The Final Secret

by Cassie Miles

  And all the while, the killer was getting farther away, laughing at them. Somebody had to take charge. It wasn’t her place. But how could she stand down?

  Rising from the bench, she stretched and yawned, trying to ease her tension. A high-speed sprint would have been helpful, but she settled for pacing toward the arched window at the far end of the wide hallway with white wainscoting, brass sconces and Colonial-style furniture. Looking down through the window, she saw chaos at the front entrance. It looked like some of the guests wanted to leave, and the ARC people had to dissuade them. Not a fun job.

  When she pivoted and started to walk back, she saw another person at the other end of the hall. He ascended the top steps on the staircase and waved to her. Murano! She’d taken an immediate dislike to the man. Zoey’s history with the self-proclaimed guru from Boulder and his version of “tough love” had disgusted Gennie. Also, Ruby thought he was a jerk. Worst of all, Murano had been careless enough to hire Kenneth Warrick.

  Though she didn’t know how or why Murano could be involved in the murder, her gut told her that he wasn’t innocent. His hand hadn’t held the knife that slashed poor Slocum’s throat, but Murano could very well have been complicit, which was especially likely if Warrick, his employee, was the killer.

  Tamping down her hostility, she pasted a false smile on her face and marched down the hallway to greet him. His handshake held exactly the right level of firmness. What else would she expect from a politician? He met her gaze with guileless brown eyes.

  “I’m concerned about you,” he said. “Also, I’m in awe.”

  “Why?” she demanded.

  His easy smile was charming—an annoying fact that she didn’t want to acknowledge. Charisma should be an earned ability rather than a gift that seemed to be handed out indiscriminately to liars, cheats and conmen. “You’ve just started working for ARC,” he said. “Discovering a brutally murdered man is a rough first day.”

  “What about the awe?”

  “You charged into the library with no worries about your own personal safety, and you took immediate action. It was breathtaking.”

  Don’t smear your false kudos on me. “Breathtaking is an overstatement. My actions were a result of my training in the army.”

  “In my experience with former military personnel, I’ve found that they’re often hesitant, unwilling to act unless someone else gives the orders. That’s not you, Gennie. You’re strong, a natural leader.”

  Too many compliments. What did he want from her? “Why did you come up here, Dr. Murano? Were you looking for me?”

  “Call me Mitch.” He flashed another smile. His whitened teeth stood out against his swarthy complexion. “Though I’m delighted to run into you, I came up here hoping to talk to the FBI. It’s getting late, and I hoped that we could have permission to leave.”

  It seemed like a reasonable excuse. Was she overreacting? “The investigators are talking to Noah right now. They should be done soon.”

  “May I wait with you?” he asked as he touched the decorative clasp for his bolo tie. “Earlier when we spoke, I mentioned my interest in your insensitivity to pain.”

  “Have a seat.” She gestured to the uncomfortable bench. “My physical condition really isn’t all that interesting.”

  With perfect posture, he sat and straightened the crease on his trousers. Though she didn’t like him or trust him, she had to admit that Mitch Murano was neat and well groomed. A few strands of gray swirled through his shoulder-length black hair and his features were symmetrical. It’d be difficult to pin down his age. If she had to guess, she’d say he was somewhere between forty-five and sixty.

  “The general told me about your injuries,” he said. “You don’t feel pain in parts of your arms and legs as a result of nerve damage and neurological complications from concussions.”

  “Yes.” She didn’t provide him with more details.

  “Using a combination of medical procedures and physical therapy, you’ve regained much of the function in your limbs.”

  “Yes.” Again, she was terse. Knowledge was power, and she didn’t want to give Murano the edge.

  “Perhaps I could suggest a more metaphysical approach to your condition,” he said.

  She wasn’t opposed to alternative medicine, far from it. She meditated regularly, had a monthly session with an acupuncturist, preferred herbal remedies and knew enough about plants to gather her own herbs from the mountains. “I try to keep an open mind.”

