Trace of Doubt

by DiAnn Mills

  Isaac pushed me against the concrete wall, and I slid to the step. He opened fire on the man nearest us, then turned to the man who thundered down the steps.

  Isaac shot. Grazed the man’s arm.

  I rolled to the landing beside the man who had a gaping hole in his chest and blank eyes.

  Isaac punched the jaw of the man on the steps. He knocked Isaac’s gun from his hands, and it fell beside me. I wanted to pick it up, help the situation, but I froze.

  “Give me his gun!”

  Isaac sent a fist into the masked man’s stomach, sending him toppling down the stairs. I hugged the wall on the landing. Isaac jumped over the dead man and retrieved his own weapon.

  The man grabbed me. I kicked and hit him. He swung me around with my back slammed against him. The gun barrel pressed into my temple, and his other arm wrapped across my throat. “It’s over, old man.”

  Isaac straddled the dead man. He raised his hands with his gun in his right. “Police are on the way.”

  “But not before I finish my job. Drop the gun. Slowly.”

  “No need for this,” I said. “You have me—let him go.”

  “Shut up.” The man tightened his hold against my throat.

  Isaac slowly bent.

  I sank my teeth into the man’s arm and drove my fist into his groin. He cried out and jerked me sideways, giving Isaac time to throw his weight into me and the man.

  The man released me. I pulled away, coughing. Fighting for air.

  The gun fired. The bullet went wild. But Isaac had the advantage and wrenched the weapon from the man’s hand while jerking his injured arm behind his back.

  “You okay?” He kept his attention on the man.

  “Yes.” I stared at him for signs of blood other than his face and shirt.

  Isaac leaned on his right leg. Blood seeped from his right knee. “Who you working for?” He pulled on the masked man’s arm.

  “Forget it, old man.”

  “This old man knows how to make you talk.” He yanked harder.

  “You’re breaking my arm!”

  “Answer my question or I’ll break both of them.” Isaac inched the arm upward. “Who hired you?”

  “I have my rights.”

  “So do the people you try to kill.” Isaac slammed his face into the wall, leaving an impression of the man’s head. He swung the man around. “Give me a name, or would you like me to break your jaw? I know how to make sure you spend the rest of your life drinking through a straw.” Isaac drew back his fist.

  “All right! Eli Chandler.”

  42

  DENTON

  Old friends are like gold nuggets—they increase their value with time. Mike had driven me home from the hospital yesterday. Hadn’t seen him in six years, since he’d been transferred to Dallas, and the few hours in his car gave us time to talk. He’d lost his hair. Also added a couple inches to his belt. I tried to get him to stay with me at the cabin, but he claimed he wasn’t a nurse and had work to do, preferably in a hotel room in Valleysburg. As it was, I crawled into bed at four thirty in the afternoon and slept until my alarm went off the next morning.

  Hobbling around the cabin on crutches had a learning curve . . . a big one. The face looking back at me in the mirror reminded me of a horror movie. Isaac’s comment about looking like roadkill hit spot-on. If the FBI refused to keep me on, I might find a job in Hollywood. No makeup required. Maybe I could scare Clay Pearce into giving Mike and me something we could use. I maneuvered to the stable to feed Big Red. I was sure from the time it took to fill the feed bucket and pump water, he thought we were gearing up for a long ride.

  After seeing my condition, Mike had revised the pickup time to seven thirty. Figured we would grab some breakfast on our way to Sharp’s Creek. But Mike’s internal clock meant he’d be here at seven. I’d learned that mannerism after working as his partner for two weeks. I’d been a slow learner.

  Seeing I had fifteen minutes to spare, I checked in with the FIG for info on Eli Chandler and whatever they’d dug up between him, Clay Pearce, and Travis Stover.

  Additional information showed Chandler had a reputation as a hired assassin. Besides what I’d read about him yesterday, he’d led an organized-crime group associated with human trafficking, drugs, illegal arms, money laundering, and whatever it took to keep those businesses afloat. While organized crime moved money around the world through various means to clean it up, I questioned if Chandler ran or worked for a syndicate. If he ran an operation, he wouldn’t have been on a hit job. The only documented link with Pearce came from the six-month employment years ago. Chandler definitely grew his moneymaking horizons after serving donuts.

