by DiAnn Mills
“This is Special Agent Bethany Sanchez. I’m at your front door. Do you have a minute?”
“I’m rather busy, but I did give my word to help the FBI. I’ll be right there.”
The door opened. Melanie still had purple and black going on.
“I had a couple of free hours and wanted to see if I could volunteer.” Bethany lifted her casted arm. “Maybe something in the kitchen.”
Melanie gestured her inside, and they walked to the dining area. “We have health department regulations.”
The room could use a good cleaning. “No problem, an easy fix. I volunteer at Noah’s Loft, so my TB test and chest X-ray are up to date.” She handed Melanie her paperwork. “My background check is clean.”
Melanie smiled. “Surprised to see you with so much happening, but please don’t mention your investigation to the staff. The knowledge could frighten them.”
Which was exactly why she wanted to volunteer, but she’d find a way around it. “Of course. What can I do?”
“You’re a bit handicapped, and I’d get frustrated watching you make beds or clean.”
“Anything in your office for me to do?” The cat smell would be horrible.
“Not really. The FBI has my hard files. I have a few things to do before dinner, so I guess I’ll send you to the kitchen.”
In a huge industrial-type area, two Hispanic women busied themselves over simmering pots. The chatter and enticing smells reminded her of being with family.
“We have a volunteer. She’ll do whatever you need,” Melanie said, then turned to Bethany. “Thanks for helping out today. Who knows? You might find Scorpion tonight.”
While Bethany clumsily cleaned and swept, she noted the two women rarely spoke. “Excuse me. Do you have a moment?” she said.
When the elderly woman smiled, Bethany showed her a pic of Lucas. “I’m looking for my brother, and I wonder if he’s been here.”
The woman looked at the picture and stepped back. She returned to cutting carrots.
“Por favor.” Please.
The woman pointed to the door. “Leave now. I don’t know this man. We have work to do. Your arm is no use.”
“Back to work.” Melanie scowled from the doorway. “You heard me.” She twisted an oversize watch and pushed it up her arm, as Bethany had noted before.
“This is my fault,” Bethany said. “I posed a question if these ladies had ever seen—”
“I fully understand what you’re doing, upsetting my staff. This was not a good idea. I suggest you leave.” Her eyes cast a cold stare. “These women are busy. They don’t have the luxury of running about town on taxpayers’ money. I’ll show you out.” She lifted her chin. “Investigating a crime in this part of town could get you shot again. A smart agent like you should realize the danger.”
Bethany wove through evening traffic on the way home, her mind weighing Melanie’s volatile personality. In the middle of a jam, she scrolled through her cell for the latest news. Her attention went to an e-mail directed at her. She wanted to scream. Couldn’t this guy find another topic? The e-mail pointed to yet another post about Houston’s FBI. The title made her want to crawl back into bed—“When FBI Agents Kill.”
SSA Preston is covering his rear big-time. Makes me question his relationship to Special Agent Bethany Sanchez, but I have no proof. She is cute. Does it surprise you that Special Agent Thatcher Graves was the one nearly killed in Saturday night’s firefight? Sanchez escaped with a few stitches and a broken arm. I bet Preston removes Sanchez and Graves from the case. What does DC think about the unsolved killings and the information on Sanchez? Here’s my question for you citizens: Where was Sanchez during the killings? Unless Preston and Graves can provide an alibi, you’ll learn she doesn’t have one for any of Scorpion’s murders.
Who was the source of info here? Had the media announced her and Thatcher’s status?
CHAPTER 56
9:30 A.M. MONDAY
The moment Thatcher’s doctor entered the hospital room, yesterday’s vows rolled across his mind. He should have informed his mother to bring clothes, but if push came to shove, he’d double the gown and call a taxi.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Graves?” The doctor’s too-cheerful bedside manner agitated him.
“I want to be up and walking this morning.”
The doctor leaned over the bed. “Mr. Graves, that won’t happen until late this afternoon. I value your fight, but we must be sensible.”
“Who’s we? I want to be released today. I know you have this procedure to do in a week on my shoulder, but I’m not doing the convalescent thing.”
“We’ll see.”
“There’s no ‘seeing’ about it. Release me today or I check myself out.”
The doctor gave him a bug-eyed stare. “You nearly died Saturday night.”
“But I’m alive today.”
“Is there someone at home to take care of you?”
Thank goodness his mom had gone to the cafeteria to grab him a cinnamon roll and decent coffee, or she’d be on the doctor’s side. “Yes.”
“If you make substantial progress today, I’ll talk about it in the morning. Early release also depends on who your caretaker will be.”
That made him sound like a candidate for a nursing home. “I’m getting out of here either way.” He gave the doctor his best agent glare.
The doctor turned heel like a general and left without a word.
Every time Thatcher thought about SSA Preston’s announcement that he was off the case, he saw red. But as long as he stayed in the hospital, his chances of convincing Preston he was fit for work were lessened.
Mom returned with a cinnamon roll, cold and stale. The coffee shared the same characteristics. Bethany walked in, and he instantly felt better. Dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt. Her hair hung long, straight, and she looked, well, good. Even with her arm in a cast.
