Additional officers filtered into the building behind them. They quickly and efficiently searched the structure. It only took them minutes to locate the office and the shattered computer.
Mitch stared at the bullet holes and felt a moment of panic.
“No blood.” Jones pulled on a pair of latex gloves as he glanced in Mitch’s direction. “I doubt there’s anything salvageable on the computer but I’ll check everything else.”
“Right.” Mitch said. “Right.” He took a deep breath and began to reconstruct the scene in his mind. The computer had obviously been destroyed to hide any trail back to whoever was running this operation. A jumble of iron pipes was sprawled all over the pathway twenty-five feet from the office. This was probably what set off the spray of gun fire into the computer. Julia, he thought. Spying on Viktor and his cronies.
They had her, there was no doubt in his mind. Would he kill her? Mitch couldn’t let that possibility take root. Viktor had the criminal mind of a reptile. He would be out for his own best interest. Julia was a commodity, a very valuable commodity. Viktor had known about Julia’s pedigree all along. The clue had been there in Viktor’s computer search of The Bank of Savannah. That was why he had ingratiated himself, wormed his way into her life when the opportunity presented itself. Always out for the main chance, that was Viktor Letov.
So what would he do next? That was the million dollar question. Blackmail was the most obvious answer. Prior to turning evidence against his cronies Viktor could have easily pulled off such a stunt. Did he think he could get away with it on his own? It didn’t matter. Mitch was going to find him. And Julia.
He turned his mind to the more immediate problem. There was no blood here so where had the cat been shot? That would be the trail to Julia.
A back door opened onto an alleyway behind a long line of buildings. The most likely exit, Mitch thought, if you had just fired off a rapid repeating gun into a computer tower. Gerty was already in the alley, sweeping side to side in search of clues. Mitch joined her and they each took a side. Fifteen feet along he saw the spot of blood. He looked back along the concrete until he found the divot where the bullet nicked it. Just beyond that he found where the bullet ricocheted into the side of the building.
Gerty called out to him. She was about forty feet away and she stood over the shell casing. “He fired from right about here. One shot.”
One shot. Mitch repeated it in his mind like a mantra. Only one shot. They continued their search to the dead end, following a trail of blood droplets. A long line of old storage containers stacked against the back of more buildings ran to the right. The blood trail led them straight to the second container in the row. It looked as if the cat spent a bit of time here, possibly resting from his injury, before heading off to an opening between the containers.
Mitch followed the blood trail a few feet further but kept glancing back at the second container. Suddenly the sound of pounding against metal rang through the alleyway and Mitch and Gerty rushed to the door. The latching mechanism gave easily enough and the door swung open. There lay Julia, on her back, grimy from head to toe, her feet raised in preparation of slamming the door again.
He had her in his arms before he could stop himself. He held her close, kissing her forehead, her cheek, then her mouth. His knees were weak with relief. For a long moment he just held her, pressing her face against his chest, allowing his heartbeat to slow down, for his world to stop rocking. She was alive. She was safe and he was never going to let her out of his sight again.
Then he was angry. So angry that he could have punched through the metal of the shipping container with his bare fist. “Julia!” He disentangled her from his embrace and shook her. “What in the hell got into your head? You could have been killed!”
Tears stood in her eyes and began to roll down her cheek. “Oh, Mitch.” Her lip trembled. “I was so afraid.”
The image before him tore at his heart. His beautiful Julia with her hair all awry, full of debris from the container, face smudged, her clothing stained and soiled. Then he saw her hands. He lifted them for closer inspection. “What in the hell happened?”
She sighed and leaned into his body. “Gold isn’t the strongest material. The next time I’m going to be trapped in a metal container I’m going to put my hair up with a good, solid, iron hair clip.”
The humor was her armor, Mitch realized. She was trying to compose herself, to combat the lingering fear, so he answered in kind. “But it won’t be nearly as charming.”
