Storm Warning

by Michele Hauf

  “I didn’t get that cozy with the guy.”

  She smirked. “That’s why I get paid the medium bucks. Cyanide poisoning is my initial assessment. I can only confirm with lab tests. But I don’t think he took his own life. Which may coincide with the dented bumper and extra vehicle tracks. Someone might have wanted to ensure he was dead.”

  “I’ll call Ryan Bay and have him come out to help us process the scene,” Jason said. “Things will go much faster. Then we can all get back to a warm office.”

  “Bay didn’t stay in Frost Falls? Didn’t you offer him a cell to camp out in?”

  “I’m not exactly sure where he stayed last night. He’s been cozying up to Marjorie’s husband for dumplings a few nights now. Might have earned himself a bed there.” Jason tugged out his cell phone.

  “Oh, those dumplings.” Elaine nodded her head appreciatively.

  Jason stepped aside and let the door close with a good push from the wind. He scanned the ground again. His own boot tracks were barely visible for the icy surface, and he followed Elaine’s smaller tracks to the back of the vehicle where she stood. The drifting snow covered them quickly.

  The BCA agent’s phone carried over to messages, so Jason told him where to meet him, then tucked away the phone in a pocket.

  He stepped up beside Elaine, who had turned her back to the wind. She looked out over the snow-packed field, which gleamed with sunshine. “So now we’ve got a hit man’s killer running around town?”

  “This case is starting to get very interesting,” Elaine said. “Mystery. Thrills. Murder. I gotta say it does add some excitement to the usual natural-causes pickups. These parts, the elderly tend to drop like flies. But you see one death because of age or cancer...” She shrugged. “You’ve seen them all.”

  “Not sure I should be glad to oblige your need for excitement, Elaine.”

  She smirked at him. “You love it, too, Cash. I can see that glint in your eye.”

  He crooked a brow and looked down at her. “My eyes don’t glint.”

  “Yeah? Tell that to your Frenchwoman.”

  “My French—what?”

  She chuckled softly. “Marjorie told me.”

  Jason shook his head. “The gossip in this town.”

  “The whole county, Cash. The whole county. When’s Bay going to arrive?”

  “His phone went to message.”

  “Could be a while. I’ll get the gurney. You guys help me bag and load up the body.”

  “Will do.” Jason headed toward the back of Elaine’s vehicle to get out the equipment they’d need.

  If the man in the green SUV had been sent to kill Yvette, then why would someone take him out? Had a cleanup been dispatched to take out the inept hit man? Possible. And probable. Anything goes when the mafia was involved. And, very possibly, Interpol.

  Uff da. This was getting deeper than the snow.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Amelie lingered under the hot water. She hadn’t had decent water pressure in the weeks she’d been in the country. Washing her hair under the lackluster stream back at the cabin had been a challenge. Now the water blasted her skin and massaged it and—oh. Just. Ohh...

  Another bonus? The house had central heating with electricity that worked. Heaven.

  After what she determined was half an hour, she decided a good guest would not use all the hot water, so she reluctantly stepped out onto the plush bath mat and wrapped a thick towel about her wet hair and another around her body. Tucking her feet into the slipper-like socks she’d hastily packed, she then wandered down the hallway to the extra bedroom Jason had said she could use.

  The room was...some grandmother’s creation. It had made her laugh when she’d first walked in to leave her bag. Crocheted pillowcases and bedspread, and the lace curtains were the same off-white as the bed dressings. The furniture was straight out of the ’50s with a plain pressboard headboard, and the dresser looked like one of those old-fashioned televisions that, indeed—upon closer inspection—had a record player on one side and the other side fitted with drawers for clothing. So lost-in-the-past yet teasing Twilight Zone. Jason must have inherited the place from a relative. Or so she could hope his idea of decorating style did not include such strange furnishings.

  But she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. It was either this or shivering back at the cabin. She did not care to be alone and too far away from the handsome police chief who could provide her protection when she most needed it.

  Amelie hated to admit it to herself, but she did like the presence of a strong, confident man. Sure, she’d trained in self-defense. But with the state of her mind and emotions lately, she’d gladly step back and allow him to stand before her if that’s what he could do.

  Dropping the towels aside and combing out her hair before the full-length mirror on the back of the door, she relished the warmth that did not necessitate she immediately get dressed.

  Her cell phone rang, and she picked it up from the bed. No ID, but she recognized the number.

  “Settling in?” Jason asked.

  “You don’t know how much I missed water pressure.”

  “Did you save some hot water for me?”

  “Are you coming home to shower?” Amelie bit her lower lip. That question could be construed as suggestive. But...depending on how he replied, she’d get a bead on his feelings toward her.

  “Was that an invitation?”

  Score! She turned before the mirror, studying her naked profile. If he came home right now...

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so forward,” Jason said. “I, uh, have a lot to do here at the station with this new twist to the investigation. I can’t say much more. This is an active investigation. And you’re...”

  “No longer in danger?”

  “Can you come over to the station and we’ll talk?” he asked. “I need to wrap my head around as much info as you can provide.”