  Personal background indicated he’d been divorced and signed off on parental rights for three kids to avoid paying child support. His parents and two brothers hadn’t seen him in two decades. No current girlfriend or significant other listed. Now he fled the FBI and dodged local law enforcement.

  Mike arrived at straight-up 7:00. By 7:05, we were heading east to Sharp’s Creek. “We’ll catch coffee and breakfast on the way at a McDonald’s drive-through.”

  We’d shared plenty of breakfasts en route to running down bad guys and interviews. At least it wasn’t a no-name convenience store without a microwave.

  “I have an update on Eli Chandler.” I revealed what I’d learned. “He’s working for someone. The kingpin wouldn’t expose himself and do the grunt work.”

  “Makes sense that he’d been hired to eliminate Shelby. If only we knew who the boss is and his motive.” He glanced at me. “Your face looks worse than last night.”

  “Thanks. At least I still have hair.”

  Mike chuckled. “Bald is beautiful. Except your white hair makes you look older than me. What are you now? Forty-two?”

  “Forty.”

  “You’ll grow into your white hair.”

  My turn to chuckle.

  “How has Shelby changed?”

  Caution rang out an alert when it came to her. “Rehabilitated.”

  “I’ve read her prison file. Hope she makes it.”

  “My bet’s on her.”

  “From the tone of your voice, I’d say she’s more than a friend.”

  “Ridiculous.” I shook my head. “She learned her lesson and paid her debt.”

  “Has the cute, innocent-looking kid grown into a beautiful woman, or has prison life hardened her?”

  “Haven’t paid much attention.”

  “Liar.” Mike smirked.

  My phone alerted me to a call. “Hold on, this is Shelby.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  I ignored him and answered the call. “Can you talk?” she said.

  “Sure. My former partner and I are driving to Sharp’s Creek. What’s up?”

  “Two shooters found me and Isaac last evening. One man’s dead. Isaac’s wounded but okay.”

  “Mind if I put this on speaker?”

  “Go ahead.”

  I pressed Speaker and placed the phone on the console. “Where were you when this happened?”

  “At the hotel . . .”

  I listened, while my gut seared with the idea of Aaron and Isaac paying a price in this mess. “Have the shooters been identified?”

  “Yes, the man in custody is Nick Hanson, and the dead man is Stan Watkins.”

  “Okay. And Isaac’s not in the hospital?”

  “He’s in the hospital all right. Sitting by Aaron’s bed with a bandage wrapped around his knee. I’m at another hotel.”

  “Address?” I jotted down the location. “Check in with me every hour. A text will do.”

  “What’s going on in Sharp’s Creek?”

  “A conversation with your dad.”

  “I’ll keep my word to check in if you’ll tell me later why you and another agent are paying my dad a visit.”

  “All right. Will fill you in later.”

  “Is the agent Mike Kruse, your old partner?”

  I glance
d at him and he nodded. “Yes.”

  “The past weaves us all back together, doesn’t it? Denton, how’s talking to my dad going to figure out anything?”

  “Can’t go into it.”

  “Okay for now. I don’t want anyone else hurt because of me. Between the two of you, please figure out who’s behind this and stop them. The last thing I need is to have Edie, Amy-Jo, or Marissa dragged into a firefight.”

  “We’re doing everything we can.”

  She sighed. “You’re doing far more than I deserve, and I appreciate every painful step.”

  “The meds help.” I laughed when I wished she sat in the car with me.

  “I’m not far from a bus stop, so I’m returning to Valleysburg in a couple of hours.”

  What was she thinking? “Tell me you’re teasing.”

  “This makes sense to me. I’m finished with exchanging one cell for another and endangering others’ lives.”

  Mike huffed and took over. “We’ll pick you up once we’re done in Sharp’s Creek.”