“Good morning.” Her smile would light up his worst day.
Mom reached for Bethany’s hand. “You’re Bethany Sanchez, right? Thatcher’s partner? I saw you when I arrived yesterday, but I was too upset to be friendly.”
“It’s my pleasure. Excuse me for intruding on your time with him.”
Mom grabbed her purse. “I need to make a few calls, so he’s all yours.” She winked at him. “Your partner is gorgeous.”
Great. Mom had ideas. “Thanks. She has ears too.”
Mom left the room, and silence assaulted them. The firefight had crushed their egos and mousetrapped their tongues. The thought of being stuck at home for at least a week made him want to fight. Monitors beeped and reported vitals, and an IV dripped three bags of life fluids into his veins.
This was ridiculous. “How’s the arm?”
She eased onto the chair his mother had occupied. “Feels like someone shot me. What about you?”
“The same.”
She laughed. “But I don’t have the hospital gown and IV.”
He frowned. “You had those things earlier in the week. We’re pathetic. I’m getting out of here today.”
“Bad idea, Thatcher. You’re not leaving the hospital. And you’re the color of the sheets. It’s not the height of fashion.”
“I told the doctor I was leaving whether he released me or not. Besides, I’m not staying here until my lung expands and the vein heals so I can have my shoulder pinned.”
“You’re delusional enough to make it happen.”
“Watch me.”
“Okay, so who’s been to see you?”
“Daniel and Laurel, and Grayson and Taryn. Thanked them for their prayers and for waiting to see if I didn’t make it. They’re bringing my Mustang to the hospital for Mom to drive me home.”
She grinned. “And if you leave, what will you do with all your free time?”
“Find Scorpion.”
Her eyes hardened. “What about being off the case? And we look like a couple of warhorses.”
Not a good picture. “Has L
ucas or Groundhog been picked up?”
“Neither. Lucas won’t crawl out until it’s dark.” She told him about Jasper.
“Are you absolutely sure it was Lucas at the Lighthouse?”
“Yes.”
Had her brother fired at her or him? “Thanks for not giving up on me Saturday night. I dreamed you were telling me to hang on.”
“That was no dream, partner. I shouted it when I thought you’d bleed out.”
“I listened.” Enough of this. “Early this morning, I saw ants the size of my fist crawl up my arm.” When she laughed again, he realized she was more addicting than the drugs.
“Maybe you need to cut back on the morphine.”
“Cut myself off. Got to toughen up. What have you been up to?”
“Thinking and sleeping.” She relayed the latest post.
“He doesn’t let up. We’ll see who writes the final chapter.” Her eyes told him she had new information. “Spill your guts, Special Agent Sanchez. You have the look of someone who just confronted a few gangbangers, pedophiles, thieves, and murderers.”
“Nothing concrete. Grayson Hall partnered with me during Melanie Bolton’s interview.”
“Anything there?”
“She offered her help. Frankly I’m afraid for her safety, but she believes the homeless come first. Do you feel up to brainstorming?”
“I’m your man.”
She blushed, and he loved it. “When I consider Lucas’s traits, he’s self-absorbed in every respect. If you can’t give him what he wants, then he despises you.”
“Have you considered the family that provides for him is also the family he hates? He’s never had any boundaries, so how could he respect any of them? Only those who have committed crimes measure up to his standards.”
Her gaze flew to his. “True, and what you’re saying feeds into my thoughts. Lucas has never trusted anyone. But if a woman who was also in the habit of breaking the law said and did all the right things, persuaded him to believe he was the most intelligent and the best-looking guy out there, she might have him in the palm of her hand.”
A burst of pain exploded in his body, and he closed his eyes. “A narcissist only sees how he can use another person. The woman would understand this and give him what he couldn’t get at home—sex. She’d draw him into her world by making him think he’s in control. That way he thinks he’s using her. She’d know what motivates him.” He looked at her. “Bethany, you represent the opposition, what he hates.”
“Me?” Her eyes widened.
“Think about how close you were as kids, his head injury, and how the rest of the family caters to his every need. But you refused. You’re the sister who was kicked out of the family and joined the FBI.”
She tapped her chin. “Scorpion kills because of a link to the Lighthouse. Scorpion, who let’s say is a woman, uses Lucas to assist her in the killings. In turn, she promises to help him eliminate me.”
“The smaller boot print could be a female,” he said. “When I think about Alicia Javon, and the higher probability of her opening her door to a woman instead of a man or how a woman can appear less of a threat, even manipulative, you could be onto something.”
She paused. “One problem: Lucas was in jail during two of the murders.”
“Hold on to our theory until we see the list and view the footage from jail. Not sure how fast SSA Preston can pull our clearance, but I’m betting he’s preoccupied with all of this. I don’t take someone opening fire on me and my partner without retaliation. One more reason why I’m walking out of here.” They’d been to hell and back and survived, and it wasn’t over. “We’re done cleaning up after Scorpion’s killings.”
“No matter who he or she is. I’m heading home. Call me if you’re paroled.”
“Very funny.”
