Guarding His Midnight Witness

by Anna J. Stewart

  “You already have. Kyla!”

  Kyla knocked on the door before she entered. “You bellowed?”

  “You were advised to bolster your résumé with varying legal work, were you not?”

  “I was.” Kyla’s dark eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Great.” Simone stood and handed her off. “Here’s your first client consultation. Use the conference room. I’ve got some other details to work out on our special project, Greta. I’ll come get you when I’m done.”

  Chapter 15

  “You didn’t really think you’d do this without me, did you?”

  Greta gasped and spun and spied Jack standing in the doorway of her bedroom. Love rushed over her and nearly pulled her under before she steeled herself and turned back to the mirror. She did a quick wiggle and brushed her fingers over the top of the small microphone attached to the center of her bra. Vince’s suggestion for low-tech recordings. “I figured Simone or Cole would tell you about my plan.”

  “Good thing. Clearly you weren’t going to tell me.” He moved into the room, the tuxedo he wore making him look as if he’d stepped straight off the screen of a classic Hollywood movie. Thunder, deep and low, rumbled in the distance. “You look...” He stood behind her and stared at her in the full-length mirror. “There are no words.”

  Inside, she melted. He really always said the right thing.

  She’d purposely chosen the turquoise dress because it reminded her of the one her mother had worn in Midnight Witness. It was fitted, perhaps too fitted, and ended just above her knees. Her feet were already killing her in the four-inch stilettos, but she’d persevere. After watching a few online tutorials, she’d twisted and knotted her hair like a 1940s pinup girl and added sparse but perfect makeup with Ashley’s help.

  “How did you get in? Never mind.” She finished clipping on the gold and pearl earrings that had once belonged to her grandmother, a treasure she’d made herself unearth from one of the numerous boxes in the storage room just last night. She was done with running from the past. Hiding from it was what had gotten Lyndon killed. She owed it to him, despite what he’d done, to see this through. “I have to remind myself Ashley’s your sister.”

  “Actually, it was Cole. He sent me in with these.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, beige device. “It’s an earwig and a tracker. It’s so Max and Allie can monitor you from the surveillance van. Wait to put it in, though. Otherwise everyone is going to hear this conversation.”

  “What conversation?” Nerves she’d banked since she’d left Simone’s office yesterday surged to life.

  “The conversation where I tell you, again, that I love you.” He turned her to face him, looked at her with such affection she couldn’t breathe. “I know that scares you. It scares me. But you know what else scares me? The idea of losing you. So, I’m making you this promise.” He framed her face. “When this is all over, you and I? We’re going to sit down and figure out our future. We’re going to talk about all of it. Everything. Your past. Mine. It’s all going to come out, and we’re going to go from there.”

  “Jack—” She couldn’t deal with this now, couldn’t even let herself begin to hope...

  “No time to argue. We’re due at the gallery. And despite wanting to kiss you right now more than I want to breathe, I’m going to resist temptation and leave your lipstick as it is.” He brushed his thumb lightly across her mouth. “We’ll save that for later.”

  Tears pricked the back of her eyes. “Jack,” she whispered, then jolted when Cole leaned in and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe.

  “Time to go, kids. Greta, last chance to back out.”

  “I’m not backing out.” She frowned and glared at him, earning a nod of approval.

  “Just checking. Got an SUV downstairs waiting. Once you’re in the gallery, you stick close to Jack. When we have Fremont in sight, we’ll lock down the exits and arrest him.”

  “How is Fremont supposed to approach me if I’m hanging out with him?” She stuck her thumb at Jack. “He won’t confess to anything with cops around.”

  “As soon as we have you and Fremont in the same room, Jack’ll give him space. You won’t be out of our sight, though,” Cole said. “Promise.”

  “I’m not worried.” Not about that, at least. As arrogant as Fremont was, she had doubts he’d confess to all his crimes simply because she asked him to. Who was that stupid in real life? “Let’s go already. The sooner this is over, the better.”