  “Take a long look at Denton, Aaron, and Isaac. Once I’m back at the cabin, I’ll figure out the next step. I don’t need you two to pick me up.” She clicked off.

  I whipped my attention to Mike. “I’m calling Isaac. I want to hear from him what happened.”

  43

  Each excruciating limp to the Pearces’ door instilled the need for one of Nurse Giggle’s wonder injections. And the need to find who was behind these crimes. Robins sang from a perch on a power line. The sky shone a bright, clear blue. A small boy pedaled a bike down the street, and a woman busied herself in a flower bed.

  Isaac had given me the rundown on his exploits with Shelby. The two men who’d attacked him in the hotel’s parking lot and then in the stairwell had been identified as low-life thugs. One dead and the other lawyered up.

  Clay must have seen me coming because the door opened before I raised a fist to knock. “Morning, Clay. This is Agent Mike Kruse. You probably recall him from Shelby’s case.”

  Mike reached out to shake his hand, but Clay refused. His face hardened. “I remember. What’s the reason you’re back?”

  I took the lead unless the interview went south. “We’d like to talk, ask a few questions.”

  “About?”

  “FBI business.”

  “Why not a phone call?”

  “It’s a sensitive conversation to have and one we prefer face-to-face.”

  Clay stepped aside. “Make it quick. My wife’s sleeping, and when she wakes up, I need to be with her.”

  I clumsily maneuvered my crutches by him and Mike followed. “Appreciate this,” I said. “How is your wife?”

  The lines deepened in his face. “Not good. She sleeps most of the time. Heavily sedated. Hospice is a 24-7 job.”

  “I’m sorry. Can’t imagine how hard this must be.”

  Clay gestured into the living room. “We can talk in here, Agents.”

  “Denton.”

  “Mike.”

  Clay nodded and eased onto a worn corduroy recliner where I’d sat previously. We sank onto a threadbare sofa. The tension in the room equaled when Shelby and I were there.

  He pointed to my crutches. “How did you get beat up?”

  “Rear-ended. Hit-and-run.”

  “A drunk?”

  “Doubtful.”

  Clay drew in a heavy breath. “Do the questions have anything to do with your accident?”

  “I think so. Since Shelby’s release, new information about the embezzlement case has surfaced.”

  He froze. “Is she in trouble?”

  “Someone wants her dead. She’s been threatened repeatedly, and right now the FBI has her in a safe house, the third attempt to keep her alive. The wrong people discovered the first two and attacked. Two agents have been shot.”

  “She’s okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “The others will recover?”

  “One of the agents on protective duty nearly lost his life.”

  Clay dragged a hand over his face. “She was safer in prison.”

  “Yes, sir.” I noted the distress around his eyes. “The FBI is on it, but progress is slow.”

  “Where do I fit in this?”

  “A shooter claimed Eli Chandler hired him.”

  Clay stiffened. “Chandler?”

  I nodded. “He worked for you six months after Shelby’s sentencing.”

  “I fired him. Found him dipping his hands into the cash register.”

  I leaned back. My leg hurt but taking a pain pill lessened my game.

  “Do the names Nick Hanson, Arthur Shell, or Stan Watkins sound familiar?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you something?” Mike said. When Clay motioned for Mike to go ahead, he continued. “Why didn’t you press charges against Chandler?”

  “Rough times back then. Shelby had been convicted of manslaughter. My wife had a breakdown. Marissa grieved and was pregnant with Aria.”

  “The FBI’s been investigating a money-laundering case for over three years now. The trail has led to Sharp’s Creek.”

  “Sure your evidence’s accurate? This town isn’t exactly a hub of criminal or financial activity.”

  “We’ve learned in this business not to be surprised by anything. The problem is the investigation provided a name.”

  “Someone I know?”

  “Clay Pearce.”

  The shock on Clay’s face prompted Mike to hold up his hand. “Denton and I volunteered to talk to you because the situation seems like a setup.”