She smiled then, and he wiped the tear tracks from her face. “Come on,” he swooped her up in his arms, “your father has already punched me in the jaw. I’m afraid he’ll take a bull whip to me if I don’t get you home soon.”
Her arms went around his neck. “Oh, Mitch. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” He grinned down at her. “Now I have an excuse for you to kiss away the pain.”
She smiled then placed a gentle row of kisses along his jaw line. “Better?”
“You think you’re getting off that easily?”
Julia laughed and he held her tighter, took a calming breath, and headed for the alleyway.
Gerty had removed herself to the corner of the dead end when they opened the container door and she saw the way the wind blew. When Mitch came abreast of her he saw she couldn’t quite hide her grin as she called in the result of their search to the command center. He couldn’t help but grin himself.
The shock and stress of the day and previous night had taken its toll on Julia by the time Mitch got her home and her mother got her into the bath. She didn’t even have the energy to be annoyed that her father had armed security in the foyer, the stairwell, the living room, and probably on the roof.
She sat docile as a lamb as Aunt Ethel dotted ointment on her hands and gently wrapped them in gauze. Aunt Ethel had been a godsend, persuading her father and mother to go home and leave Julia to rest. It was a short-lived victory, Julia knew. The thing that had persuaded them was her promise to return to Ardsley Park before the sun set. But for now, she needed the comfort and quiet of her own home.
Trouble looked up at her as she approached the bed, the white bandage around his hind quarters in stark contrast to his black fur. “Poor kitty. Can you forgive me?” She crawled between the sheets next to him and scratched his ears. The sound of his purring grew louder and Julia found that comforting.
She was so tired. Aunt Ethel gently rocking in the chair under the window and Trouble purring at her side had the desired affect. Julia felt on the edge of sleep. She was home, in the cocoon of her comfortable, safe world. A little niggle at the back of her mind tugged at her. She needed to see Mitch. There was something he should know. But the lethargy took over and she drifted down into deep restoring sleep.
Chapter Eleven
Mitch nodded at the private security guard as he entered Julia’s apartment. Aunt Ethel was just coming out of the bedroom with a tray in her hands. Mitch took it from her and carried it to the kitchen. He returned to the living room to find Aunt Ethel standing at the window, staring out onto the square.
She turned to him and smiled. “She’ll be all right. We’re a tough lot, despite the outward trappings.”
He nodded. “Can I see her?”
“She’s asleep.”
“And how are you holding up?”
She chuckled. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a tough old bird. Nothing much gets to me.”
“That’s not true.”
She turned from him and when she spoke her voice sounded huskier than usual. “I’ve lived a long and full life. There aren’t many stones I’ve left unturned.” When she faced him again, the twinkle was back in her eyes. “I’ve quite enjoyed scandalizing the Mercer Hamptons.”
He laughed.
“I’ve always thought Julia had a bit more of me and my mother in her but the shadow of Christian Mercer has made her afraid to be herself. He was my brother’s grandchild.” She took a seat in the armchair. “I
blame Woodrow but of course he can’t help himself. He was very close to Christian. They grew up as close as brothers.” She blinked at the tears forming in her eyes. “Christian was only eleven. Woodrow a few months younger.” She sighed. “Well, enough of that. Tell me about the man who did this.”
“We have him.” Mitch watched as Trouble sauntered in from the bedroom, went to Aunt Ethel’s chair, and waited for her to pick him up. “The Feds caught him and his sidekick at a small airstrip just out of town. It was already under surveillance because it’s known to be used by drug traffickers.” He walked over to the chair where Aunt Ethel sat with the cat on her lap and scratched behind Trouble’s ears. “I just dropped by on my way to interrogate him.”
“I want to go with you.”
Mitch and Aunt Ethel turned at the sound of Julia’s voice to see her standing in the doorway to the bedroom. He walked over to her and took her hands in his, turning them over to examine the bandages. It was difficult for him to look at her face, to see the softness of sleep on her features, the gently mussed hair.
