“You learned a lot in just one morning,” Lucy said.
“When young kids are involved, I think it’s best to move quickly.”
“Thank you.”
“I wouldn’t be here except Micah insisted.” Alex glanced out the window and smiled. “He’s a hard kid to say ‘no’ to. I’ll make a visit happen.”
“I appreciate it.” She then asked, “Did you find his mother’s body?”
Noah answered that. “The FBI evidence response team has been out there all night, using Sean’s map, and yes, we found her body. They’re exhuming it now for autopsy, then proper burial. But you were right—two bullets to her head.”
“And what about the others?”
Alex spoke. “DEA is handling the investigation into the drugs and distribution. Ann Nelson has been leading this dog-and-pony show for several years. She moves each season to a new location—either in a warehouse or the open space—bribes someone, or in this case involves a family member, and produces hundreds of pounds of meth. Based on the waste found in the forest, they probably manufactured thirty pounds of meth this summer in that one trailer. It was far more advanced a setup than your average garage meth-house.”
“Is that a lot?”
“A superlab, which is usually a permanent lab run by the cartels, produces about one hundred pounds annually, about twenty-five dollars a hit, a hundred thousand hits”—he did the math in his head—“so Ann’s operation, which is a third of the size of a superlab, was probably putting close to a million dollars of meth on the street. Not bad for a few months of work.” Alex leaned forward, almost giddy. “We think, after examining the burned-out trucks and what remained in the lab, that they had it all with them so it hadn’t hit the streets yet, which is good. Jeff Nelson is going to talk. His lawyer is working out a deal with the U.S. Attorney and I think we’re going get their entire network. This is hugely important because meth is relatively new on the East Coast—we haven’t been dealing with the problem as long as the West Coast, but we have seen an increase in mom-and-pop labs over the last couple years. This is a major blow to their network.”
“Good,” Sean said.
Lucy was happy with the results but Noah looked unsettled. “Noah, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know where to begin.”
Noah was very angry and Lucy became confused. She didn’t know what to say, why he was so deeply irritated. “I didn’t plan this,” she said. “It’s not like Sean and I knew they were there.”
Noah rubbed his face. “I don’t see where you could have done anything differently than you did, but you’d better be clear and straightforward when you give your official statement.”
Lucy’s confusion turned to worry, like she was missing something important. She said, “Last night you said the shooting was justified.”
“It was. But you’re still a trainee. You’re not supposed to be carrying a gun. I know it wasn’t yours, but it seems every time you slip under the radar, when things are working out for you, something like this happens and you’re in the spotlight again.”
Sean leaned forward. “What are you getting at, Noah? Spit it out, because you sound like a jerk.”
Lucy winced. Sean and Noah had never liked each other, even though for her sake they had been trying to get along.
“Dammit,” Noah muttered. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Paula called in the Office of Professional Responsibility to conduct the hearing tomorrow. It’s not going to be a breeze—not like the hearing after what happened in New York last month. You were following orders then. This was something that happened on your own clock.”
“I would do it again,” Lucy said. Her stomach turned queasy and had she eaten anything today she would have been ill. “Ann Nelson would have killed those boys. She killed their mother.”
“All I’m saying is, trouble finds you, Lucy. Stay on guard.”
Sean was going to say something, but Lucy took his hand and squeezed it. She didn’t need him to defend her. “Noah,” she said softly. She looked at the boys again. They were sitting on the swing out back, rocking, and Tommy was talking a mile a minute, pointing at everything. Micah was the strong, silent type, listening to and protecting his brother. Lucy suddenly wished she could keep them both, raise them—but that was a ridiculous thought. She and Sean weren’t married, she was embarking on a new career, and she was only twenty-five. She couldn’t give them what they needed. Not now.
“I can’t live my life constantly worried that what I do is going to jeopardize my career,” Lucy said. “I have to do what’s right and be confident in my decisions—otherwise I’ll never be a good agent. I’m not apologizing for the choices I made yesterday, no matter what the risk was, because they were the right choices at that time. If I hadn’t shot Ann, she would have killed Micah or me. And they teach us to shoot to kill, remember? I used my training appropriately. I don’t feel good about it but I don’t feel bad about it, either. Not when those boys now have a chance at a normal life.”
Normal. Maybe Tommy. He was still very young, and while he’d remember what happened, he had his older brother to look out for him.
But Micah would never forget the three days he was alone in the woods. He’d never forget finding his mother’s grave or watching Lucy shoot his mother’s killer.
But it didn’t matter in the end because all the things that happened to land them here were not their fault. Ann and her crew had made the choice to manufacture and sell drugs. Vicky Sanders had made the decision to bring her kids into that life. How they got out wasn’t as important as the fact that they were out, and had grandparents who loved and wanted to raise them.
Noah was torn because he wanted to protect her from facing the hard questions that OPR would give her. But life was hard. Lucy wasn’t going to run away or bury her head or beg for forgiveness. There was nothing to forgive.
