Credible Threat

by Heather Woodhaven

  He’d lost count of how many times Rebecca bristled at any potential insinuation that her occupation wasn’t as important as others. While he found it honorable to care about a job well done, he wondered where the passion came from about auditing, of all things. In fact, she had an unnerving capability to be energetic about everything.

  The judge’s voice grew loud enough that Kurt overheard snippets of the elderly man’s side of the conversation.

  “You always taught me a fair judge never makes assumptions.” She twisted around and pressed her fingertip into the countertop as she made her point. “My job is important to me, to my company and to the backers looking to invest their hard-earned money. I’m making sure justice happens in my own way.”

  The judge chuckled and said something about a chip off the old block and that he wouldn’t dare argue against that. Kurt marveled at Rebecca’s ability to put the hard-edged man at ease, especially given the situation.

  “What about the marshal?” The crackly voice came through the receiver.

  “I’m in excellent hands.”

  Kurt’s chest expanded. He didn’t need compliments, but they always felt great to hear.

  The judge’s voice was garbled and Kurt almost didn’t hear the response, but it had something to do with her spending time with him. A light blush washed over Rebecca’s cheeks as her lips fought back a smile.

  She averted her eyes from Kurt. “Tolerable, I suppose.”

  He crossed his arms. What was that supposed to mean? A mere second ago she’d put her grandfather in his place for judging things he didn’t have the whole story on and then she had the audacity to rate time with him as tolerable when he’d risked his life—

  “You’re comparing him to Mr. Darcy?” the judge practically shouted over the line. His words were clear as day even seven feet away from the phone.

  Kurt’s forehead relaxed. That name—Mr. Darcy—sounded familiar.

  “I knew you fell asleep during the movie! You definitely weren’t resting your eyes,” Rebecca shot back. “Darcy actually said that about Elizabeth. If you don’t remember what he said next, you’re going to have to look it up.”

  Kurt didn’t know about the judge, but as soon as he had a smartphone back that was exactly what he intended to do.

  “It should put your mind at ease,” Rebecca continued. “Everyone involved is top-notch and doing a wonderful job. So I’ll let you get back to work, Grandpa, and I’ll get back to mine.” She paused for a second. “Love you, too.” She held out the receiver to Kurt. “Back to you.”

  Standing by a landline phone felt like going back into time. “Sir?”

  “My granddaughter feels there is a chance this is work related. Between you and me, if it is, she can go back to Ohio without bringing the threat with her, so follow any leads you have and get this done. You need to be one hundred percent sure, though. Understood? I have to be back in court. Goodbye.”

  The judge hung up before Kurt could respond. His blood heated to close to a boil. He wasn’t the type of guy who had to be in charge, but he also wasn’t one to take orders, especially vague ones. The job description of a deputy marshal wasn’t the same as a babysitter or chauffeur. He would never presume to know the judge’s job. It irked him that people without experience in law enforcement thought they knew better.

  Rebecca beamed. “Well, we’ve agreed. I should get back to work, which means it’s time to hunt down Levi Garner.”

  Why’d he let this woman get under his skin? He took a deep breath. “You may talk your way out of anything with your grandfather, but I’m not related to you. First, we analyze the risks.”

  “But—”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “You do understand we could’ve died back there, right?”

  Her nose crinkled when she frowned. “I had complete faith in you.”

  While the words soothed his pride after her little comment about being tolerable, he wanted to stress his point. “Well, let’s not test that faith. Let’s get back to work. Based on Judge Linn’s cases, we have some hate groups that operate in Northern Idaho that we need to rule out.”

  Although, if he could confirm the vehicle she’d seen on the night of the kidnapping attempt was the Hummer, maybe that would rule out a coordinated effort of people after Rebecca. One person was easier to catch.

  The doorbell rang. “Stay back, please.” He walked to the door. As much as he hated to admit it, the prudent thing to do would be to rule out a potential threat from Rebecca’s work.

