by Lois Richer
“Yeah.” The kid preened a little. “The light was sweet. I stood—hey!”
Brendan tried to pull the camera free but the boy had a death grip on it. “I need to see the shots you just took, Dash. The ones of Ritchie and his friend.”
“Your mama didn’t teach you how to say please?” Dash made a face, then hit the preview button which showed each of the pictures already taken and held it out. “Is that what you want?”
“Yeah. That’s it all right.” Brendan noted every detail he could discern, which wasn’t much. These pictures didn’t have the usual clarity of the assistant photographer’s work, but they were better than nothing. “Dash, I’m going to have to confiscate your camera.”
“Not gonna happen, dude.” Dash stepped back, taking his camera with him, jaw thrust out stubbornly. “You need a warrant to do that. Have you got one?” The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “I didn’t think so.”
“It’s FBI business, Dash. And it’s very important.” Brendan held his ground, refusing to say more but desperate to get that camera.
“Why?” the kid demanded, as if sensing a hot story.
Colleen had taught him well. Brendan would have to thank his newshound cousin for passing on her curious nature to this rookie.
“I can’t say. But if you won’t give me the camera, I’ll have to take you with me to the station.”
“Fine. Let’s go.” Dash looked unimpressed, music blasting from his dangling earphones.
“What’s Al going to say about that?” Brendan demanded, hoping he could still intimidate the younger man. “Your editor’s not a happy soul at the best of times. Having to bail you out is going to send him on another cranky fit.”
“I’ll handle it. Thanks for worrying, though.”
“Oh, come on, Dash!” Brendan suppressed the urge to grab him by his scruffy collar and shake the camera free. “Just give me that camera!” He needed to see that man, to run his photo through their database and find out what Ritchie was up to.
“Calm down, Bren,” Quinn scolded, sending a message with his eyes. He turned to Dash. “Maybe you could make copies of the pictures you took and give them to him. Is that possible?”
“Possible.” Dash watched Brendan for some sign that would give away his desperate need to see what secret the camera held.
“That would be fine.” Remembering Chloe’s comment about reading his expression, Brendan kept his face in neutral. “Let’s go to the Sentinel now. You can print out a couple of copies for me.” Brendan led the way to the nearby building, held the door and waited for his brother and Dash to pass through. A quick check of the street offered no sign of Ritchie Stark or his black-clad companion.
“You guys sure are pushy. Must be something big happening. Care to share?” Dash’s question carried across the room to Colleen, who immediately came over to see what they were doing.
“What’s going on?” she asked as Dash set the camera up to the printing dock.
“Feds want copies of my pix.” Dash pulled the color prints from the machine and handed them over. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic.” Brendan scoured the features for something that would identify the not-very-clear likeness of the man talking to Ritchie. Nothing.
“Who is he?” Colleen demanded.
“I don’t know. Yet.” He folded the papers, tucking them into his shirt pocket. “I thought I’d seen him before, but now—”
“You’re not so sure, huh?” Dash shook his head. “I should complain about brutality or something.”
Quinn burst out laughing. “Oh, come on! You know you love showing your work to everybody, Dash. You should be flattered Bren asked to see it.”
But Brendan could see Colleen wasn’t buying it. She stood beside him, peered at the pictures on Dash’s desk for several moments then lifted her head to look at Brendan’s face.
“You really don’t know who he is?” she asked so quietly the others couldn’t hear.
“No. It’s just—I feel like I know him. Or I’ve seen him somewhere. I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.”
“A hunch, huh?” She nodded. “I’ve had them myself.”
He knew what was coming before she said it.
“You will share with us, as we’ve shared with you, when you figure it out, won’t you, cousin?”
“I’ll try.” It was the best he could do. Brendan turned toward the door—remembered something. “Dash said you were talking to this guy the day the mayor was shot. What was he asking?”
“Stuff about the locals mostly. I thought maybe he used to live here.”
“Can you remember any specifics?”