“I understand,” Noah said. He stood up. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Chief O’Neal wants you in her office at seven to talk before the panel convenes at seven-thirty. She’s given you a pass tonight. She likes you, a lot more than Paula Dean.”
“I planned to be back by six tonight, I don’t want any special treatment—”
Sean put his hand over her mouth. “I’ll have her back at Quantico tomorrow morning.”
Alex stood as well. “For what it’s worth, I’ve already given my statement and your actions were appropriate, Agent Kincaid. You and Mr. Rogan not only saved the boys, but kept nearly a million dollars of drugs off the streets. And my SWAT team captain Lee North had similar things to say in his report. I’ve known Lee for six years. Praise from him is rare. You earned it.” He walked out to the backyard to get the boys.
“Thanks for the heads-up, Noah,” Lucy said.
“Just watch yourself tomorrow. Going up in front of OPR is never fun, even if you have the truth on your side.”
After everyone left, Sean made Lucy lunch. She picked at it, and he told her, “You must be starving.”
“My stomach is in knots.”
“About the panel tomorrow?”
“That. And Micah. He’s a brave kid. I wish—” She stopped herself. This wasn’t a conversation she was ready to have.
Sean took both her hands and kissed them. “You wish you could take him home with you.”
She squeezed back tears and shook her head. “I’m not ready to adopt a child. I’m just worried about him. What he’s going to be living with, inside, for the rest of his life. He’s brave, but he’s still a nine-year-old boy.”
“Micah and Tommy are going to be okay. They’re going to have a real home. That’s what they need. And that DEA agent, Johnson, seemed to be on top of things. I’m sure the grandparents will get Micah help if he needs it.”
“You’re right.” She looked at their joined hands. Her future had once been so bleak she didn’t know if she would ever really have one. “I guess I was just thinking that when the time is right, I want to take in kids who nee
d a home.”
“Kids like Micah and Tommy.”
She nodded.
“And when the time is right, I’ll be there with you. I’ve told you before, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.” He pushed her plate in front of her. “Now eat. Then we’re going to take a shower.”
She raised an eyebrow. “We?”
Sean grinned. “Yes, we. Together. We have a free night, and we’re not leaving this house. In fact, after we finish eating, we’re not leaving my bedroom.”
“Afraid that if we leave the house trouble will find us?”
“Afraid? No. Confident that trouble is outside that door? Hell, yes.”
And keep reading for an excerpt from
Allison Brennan’s exciting new series debut
NOTORIOUS
A Max Revere Novel
Available in April 2014 in hardcover
from Minotaur Books
CHAPTER 1
Going home was a bitch.
Maxine Revere had flirted with the idea of flying in solely for Kevin’s funeral so her perfect and dysfunctional family wouldn’t hear about her visit until she was already on a plane back to New York City. Three things stopped her.
Foremost, Max did not run away from uncomfortable situations. She recognized that she wasn’t the same nineteen-year-old who’d defied her family.
She’d also get a kick from walking into the family mansion unannounced and watching a reboot of Dallas, set in California. The Sterling-Revere family could take on the Ewings and win without breaking a nail or going to jail. Being the blackest sheep in the herd was more fun than taking two cross-country flights in one day.
But the primary reason she was staying for the weekend was for Kevin’s sister, Jodi O’Neal. Kevin had been Max’s former best friend and confidant. He’d killed himself, and Jodi had questions. Max had no answers for the college coed, but she understood why Jodi sought truth where there had only been lies. Max had survived grief, she’d been a close acquaintance with death, and maybe she could give Jodi a modicum of peace.
Traveling first-class had advantages, including prompt disembarking. Max strode off the plane at San Francisco International Airport, her long legs putting distance between her and the other passengers. Her two-inch heels made her an even six feet, but her confident stride and stunning looks caused heads to turn. She ignored the attention. Her cell phone vibrated and she ignored that, too.
Her full-time assistant and as-needed bodyguard, former army ranger David Kane, easily kept up with her. He turned heads as well, mostly from fear. When he wasn’t smiling, he looked like he’d kill you with no remorse or pleasure. He didn’t smile often. But as Max had learned, looks were a form of lying. David’s steel core protected him as much as her pursuit of truth protected Max.
“I don’t need you,” she told him. “We settled this yesterday, or were you placating me?”
“All I suggested was that I drive you to Atherton before I head to Marin.”
“It’s foolish for you to drive an hour out of your way. I’m not incapable of driving myself.” She ignored David’s subtle smirk. “And I need a car. This isn’t New York where I can walk everywhere or grab a taxi. Go. Emma is waiting.”
“If you’re sure.”
She glared at him. “She’s your daughter.”
“She comes with her mother.”
“I’m not the one who screwed Brittney in a failed attempt to prove I wasn’t gay,” Max said, “and I will not let you use me as an excuse to avoid the selfish bitch.” Tough love. David adored his twelve-year-old daughter, but her mother made their relationship difficult. Brittney wouldn’t let David spend a minute more with Emma than the court mandated, and the flight delay had already cost him two hours.