  An officer at the door handed him a bag from the IT department at work.

  Rebecca peeked around the corner as Kurt closed the door with two phones in hand. “They couriered over a phone for me,” he explained. “It seems your phone is cleared. He wants a little more time with your laptop.”

  “No spyware on the phone?”

  “Usually our IT guy, Mike, would’ve alerted one of us if it was a concern. So, you’re free to use it, but I have some requests.” He handed the cell to her. “Until the threat is gone, use it for emergencies only. Put my number in your contacts and give me permission to find your location if for some reason we get separated when we leave. Turn off all other location services and permissions. Ignore any other texts or emails for now. If you feel you must return one, I need to know how you’re wording it to make sure you don’t give away any pertinent information that might hinder our efforts.”

  “Fine. You said, ‘When we leave.’ Where?”

  “For Levi Garner’s house.”

  His heart skipped a beat as her eyes widened—he could get lost in those eyes. She smiled, and he had the irrational desire to kiss her. One way or another, this assignment was going to be the death of him.

  FIVE

  “True confession time. I wanted to be a detective when I grew up.” Rebecca sent a shy smile to Kurt in the front of the truck.

  He flashed her a lopsided grin. “Why does that not surprise me?” His eyes darted from the rearview mirror to the side mirror, and he kept his hands tight around the steering wheel.

  Despite her objections, they’d been forced to wait until morning to visit Levi Garner. The bridge had to be repaired, since there was no other way across the river unless they wanted to drive over an hour around the lake, and Kurt had refused to take her out after dark. She just hoped the accountant was there. She called the resort’s corporate offices and Levi’s number again before they’d left in the event he’d returned. He hadn’t.

  Her audit couldn’t be submitted in good faith without following through on the flash drive. More than that, she needed proof she hadn’t imagined the numbers.

  Rebecca had yet to admit it to anyone, but the fear that she’d invented the highlighted rows and the scratch on the flash drive had plagued her nightmares for the second night in a row. It terrified her that falling on those rocks might’ve done more damage than a headache and sore muscles. She needed to be able to trust her thoughts and memory or she wouldn’t be fit to work, not as an auditor, at least.

  Still, the extra rest seemed to have done the handsome deputy some good. His eyes looked clearer, without the reddened signs of water or lack of sleep. “You didn’t pursue becoming a detective because of your father?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “If you think about it from a different perspective, being an auditor is kind of like being a detective. Numbers, like hard evidence, don’t lie. Either everything adds up or I go after the truth until it does.”

  “So you like it.”

  “Yeah. I guess.” Did she? She hadn’t taken time lately to evaluate it. “I wanted to see more of the country. So when I found out there was such a thing as a traveling accountant, it sounded like a great option. I’ve been to almost every major city in the country and lots of small towns.”

  “Favorites?”

  “Uh... I don’t know. I try hard t
o see the sights before I leave, but to be honest, the majority of the time I’m inside a hotel or airplane.”

  “I travel a lot, too. I get it.”

  She believed him. For a man of such few words, it surprised her that he’d admitted that much. “Did you always want to be a marshal?”

  “No.” His jaw tensed.

  The man went back and forth from being warm and vulnerable to short and closed-off faster than a speeding bullet.

  Rebecca couldn’t decide if it was his natural personality or Grandpa’s doing. When Grandpa had asked her last night if Kurt was being friendly, she’d known exactly what the judge had meant. He wouldn’t approve of any romantic inclinations between the two of them, and it would be just like Grandpa to tell Kurt to stay away.

  She adored her grandfather, but he could be overly protective—one of the things her father had in common with him. It wasn’t as if she was a teenager on summer break. She was a grown woman who’d been on her own for years. So it had to be the fact Kurt was in law enforcement that had prompted him to ask such a question. Unless Grandpa knew something she didn’t.

