Sinister Secrets

by Amanda McKinney

  Fiona’s eyebrows shot up. “What? You’ve made the plans without me?” She looked around the group. “Don’t cut me out of this. Look, guys, I’m fine, I promise.”

  “I know you are, but the fact of the matter is that Krestel took you, knocked you out, erased your memory and dumped you in the woods to die. Just take a second. Breathe. We’ve got four days until the next full moon, and we’ve laid out the initial plan.”

  “I want to be a part of it.”

  Roxy’s dark, almond-shaped eyes slitted. “You will be. We all will be.”

  A heavy silence ticked by.

  “That’s that for right now,” Harley said, changing the subject. “So, sex and sexiness aside, we want to know why a special agent visited you tonight.”

  Fiona glowered at Ace.

  He threw his hands up and shook his head. “Hey, I didn’t say he was sexy. I just described him!” He paused, rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, I took some pictures while he was walking up your driveway.”

  “And he is a fox,” Dixie said. “Fox. Get it?”

  “We got it,” Roxy rolled her eyes.

  “Anyway.” Fiona took a sip of her beer to clear the image of Fox out of her head and gather her thoughts. “He’s here investigating Joel’s murder, and considering I went to training with Joel, he had a few questions for me.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  Fiona bristled. “Somewhat accusatory, actually.”

  “What?”

  “He assumed Joel had reached out to me or something since I live here. Or, that he was even coming down to see me.”

  Harley shrugged. “Okay, I can see that. He didn’t though, right?”

  “Right. I haven’t talked to Joel since I left Quantico to come here.” She scrunched her face. “I have no idea what brought him here.”

  “Does Fox have any leads?”

  Fox—Noah’s new nickname, apparently.

  “No, I don’t think so.” Not that he would have shared with her, anyway.

  “You tell him about the hotel receipt?”

  “He already knew.” She looked at Scar. “I’m assuming you gave it to Zander?”

  “Yep, right after giving my—our—statement.”

  “Have they checked the hotel, his room?”

  “As far as I know, yes, and no, I don’t think anything useful turned up.”

  “Nothing good happens at that seedy, piece of shit hotel, trust me.” Dixie shuddered, recalling the scene of the murder she’d worked weeks earlier.

  “I know.” Fiona shook her head. “That’s what surprises me. Joel doesn’t seem the type to stay there. He’s more of a bed and breakfast kind of guy. Just doesn’t seem right.”

  “Maybe I can put in a call to my boy, Bronx.” Dixie picked up her cell phone.

  “Bronx?”

  “An old friend of mine.”

  “You have a friend named Bronx?” Ace asked.

  “Okay fine, not a friend so much as a drug dealer I use to get information from.”

  “What do you give him in return?”

  “Anonymity.”

  Fiona gave her a yeah-right look.

  Scar rolled her eyes. “And a look in the other direction when he sells pot to a few cancer patients in the area. They get relief, he gets money, and I get the names of serious dealers who peddle more than a little marijuana.”

  “Sounds like a fruitful relationship. What does this Bronx have to do with Joel and the Towering Pines Inn?”

  “He just accepted a position as the manager. Old one got fired after our girl Dix found a dead body in one of the rooms.”

  Dixie innocently shrugged.

  “Any chance he was working last night?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is he working tonight?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  Fiona chewed her lower lip in deep thought. “Does your boy Bronx owe you any more favors?”

  “A few.”

  “Mind if I cash one in?”

  “Not one bit.”

  Fiona stood, pushed away from the table and grabbed her purse. “Text me his address.”

  “Wait, Fi…”

  But she was already halfway out the door.

  CHAPTER 6

  Fiona turned off the ignition and peered at the run-down house nestled between two trees, both dead with broken limbs balancing dangerously between the remaining branches. One bad storm and the house would be toast. A cloud drifted from the moon, highlighting the green mold running up the pale yellow siding. A crack, marked by silver duct tape, ran across the front window where a dim light glowed through the rebel flag used as a curtain. Two cinder blocks served as steps leading up to the door, which might as well have a sign that said Git yer drugs here.