Aunt Ethel cleared her throat. “I need a cup of tea.” She placed Trouble on the floor and made her way to the kitchen.
“How are you?” He asked as he let his fingers trail up Julia’s neck to her face and into her hair.
She pressed her cheek against his palm, closed her eyes, then opened them again slowly. “I’m fine. Really.” She rose to her tiptoes and kissed his jaw. “The question is, how are you?”
“I’ll never live that down, will I?”
She smiled a slow, lazy smile. “Never.”
He wanted more than anything to stay but he knew he couldn’t. Viktor Letov sat cooling his heels in a cell at the court house and Mitch needed his crack at him. The Feds were happy they had their key witness safely under their control again. It had taken the implied influence of Woodrow Hampton to get them to grant him a few minutes with his chief suspect in the murder of Trip Youngblood and possibly Peter Ryder.
He sighed. “I have to go.”
“Take me with you.”
Mitch shook his head. “No, Julia. Not this time.”
She started to protest then something in her eyes changed. “Okay.”
“I want your word you’ll stay put.”
“I promise.”
“I’ll be back to take you to your parents house later.”
She nodded.
He turned for the door and she caught at his sleeve. “Mitch. I don’t think it’s Doug—Viktor.” She ran her hand through her hair. “Not all of it anyway.”
He waited.
“It doesn’t fit. He’s a lifelong criminal. Until now he’s been smart, ahead of the authorities all the way. He took the jewelry, yes. I don’t doubt that. The Youngbloods have been Mr. Weatherby’s clients for decades. He made the changes to the coverage for the estate after Nils Youngblood died as a matter of formality. He’s ninety-two years old. He’d never make the connection. Viktor knew that. So why would he risk stealing from his own clients? Why leave a trail right to his door?”
“I agree. And that’s what I’m going to find out. That’s why I need to know where you are at all times, Julia. I can’t worry about your safety and do my job.” He slid his hands up and down her arms as if to warm her. “Understood?”
She nodded. “It’s about the history, you know. It has been all along. Someone is fascinated with the Romanovs, the grandeur of their reign, that moment in history. Someone with a lot of power and money.”
“Yes. And this town is the mother lode of money and history.” He gave her swift kiss and went out the door.
Julia sat staring out the window, her mind a thousand miles away. Aunt Ethel came into the room bearing a tray with two cups of tea.
“Here you go. This will make you feel better.”
“Why do we always think tea will make things better?” Julia took one of the cups and sipped it.
“It’s familiar. It gives off heat, just like the cat. That’s reassuring, comforting. The process as much as anything takes us out of the moment. Grounds us.”
Ethel settled into the comfort of the sofa and the cat crawled into her lap. They sat in silence for a while then she said, “He grounds you, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess he’s the one.”
“Yes, he’s the one.”
They were quiet again, each woman looking back across the span of their lives.
“He reminds me of Gus Haus and the summer of 1932. He was the strong, silent type, too. Knew when and how to take charge.” Aunt Ethel chuckled. “I love a man who knows how to take charge.”
“Aunt Ethel!” Julia laughed. “You’re worse than Granny Mame.”
“Life is for living, child. You only get one go round. Don’t let the sorrows of others dictate what your life will be.” She eased the cat from her lap and onto the floor, then struggled up out of the feather pillows of the sofa. “I’m going home. Regis will be here with the car soon. You pack a suitcase and go home to your parents. They need comforting.”
“I know.” Julia stood and kissed her aunt on the cheek. “I’m sorry I caused everyone such worry. I know it was headstrong and selfish.”
“Well,” Aunt Ethel patted her cheek, “I know how it is to live in a fishbowl. My father stayed in a panic about what I’d do next. I have regrets about the worry I caused him and my mother but I don’t regret my life.” She retrieved her handbag from the bombe chest in the foyer. “A little prudence is wise but don’t live in fear.”