  At any rate, she couldn’t say aloud exactly what she was thinking when Kurt had been standing three feet away. Her reference to Pride and Prejudice was meant to calm her grandfather down without raising Kurt’s suspicions about what they were discussing.

  In the movie, and probably the book if she’d ever taken the time to read it, Mr. Darcy had said that Elizabeth was “tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me.” And while Kurt was as good-looking as a man could be, Rebecca wanted to convey to her grandfather that it wouldn’t be a problem to keep her attraction in check. Of course, the more time she spent with Kurt, the harder it was to say that truthfully.

  Kurt glanced at her. “I didn’t mean to be short with you or imply you should stop talking. I guess I’m not used to people asking me questions.”

  “It’s usually the other way around?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Interviewing suspects and witnesses. You might want to look at the ceiling again. We’re going over the bridge, and you do not want to see their flimsy temporary fix of a guardrail.”

  A lump formed in her throat. “Descriptions don’t help, either.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, but she couldn’t help but shift her shoulder toward the console, as far from the window as possible. “Keep my mind busy. The classical music isn’t doing it.”

  He cleared his throat. “Okay. I served my time in the army. Didn’t really know what I wanted to do when I got out, so went to college while working as a security guard. Criminal justice seemed like a good major, and I got recruited. I’ve been told by some of my colleagues that I had it easy. A lot of people, like Delaney, have being a marshal as their goal from the beginning of their career.”

  The sound from the tires on the concrete changed their pitch. “We’re on solid ground,” he said.

  Rebecca opened her eyes. It seemed there was a lot of things unsaid from the marshal’s story. She wanted to ask him all about his time in the military and in college, but those seemed like topics that only closer friends could ask. She settled on a less personal question. “Did you know you wanted to be in criminal justice before you enlisted?”

  He grunted. He took a left turn on Presley Road. The trees on either side of the road petered out into farmland.

  She’d pushed him too far. “We don’t have to talk anymore,” she said. The sunshine streamed through the windows. Being cooped up inside most of the day drove her crazy.

  His shoulders relaxed. “No, it’s fine. I used to play baseball. My only plan during senior year was to get a scholarship.”

  They passed farmhouses and the paved road turned into a dirt road. Up ahead was a hill filled with evergreens. “Are you sure you’re going the right way?”

  “According to the map.” He pointed to a for-sale sign on the right as the incline steepened. “Anyway, the day before the first scout was due to arrive, I slid into home base wrong. Broke my ankle. Was out the rest of the season.” He nodded forward. “And that’s enough of the Kurt Brock Story Hour. I hope you’ve got sorted what questions you need to ask Mr. Garner because we’re here. I want us in and out of his place in five minutes. Stay put a moment. I need to canvass the area first.”

  He pulled up in front of a gray house. It had a one-car garage, two windows and a metallic front door. The place couldn’t be more than one or two bedrooms at the most. Kurt stepped out of the vehicle with a hand on his holster. Assuming the accountant was scared enough to stay home from work, seeing Kurt might send him running for the trees.

  If Mr. Garner owned the land, he knew how to invest his money. An accountant for a resort company might pick up real estate advice naturally. From the higher vantage point on the hill, she could see the lake, evergreens in every direction and wildflowers along various dirt paths. It was almost enough to entice her to settle down.

  Kurt knocked on the car as he rounded the front. “We’re clear.” He opened the door for her and she stepped out. “I don’t know if Garner is here or not, but it’s time to find out.”

  “If he’s not, I don’t know what my next step is.”

  “You might need to let your boss know he should cut the Vista Resorts account loose. I’ve already been speaking to the marshals in Ohio in case we don’t find any more leads here.”

  Her neck tensed. Something about that bothered her, and she couldn’t place a finger on exactly what. Maybe it was the mystery of never knowing who tried to kill her, and if they would move their sights to Grandpa once she was gone. Or, maybe it was the uncertainty of the accuracy of her audit report. It couldn’t be leaving Kurt. That was a ludicrous thought. She’d known the man for only a few days and, granted he’d saved her life, that didn’t mean she’d automatically swoon.