“Um.” She thought a moment. “I think he said his name was Redding. Harry Redding, maybe? He asked about the Vances, especially Peter and Emily. We talked about Manuel a bit. Nothing major. I told him I was a Montgomery, blabbed a little family history, talked about Max being a good mayor, that kind of thing.”
“Sounds funny for a tourist. Why would he care?”
“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just being friendly. Anyway, he bought some maps of the city, took a couple of books we give to tourists and left.”
“Okay. Well, thanks for telling me.” Like everything else, Brendan tucked the information away. He checked his watch. “I guess I’d better go. I’m supposed to talk to someone about the model club.”
“How’s that going?” Colleen matched him step for step to the doorway, with Quinn on her other side.
“It’s going. Not good enough, judging by the amount of kids who’ve been through the hospital this week with complications from drugs. I wish I could reach more of them.” He recalled Chloe’s words about the cardiac problems she’d treated. “Why is it so easy for them to get to the stuff? I thought we’d dealt with all that last year when the Diablo crime syndicate was dismantled.”
“Apparently we didn’t make a big enough dent if someone’s back so soon.”
Brendan was surprised when Colleen followed him outside. Her next words shocked him even more.
“What do you know about the new museum, Bren?”
He thought about it, shook his head. “Less than nothing. All I’ve heard is talk about the place. Why do you ask?”
“Just curiosity.”
“Colorado Springs Impressionist Museum.” Quinn shrugged. “I know it. I delivered some building stuff there. It’s going to have a woman curator, a proper British lady named Dahlia Sainsbury.”
“Sainsbury. I remember now. I was talking to one of the shop owners about a donation for the Christmas baskets I want to do and she said she might have something for me. But I never heard back from her.” Something in Colleen’s expression told Brendan she knew more than she was saying. He decided to wait, let her tell him.
“I was up there the other day, thought I’d do a little preliminary work for a feature I’ll be doing when the place opens. Owen Frost was there.”
“The deputy mayor? What’s he got to do with art?”
“Good question, Bren. Ms. Sainsbury danced around that question like it was a hot tamale, but she never explained his presence. While we were talking, Owen skulked out of there as if I’d caught him with his fingers in the cookie jar. I thought I’d hang around outside, take some notes, get an angle. Then this guy drives up in a big black car, goes inside as if he owns the place.”
“So you asked him his name?” Quinn said in a shocked voice. “That’s bold even for you, Colleen.”
“Of course I didn’t ask him.” Her disgust rang clear. “I tried to listen under a window, but nothing they were saying was very clear. They seemed to be unpacking those crates she’s been getting in all week.”
“Maybe he’s a co-owner?” He watched her face.
“Maybe. But a suit like that usually doesn’t bother with menial things like unpacking.” Colleen shrugged. “Just pricked my curiosity so I thought I’d mention it to you.”
“You’re probably barking up the wrong tree again, Colleen. He’s proba
bly an art donor or something,” Brendan speculated aloud while his brain chewed up her information for future processing.
“I think he and Ms. Sainsbury are a little closer than that,” Colleen offered, eyes dancing with fun. “I stopped by yesterday to ask about the grand opening. The two were in a, er, compromising situation?”
“So?” Quinn shrugged.
“When she saw me, Dahlia pretended the guy was her brother. But the embrace they were sharing wasn’t the least brotherly.”
Brendan grinned. Trust Colleen to find a story where there wasn’t one.
“Maybe she was afraid you’d steal her guy. You read too many spy novels, cousin,” he teased, ruffling her hair as he had when they were kids.
“Stop that!” Colleen back away, red spots of anger highlighting her cheekbones. “Laugh if you want. But when this suit shows up in some nefarious scheme and you miss it, I’ll be the one who’s laughing.” She stalked back into the newspaper office without a backward look, her rigid shoulders testifying to her anger.
“Why do you do that, Bren?” Quinn demanded as they walked back to where they’d parked their vehicles. “She’s a great kid, but you deliberately antagonize her.”
