An old man in worn clothes stumbled out of the way as the intruder pushed by. He banged through the front doors and sprinted down the street. Lucas chased after him, dodging a homeless person’s grocery cart heaped full of all his meager belongings.
The man shouted something unintelligible.
Lucas ran around the corner where the intruder had gone. The man glanced back quickly and then veered into a car wash. A lone man sprayed his new Lexus sedan, the only car there at this time of night.
The intruder reached the car and shoved the washer down to the ground. Lucas made it to the car door just as it closed. The man looked at him as he locked the door and started the engine. Lucas pulled out his gun and as the man drove off, he shot the rear tire out.
The man drove haphazardly without stopping. Lucas ran after the car, but it raced away.
“It has run-flat tires.”
Catching his breath, Lucas turned to the man who’d just lost his car. He spoke with both pride and dismay.
“Report it stolen.”
“Why were you chasing him? Are you a cop?”
Without answering, Lucas jogged back toward Rachel’s apartment. He’d follow up with the police in the morning. In the meantime, he’d snatch Rachel and take her to his place.
She was dressed by the time he returned. She’d hastened to put on jeans and a long-sleeved flannel shirt. He could tell she wore no bra. As she moved toward him, her breasts jiggled more than they would if confined.
“Pack your things,” he told her, annoyed that he found her so irresistible.
She stopped short. “What?”
“I’m taking you to my place.”
“Your ranch?”
“No, my place in the city.”
She went into the kitchen and opened her refrigerator. “That isn’t necessary.”
Summarily dismissed, Lucas ignored her reaction and moved toward her, stopping at the threshold of the eight-foot-wide kitchen. “It is.” She was just going to have to put her distrust aside.
“I would have handled that man just fine by myself.”
Her overconfidence almost inspired him. “With a towel wrapped around you?”
“I’d have dropped the towel.” She let the refrigerator door close and twisted off the top of a bottle of water.
He looked up from the vicinity of her breasts. “Exactly what that intruder would have liked, I’m sure.”
“I know how to fight.” She held up the water. “Want one?”
He turned and headed for the rickety armoire she’d set up next to her daybed. The doors didn’t latch so he swung them open, looking around for luggage.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He knelt to look under the bed and found a duffel bag. After sliding that out, he unzipped it and began putting clothes inside.
“Hey.” She took hold of his arm.
He stopped and faced her, dropping the pants he held into the open duffel. “I’m taking you with me if I have to tie and carry you.”
“Why would you want to do that? I thought you had me pegged a murderer.” She lowered her arm, releasing him from her soft hold.
“I don’t think you murdered anyone, but I wonder if you know something important. That makes you a person of interest.” He caught himself grazing her body with a hot gaze.
She caught him, too. Folding her arms, lips pursed, she spoke without words.
He stepped aside. “Pack.”
At first she didn’t move. But then she glanced around her apartment and toward the window she’d closed in the dining area. He couldn’t call it a room. It was too small. He couldn’t tell if she felt she didn’t have much to leave behind or if worry drove her decision-making.
What did she have to worry about? Him? Or the secret she harbored, because he had no doubts now she had at least one—a big one.
“I’ll protect you,” he said.
She slowly moved her eyes back toward him. She had nowhere else to go. She could stay here and risk the stranger coming back, but she needed a job to afford that, and she may not want to go back to work at Tieber Transport.
“And I won’t treat you like a suspect.” Not until he had proof. Or he discovered what she was keeping hidden.
She continued to contemplate. Then she stepped to her duffel bag. “All right, but only until I find a new job.”
“Or keep the one you already have.” He moved farther out of her way, liking the sexy glare she bestowed on him.
Strange, how he could go from dread to excited sexual anticipation all in one night.
* * *
Lucas’s city house was a mansion compared to Rachel’s apartment. He pulled into the three-car garage that also had a car with dark windows parked in it, and she went inside the house behind him. The smell of potpourri greeted her as she walked through the laundry room and entered the entry with a grand staircase on the opposite side. Well, the staircase looked grand to her. It curved to an upper-level loft and a double doorway leading to the master suite. The entry branched off into a formal living room and a larger family room that extended to the back of the house, the kitchen and dining room adjacent.
Rachel had been in lots of nice houses with the men she dated, so seeing Lucas’s didn’t surprise her. It was the personal touches that stood out more than all those others. He had pictures of his family on a built-in bookcase, including some old ones that must have been of his biological father. In one, the man wore a police uniform. His father had been a cop.
“Where is your dad?” she asked. “What happened to him?”
“He died in the line of duty.”
She saw the regret in his eyes, the flash of if only.
“He answered a domestic call and was shot on his way to the door. The boyfriend of the woman who called for help shot him. He’d already killed his girlfriend. A few days later, the law found him, and he was killed in the resulting shoot-out.”
“That’s terrible.”