  She inhaled the scent of pine and her shoe crunched on an errant cone as she made her way to the door. Kurt stepped in front of her, the cedar aftershave tickling her nose. They stopped at the metallic door. He stepped closest and turned his hip away from the door so he stood at a diagonal, his hand on the holster.

  Rebecca raised her fist and rapped on the door. The latch gave way underneath her knock and the door swung open. Kurt pivoted so his torso moved in between her and the house as he pulled out his gun in one smooth motion. She stepped backward, prepared to run. His shoulders sank.

  “Get in the truck.”

  Just past his shoulders gave her an opening to see inside. Levi Garner’s head was slumped forward, his hands were bound to an office chair and blood soaked his shirt. “Is he...?” Her voice shook.

  Kurt kept his gun drawn and stepped sideways in a protective stance. “Rebecca,” he whispered, “I need to get you in the truck. Someone might still be inside or watching.” His chin pointed at the SUV. “Use the closest door.”

  Her pulse quickened as she finally understood. He stayed by her side until she jumped into the back seat. The moment the door closed, the locks latched. She watched him out of the darkened window as he lifted a phone to his ear. Probably calling for backup. She swiveled in her seat to hunt for any sign of the shooter. She squinted in an effort to see farther in the distance. They were only ten minutes from the heart of downtown but it still felt as if they were in the middle of nowhere. Even though the SUV was bulletproof, it didn’t calm her heart.

  Kurt shoved his phone back in his pocket and entered the house, his gun raised. Leaving the door open, he reached over and touched Levi’s wrist. He let go and held the gun with both hands as he disappeared into the hallway of the house. No attempt to revive him or call for the paramedics. That could mean only one thing.

  Levi had been murdered.

  * * *

  Kurt exhaled as he peeked around the corner. Clear. He kicked aside a chair next to the round table as he traveled past the combined kitchen and dining room. He repeated the proce
ss in the bathroom, the two bedrooms and the hall closet.

  So far there’d been no sign of the shooter. Nothing remarkable to catch his attention. All the walls were beige and unadorned. A clean and cozy home that for some reason made him think Levi had been a lonely guy. He retraced his steps and it hit him. The place reminded him of his own rental. He hadn’t hung a single frame or painting.

  Kurt refocused and made his way to the living room, a mere ten feet long and ten feet wide, and crammed with a futon, a bookshelf, a desk and TV. He barely had enough room to maneuver around the two suitcases that leaned up against the futon and almost bumped the dead man in the chair.

  He stepped outdoors and heard the crunching of rocks in the distance. He’d asked the police vehicles to approach without sirens, but he couldn’t make any assumption. He positioned himself equidistant from the house and SUV.

  Red and blue lights crested the hill and he exhaled. He crossed to where Rebecca waited and knocked on the back door. She emerged, her arms tightly wrapped around her torso. “Why?” she whispered. “Why did the shooter tie Levi’s wrists to the armrests if he was just going to shoot him anyway?”

  Interrogation. It was the only reason that made sense to him. The shooter wanted to scare the accountant enough to get him talking. There was a possibility torture was involved, but without investigating the body, he couldn’t be certain. These were things he had no intention of sharing with Rebecca. “Maybe they wanted to know something without the fear Levi would attack,” he said instead.

  “But if he gave them what he wanted, why shoot him?”

  “We don’t know if he did.”

  She put her hands on either side of her face and trembled.

  Kurt put an arm around her and pulled her close before he truly knew what he was doing. “It’s...it’s going to be okay.” She pressed into him, her head fitting perfectly underneath his chin.

  Two cruisers pulled up next to him, one from the local police department and another from the County Sheriff’s Office. When a murder happened in a small town, it was common to combine efforts. An officer approached. He pointed at Rebecca. “Do we need a bus?”