  She slid her keys into her pocket and grabbed her Glock—better safe than sorry.

  As she stepped out of the truck, a chill ran up her spine. She quietly closed the door and stood, still as a statue, surveying the woods around her. Her head snapped toward a rustling coming from the side of the house.

  With her gun firmly in her hand, she hunkered down and moved through the front yard, keeping her eye on the window for any movement inside the house.

  More rustling, this time closer.

  She raised her gun and stepped around the corner. A black and white furball looked up from a trashcan, its gold eyes twinkling in the darkness, before jumping down and scurrying into the woods.

  Cat.

  She exhaled deeply and shook her head.

  Jumpy, much?

  She slid her gun into the waistband of her skinny jeans, turned, and released a squeal that rivaled any nocturnal creature lurking in the shadows. Her hand reached for her gun—

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  She was toe-to-toe with the looming figure that had somehow managed to sneak up on her.

  “Noah. You scared the crap out of me,” she hissed in a whisper. “What the heck are you doing here?”

  “I’d ask you the same question, although I’m sure I know the answer.”

  Her rigid stance relaxed. “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Meddling in my investigation.”

  She cocked her hip. “Black Rose is good at that.”

  “So I hear.”

  “Where’s your car? I drove down the road twice, checking both sides of the road before I pulled in.”

  “Woods. ‘Bout a hundred yards west.”

  Getting the lay of the land before an unannounced drop in, she assumed. “Well,” she blew out a breath. “You scared me.”

  “So did you—scared everyone within a fifty-foot radius, including our boy Bronx.”

  She frowned and glanced at the house where a light had turned on in the kitchen. “What? No, I—

  “Anyone could hear the slapping of those damn flip-flops, Fiona. But,” he said sarcastically, “you got the cat, that’s all that matters.”

  She rolled her eyes. Since when did Fox become such an asshole?

  “Considering he already knows we’re here,” she pushed past him. “Shall we?”

  “No we about it, Miss Monreau.”

  While her flip-flops, sure enough, slapped her heels, she couldn’t hear the slightest sound of his movement behind her. Noah was trained to slide undetected through the night.

  “Fiona, I’m handling this.”

  She rounded the corner and gingerly tested the first cinder block. It wobbled but held. She just hoped her damn flip-flops didn’t catch on it. “You want this guy to talk or not?” She stepped on the second block and rapped on the door. “Because I know how to make him.”

  The door slowly opened, and a paranoid, bloodshot eye peered around the corner. Either Bronx had a gnarly case of pinkeye, or he’d been dabbling in his patient’s glaucoma medicine.

  She opened her mouth, suddenly realizing she didn’t know the guy’s full name—only Bronx, which was probably a nickname, anyway. She stammered, “Uh… Mr….”

  Noah blew ou
t a barely audible, but highly impatient breath and stepped up. “Mr. Aaron Munez, Special Agent Fox with the FBI.” He flashed his shiny badge. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about someone who stayed in your hotel last night.”

  Aaron—apparently—stared blankly at the badge as his brain caught up.

  “Can I come in?” Noah asked, although there was no question in his voice.

  “Uh, sure.”

  Feeling inept, at best, Fiona followed Noah inside and wrinkled her nose. Exactly how much second-hand smoke does it take to get a contact high, she wondered. They stepped into the small living room complete with Bob Marley posters and an impressive bong collection.

  Nervous sweat beaded on Aaron’s forehead as he clumsily cleared a tie-dye blanket off the couch. “Uh, have a seat.” He cast a glance at Fiona, and she realized Noah hadn’t even introduced her.

  She squared her shoulders and thrust out a hand. “Fiona Monreau, PI.”

  Aaron’s eyebrows raised, a sparkle in his eye, and shook her hand. This seemed to impress him, while an FBI badge seemed to make him wet himself. She wasn’t sure if she should be complimented or disappointed.

