide empty lot, a sticker slashed across the For Sale sign indicating it was under contract.
Thirty minutes passed with no activity, no traffic, and no lights flooding the interior of the visible homes. With intermittent clouds veiling the moon, he timed it so that he wouldn’t be seen crossing the side yard if a car should pass.
Since she had a ferret, it didn’t seem probable she’d have a dog, too, which made the idea of breaking in a little more appealing. A cool breeze dried the perspiration on his forehead, an endless task during his current undertaking. The lap blanket and tape clutched in his hands offered little in the way of solace. He’d begun this crazy journey so now had to see it through.
From one shade tree to the next he flitted, pausing to listen for stealthy steps or a low chuckle. His pulse roared in his head, along with self-recriminations in letting a slip of a girl take his picture. Shaking hands dropped his flashlight twice after slipping around the back of the house. It appeared the back door would open into a small kitchen or mudroom. Perfect. All remained dark inside. His first step on the wooden tread creaked loud enough to induce the neighbor’s dog in the adjoining home to growl, a possibility he hadn’t considered.
Denny had two options for entry, two windows on the back side of the home. The door’s glass inset would entail less broken shards to gain entry, but the locks presented a problem if he couldn’t reach them.
He’d thought remembering to bring a blanket and wide-banded tape for the window clever. It didn’t occur to him how long it would take to cover every square inch of the lower half. The break of the glass pane reverberated in his mind but didn’t create a shower of tinkling shards.
Slow, deep breaths failed to counteract the panic rising in his chest when, next door, the dog’s snarl progressed to a throaty warning. Lowering the conglomerate of fragments to the blanket wasted more time and tripled his heart rate.
Flashbacks of his previous encounter with Larry and Mitch prevented his thoughts’ organization. His fiancée’s murder had been in the news. They could have taken her at the hospital Sunday night or soon after she got home. Even if he’d agreed to turn over the data, Larry would have killed them both regardless.
Poor Molly. All she’d wanted was a quiet life on a farm, or beach, or anywhere he wanted to go. In thinking back, it hadn’t been wise to divulge his intentions to hire Nugle during their brief conversation after his encounter with his one-time friends, but she’d worried about Larry leaving incriminating evidence. He hoped she hadn’t remembered the detective’s name.
Despite his losses, his plan was solid-ish.
If Larry had already visited Katt, Denny would find her body somewhere inside. Though not well versed in B&E, he knew enough to get inside without a lot of noise. Molly had considered him a nerd, but it paid off when he maneuvered over the sill into the small kitchen.
Hand-me-down furniture depicted the owner’s current means, as he’d suspected. Second-hand bookcases lined one wall in the living room with a mounted degree on the adjacent side. The house was clean and neat.
The first attempt to retrieve his jacket had resulted in a race through the woods and acquiring myriad cuts from the many tangles of thorns around the cop’s house. A second attempt with Molly’s sister detailed another failure.
Molly’s death would make him a person of interest. With Mitch and Carina’s discovery, there’d be all manner of alphabet organizations hunting him. If he couldn’t acquire the jacket itself, he at least wanted to delete the damning picture.
The spare bedroom upstairs proved large enough to squeeze in the small desk adjacent to a twin bed. In the closet was a bin of schoolbooks. Moonlight through the double window glinted off the silver lamp standing sentinel on the desk. Where’s her laptop? Every kid has one these days.
Instead of switching on the old iron lamp next to the bed, he used a flashlight to navigate. Two near-empty drawers defined the investigator’s inexperience in the corner desk. A two-digit search showed less than a dozen files holding notes, pictures, and a small flash drive. The last file had his name printed on the right-sided tab. Inside, lack of records inspired desperation. Either Ms. Nugle hadn’t printed her notes yet—or Larry already found them.
On the desk calendar, he found several dates with starred entries. “Bushmaster survival school” took up the following two weeks. The wilderness course she’d detailed in their meeting.
A picture of a tall, dark-haired man standing beside his shepherd was wedged tight in one corner with a date written along the bottom. The K9 vest on the dog spelled more trouble in black and gold. The cop drove an unmarked vehicle.
He’d hoped her inexperience meant lack of connections but now realized how lucky he’d been in not getting caught spying on a cop. By now, his jacket was undergoing testing in a forensic lab. Shit.
Leave it to a kid to have her laptop with her at all times. Even if he could have destroyed her notes, he still had to grab her cell phone, which would be banned for the duration of training. Did she leave it at the cop’s house?