  The sooner this was over, the sooner she’d say goodbye to Jack and set him free. She followed Cole out of her loft, Jack right on her heels as they exited the building and headed to the car. She offered both men a tentative smile as she climbed inside before them.

  And bid them a silent farewell.

  * * *

  “You’re doing great,” Jack murmured to Greta a few hours into the event. They made their way through the opening-night crowd. A crowd that didn’t appear to have any qualms about venturing out on a dark and stormy night, a night that not so long ago would have acted as inspiration for one of Greta’s paintings.

  Lightning crackled in the air, flashing across the windows seconds before thunder rumbled its way over and through the valley. The last thing they needed tonight was more atmosphere to add to the tension. Tension that Jack wished he could make disappear with a mere thought.

  Greta deserved the perfect show, the perfect evening. Instead, they had to worry about a killer stalking her and mother nature wreaking havoc.

  Greta had done wonderfully with the attendees and the press. She shook hands and schmoozed like she’d been doing it all her life. From the mayor to the chief of police to countless faces of the wealthy and famous, Jack had yet to catch a glimpse of Doyle Fremont. From where he kept a hand at the small of her back, he could feel the tension riding off Greta in waves. When the receiving line was finally concluded, he steered her deeper into the exhibit, an open room lined with her beautiful, atmospheric paintings. “Just keep going about your normal routine.”

  “It’s my first show, remember?” Greta plucked a flute of champagne off a passing server’s tray and tipped it to her lips. “There is no routine yet.”

  “Well, stop looking as if everyone’s here to attack you.”

  “Wait, was that—” Greta stepped around Jack and watched their server move away. “Was that Bowie?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The officer’s voice was clear in her ear.

  “Kid had the night off and offered to help.” Jack looked down to where Greta had laid her hand on his chest. An innocent gesture, he knew, but an instinctive one. One she probably didn’t even realize she’d made. His skin warmed under her touch.

  “At what point do I lose the kid part of that sentence?” Bowie asked.

  Jack enjoyed the smile that played along Greta’s perfectly painted lips. “When you’ve earned it. Let’s keep moving. Just so you know, Greta, Vince’s brother Jason is one of the bartenders, and we have two more patrol officers in the crowd. Cole and Eden are around here somewhere. Probably near the food, knowing Eden.”

  “I heard that,” Eden’s feminine growl clattered in their ears. “You do remember we’re all synced, right?”

  “So that must be your stomach I hear rumbling?” Jack teased, trying to keep Greta calm even as every cell in his body stayed on high alert.

  “Hey, for once Junior here isn’t making me want to puke, so I’m taking advantage. Simone?” Eden asked. “Where’d you go?”

  “We’re at the far end of the exhibit. Apologies. I might have gotten distracted by one of the paintings.” Simone’s voice held an undertone of awe.

  “Yeah, well, keep your head in the game,” Jack said. “And your eyes open for Fremont.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jack winced. He knew that irritated tone.

  “I feel like I should s
ay something so people remember we’re here.” Allie’s voice came in with a touch of static. “Can someone deliver a doggie bag to the van?”

  “Max, fix that feed, please,” Vince said.

  “On it,” Max confirmed. “Greta, I started recording as soon as you arrived.”

  “Understood.” Greta looked about to say something to Jack, but something caught her attention. For a moment, Jack thought she’d spotted Fremont, but the smile that spread across her face held nothing but joy. “Yvette. You made it!” Greta stepped away from Jack toward a stunning brunette who looked equally pleased to see Greta.

  “I’m sorry we’re late,” Yvette apologized as they hugged. “But I swear it was for a good reason. Richard’s been headhunted.”

  “Sounds painful,” Jack inserted.

  Yvette’s gaze slid to him before returning to Greta. “I think that’s your man’s way of suggesting you introduce us, Greta.”

  Jack grinned. He liked her already. “Jack McTavish.” He held out his hand.

  “Yvette Konstinopolis. And this is my husband, Richard.”