“You aren’t doing her any favors, either, calling her a kid,” Brendan reminded him, then sighed. His brother was right, he shouldn’t have done it. But he didn’t want Colleen poking her nose in where it shouldn’t go, particularly if Owen Frost was nearby. He had questions about that guy. “I’ll get Mom’s place to send over a box of doughnuts tomorrow. Maybe that will help Colleen forgive me.”
“At least her colleagues will appreciate the gesture.” Quinn checked his watch. “Oh, man, I’ve got to get going.”
“What’s the rush on a Sunday afternoon?” Brendan asked, curious about his brother’s sudden haste.
“I’m working on some Christmas gifts. You might want to start thinking about that yourself, you know.” Quinn gave him one of those older brother glares.
“It’s only the beginning of November!”
“Exactly. That means you’ve got lots of time to plan what you’re going to give. You know, shop ahead of the Christmas Eve rush.” Quinn’s words reminded Brendan of past years when he’d frantically scoured stores while they were trying to close their doors.
“I like shopping late,” he defended. “I work better under pressure.”
“Save it, bro.” Quinn shook his head sadly. “I know the truth. Anyway, it was just a thought. Don’t want to cramp your style or anything.”
“It’s the shirt, right?” Brendan thumped his shoulder. “I knew you didn’t like it the minute you opened it and you’re still holding it against me. Why didn’t you give it back? I’d have gotten you something else?”
“Like what? Pink fleece pants to match?” Quinn shuddered and stepped backward as if afraid they’d appear. “Forget it. I’m sure someone at the charity shop really enjoys having ‘Looking for Love’ emblazoned across their fuzzy pink chest, but somehow it just wasn’t my look. Know what I mean?”
“Now you’re impugning my taste.”
“Impugning. That the word of the day, Bren?” Quinn roared with laughter at Brendan’s shrug.
“It’s a good word,” he said defensively.
“Lovely word. Impugn. I gotta remember to use that on Mom. See you.” Quinn waved, climbed into his truck and took off, still chuckling.
Brendan reached for the door handle of his vehicle, his humor fading at the sound of crackling paper from his pocket. He lifted the pictures out, took a second look, reconsidered. First Ritchie Stark was talking to someone acting suspiciously and now somebody named Harry Redding asking questions about the Vances.
The niggling feeling crept up his neck again, reminding him something wasn’t quite right. And that he needed to figure it out.
Soon.
“Is it finished?” The gravelly voice emerged from the darkened tunnel before the man appeared, whipcord lean. “Tell me.”
“Not yet. The mayor is kept under tight guard.”
“Because you messed up. I don’t pay for mistakes.” Black eyes leveled a glare at the fumbler while long lean fingers smoothed over the lethal pistol clutched tightly against his hip. “And the woman—the nurse?”
“I told you. She knows nothing. She hit her head.”
“Apparently not hard enough. It’s time you fixed that.”
“And make it more obvious who the target is?”
“Fool!” A curse fractured the eerie silence. “They already know someone is after the mayor thanks to your mistakes. Use your imagination this time and make them both look like accidents. Soon.”
Chapter Six
“Brendan says—”
Chloe almost groaned at the sixth reference to a man she’d prefer not to think about. Like that was possible. She grabbed her purse and held the door, waiting for Kyle to exit as she watched another minute tick past on the kitchen clock.
“Sweetie, you’ll have to tell me later. If you’re going to this model club, we have to go now. As it is, Maddy and I will probably be late for karate.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He opened his mouth to argue with Madison about who should sit in the front seat, took one look at his mother’s face and got in the back before describing an even better asset of the handsome FBI agent.
Chloe forced herself to tune out Kyle’s admiration speech. The autumn evenings lost light early now allowing the chill of the snow-capped Rockies to sweep over the town, hinting at winter’s approach. She whispered another prayer for the good weather to last, at least until the soccer match was over, then wondered why she hadn’t been smart enough to choose Hawaii for her new home.