  “As do I,” he said. “At MIME—that’s the acronym for Murano Institute for Meditation and Enlightenment—I’ve had great success working with people who suffer from a variety of ailments that range from headaches to cancer tumors. I’d like to study you, to help you.”

  There was the hook! If she’d been a cooperative little minnow, she would have swallowed it whole, but she was wary. “I’ll think about it.”

  Murano had perfected the art of seeming sincere. He held his hand toward her. “Please, Gennie, let me heal your wounds.”

  Ignoring his outstretched hand would have been rude, but accepting a handshake implied consent. She tried to maintain control by clasping his hand between both of hers. “A generous offer,” she said and quickly withdrew, rising to her feet and taking a step away from him. “I have a few questions for you. Do you mind?”

  “Ask whatever you wish.”

  She’d start with Warrick. Murano’s unsolicited offer of help opened the door, and she intended to storm through before he had a chance to change his mind. Taking her cell phone from the pocket of her jumpsuit, she scrolled to the photo of Warrick that Noah had sent earlier in the evening. She held it so Murano could see. “Do you recognize this man?”

  “He looks familiar.”

  When she’d seen Warrick, he’d made adjustments to his appearance. “Imagine him with a neatly trimmed beard, streaked blond hair and dark eyebrows.”

  Murano squinted and shook his head. “What’s his name?”

  Instead of using the alias, she went for it. “Kenneth Warrick. He works for you.”

  “I don’t keep track of each and every one of my employees. It might help if you tell me what this man means to you.”

  Aware that he was playing her, she struggled to keep her face expressionless. She should have prepared a cover story, but she’d never been good at lying. “Three years ago, I knew him in Afghanistan.”

  “I understand.” Murano stroked his chin and nodded. “General Haymarket mentioned that you had an unfortunate relationship during your tour of duty. You suspected your lover of betraying you and your platoon. Is that your connection to Kenneth Warrick?”

  She refused to be manipulated. “Do you recognize him?”

  “You want revenge, don’t you?” He stood and glided toward her. He came too close, as though daring her to retreat. “Vengeance is poisoning your thinking and slowing your recovery. I can show you how to let it go.”

  “Back off.” She pushed her fingertips into his chest. “I saw Kenneth Warrick today. He was headed toward the library.”

  The door to the interrogation room swung open, and Noah stepped into the hallway followed by one of the FBI agents. She could tell that the interview hadn’t gone well. Anger radiated from Noah, and his jaw was clenched.

  Still, she couldn’t help asking, “Are we in the clear? Has the data from the surveillance cameras been reviewed? I know the one from the rear of the house was disabled, but what about the indoor cameras?”

  He shook his head. “There was no sign of Warrick.”

  “That can’t be. I saw him.”

  Murano leaned toward her and said, “The mind operates in curious ways. Perhaps you wanted to see him.”

  “Wrong. He’s the last person on earth that I want to be with.”

  “Is he?”

  When the supposed guru touched her shoulder,
she slapped his hand away. “With all due respect, I already told you to back off.”

  He held one of his engraved business cards toward her. “You need my help, Gennie.”

  She’d rather kiss a tarantula than accept anything from Murano. Ignoring the card he pushed toward her, she turned her back and marched into the FBI interrogation room.

  Chapter Eight

  Gennie’s interview with the FBI piled one layer of frustration upon another until they’d constructed a solid wall between them with no chance of actual communication. She wanted to help, really she did. But they thwarted her at every turn, saying over and over that there was no way for Kenneth Warrick to be in the house and not show up on any of the surveillance cameras. Therefore, she must be mistaken.

  But she wasn’t.

  Since the agents refused to believe she saw Warrick, they couldn’t understand her actions. Why did she put out an alert to the ARC team without sending a photo? What was her thing with poisonous flowers? Why had she rushed to the library and picked the lock? Their conclusion was insulting: she must be delusional. One of the agents referenced her prior relationship with Warrick and suggested that she was a lovesick, jilted woman pining for her former fiancé.