Lucas moved to the photo and picked it up. “I was so young, and my sister was only a few months old.”
“Your poor mother.” Rachel knew that kind of loss all too well. She hadn’t been that young when her parents died. Sometimes she wished she could have been.
“She had a rough time for a while, but then she met Joseph. He changed her life. And ours. I think of him as my father.”
Joseph did strike her as a good man. Even with his role in Lucas’s deception, he had an ethical moral compass. She moved on to a hand-painted sculpture of a ship on one of the end tables. Paintings on the wall looked original.
“You like art?”
“An informant I knew was an artist. I bought some of his work.” He looked up at the oil painting of a fisherman on a pier at sunset. “He had trouble with a drug addiction, and I tried to help him.”
“Where is he now?”
“He overdosed on cocaine.” He turned. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”
Upstairs, he led her through the loft to one of the other bedrooms. Inside, he opened the walk-in closet. There were clothes inside. Women’s clothes.
Rachel stepped into the closet and began going through the items hanging up. “Did your ex leave these?”
“No. I bought them from a rape victim who owned a secondhand store.”
He helped people a lot. She began to see him in a different light and had to restrain the inclination to forget that he’d lied to her.
“If any of them fit you, go ahead and keep them.”
“Thanks.” She stood there, as he looked at her face, aware that the temperature had warmed between them.
* * *
Wearing vintage jeans and a white knit sweater she’d found from the closet, Rachel bobbed her leg as she waited with Lucas for the de
tective he’d contacted regarding the stolen car last night. She’d watched and listened to him maneuver around conventional channels to find the right man. He’d called his boss, Kadin Tandy, who’d taken just an hour to locate someone they could talk to.
The police station bustled with activity, mostly clerical. Rachel loved people-watching, and this morning, she couldn’t stop staring at the hooker who’d just been released. She wore a tired scowl and didn’t look like a hooker. She dressed nicely. Although tight, the black dress came to her knees, and the jewelry being returned to her that she put back around her neck and wrists looked real. The only reason Rachel knew she was a hooker was because she heard her talking to the clerk.
The tall tattooed man with her must be her pimp, and he dressed in a suit and tie. Rachel marveled over them, fascinated. People fascinated her. All different walks of life, each had their own journey. While she appreciated those who shared her struggles, those who had fortune or an average but sustainable existence drew her equally.
“Stop staring,” Lucas said.
Seeing the hooker direct a glare her way now, Rachel turned to Lucas. “Do you ever wonder how people like that end up?”
“Not usually.”
“She can’t do what she does the rest of her life. Does she have family? Will she find a new profession?” She’d like to think everyone found their way, but life wasn’t that kind. And it wasn’t kind because of the people in it. Only the strong survived. Darwinism at its cruelest. Who really cared when people lost their homes and livelihoods? Who cared what happened to them? She did. And if she was rich, she’d help them, not turn her back.
“Mr. Curran?”
Rachel still hadn’t gotten used to his real name. The reminder of his deception pricked her ire as she stood with him and he shook the five-foot-nine-inch balding detective’s hand.
“Bob Newman. I’ve heard a lot about Kadin Tandy. I never thought he’d call me.”
He looked like a Bob Newman. “I appreciate you seeing us.”
“Come this way.” The detective led them past a maze of desks to a conference room.
Rachel sat next to Lucas, and the detective sat across from them. There were papers on the table in front of him.
“You work for an extraordinary man,” Detective Newman said. “It’s a shame tragedy drives a man to do what he’s done. His daughter’s kidnapping and murder is a case we use to train our new officers. There are lessons to be learned, not just from that case but many others like it. Cold cases.”
“Yes. They do require a certain expertise.”
“Kadin tells me you come from a strong investigative background.”
“I was a detective before I joined SWAT.”
His clipped tone told Rachel his emotion had stirred with the topic. Being a SWAT member must have satisfied whatever urge had inspired him to become a SEAL, but it must have fallen short.
“A man like that wouldn’t hire just anyone. He’s got quite a reputation in this country.”
Detective Newman didn’t skimp on praise. Or envy.
“About the stolen car...” Lucas said. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about the great martyr Kadin Tandy, a man driven by grief and justice.
“Ah, yes.” Newman pushed the file over to him.
“We found the car abandoned outside of town.”
Rachel leaned over to see the location, reading the cross streets. There was an old dive bar near there, just far enough out of town to be dangerous.
Newman slid out a three-by-five photo, a color-printed copy from a digital source. She recognized the man who’d broken into her apartment.
“Have you ever seen this man before?” Newman asked Rachel. Evidently, he’d been briefed on what had happened. Lucas must have told him.
“No.”
Lucas watched her as she answered, and she felt his distrust. He didn’t discount she might be lying.
Well, then, he’d just have to keep not trusting, because some things she couldn’t divulge.