It was too late to protect the investigator. If he stole the calendar in hopes of preventing Larry from obtaining her schedule, he’d tip off the girl. Chances seemed good that his nemesis had poked around during the prior several days.
Decent construction negated the sound of normal voices through the walls, but the change of tone in the neighboring dog’s barking alerted him to possible trouble. He’d taken care to leave his car a good distance away, which wouldn’t prevent Larry from finding him inside the house.
The nebulous distinction between fear and paranoi
a urged him to the window’s side to peer out at the wooded landscape. Formless shadows shifted according to the moonlight filtering through the clouds while indistinct specters took shape and moved with purpose at the wood’s edge. He’d left the blanket full of glass by the window and intended to get it on the way out. Now it delineated his presence.
It was time to cut his losses and run. Quiet steps carried him down the stairs, caught between the need to hurry and the necessity for stealth. With every sense on alert, he detected no sign of another presence or a malevolence waiting to rejoice in his last heartbeat.
Through the joint wall, the dog continued to voice his displeasure.
As far as his project was concerned, he could make the deal from anywhere in the world. Safety remained his issue. Removal of cash from the ATM or using his card would alert the authorities and Larry, depending on his backing.
He would prefer to leave the country without a warrant out for his arrest. The details of his exit would take careful consideration.
In the kitchen, slivers of moonlight poured through the window over the sink to gleam off the metal blades in the butcher block. A quick detour and he snatched a knife in shaking hands. Without the aid of interior lights, the house provided the perfect stage for backlighting anyone heading for the back door.
Curtains floating through the broken window next to the stove drew his attention outside. Whoever approached would know they weren’t the first to arrive, but they had no way of determining if someone was still inside.
Furtive movement beside the two closest pines marked the path where he’d traveled minutes prior. A lone figure hunched against the moonlight as Denny reached the corner by the back door. He could take one intruder by surprise. A partner would present insurmountable odds.
They were smart enough to not come through the same entrance he created. Over his shoulder, he detected no subtle shift in the atmosphere representing anyone else in the house.
Thirty yards allotted little time to formulate a plan.
Two impediments to backdoor entry included a deadbolt and the flimsy lock below it. Denny flipped the heavier lock off.
A soft sidestep and slow, deep breath encouraged calmer thoughts in the quiet darkness. The calm before the storm which would render him dead or free. Like a giant bird folding in on itself, he scrunched into the corner, in part, concealed by utilitarian curtains tied back with decorative rope.
If the intruder entered through the demolished window, the chances of taking him by surprise reduced to nil. Arrogance would see the prick take a different route. Larry had always considered himself clever and devious, so might consider his quarry would lie in wait, hoping for a golden opportunity.
His risky impromptu plan counted on the interloper’s hubris. It was what he would do. Sweat slicked his palms and face. So long as they didn’t know he was still there, he’d get one shot at making the first move.
Faint clicks indicated a light raking of the lock, an attempt to move a few pins before getting down to business.
He smiled.
A few heartbeats later, the nob turned.
His position behind the door gave him a tactical advantage. He expected the intruder to direct their attention to the open expanse of the kitchen rather than the windowed door to his back.
When the door’s frame kissed his shoes, he rammed it forward to knock his opponent off balance. An “oomph” followed by a muttered curse coincided with his mark’s stumble.
Denny followed through, stepping forward and stabbing the tall prick with the single-edged blade. It hadn’t occurred to check its sharpness, but the stainless steel slid through the long coat and found its target. Recognition of the supple leather hit him like a lightning bolt.
Mitch? Oh, god.
Unlike the movies where the spy stabs his victim in the heart, he knew a ruptured spleen would prove just as efficient. Twisting the blade before pulling it out increased the chance of nicking a major vessel. By entering low and angling up, Denny avoided ribs and instead encountered soft flesh. It didn’t occur to him until withdrawing the knife that a ballistic vest could’ve foiled his plan.
A low hiss of pain and sluggish movements signaled time gained. With his left hand, he shoved the man forward, driving him farther into the kitchen and clearing the exit path.
Desperation propelled him forward to jab the knife into soft flesh again, this time in the back and adjacent to the man’s spine. In using his left hand as a brace to pull the knife out, said hand slipped and ended up in the giant’s pocket.
Denny’s imagination supplied a form to the hard metal encountered. Without conscious thought, he pulled the gun out despite not knowing how to use it.
Movement in the living room alerted Denny to another presence fast approaching. A sidestep put him in position to use Mitch as a shield. With the rest of his terror-filled strength, he shoved the bleeding traitor into the oncoming freight train.