  Oh hell, no.

  And why had she commandeered Tony’s motorcycle and taken off with Noah? That explanation was less embarrassing for her when she told them that Noah was giving the orders. Unfortunately, her answers made him look unreliable because she hadn’t seen the killer making his escape. Nor had she seen the horse he rode in on.

  Her interview ended with a curt dismissal and a warning. The feds told her that she was free to go but shouldn’t leave town because they’d have more questions for her.

  She stepped into the hallway, dreading the possibility of running into Murano again. Instead, Noah was waiting. Overwhelmed by relief, she felt like throwing herself into his arms but was mindful of the feds who stood in the doorway watching. Side by side, she and Noah marched toward the staircase.

  “We’re out of here,” he said.

  “I’m so ready.”

  As they exited the mansion, he told her that he’d left Tony in charge of a skeleton crew. Most of the ARC personnel had been dismissed after their interviews. With all the other law enforcement personnel keeping watch, the services of a private security firm were redundant, especially since the guests were also being sent home.

  She inhaled a breath of fresh night air, glad to be leaving the hive of activity at the mansion but still frustrated. “The FBI guys didn’t believe a word I said.”

  “Same here.”

  “That leaves me with an obvious conclusion,” she said.

  “Tell me.”

  “We need to solve this crime ourselves.” She’d be damned if she allowed Warrick to get away with murder again. In Afghanistan, she’d been incapacitated and unable to investigate. This time, she happened to be in the right place at the right time with the right resources. So what if the feds didn’t believe her? She would make it her business to prove his guilt. “Do you agree, Noah?”

  “I’m motivated. Being a suspect doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “Where do we start?”

  “We find out what was on the security cams,” he said. “That means calling in the big gun, the genius, the best cyber-analyst west of the Mississippi. She’s waiting for us at the ARC office.”

  Gennie whispered, “Yay,” and did a subtle fist pump. Anna Rose Claymore, the founder of ARC was a legend. Trained by the CIA and by NORAD in Colorado Springs, she’d been active in cybersecurity for over twenty years while raising five children and overseeing ARC’s business. If anybody could figure out what was on those cameras, she could. “Has there ever before been a murder at an event where ARC was providing security?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” he said. “I was hired eleven years ago when Anna’s husband, David, was running the field operations. Since then, we’ve had a couple serious injuries, but no one died.”

  “Will Anna Rose be upset?”

  “You bet. ARC is David’s legacy. As such, the company is nearly as important to her as her kids or her grandchildren. She’ll want this murder solved and ARC’s impeccable reputation restored.”

  For the first time since she saw Warrick in the ballroom, Gennie dared to hope that things would turn out right. She, Noah and Anna Rose were on the same page, and they were a force to be reckoned with.

  Since she’d carpooled with Zoey to the mansion, she rode with Noah to the ARC office where she’d left her car. The building—a square six-story structure south of Denver—wasn’t particularly attractive or interesting, but ARC’s underground parking included a full floor with high-level security protection. A fleet of motorcycles, Hummers, SUVs and bulletproof vehicles were lined up and ready to roll.

  Noah parked his SUV beside a reinforced bulletproof limo with tinted windows and a high performance V10 engine. She stroked the gleaming ebony fender. “A handsome vehicle, I’ve heard it’s not only fast but almost indestructible. When do I get to drive this baby?”

  “We save Black Beauty for international bigwigs, and you’ll have to fight Tony for the car keys.”

  They took the elevator to the second floor. To the left was a gym. To the right were the actual offices with open space, desks and conference rooms. Behind a purple door was the cyber area containing communication devices, computers, monitors and other electronic equipment. In a spacious corner office, Anna Rose sat in the middle of a U-shaped desk area surrounded by computer equipment and a lifetime accumulation of goofy little Mother’s Day gifts from her brood.

