Winter Frost (A Chris Matheson Cold Case Mystery Book 2)

by Lauren Carr

  “What is this group?” Francine asked. “A religious sect or a death squad?”

  “From what I have read about them, they are a highly skilled special forces team originally established by Chinese leaders for special missions that they don’t want traced back to the Chinese government. They’re so classified—they aren’t even supposed to exist. There aren’t even any former members you can talk to because once you’re in, you’re in for life. The only way to quit is death.”

  “Murphy said the assassin who attacked him had a yellow dragon tattooed on the back of his neck,” Chris said.

  “But he wasn’t Asian,” Murphy said, “which is very strange because what I read about the Yellow Dragons was that they did not accept anyone who was not of Chinese birth.”

  “Anyone can get a tattoo,” Ray said.

  “Ray has a point,” Chris said. “If the Yellow Dragons are as highly trained as you’re claiming, then you wouldn’t have come out on top in that ambush. Maybe he learned about the Yellow Dragons, got one of their tattoos, and convinced whoever put this death squad together that he was one.” He added, “The important thing for you all to know is this, whoever is behind this has a team of highly skilled special force type enforcers to keep their dirty secret under wraps. They are trying to kill anyone who they even suspect of knowing what they’re up to. They found out I was Blair’s husband and without even waiting around to find out what I knew, if anything, they followed us and set out to kill everyone.”

  “They’re not taking any chances,” Helen said.

  “But we’re not going to be able to stop ‘them’ until we find out who ‘they’ are,” Chris said.

  “That starts with finding out what Blair uncovered in Switzerland,” Ray said.

  “Someone has to know,” Francine said. “Chris, do you know who Blair worked with in Switzerland? Some of them must be back in the States now. They may know something without being aware of it.”

  “There was an office manager who Blair seemed to be pretty friendly with,” Chris said. “I have to think to remember her name. She was planning to retire after finishing her tour in Switzerland.”

  “Is there any possibility of us seeing that anonymous letter she’d sent to Senator Keaton?” Francine asked.

  “I suggest that you not contact anyone until we get a better idea of who we are actually going up against,” Murphy said.

  “How can we do that without talking to anyone?” Francine asked.

  Murphy looked around the table. “Can I borrow someone’s cell phone?” He flashed a bright toothy smile at Francine. “You. Francine, you’re a journalist, your phone will work fine.”

  Francine unlocked her phone and slid it across the tabletop to him. “Just keeping smiling that smile and you can have anything you want, sweetheart.”

  With a wink, Murphy picked up the phone and slid his thumb across the screen.

  “I thought we were going off the grid,” Chris said.

  “Nigel should be fully scanned and clean by morning,” Murphy said.

  “Who’s Nigel?” Jacqui asked.

  “My version of Ray,” Murphy said while texting. “Source in Annapolis said contact U for feature about Ingle. Visiting city tomorrow. Meet @ Panera Dupont Circle 9am after butler cleans cupboards?”

  “That message doesn’t make any sense,” Bruce said.

  “Not supposed to,” Murphy said. “Tristan will understand.”

  “Who’s Tristan?” Chris asked.

  “Tristan is Nigel’s guardian,” Murphy said.

  The phone dinged and Murphy smiled as he read the text. “The butler has finished. The cupboards are clean.” He slid the phone back to Francine. “Nigel wasn’t the leak. That means the leak happened somewhere between Senator Keaton’s office and his investigator.”

  “How certain are you that the report about Nigel being free from hacking is right?” Chris asked. “Be careful in answering because, as you said so yourself, lives are at stake.”

  “One hundred percent,” Murphy answered as the phone in Francine’s hand dinged. “I’d trust Nigel with my life.”

  “Tristan says Nigel is just a little bit offended that you didn’t trust him enough to ward off an attack from a foreign body,” Francine read.

  “Better to be safe than sorry,” Murphy said before turning back to Chris. “I have connections who will be able to confirm or deny if Blair was actually involved in that project archiving old communications data.”

  Francine’s phone dinged again, prompting her to read the message.

  “Do you have any idea where Blair could have been hiding the last three years?” Helen asked Chris.

  “Tristan wants to know when you’re coming home.” Francine held up for the phone for Murphy to read the message. “He says it’s important.”

  “I’m working,” Murphy said in a low voice.

  Francine tapped out the reply.

  “Blair has to have been hiding out somewhere,” Helen said. “If we can figure out where she’s been, we might find someone she trusted enough to tell what she’d uncovered.”

  Chris shook his head. “That’s something I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around. Blair was a techno geek. She had no law enforcement training. She had a gun and only knew how to shoot because I dragged her to the range. My worst nightmare was my family being targeted because of my past. That makes this whole thing totally ironic. What I’m saying is, Blair did not know the fine details of going off the grid. How did she do it? How did she fake her death and stay off the radar all these years?”

  “She had to have had help,” Helen said.

  “Who would Blair have trusted enough to help her?” Murphy asked. “What friends would have known how to help her?”

  “How about that office manager you mentioned earlier?” Jacqui said.