  “My name’s connected with money laundering?” Clay snorted. “Why? Look around you.” He gestured at the room. “Am I a man of means? Do you see where I live, my old car, the updates needed everywhere you look? With that kind of money, I’d have paid for my wife to try an experimental cancer treatment.”

  “I understand.” Mike kept his tone even. “When I read the report and talked to Denton, we questioned the validity.”

  Clay stood. “The thought of the FBI using my tax money in a ridiculous accusation like money laundering makes me furious.”

  “Would me too. Sit down, Clay. We’re friends here.” Clay obliged and Mike continued the conversation. “Is there anyone who’d want to destroy your reputation? Someone who holds a grudge against you?”

  “No one I can think of. Never had a bad time with anybody but Eli Chandler.”

  “Consider the person who confiscated the money. He or she might live in Sharp’s Creek and plan to keep their crime a secret.”

  Clay’s gaze darted between us. “I’m clueless. If anyone had come to my attention, I’d have gone to the FBI. Although Travis raised the money for African orphans, Marissa could have used every penny over the years. Have you talked to Shelby?”

  “She has no idea what’s going on.”

  “You’re of the opinion the threats stem from the missing money?”

  “The situation has our attention, Clay.”

  He closed his eyes, a worn man. “My family has suffered enough.” He looked at me and shook his head. “You saw my wife and Marissa the day you were here. Why this now?”

  “I see how you’re hurting,” I said. “It appears you’re victims again. We need your help to clear your name.”

  “How?”

  “We need a statement and for you to be aware the FBI is investigating you.”

  “As a person of interest?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whatever you need, I’ll do it. Will you keep it between us? Marissa has enough on her plate, and Aria is a good kid. Neither deserve their names dipped in manure.”

  “I figured you’d cooperate, and we’ll keep the situation quiet. Although it’s not likely connected, I have a question about Travis Stover.” When he nodded, I ventured ahead. “Did you approve of him marrying your daughter?”

  “Without hesitation. He was more of a godly man than I’d ever be. He loved Marissa and showed genuine interest i
n Shelby. His death hit me and the wife hard.”

  “Thanks. Even after Shelby confessed to shooting him, you claimed she couldn’t have killed him.”

  “Shelby refused to touch a gun. She had a rebellious streak a mile wide, but she drew the line on weapons. We used to spend lots of time together—she was a real daddy’s girl. I tried to persuade her to hunt with me, but no use. Her admission to shooting Travis sounded ridiculous. But Marissa swore Shelby had pulled the trigger, and she confessed to it. I thought I knew my daughter better than anyone else, but I was wrong. Marissa told me disgusting things about Shelby.”

  “What kind of things?” I said.

  Clay sighed. “Smoking. Drinking. Using drugs and selling them. Sleeping around since she was twelve. Hard for me to believe.” Sad eyes met mine. “I’m a bitter man. My wife’s and daughters’ lives were destroyed because of one tragic decision. Soon all I’ll have left is one daughter and Aria.”

  Clay’s voice softened when he’d spoken about Shelby’s and his past relationship. Not at all how he’d responded when I was here before. He loved her despite what she’d done. His emotions must frighten him. That I understood.

  44

  Between the pain in my battered body and whoever wanted my friends dead, I was in no mood for a smart-mouth. Nick Hanson had no idea how determined a wounded man could be. Mike and I had left Clay Pearce and driven to Houston, where we waited to interview Hanson, the man who’d attacked Isaac and Shelby in the stairwell. Hanson supposedly had no family. No job. No priors. But he had military experience.

  “I doubt this is his first offense,” I said. “More like the first time he’s been caught. According to Isaac, Hanson knew how to handle himself. Why don’t you lead the questioning since I look like I got hit by the wrong end of an ugly stick?”

  “And lost.” Mike gave me a thumbs-up. “I doubt he’ll be more afraid of me than you, but I’ll give it a shot.”

  The guard steered Hanson inside. He had the physique of a man who frequented the gym. Isaac was a beast for taking him down.

  Hanson sneered. “The Feds, huh? Tell me why I have the pleasure of your company.”