  “Can we meet at The Moose? I’m starving.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound like a date.”

  “It’s not that, Yvette. I’m just not sure it’s safe for you to be wandering around town, putting yourself out there.”

  “The guy is dead, Jason. What aren’t you telling me?”

  He sighed. “He is.”

  “What if I walk over to the station right now and pick up something for us to eat along the way? It’s a straight shot. You can stand outside and watch me walk there.”

  “I’ve got a better idea. I’ll meet you there, and we’ll walk back to the station together.”

  “Great. I could go for a big serving of meat and potatoes.”

  “You’ve settled into the Scandinavian aesthetic.”

  “I know. And I fear for my waistline because of it. Give me ten minutes to get dressed and I’ll meet you there?”

  “You’re, uh...not dressed?”

  “Just stepped out of the shower.”

  A heavy exhale sounded on the line, and Amelie smiled. She’d given him something to think about. And she certainly hoped that thought lingered with him for a long time.

  “See you soon,” he said quickly, then hung up.

  * * *

  JASON PUSHED ASIDE the evidence bag he’d gathered from the ditched SUV and tapped the plastic. Inside he’d collected Herve Charley’s cell phone, truck keys, twenty dollars and a fidget spinner, of all things. Not a single weapon. No gun. No garrote or knife. This hit man liked to get up close and personal with his marks.

  Ryan Bay had called. He’d made contact with the FBI. Charley was on their list. An agent was headed to Duluth to stand in on the autopsy right now. And likely they’d send an agent to Frost Falls.

  All this evidence would be sent to Duluth for forensics to put it through their tests, and it would be shared with the
FBI. Verification that Charley had contact with Yvette Pearson was important to tie the two cases together. Because if not, there could be another killer on the loose. As well, Jason wanted to see what connections, if any, he could find between Herve Charley and Jacques Patron.

  It was a hunch. He had no real evidence to link them. But if Patron was the only one who knew Yvette was staying in Minnesota, in a small town with no more than a grocery store and a diner/gas station/strip joint, then that led to one conclusion: Patron had sent the hit after her.

  As Jason scanned what little public information he could access on the Interpol assistant director, he remembered Yvette telling him how she’d proven herself to Jacques by reading lists and then later writing them out. A handy skill to have, especially in the spy business. And if the expense for training her for fieldwork had been put out, only to find she wasn’t cut out for such harrowing work, then surely the director would want to utilize her unique skill in some form. And he shouldn’t be willing to dispose of that same skill for some little infraction.

  Whatever she’d read on that list had been confidential and likely hadn’t been something Interpol had expected to receive. Someone must have wanted her to see it. Could that someone have known of her memory skills? Or was it that they knew she had a connection to Patron? Were they outside Interpol? Or had it come from inside? That made more sense, considering the difficulty of learning about Yvette’s skills and then targeting her email specifically. And was the email sender someone dangerous enough to put a hit out on a fellow employee?

  This smacked of duplicity. And that grabbed Jason in the gut and twisted. Hard. He knew what it was like to deal with double-crossing spies. And not only his job but his personal reputation had suffered because of it.

  Two years ago, in Verona, Italy, he’d trusted the Italian agent who had been assigned as his liaison while he’d been in the city on a critical operation. Despite Jason’s trust of his employer at the time, the Central Intelligence Agency, he had never walked into a situation blind. When he’d learned who was to liaise with him, he’d checked her out. Charleze Portello had been with Interpol as a field operative for six years. She spoke five languages, was skilled in various forms of martial arts and had helped take down a billion-dollar counterfeit-antiques operation in Morocco. Impeccable credentials.

  He’d never dreamed she’d turn out to be a Russian honeypot sent to learn what he knew and follow him right to the target.

  That had not gone down well with the CIA. Which was why Jason currently wore a cloth badge on his coat and sat in a cold office before a computer that should have been bricked a decade earlier.

  Leaning back and blowing out a breath, he shook his head. Feeling sorry for himself? That wasn’t a Cash condition. His father had taught him better than that. All three Cash brothers were confident and able, and the vein of cockiness infused by their former marine dad ran hot and heavy in them all. Jason had loved working for the CIA. And he would be a liar to say he didn’t miss the adventure, action and intensity of the job. But life had decided he was needed in this town at this moment in time. And...he’d accepted that.

  But soon enough, that was going to be ripped from his grasp. Was he not meant to settle and be happy? Why did he keep stepping into jobs that weren’t meant to last? Was it something he did? He didn’t so much love this town as he did the people in it. And while he understood that Frost Falls was small and a police station was no longer a necessity, he’d hate to see it go. It was a town landmark. And who would be there to direct Ole Svendson to put his clothes back on and get off the main drag?

  Things had to start looking up. And they were. With forensics reports due from Duluth, Jason might be able to close one case if Charley’s DNA could be matched to Yvette Pearson’s evidence.

  Unless a new hit man had arrived in town.