  In silence, Chris stared across the room. Slowly, he began to nod his head. “Ivy Dunleavy. She was Blair’s best friend. They’d met when they both moved into the area to work for the state department. Ivy was maid of honor at our wedding and Blair was matron of honor at hers when she married Stu, the jerk.”

  “Tell us how you really feel about him,” Ray said with a laugh.

  “Blair was disappointed that I never became buds with Stu. She envisioned the four of us double dating and hanging out together.”

  “My wife has a close friend that she wished we could be couple friends with.” Murphy shuddered. “The guy is a total leech. Lives off his wife’s money. I have no respect for him.”

  “I’ve never been that crazy about Ivy either. It always seemed like Blair and I would have problems after they’d get together.” With a shake of his head, Chris sighed. “Once a month, Blair and Ivy would have a girls’ night out. They’d drink martinis and bitch about their awful lives. Rather, Ivy would complain about how hard it is being a rich man’s wife. The pressure of keeping up appearances. Energy drinks in the morning, laser surgery for lunch, network cocktail parties at five, and sleeping pills at ten. Blair would come home drunk and depressed about our boring lives.”

  “What did her husband do?” Bruce asked.

  “Corporate attorney,” Chris said. “Partner with this huge firm that deals with international conglomerates. He brags about being a fixer for billionaires. They’re both all about the status. They have a huge house in Chantilly. The luxury SUVs. Last I heard, they even have a live-in nanny for their daughter. Hannah is seven years old—the same age as Emma, our youngest daughter. They used to be friends, but since we moved out here to West Virginia, Ivy won’t even return my phone calls. I had promised the girls that we’d stay in touch with their friends. Now Ivy looks down her nose at us. Her precious private school girl can’t be seen hanging out with us hillbillies.”

  “Hey,” Murphy said, “my roots are from West Virginia.”

  Chris cocked
his head at him. “Really?”

  Murphy nodded his head.

  “Did you say Ivy’s jerky husband was a fixer?” Bruce frowned. “Fixer as in covering up the rich and powerfuls’ crimes.”

  “He’d know what to do to help Blair stay under the radar,” Chris said. “The problem is that she doesn’t answer my phone calls.”

  “I hate to be the wet blanket, but it is my job to be the squad’s devil’s advocate,” Bruce said as the phone in Francine’s hand dinged a response. “Maybe Blair faked her death to get away from Chris.”

  “Excuse me?” Chris replied.

  “How are we to know what kind of husband you were,” Bruce said.

  “She did leave the country to get away from you,” Ray said.

  “Not to—”

  “Tristan says Jessica told him that you two were going to Paris for New Year’s Eve,” Francine swooned. “How romantic? Who’s Jessica?”

  “My wife,” Murphy replied.

  “You’re such a good husband.”

  “I try.”

  “But Tristan said he promised Sarah he’d take her rock climbing in the Grand Canyon for the break between Christmas and New Year, so he can’t house-sit; and he’s out of beer and just drank the last Red Bull. Can you pick some up on the way home?” Francine joined the others in looking at him questioning.

  “Nigel’s guardian is having a meltdown,” Murphy said.

  The Geezer Squad ended the meeting in the early morning hours with each one taking on a task in the investigation.

  Ray was going to continue digging into the communications overhaul. While the project was classified, he hoped he could find some chatter about any strange happenings in Switzerland about the time that the chief of communications had “committed suicide” and Blair was supposedly killed.

  Following the same angle but from a different direction, Murphy and Francine were going to meet up with Tristan to find out what Nigel uncovered through his classified connections via government databases. Someone had to know what had gone down in Switzerland.

  Bruce believed he’d have no trouble setting up a meeting with some of his old cohorts to identify the leak responsible for getting two of Murphy’s people killed.

  Jacqui was going to join Bruce in his trip into the city. The scientist was an expert in the human psyche. She had the ability to analyze movements and other slight clues that could point them to who was lying and more.

  Chris hoped to be able to relax enough to spend some time alone with Helen while figuring out his next move. The thought of Blair’s unidentified enemy coming after his family to get to Blair had crossed his mind.

  Those hopes of being with Helen were dashed when she told him that Jacqui was driving her home after the meeting broke up. “She drives right past my place on the way up the mountain.”

  While Jacqui and Helen lived on the same mountain, that was not exactly true. Helen lived on a different part of the mountain.

  “I don’t mind driving you home,” Chris said. “I was hoping we could have some time alone to talk.”

  “About what’s going to become of us now that Blair has come back from the dead?” Helen said.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Chris.” She pressed her hand on his arm. “There isn’t really anything to discuss.”

  He held her eyes with his. “I love you, Helen. Blair being alive changes nothing.”

  “Yes, it does.” She blinked the tears from her eyes. “Twenty-four hours ago, your wife was dead. Now she’s not. That means you’re married.”

  “We’ll get a divorce.”