  “Pleasure.” Richard, a few inches taller and quite a few pounds heavier than Jack, returned the greeting. “Yvette’s right, Greta. It’s entirely my fault we’re late.”

  “So, you’ve found a new venture?” Greta asked him. “Tell me about it.”

  “Ah.” Richard turned dubious eyes on his wife. “Maybe now isn’t the time.”

  “What? Why not?” Greta asked.

  Yvette’s smile dimmed. “He’s been offered a VP position in a tech company. In Singapore. We leave next month.”

  Jack moved in as Greta’s shoulders drooped. “Oh.”

  “I know it’s messed up,” Yvette confessed. “I mean, here I finally talk you into moving here, and then I go and abandon you. I’m so sorry, Greta. The timing couldn’t be worse, what with Lyndon’s death and everything.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Greta insisted, but Jack heard the tightness in her voice. “It’s a wonderful opportunity. For both of you. You deserve every bit of happiness you can grab. Congratulations, Richard.”

  “Thank you, Greta.”

  “I just hate leaving you alone,” Yvette admitted and leaned into her husband as he moved closer.

  “You won’t be alone.” Allie’s voice echoed in both their ears. Jack could have kissed his psychologist friend for knowing exactly what to say.

  “Singapore’s just a plane ride away, right?” Greta said and moved off with Yvette to continue their conversation.

  “Greta has an open invitation to visit anytime,” Richard told Jack as he was handed a glass of Scotch. “And you, too, of course.”

  “Appreciate that.” Jack kept his eyes moving about the room. He estimated a good three hundred people had shown up for the exhibition. But he still hadn’t seen even an inkling of Doyle Fremont. He did see the gallery’s curator placing red-circle stickers next to a number of Greta’s paintings.

  “Someone in particular you’re looking for?” Richard asked.

  Jack didn’t realize he’d been so conspicuous. He debated for a second, then realized another pair of eyes couldn’t hurt. “I’d heard Doyle Fremont might attend.”

  Richard cringed behind his glass.

  “I take it you aren’t a fan?” Jack liked Richard Konstinopolis more by the minute.

  “Arrogant creep. And about as fake as a six-dollar bill. Sorry.” Richard shook his head. “Must have forgotten my filter at home. A good friend of mine dated him for a while. Suffice it to say she was not treated well. I also don’t carry an affinity for people who gobble up companies just to sell them off and put people out of work. You know, word has it he’s not in as great financial shape as he says. I really hope that’s true.”

  “You don’t say?” Interesting. Everything he’d heard outside of law enforcement said Doyle Fremont walked on water.

  “Oh, I do. And so do a lot of others. It’s entirely possible the shine is finally wearing off. Speaking of shine—” Richard shifted his focus to one of Greta’s paintings across the room “—I think I’ve just found the first addition to our new home. If you don’t mind?”

  “Please.” Jack watched as Richard moved off to speak with Collette Sorenson. She nodded and, after a moment, placed a sticker next to the painting Richard had his eye on. “Well, I’ll be. You guys seeing this?”

  “No, actually,” Allie mumbled. “See what?”

  Pride surged through him. “Greta’s paintings are almost all sold.”

  “Well, I know one that is,” Vince said. “And you have my wife to thank.”

  “When art speaks to you, you listen,” Simone added. “Has anyone seen Fremont yet?”

  “No,” Eden said. “And I’m running out of food.”

  “Perhaps you could stop doing your impression of a Hoover and focus?” Simone suggested.

  Jack chuckled and scanned the room for Greta. His smile faded when he didn’t see her. He did a walk-around and still didn’t find her. He spotted Yvette heading over to her husband, but Greta was nowhere in sight. Pulse pounding, he set his glass on the closest table. “Yvette? Where’s Greta?”

  “Ladies’ room. Why?”

  Jack didn’t answer. He headed into the hallway toward the restrooms.

  “Jack? We may have a problem.” Max’s voice was too calm in Jack’s ear. “We’ve lost all surveillance camera feed. Dead screens.” Fingers tapped on computer keys. “All of them. Entire gallery.”