  She sat on the couch next to Noah as Aaron took a seat in a plastic chair that she had no doubt was swiped from the local junior high school.

  Aaron cast a wary glance at his bong collection then back to Noah. “Uh, you said you’re here about someone staying at the Towering Pines, uh, Agent, uh, Special Agent…” He blanked.

  “Call me Noah. Relax. And yes, we have a few questions about someone who stayed there, not about your bong collection. Or the seven roaches in the ashtray by the window. Or the five ounces of pot you’ve got in the jar hidden in your entertainment center.”

  Aaron’s eyes rounded.

  “So, relax.” Noah continued, in his ever-intimidating way.

  Fiona looked at the crooked door just barely open on the entertainment center. Sure enough, a small glass jar was barely visible. How the hell had he seen that?

  Aaron shifted in his seat, no less relaxed.

  “Mr. Munez, can you confirm you were working last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “What hours?”

  “Pulled a twelve-hour. Eleven to eleven.”

  “What time is check-in?”

  “Eleven.”

  Noah pulled a picture of Joel from his pocket. “Do you recognize this man?”

  “No.” He blinked a few times. “No, I don’t.”

  “Are you sure? Look again.”

  Aaron studied the picture for a good ten seconds. “No, really. I don’t recognize him.”

  Fiona spoke up. “According to a receipt found in his wallet, he booked a room for last night.”

  “Oh, well, in that case, I can get you his name and the room he stayed in. Even what he paid with.”

  “But you don’t recognize him?”

  “No.” He looked one more time.

  “Does the name Joel Davis ring a bell?”

  Aaron sucked in a breath and shook his head. “No, man, it doesn’t. Could’ve booked on the phone, and maybe I was in the back when he checked in.” He leaned forward for his cell phone. “I can ask Pat. She was working, too. Maybe she—

  “I just spoke with Patricia. She took the call and reservation. And we’ve been in his room.”

  “Oh.” Aaron sat back, surprised. “Well, there you go, then.”

  “How many security cameras do you have, Aaron?”

  “One.” He smiled proudly. “Installed it my first week on the job. Records the parking lot and the people coming in and out of the office.”

  “Any other cameras?”

  “No.”

  “The problem is, Aaron, I checked the video and there’s no sign of Joel Davis ever entering your parking lot, and so far, no sign of him in the room.”

  Aaron frowned and thought for a minute. “Might be he booked the room for someone else.”

  Fiona looked at Noah.

  “Well, we’d have a tough time determining that, wouldn’t we? Especially considering that you have no cameras on the side of the building, where his room was, and you have an access road that cuts through the woods behind your hotel, and you have a secondary entrance in the back that leads to the office.”

  “Oh, yeah, I guess I need to get more cameras.”

  “What about the access road?”

  “The employees use that road, mostly.”

  “Or anyone who doesn’t want to be seen.”

  Fiona leaned forward. “I’d like to look at the security footage you have and check anyone who walked to that side of the building.”

  Noah slid her an already-done glance and pulled another picture from his pocket. “Do you recognize this woman?”

  Fiona fought the urge to shoot Noah a glare for undercutting her, and instead, focused on Aaron as he looked down at the busty blonde in red heels. As she’d expected, something flickered in his dazed eyes. He paused, long enough for anyone with any interview training whatsoever to know that this kid did, indeed, know the woman, and he was hiding something.

  “No. No, I do not recognize that woman,” Aaron stuttered out.

  As Noah opened his mouth, Fiona cut him off, narrowed her eyes, and leaned forward.

  “Special Agent Noah Fox here might not be interested in your bong collection, Mr. Munez, but I know several very bored local police officers who’d have a field day with it.” She paused, watching his eyes grow with panic. “But lucky for you, Scarlett Knight happens to be one of my best friends, and she tells me you owe her a few favors.”

  His eyebrows slowly raised with hope.