Thatcher seized the opportunity to gaze into those eyes that held him captive. Heat zipped through his veins and it had nothing to do with the IVs. He should have put a guard on his heart, because he’d lost it to Special Agent Bethany Sanchez.
CHAPTER 57
3:45 P.M. MONDAY
Thatcher held his breath while Mom pulled into his garage. He’d rather ride with a blind woman or entrust his Mustang to an eight-year-old, but he had no choice, and being home was worth risking a fresh dent in his newly repaired car. After nearly dying on Saturday night, what else could go wrong? Not a smart idea to go there.
He took in the familiar sights of his garage and looked forward to the scent of home. He hurt like someone had dropped him into a vat of boiling grease. Yet here he could think without the smell of sanitation, the steady beep of monitors, and the vampires drawing blood. As long as Mom didn’t drive him nuts. Usually she got into organization mode and rearranged his kitchen and cooked. He could work while she played the doting mother.
He ripped off the self-righteous badge. His thoughts were selfish, and he appreciated her willingness to stay a few days when she had a busy life in Tulsa.
Couldn’t believe he was able to persuade the hospital crew to let him leave.
“I meant to get you a wheelchair.” Mom turned off the car engine. “My back isn’t what it used to be. Being mobile is important.”
“I’m just glad you didn’t drive through my garage.”
“Very funny. I see you’ve repaired the wall from the last time I was here.”
He chuckled. “Yep. Note I have nothing in front of the car but wall, in case you get a heavy foot.”
She frowned. “You’re pale.”
“I imagine so. What are you going to whip up in the kitchen?”
“Changing the subject doesn’t make you well again, but I’ll attempt to fatten you up.”
He grabbed the door handle of the car. “First, let me get inside.” He pulled his keys from his pocket. “Take these. At least the elevator’s not far.”
“Okay.” Mom scooted out of the driver’s seat and hurried around the rear of the car to open the passenger door. “Lean on me. I can take it.”
“No thanks. I’m a big boy.” Thatcher had already figured out how he’d get inside. Slow but steady. As he turned to give himself a boost out of the car, a stab of pain zipped through him, and he moaned.
Mom gasped like he’d fallen. “Not so fast. You’ll start bleeding.”
His eyes watered, then stung. “Give me room, and I’ll manage fine.”
She stepped back a bit warily, and he used the next several moments to ease himself toward the door leading to the elevator. Mom clung to him like he was an invalid.
When his feet finally hit the tile floor of his condo, he wanted to shout. Instead he slumped into a chair and drew in several ragged breaths.
“I’m resting a minute, then back to my bedroom.”
“I’ll bring water and your pain pills.”
“Not so fast. I have to make a few phone calls first and do a little research online. The last time I took one of those things, it became a truth serum.”
“That’s how I learned about Bethany.” She gave him the narrow-brow, know-all mom look. “But if you’re not careful, you’ll end up dead. And I heard your boss state you were off the case and not to report to work for two weeks.”
He focused on Mom’s watery eyes. Dad hadn’t been gone but a year, and the shooting must have scared her. “Mom, I’m all right. I’ll take the meds in a couple of hours. How about a pot of your special tortilla soup?”
She blinked. “All right. Will you be okay while I run to the store?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He eased up from the chair. Blinding pain accompanied him, but he’d keep it to himself.
Mom wrapped an arm around his waist, and he didn’t protest. His room seemed a mile away. “Tell me more about your partner,” she said.
“She’s an incredible agent. Analytical. We’re a good combo.”
“Combo as in a relationship?”
“We haven’t known each other very long.”
“I saw the way you two looked at each oth
er. Definitely more than professional.”
He paused to gather his strength. “It would be dangerous for us to date. When emotions are involved, decisions are no longer based on training but on the welfare of the other person. One of us could get hurt.” He should practice what he spouted.
“Hadn’t considered that aspect. Sounds like you’ve spent time thinking it through.”
Thatcher could almost touch his bed. He leaned on the footboard while Mom smoothed the sheets and fluffed the pillows. For once she didn’t mention his lack of bed-making skills. She helped him ease down onto it. Felt so good.
“Would you mind bringing me my cell phone and laptop?”
“Don’t suppose it would do me any good to argue,” she said and disappeared through the door. “All superheroes have their kryptonite, Son, and yours just happens to be a bullet.”
Thatcher laughed. “Good one. I’ll remember your sage advice, right along with how to sort dirty clothes.”
With his investigation tools and his mother busy taking inventory of the fridge, he made a few inquiries and online searches, then phoned Bethany. “Are you resting?” he said.
“Are you?”
“Of course. I’m in bed at home.”
“Thatcher, did the doctor spring you?”
“Sorta. Wanted to check in with my partner.”
“Today’s been uneventful. Yesterday afternoon I drove to the Lighthouse on a hunch—”
“Since when do you have hunches?” he said.
“Since I started hanging around with you, and it doesn’t work. Melanie Bolton appeared friendly enough. I asked to help and she was willing until she overheard me asking one of the cooks if they’d ever seen Lucas there.” Bethany went on about the sudden twist of Melanie’s behavior. “She’s worked with those people for so long that she’s becoming like some of them. I’m sorry, Thatcher. I’m being facetious.”