  When they entered, she bounded from her chair and gathered them both in her arms for a quick but generous hug. She was pleasantly soft and smelled like vanilla cookies. Beaming at Gennie, she pushed her polka-dot glasses up on her nose and said, “Welcome to my lair.”

  Though they’d met on Gennie’s first full day at ARC, they’d never had time to chat, and Gennie had never been invited into the inner sanctum. Her first impression of the room made her think of a wild, crazy circus, but she noticed a logical order in the arrangement of personal and professional objects. The desk area was devoted to computers and screens. There was a small kitchenette. Floor-to-ceiling shelves behind a sofa and coffee table were filled with handmade baskets in a multitude of colors, dozens of plastic roses and an army of ceramic critters.

  Anna Rose pointed to the neon green sofa with orange and gold pillows. “Sit.”

  Gennie was happy to oblige. Noah sat beside her with his long legs out in front of him. He unfolded his arms over his head and yawned, obviously comfortable in the company of Anna Rose.

  “First, you eat,” she said as she filled the coffee table with a plate of turkey sandwiches, a fruit salad and bottled water from a mini-fridge. “I’m sure you didn’t have a chance to nibble at the big event.”

  Until this moment, Gennie hadn’t realized how hungry she was. When Anna Rose added a plate of cookies to the spread on the coffee table, she almost swooned. “Thank you.”

  “My poor lamb! You’ve had a rough first day at work but don’t worry. Things will get better.”

  Gennie believed this eclectic grandma with the blue-streaked hair. Anna Rose was magic. She could wave a wand and make everything good. Gennie took a bite of the cookie. It was warm! She glanced over at Noah who had already scarfed down his sandwich.

  “Were you able to access the data on the security cams?” he asked.

  “That was my first move.” Anna Rose sat primly on a zebra-striped chair and aimed a remote control at a giant monitor hanging on the wall opposite the sofa. Twenty-four transmissions from security cameras at the Haymarket mansion splashed across the screen in a dizzying kaleidoscope of images.

  Gennie squinted. “I’m surprised the FBI let you have this.”

  “They don’t exactly know what I have, dear.
Eight minutes ago, they closed down the cams. A rude move if you ask me...and futile. I can still hack in if I want.”

  “We’re not breaking any rules,” Noah assured her. “When we took this job for the general, his security people gave us the codes that allowed Anna Rose to read these cameras.”

  She pressed buttons on the remote and zoomed in on a single image that she enlarged until it took up much of the screen. “This one is important.”

  The rear view of the mansion focused on the library windows and had been recorded from a second-floor camera. “Can we see inside?” Gennie asked. “The lights are on.”

  “Oh, I’ve tried.” Anna Rose paced at the edge of the monitor. “There’s a curtain, and reflection from the outdoor lights that automatically come on when it starts to get dark.”

  “What time was this taken?”

  “Read the time stamp in the corner. It’s 7:07, the edge of sunset.”

  Noah said, “Long before I entered the library.”

  As they watched, the image on the screen went dead.

  Anna Rose flipped through several functions, trying to bring the picture back while she explained. “This malfunction wasn’t caused by a technological glitch. The blackout was due to brute force. The camera took a bullet to the lens.”

  “I don’t suppose any of the other cameras show the shooter,” Noah said.

  “Unfortunately, no.” Anna Rose scowled at the screen. “Nor does any of the surveillance show the horse. Sorry, Noah.”

  “I figured that would happen.” He picked up another cookie. “The reins were probably tethered to a shrub that was out of camera range.”

  After Anna Rose punched a few buttons, the large monitor returned to the original display from twenty-four surveillance cameras. While eating her sandwich, Gennie concentrated on one image at a time, trying to catch a glimpse of Warrick among the other partygoers. She recalled the details of his new appearance. His hair was long, dyed blond and tied in a ponytail at his nape. Thick blond scruff disguised his weak chin. His outfit would blend into almost any Colorado gathering: sports jacket, polo shirt and jeans. Had he been armed? She’d only seen him for a second and hadn’t noticed a holster.