  “Does anyone have eyes on her? Greta, can you hear me?” Jack pressed his earwig deeper into his ear as if that would help connect with her. “Greta...”

  “Jack.” Someone touched his arm. Jack spun around and found the assistant DA and her PI husband right behind him. “She’s not answering,” Simone said.

  “Check the ladies’.”

  “All right.” She hurried down the hall.

  Vince checked his watch. “Max, what is going on?” When there wasn’t any answer, Vince’s eyes went sharp. “Something’s wrong. I’m not getting anything from Max now.” He tapped his ear. “Eden? Cole? Bowie? Anyone read?”

  Dead silence.

  Simone rushed up to them. “She’s not in there. Someone said there was an out-of-order sign up until a few minutes ago. She must have gone upstairs or down.”

  Jack swore. Eden and Cole emerged from the closest display room and joined them. “We can’t hear each other,” Eden said.

  “I’m guessing there’s a signal jammer in play,” Vince said, and as he looked around, they saw people trying to get signals on the cell phones. “First the cameras, now our coms and cells. We need to split up and find Greta. Now.”

  “Cole, call in the reinforcements. Have them watch every exit for a sign of Fremont. He must have gotten in when the cameras went down.”

  “Pretty high-risk move to try that,” Simone observed as Cole and Eden headed down a level.

  “He’s dead broke,” Jack reminded her. “And desperate.” And he knew just how far desperate men were willing to go to protect themselves. “I’ll head up. Vince—”

  “Go. I’ve got this.” Vince slapped him on the shoulder, and he and Simone hurried off.

  Jack flew up the stairs, dread and fear locking hard around his chest.

  * * *

  Greta needed to get back downstairs. Finding the bathroom on her exhibit level closed for cleaning meant she’d had to look elsewhere. She shouldn’t have drunk that second glass of champagne. She straightened her dress, stepped out of the stall and washed her hands, took an extra minute to refresh her lipstick and smooth her hair.

  The voices in her ear had gone silent, another warning that she needed to get back to Jack and the others. Clearly she’d gone out of range, and Jack was not going to be happy about that.

  She pulled open the door.

 
The scream froze in her throat. Her hands went slack, and her clutch dropped to the floor.

  “Hello, Greta.” Doyle Fremont stood there, hands clasped behind his back, as if he’d been waiting for her. “How nice to finally meet you in person.”

  Greta pressed a finger against her ear. “Jack? Vince? Allie?” Each name burned in her throat.

  “They can’t hear you.” He reached into his suit-jacket pocket and pulled out a small device with a blinking green light. “Signal jammer.”

  “They aren’t far away,” Greta told him and tried to ignore the recognizable look in his dead eyes. She’d seen that same one weeks before. When he’d killed Calhoun. “They’ll be looking for me.”

  “Don’t worry. They’ll find you soon enough.” He dropped the jammer back into his pocket and locked his other hand around her upper arm. “Come with me.”

  “What? No!” She struggled, kicked out with her pointed stilettos and caught him hard on the shin.

  He swore but didn’t loosen his hold. Instead, he pulled a gun out of the back of his waistband and jabbed it into her ribs. “You’re going to come with me.” He moved in, his breath hot against the side of her face. “Or I’m going to go downstairs and see if your boyfriend, Detective McTavish is as bulletproof as they say.”

  “In front of all those people?” Greta actually snorted. “I don’t think so.”

  “The FBI is searching my home and businesses as we speak. Do you really believe I don’t have anything left to lose?” He pressed the barrel of the gun harder into her ribs. “Now, move. Not that way.” He yanked her back hard when she headed for the main stairs. “This way.” He dragged her with him to an emergency staircase. She could feel the thunder reverberating against the building, heard the rain pelting against the windows. Scrambling for an idea, she purposely caught her foot on the doorframe and tripped. One of her shoes went flying off.

  She cried out, made a show of wanting to grab it, then clung to a fast-moving Fremont as he plunged up the stairs to the roof.

  * * *