  Chapter Seventeen

  To say that every diner in The Moose was watching Amelie standing next to Jason as they waited for their to-go meals was putting it accurately. All eyes were on them, accompanied by smirks, nods and raised eyebrows. Of course, whenever Amelie cast a glance toward the curious onlookers, they all resumed what they had been doing. Even if it meant completely missing the edge of the coffee cup and spilling down the front of that snowflake-patterned red thermal sweater.

  Out of the corner of her mouth, she asked Jason, “Are we a local event?”

  “Apparently, we are.” His freckles were even more pronounced thanks to the bright white sunshine that beamed through the diner windows. Amelie admired those same freckles in his liquid green eyes. A sight she could take in forever. “What are you looking at?”

  She leaned in close and whispered, “Your freckles.”

  “Stupid things.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Never liked them. My brother Justin once tried to scrub them off me. With a Brillo pad.”

  “What’s a Brillo pad?”

  “It’s made from stainless steel and is used for scouring food off dishes.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “Par for the course when you grow up with two brothers. I served him his just desserts. More than a few times. Hey, Hank!” He waved to a gentleman leaving the diner, who returned a wink as he opened the front door.

  “Marjorie’s husband,” he said to Amelie. “My dispatcher.”

  She loved his self-satisfied smile. It popped in the dimple on his cheek. It was all Amelie could do not to lean forward and touch that indent. But the townsfolk had been served more than enough entertainment for one afternoon. And, weirdly, the place had gotten packed since they’d arrived five minutes earlier. Had all those texts and whispered phone calls brought in the entire town—some having to forge unplowed roads—to watch their very single police chief flirt with a woman? Or even more exciting, to possibly overhear some news about the murder investigation?

  Amelie chuckled and turned a blatant smile to the peanut gang along the counter, who all quickly snapped their heads around to pay attention to their cooling meals.

  “Here you go, Chief Cash.” The waitress set a bag on the counter and took Jason’s credit card and slashed it through the charge machine. “Will that be all?”

  “You betcha. Thank you very much, Charlotte.” Jason tucked away his wallet and grabbed the bag. When they walked to the door, he waved to the audience who followed their exit. “Nothing to see here, folks! Just having a little lunch.”

  Once outside, Amelie shivered against the brisk cold, but she laughed as their footsteps made them dodge a heap of unplowed snow in their path and they bumped shoulders.

  “Am I ruining your reputation?” she asked as they crossed the street and headed toward the station.

  “If there was anything left to be ruined, I might be worried. But you gotta give them something to whisper about every now and then, eh?”

  “If you say so. But speaking of reputations... I shouldn’t ask, but I have to. Tell me why you left the CIA.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “I did tell you my sad tale.”

  He chuckled. “Fine. I didn’t leave, I was fired. But my boss wanted me to suffer even more, so he ‘placed’ me—” he made air quotes “—in a suitable job that required filling.”

  “This job you have now? It’s such a small town. I’m surprised there is even a police station in it.”

  A passing station wagon honked, and Jason nodded and gave the driver a wave. “Frost Falls used to be four times the population it is now. Wasn’t even three years ago it was booming. Workers from the iron range lived here. Then the Red Band iron mine went bust, and everyone packed up and left. It was a lot of migrant workers, but many locals as well. Since there was already a police station, the chief of police stayed on as he watched the town’s numbers dwindle. He died of natural causes two years ago. And when they should have closed the station and left the law enforcement to the c
ounty, some smart aleck in the CIA decided he’d send one of his agents here as a means of punishment to watch over the peanut gang.”

  “Did you have to take the job?”

  “No. But it was a job, and it’s located within an hour’s driving distance of both my brothers and my parents, so... Hell.” He stopped at the corner of the redbrick station house and looked straight at her. It was his hefty sigh that told her his truths were valuable. And she would handle them with the care they deserved. “At the time, I wasn’t in a mental place where I was willing to stand up and fight the system. I was real down on myself and decided to take my punishment as due.”

  “Punishment for what?”

  “I botched a mission.”

  “Is that all? But...agents do that all the time. Well, not all the time. But it happens. Backup measures are usually in place—”

  “I let a known terrorist walk out of my crosshairs,” Jason said firmly. He closed his eyes and swallowed. “Because she got to him first.”

  “She?” Amelie noticed the muscle in his jaw tighten. “An Interpol agent?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “You were not pleased to hear I worked for Interpol. I had no idea at the time, but that explains your reaction.”

  “She was using me the whole time. I thought she was a liaison provided by the Italian headquarters. Turns out Interpol wanted their hands on the target for their own reasons. And it wasn’t to take him out. I want to believe it was some kind of trade to the Russians. Far as I know, the target is walking free. It’s not right.”

  “A lot of what goes on in international and national security agencies isn’t always deemed right. But who is the judge of what is right and wrong? There are many situations that can be viewed both ways.”

  “I know that. One man’s freedom fight is another man’s misdirected protest. The target had taken out women and children, Yvette. Dozens of them. His weapon of choice was pipe bombs placed at coffee shops in the Washington, DC, area. It was a malicious and vulgar crime. I hate myself for letting him walk.”