“I think I’ve always been afraid and just didn’t know it.” Julia leaned against the archway of the foyer. “I’m not afraid anymore.”
“Good.” As Aunt Ethel went through the apartment door she called back to Julia. “Don’t feed the cat. He’s finished off all the dim sum that the militia didn’t eat for lunch.”
Julia returned to the sofa and took Trouble into her lap. “You’re going to be so fat Tammy Lynn will have to put you on a diet.”
Trouble closed his eyes to green slits and turned his face away from her in a look of contempt.
“Right. As if anyone could tell you what to do.” She scratched his ears and under his chin until he forgave her. “You’ll have to keep to my rooms when we go to Ardsley Park. Daddy is allergic, you know.”
Trouble flattened his ears, sighed then went to sleep on her lap.
Viktor Letov looked very sure of himself as he smiled across the table at Mitch. He knew the Feds prized him over a conviction for robbery and that their needs would take precedence over any local infractions of the law. The only leverage Mitch had was a murder charge. He didn’t believe Viktor had killed Trip Youngblood but he hoped the threat could be used to prompt the gangster into revealing something useful.
“So, Viktor, where were you going?”
“A little vacation.”
“Your former associates getting too close?”
“Maybe it wasn’t me they were shooting at, but, hey,” he shrugged, “you can’t be too careful.”
“A lot of people are looking at you for a lot of reasons.”
“So?”
That grin again. Mitch wanted to smash his face. “So, murder takes precedence over information. Even the Feds have to concede to that.”
“The girl’s okay. Maybe a little pissed but I didn’t lay a hand on her.”
“I’m not talking about the girl. I’m talking about the owner of the watch.” He upended the manila envelope that had been lying on the table and out slid the Rolex.
“Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have used the story old Weatherby told me about the watch but you know what they say. A little truth always makes a lie more believable.” He sighed and sat back in the chair. “Yeah, I stole the watch and a few other trinkets. So what?”
“So, after Trip Youngblood caught you out, he ended up dead.”
Viktor didn’t respond immediately. Mitch could almost see his lizard brain working.
“That was nothing to do wi
th me. Looks like the shooter wasn’t after me. I’d say he found his target after all.”
“But you’d be wrong because in the sweep for you, we also scooped up Anna Kuzmicha.” It was Mitch’s turn to smile. “An old friend of yours, I believe.”
Viktor had no response.
“Tell me about Debbie Williams.”
“What about her? She works at the insurance agency.”
“I get the impression she’s more than a fellow employee.”
“There’s no reason you should.” He shrugged. “I took her to dinner a couple of times. Just fitting in, you know? That’s what you wanted me to do, wasn’t it? Besides, she’s a little past her prime, if you know what I mean.”
“Maybe she told one of her Russian friends where you were.”
“She doesn’t have Russian friends.”
“You sure about that?” Mitch opened the file in front of him. “Adoni Bunin. What do you know about him?”
“Nothing. Never heard of him.”
Mitch studied Viktor for a long moment. As much as he hated to admit it, he believed him.
“Tell me about the king’s clothes. How did you come to be the agent?”
“Mr. Weatherby got a call from the buyers about insuring it. He doesn’t do much anymore so he turned them over to me so I wrote the policy. My half-sister works for the shipping company so I might have suggested they have the gallery use them for the transport. There’s no crime in that. It just fell in my lap and that’s what I’m supposed to do, right? Marking time till I can testify and split?” He lifted his hands in a dismissive gesture. “It disappeared and by the time the museum wanted coverage on the clothing, the news coverage of the theft had begun to die down so I wrote that policy, too. The old man is just a figure head at the agency these days. I don’t know how he’s still kicking.”
“These things just fell in your lap and you decided, what the heck, and filched them.”
Trouble in Dixie (Familiar Legacy Book 2) Page 15