“Goddamn you, Denny. I will kill you and anyone you care about for this.” Larry’s words promised a most painful death for anyone who crossed him.
“Shit, L-Larry. I’m f-fucking cold.”
Even whispered in halting anguish, the words provided new meaning. He’d killed a man. Mitch stumbled forward and dropped to his knees on the linoleum floor, the fall buffered by Larry’s arms. “That’s the second time the prick’s stabbed me. Kill him.”
“It’s your fault for betraying me, you sons of bitches. You both could’ve been rich by now, and I’d be married, living on a tropical island. You’ve ruined everything.”
“No. Not yet. Not until I watch every drop of blood drain from your sorry ass.” Larry crouched beside his accomplice, pressing his hands against the wounds. “Shit, Mitch. There’s too much. He hit something major. I can’t help you this time.”
Ambient light silvered whatever Larry retrieved from beneath his jacket as Denny cleared the doorway. The traitor wouldn’t shoot and draw attention from the neighbors unless he had a silencer, which according to recently acquired knowledge, distorted accuracy with distance. If it was a knife, Denny was light on his feet with the right encouragement.
Huddling in his car stashed near the mountain’s base, Denny waited until the first gray fingers of dawn licked at the shadows before making the climb to his refuge at the cabin. Another fruitless venture necessitated yet another plan. He’d failed to destroy all of the evidence. No computer, no phone, no private investigator.
Shock over hearing Mitch’s groan waded into another layer of understanding. While he hadn’t killed his old acquaintance at the abandoned schoolyard, there was no doubt of the prior night’s outcome.
Despite the gloves used, police would link Mitch’s body and the blanket holding the glass to Denny. They’d find a hair, matching carpet fiber, or some microscopic piece of evidence. The link would weaken without live testimony. Nugle. Since he couldn’t obtain the phone bearing the evidence, he’d have to eliminate the one witness with no stake in the outcome. He’d already killed once. You only die once in the electric chair.
The uphill hike took less time, aided by fear and self-disgust at what he planned to do.
Time and a solid strategy would solve his latest dilemma. His safe house ensured a haven for both. Tramping around the cabin upon first arriving had revealed two spots that received a signal. Sitting on the porch swing, he summed up his plan. After solving the witness problem, one call would lead police on a confusing merry-go-round chase, and allow him to flee the country’s borders.
Contact with another potential buyer had yielded a reasonable offer. One he intended to take. This time, with safeguards in place.
When he’d first discovered the incendiary potential of the formula, multiplying dollar signs precluded thorough research into his plan. He’d lost much in his quest for financial security but intended to have it in the end.
Chapter Seventeen
“This reminds me of camping as a kid.” Katt’s duffle thudded beside the lower bunk. “
Hope you don’t mind being on top.” Their prior night’s discussion both settled and stirred something dark in her mind. Until she resolved the inner conflict of Matt’s place in her life, familiar territory paved the safest route, one filled with antagonism that taunted and teased.
Matt rolled his eyes. “It’s easier to stay in control that way.” Towering over her, he tossed his bag on the upper bunk, his warm breath teasing the side of her neck.
Not closing her eyes on a deep inhale took monumental effort. As it was, she savored each millisecond where his rugged scent sifted through and calmed her ravaged nerves. “Looks like we’re not the only ones here early.” She nodded to a couple in their late thirties striding toward the next bunks in line. Each wore jeans and a denim shirt. “Why are we spending the night in a barrack?”
“It gives Jonelle and Wyler time to assess each member’s skills. You’re lucky it’s a small group. You’ll learn more.”
Two rows of loft beds, each tucked in with military precision, lined the long walls. Short, squat storage lockers in front of each narrowed the center aisle to three feet. Figures he’d take the bed closest to the door.
“I didn’t see their first names on the brochures. You must know them pretty well.”
“Same schools growing up, been friends a long time.” The corners of his mouth turned down as if gauging her thoughts. “We’ve got some time before the rest of the group is due. I’ll tell Wyler we’re gonna take a short hike.”
Since he didn’t mention which instructor he grew up with, Katt realized the term friends might be misleading. Upon arrival, neither Matt nor Jonelle gave any indication of prior intimacy. She had no right to jealousy. Then it dawned on her. “You’ve taken this course before.”
“Yeah, and I’ve helped out once or twice when they were shorthanded. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fun for limited periods, but I like my creature comforts—and Rocky Road.”
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