* * *
Lucas pulled up to the ramshackle bar Rachel had told him about after they left the police station. She’d surprised him by revealing that, and then he’d realized she must have told the truth about her intruder. She hadn’t known him.
That was something. But she still had her secrets.
At almost noon, a fair amount of cars had already gathered in the gravel parking area. The Lexus had been abandoned about two miles up the road. There was a chance the thief and intruder had stopped in for a drink.
Inside, the stench of stale beer assaulted his nose. Beer spilled and left to dry had caused stains in the torn industrial brown carpet. The cushions of black vinyl booths pushed through tears and cracks, and the laminate peeled back from tabletops or had broken away long ago.
Lucas started with the bartender, who shook his head when asked if he’d seen the man in the picture. He showed the photo to all in the room, and no one recognized the man.
Just as he would have left, he spotted the bartender talking to a newcomer, pointing to them. The newcomer looked over.
Lucas stopped and Rachel followed his gaze, seeing with him the man walking toward them.
“You looking for Marcus Henderson?”
Lucas showed him the photo. “Is this him?”
“Yeah, that’s him. Bastard owes me money. I loaned him a few thousand to help him get into a new place, and he blew me off.”
So now he’d like to get even. Lucas didn’t mind how he obtained information, as long as he got it.
“Do you know where we can find him?” Lucas tucked the photo back into his jacket.
“What’s he done this time?”
“Broke into a house. Stole a car.”
“You a cop?” The man checked him out up and down. “You don’t look like one.”
“I’m a private investigator.”
The man checked out Rachel with much more leisure.
“This is my deputy,” Lucas said, drawing his attention back to him. “Where can we find him?”
“You gonna make him pay me back?”
“You’ll have to go through the proper legal channel. But I can remind him for you.” Lucas put his hands on his hips, something he did when he meant for someone to see his gun.
The man did and, with a grin, told them the address. “Anything else you need to know about him?”
“Anything you can tell us. Where he works. Anything about his family. Friends. His hangouts.”
“He doesn’t work. He sells drugs. Rumor has it he does odd jobs for his dealers, you know, dirty work like roughing up people who owe money. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Who hires him?”
“Nobody knows who. Marcus kept that quiet, as anyone would expect. He might be a thief but he isn’t stupid when it comes to that sort of thing.”
“Do you deal drugs?”
Lucas glanced over at Rachel with her innocent question that no smart criminal would answer honestly.
“Oh, hell no. I sell cars at the Ford dealer downtown. I make a good living.” He said the last part to Rachel, who stiffened into a straighter stance.
“What about other friends? Family?”
“His family lives on the East Coast. He doesn’t keep in touch with them. I don’t know about any friends. He runs with a different crowd now.”
That would be all they’d get from him, all that might help to find out who had sent him to Rachel, or if he’d done that on his own.
“Thank you for your time.” Lucas turned with Rachel. “You’ve been a big help.”
“You go on and tell that slime I’ll be expecting payment.”
Lucas lifted his hand in friendly farewell. “I’ll do that.”
* * *
A short dri
ve later, Rachel headed for a nice middle-class house about twenty minutes from downtown Bozeman. She stood next to Lucas at Marcus’s front door. He’d already rung the bell and knocked.
She looked over at the BMW in the garage, the door open. Someone should be home.
Lucas met her eyes. He agreed.
Testing the doorknob and finding it locked, he gave the neighborhood a scan. Then he produced a small tension wrench and pin that he used to work the lock. Lengthy seconds passed. Rachel glanced around. No one walked by. No cars appeared. Everyone was at work or inside. She couldn’t see into any windows very clearly. If anyone saw them, they’d not know until the police arrived.
The lock snapped open.
He pushed the door so it swung slowly.
Rachel stayed behind him as he entered and pulled out his gun. She peered past his big shoulders and saw the mess.
Lucas stopped.
“Don’t even think about telling me to stay outside,” she said.
He glanced briefly back, mildly annoyed but not arguing.
A standing lamp had fallen. Beer bottles had tipped over onto the floor, a puddle of beer still on the coffee table. A throw blanket lay askew on the floor along with the couch pillows. Kitchen chairs had tipped over. There had been a struggle here.
She touched Lucas’s back as he moved cautiously into the house. As they moved closer to the kitchen, she caught sight of a pair of feet sticking out from the island counter.
Lucas stopped again.
“What is that?” She’d seen crimes before. She’d seen robberies. She’d seen gang members try to shoot each other. She’d lived next door to a drive-by shooting. She’d seen a lot. But this. This pushed the boundary.
Was that Marcus, and was he dead?
She thought she saw the rim of a pool of blood.
Lucas started forward. “Don’t touch anything.”
Crime scene...
Stepping forward, she stopped when she confirmed it was blood she saw. Turning her back, she covered her mouth. She’d never seen a dead body before. She’d never seen a murdered body.
The man who’d broken into her house was dead. Murdered.
Why?
Justice Hunter Page 7