They wove through the crowd at baggage claim without slowing down, and stopped at the carousel where their luggage would be delivered.
“Emma wants to see you,” David said.
“The funeral is tomorrow. You’ll be on a plane to Hawaii Sunday morning. Enjoy your vacation—when you get back, if I’m still here, we can meet up in the city for lunch and I’ll take Emma shopping.”
David grunted. “She doesn’t need more clothes.”
“A girl can never have too many shoes.” Max doubted she’d have kids of her own, and she enjoyed playing aunt to David’s daughter when Emma visited him in New York.
Max parked herself near the carousel opening because she didn’t want to be here any longer than she had to. Airports were part of her life, but she grew tired of the waiting part. Before leaving Miami, she’d shipped one of her suitcases back home to New York; the second, smaller bag of essentials she’d brought with her to California. She didn’t plan to stay in town long.
“Ms. Revere?” an elderly voice behind her asked.
Max turned and looked down at an older couple. The man, at least eighty and maybe five foot four in lifts, stood with his wife, who barely topped five feet. They both had white hair and blue eyes and would have looked like cherubs if their faces weren’t so deeply wrinkled.
Max smiled politely. “Yes, I’m Maxine Revere.” She expected them to ask for autographs or question what investigation brought her to California. The true-crime show she hosted every month on cable television had been moving up in the ratings. When she only wrote newspaper articles and books, few people outside of the business knew what she looked like. Now that she was on camera, people approached her regularly.
There were pros and cons to being recognized. She was on a tight time schedule today, but the couple looked sweet.
“I told you, Henry,” the woman said to her husband. “I’m Penny Hoffman.” Mrs. Hoffman extended her hand nervously. It was cold, dry, and fragile, like the woman in front of her. “This is my husband, Henry. I knew it was you.” She gripped her purse tightly with both hands, the straps worn and frayed. “Do you believe in divine providence?”
Touchy subject. Max answered, “Sometimes.”
David was standing to the side, watching the situation. He was always on alert, even when it was wholly unnecessary. Ever since the incident in Chicago last year when Max had been attacked in a parking garage by someone who hadn’t wanted to hear the truth on her show, David was suspicious of everyone.
Even little old ladies.
“We just flew in from Phoenix,” Henry said.
“For our granddaughter’s wedding,” Penny added. “Last year, we were here for a funeral.”
“My condolences,” Max said.
Penny blinked back a sheen of tears and smiled awkwardly. “Our other grandchild. Jessica’s brother, Jason.”
“Penny,” Henry said, taking his wife’s hand, “Ms. Revere doesn’t want to hear about this now.”
Penny continued. “The police say they have no leads.”
The way she said no leads had Max’s instincts twitching. The police might have no leads they shared with the family, but there was always a lead—and it was obvious by her tone that Penny had her own theories.
In Max’s experience, murder was almost always personal. There were stranger murders and serial killers, but they were few and far between.
Most victims were killed by those they trusted most. A friend. A spouse. A parent. A child.
David cleared his throat. He grabbed Max’s red case from the conveyor belt. He’d already retrieved his smaller khaki bag. He wouldn’t have checked it at all, except he’d packed a gun.
“They need to go,” Henry told Penny. “It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Revere. Very nice. You’re even prettier in person.”
“Thank you,” Max said. “If you’d like to write me a letter about your grandson’s case, here’s my office address and e-mail.” She pulled a card from her pocket.
She received hundreds of letters and e-mails a week from families wanting her to do any number of things, from proving a loved one innocent to a killer guilty. Most dealt with cold cases and contained few leads. She didn’t have time to investigate all the
unsolved murders she heard about, and she couldn’t always solve the ones she investigated.
But she always gave the families whatever truth she found. For better or worse.
She took a pen out of her pocket and wrote on the back. “Here’s my personal e-mail.”
Henry took the card, but Penny looked upset. “I have written. Twice.”
By the sound of her voice, she hadn’t received a response. A sliver of anger ran up Max’s spine. Her newest assistant was going to have some explaining to do if she wanted to keep her job. All e-mails and letters must be responded to within a week. Max had drafted four form letters that fit most situations, and what didn’t fit she was supposed to review.
Henry said, “We thought you might be interested in the case since Jason was killed at Atherton Prep.”
Max was speechless—a rarity. She’d graduated from Atherton College Prep thirteen years ago, but no one had told her about this murder.
The second in the history of the campus.
“When?” she managed to ask.
“The Saturday after Thanksgiving.”
Nearly five months ago.
“I’ll be in town all weekend,” Max said. “I’d like to hear your story. I can’t promise I’ll investigate, but I will listen.”
Titles by Allison Brennan
Stolen
Stalked
Silenced
If I Should Die
Kiss Me, Kill Me
Love Me to Death
Carnal Sin
Original Sin
Cutting Edge
Fatal Secrets
Sudden Death
Playing Dead
Tempting Evil
Killing Fear
Cold Snap Page 39