  Helen let out a slow deep breath. “Chris, are you seriously going to tell me that you can tell your daughters that the mother they had loved and mourned is really alive, and oh, by the way, after being on the run from international assassins trying to kill her, now that we’ve got her back, I’m divorcing her.”

  Chris clenched his teeth. “I don’t want to lose you, Helen.”

  She swallowed. “Chris, one of the things that made me fall in love with you was your compassion. If you were able to do that to those sweet girls, then you wouldn’t be the man I fell in love with.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek before running out into the cold night air.

  At Chris’s side, Sterling gazed up at him as if to tell him that he still had him, his best friend. “This weekend just keeps getting better and better.”

  Chapter Eight

  The sun was flirting with the notion of rising. The pastures leading up to the Matheson farm were coated with a thick layer of crusty frost. Winter was on the way.

  Chris parked his truck next to the barn and turned off the engine.

  Across from him, Sterling perked up when he saw a cat scurry into the brush in pursuit of some possible prey. His nose twitched while he wondered if the barn cat needed backup.

  Frustration bubbled up from the pit of Chris’s stomach. With a groan, he punched the steering wheel with both fists.

  Helen was right.

  There was no way he could tell his daughters that their mother was alive and in the next breath announce he was divorcing her. Marriage was not to be taken lightly. You vow ‘til death do you part and you do everything in your power to keep that promise.

  He dropped his head down over the steering wheel.

  But Blair was the one who left me. I gave her a choice. Our family or her career and she chose to leave. Why am I the bad guy?

  He banged his head against the steering wheel.

  The knock on the truck window startled him. He grasped the gun in his pocket and looked up to see his mother, clad in her bathrobe, her arms folded across her bosom, on the other side of the window.

  “Christopher, why are you beating up that steering wheel?” She peered around him at Sterling in the passenger seat as if to see if the dog was concealing someone. “Where’s Helen?”

  “She went home.” With a heavy sigh, Chris opened the truck door. Sterling practically climbed across him to offer his assistance to the barn cat.

  “I am so sorry to hear that, Christopher.” She took him into a hug, when she pulled away, she looked him up and down. “Weren’t you wearing your gray suit when you left last night?”

  Chris looked down at his clothes. He had been through so much that he had forgotten about the change of clothes Murphy had given to him.

  Doris tugged on the sleeve to his jacket. “Whose clothes are these?”

  “I got them from a spy.”

  “A spy?”

  “One of the good guys.” His voice trailed off into a mutter. “At least, I think he’s one of the good guys.”

  “What’s the spy wearing now?” With a frown, she fingered the jacket. “He’s not wearing your suit is he?”

  “No, Mother.”

  “Where is it?”

  “What does it matter? Blair’s out there and someone, we don’t know who, wants her dead.”

  “I know, Helen told us last night.” She looked down at the athletic shoes he was wearing. “You gave him your shoes, too.”

  “I’m sure I’ll get them back. Mom, did you hear what I told you? Blair has been in hiding all these years.”

  “Those were nice dress shoes. And that suit was tailored.” With a sigh, she gazed up at him. “That suit was the perfect shade of gray. It brought out your pretty eyes.”

  “Forget the suit already!”

  “Christopher, you don’t have to yell.”

  “I’m sorry. Mom, in the last fifteen hours, I’ve gone from a widower to married, shot an international assassin, got arrested, escaped federal custody without knowing it, got ambushed, killed a second hitman, and got dumped by the love of my life.”

  Doris wanted to give him another hug, but sensed he preferred to be left alone in his misery. “Are you hungry?”

  “All I�
�ve had to eat was a greasy fast food burger and fries.”

  “You didn’t even buy Helen dinner?”

  “Why do you think she dumped me?” he said with heavy sarcasm.

  “Well, Elliott is fixing breakfast. Come in and eat a nice hot meal. It’ll make you feel better and think more clearly.”

  “Elliott’s still here?” Chris noticed the SUV was parked behind his mother’s sedan. “I’m glad to see your date worked out.”

  “Well,” she demurred, “at least no one tried to kill us. Come in and eat.”

  Chris checked the time on the phone in his pocket—the burner phone Murphy had given him at the safe house. Soon, it would be time to feed the horses, barn cats, and clean the stalls. “I’m going to get started on my chores. I’ll be inside in a little bit.”

  “Okay, I’ll go tell Elliott to put on his pants.”

  Chris turned away with a groan.

  “All right, but don’t blame me if breakfast seems a little awkward,” she said to his back while he walked over to the barn door.

  “TMI, Mom. TMI.”

  Her heart aching for him, Doris covered her mouth with her hand as she watched her son shuffle into the barn. His shoulders slumped, he had the posture of a man who had taken an emotional beating. Sterling galloped into the barn behind him.

  A brisk morning breeze swept across the barnyard and up her robe to send a shiver up her spine. Hugging her robe around her, she trotted back into the house to start the coffee brewing to have it ready when Chris finished with his farm chores.

  Sadie and Mocha sat side by side inside the mudroom. Their eyes were focused on the plastic bin where their food was kept to remind her that it was time for their breakfast, too, just in case she might forget.