Kyle was still talking. “So anyway, Brendan said that if I did some work with him between meetings, I wouldn’t be behind the others at all.”
“That’s nice of him. But honey, you have to remember that Brendan’s work takes him all over the country. He might not always be around to work on things with you. His job is very demanding and I’m sure it comes first.”
“He said I could call him whenever I wanted,” Kyle sniped, his teenage temper rending his face surly in her rearview mirror. “Whenever I make a friend, you’re always trying to drive them away. Dad, the guys, Brendan. Why do you hate them all?”
Chloe drove into the church parking lot and hit the brakes, her own fuse burning low.
“That is not true and you know it. I don’t hate anyone. I’m merely reminding you that Brendan has more than the club going on. He’s a busy man, an important man.” Was she reminding him or herself? “He might not always be able to be there the moment you call him. I hope you’re old enough to accept that.”
“Like you’d let me forget.” He yanked the door open. “Nag, nag, nag. It’s no wonder Dad doesn’t want to see us.”
Chloe clamped her mouth down on the retort she could have given, struggled to retain her equanimity. “I’ll pick you up in an hour and a half, Kyle. Be waiting, okay?”
“Hi, Chloe. Why don’t I run him home? It’ll save you coming back here. I’m sure you don’t need the extra trip and it’s on my way.”
For a moment Chloe thought the voice was in her head until she saw Brendan’s grin flash in the glow of the overhead light. Kyle gave her a glower that needed no translation.
“Is that okay with you?” Brendan asked after greeting Maddy.
“It’s fine with me as long as it’s not too much trouble for you.”
“It’s not.” He stood back while Kyle launched himself from the van, a half smile on his face as he studied her expression. “Don’t worry, I’ll watch out for him. He’ll be fine.”
“I hope so.” Chloe mustered a smile that lasted until she was two blocks down the street, but as she drove she wondered if Kyle would ever stop blaming her for Steve’s shortcomings.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Maddy offered, her sweet face troubled. “He’ll get over it. He doesn’t mean it anyway. He’s just venting.”
�
�I know, honey,” she offered quietly. Madison saw through her facade.
“But it hurts anyway, doesn’t it?” she asked and nodded in that adult way she had of understanding things that hadn’t been spoken. “I’m going to tell Kyle to grow up. We’re a family. We need to stick together.”
“We sure do, honey. Thanks.” Grateful that Maddy hadn’t yet reached those tumultuous teen years, Chloe pulled into the parking lot across from the karate school. “Are you ready for tonight?”
“I guess.” Madison grabbed her bag and shoved open her door. “Karate’s not as easy as soccer, but it is fun. You gotta keep focused though.”
“You certainly do. I wanted you to try it because I think a girl needs to feel strong, powerful, to be able to protect herself.” Don’t be like me, Maddy.
“I’m already strong and powerful. I couldn’t play soccer if I wasn’t.”
“True.” Chloe gave up trying to explain this inner need to ensure her child never became the person she’d been, needy—hurting, always struggling to keep out of the way so life didn’t knock her over. Maddy was strong and beautiful, and she was learning to manage life on her own terms.
“We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry.”
“So who’s not hurrying?” Chloe grabbed her own bag, locked the van, then grabbed Maddy’s hand and raced across to the building. “If those are raindrops on my nose, we just might get a Chinook for your game.”
“We might also get snow,” Maddy cautioned, eyes narrowed as she studied the night sky like a wise old owl.
“True.” Chloe smiled at her as they repeated the phrase they’d heard a thousand times, ever since moving here. “But if we wait five minutes, the weather will change.”
Inside, a friend waited for Madison and the two scooted away, giggling on their way to change clothes in the dressing room.
Chloe followed them until she realized that she’d left her purse in the car. She’d need her brush afterward and so would those rebellious curls of Maddy’s. “Maddy, I forgot something. I’ll be back in a minute.”