  “I’m here to cash one of those favors in.” She took the picture from Noah’s hand and shoved it in Aaron’s face. “We’re going to ask you again. Do you know who the woman is in this picture?”

  “Misti Seager.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Fiona pulled her keys from her pocket as she walked to her truck. “Hop in.”

  “My car’s in the woods. I’ll walk.”

  She glanced over her shoulder as Noah veered off.

  “Wasting time,” she said. “You don’t think Bronx is on the phone with Misti now? I can get us there fast.”

  She heard a pause in his steps.

  “You know where she lives?” He asked.

  “Yep.”

  Another pause as he debated. Finally, he turned and walked to the truck.

  “Didn’t take you for a truck kind of girl.”

  She started the engine. “You’d be surprised how much stuff we haul around. Especially for stakeouts... You know, lots and lots of flip-flops.” Grinning, she looked at him. Not even a smirk.

  “You know Misti?” He asked unamused and returning to the subject.

  “She goes to the Black Crow occasionally.” She pulled onto the road.

  “Black Crow?”

  “A bar. You should go while you’re in town. Have a drink.” She glanced at him. “Relax a bit.”

  He ignored her passive-aggressive quip. “How do you know where she lives?”

  “A woman, Mrs. Potts, tried to hire us a while back. Said she thought her husband was stepping out on her with Misti. Wanted us to confirm. I drove by Misti’s place on my way home that night, just curious I guess, but that was it.”

  “You guys didn’t take the case?”

  She shook her head. “Already had four infidelity cases going at that time.” She slid him a sideways glance. “You wouldn’t believe how many cheating bastards are out there.”

  The air chilled ten degrees in the cab as her statement lingered.

  He cleared his throat. “What do you know about her?”

  “Suspected mistress. That’s about it.”

  Mistress. She wondered if that title would describe her, even though she and Noah had only shared a single kiss. How many other “single kisses” had Noah shared while he was married? She looked over at him again, the moonlight cutting through the windshield, illuminating his clench
ed jaw and steely eyes. Sore subject.

  She took a silent deep breath and tried to refocus to the matter at hand.

  “What about Joel’s car? Have you located it?”

  “No, and we checked with the airport already. No record of him on a flight, or renting a car.”

  “What does he drive?”

  “White Lexus. Just got it.”

  “You said Joel was your roommate, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How long did you two live together?”

  “A year.”

  A year? She assumed it was a can-I-crash-on-your-couch scenario. She was wrong. Now she knew why he’d come at her so hard. Noah was emotional about this particular investigation.

  She frowned. But Noah was married, so did Joel live with Noah and his wife? Or was it before that?

  Something wasn’t adding up.

  “How long ago was this?”

  “First stint was eleven years ago.”

  “Eleven?” Her mind raced—it had been ten years since their kiss when she’d spotted the ring on his finger. “He lived with you and your…” Her question trailed off.

  “No.” Pause. “Just him and I.”

  “But… I thought. I mean…” she looked at him.

  He met her gaze. “I was separated, Fiona. I was separated from my wife when I kissed you.”

  Her mouth dropped as she stared back at him. The truck bumped, and Noah grabbed the steering wheel.

  “Jesus, Fiona, watch the road, will ya?”

  Her head jerked forward, then, like a magnet, she looked back at him quickly before focusing back on the road. He was shaking his head, agitated now. Obviously a very, very, sore subject.

  She didn’t care.

  “You were wearing a ring.”

  “We were separated, not divorced. The moment the papers were signed, the ring came off.”

  She shook her head. “I… had no idea.”

  He stayed silent, staring ahead.

  ***

  The sound of the turn signal broke the heavy silence, and Noah had to fight from hurling himself out the door until she came to a full stop. He wanted out of the truck and away from the brutally awkward conversation about his failed marriage and failed judgment when he’d kissed Fiona in the middle of the damn gym. He could handle any situation, any time, as long as it came with closed fists. Discussing marriage, romance, or anything involving emotions made him want to jump off a freaking cliff.