by Debby Giusti
Something or someone?
Minimizing the photo, Violet checked her e-mail and felt a surge of euphoria when a brief message from Gwyn flashed on the screen.
Are you online?
No reason to make small talk. Violet typed the question that had been bothering her all night.
Why’d you run away?
Someone was following you, came the reply.
Not the answer Violet had expected. She continued to read Gwyn’s answer.
He looked familiar. Like a guy I’d seen in Chicago. Something about his build.
Could she have run into Clay when he was working undercover? Violet quickly typed:
Was it the undercover cop? The one who beat up Cameron Trimble?
Gwyn answered:
I don’t know the cop. What’s he look like? The guy I saw was muscular. He wore a hat so I’m not sure about his hair color.
Violet hit the reply button.
The undercover cop is—
What could she say about Clay? Tall, muscular with eyes that sent shivers scurrying along her spine?
Violet deleted the description and asked:
Are you sure someone was following me?
Gwyn: Definitely.
Violet: Meet tomorrow?
Gwyn: Can’t.
Violet: When?
Gwyn didn’t respond.
Violet’s home phone rang. She glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. The number failed to appear on caller ID. Easy enough to block the information. “Kramer.”
Silence.
Violet glanced around her living room, glad she’d pulled the drapes. “Hello?”
The sound of breathing caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise. The caller inhaled. Exhaled. Slowly. Deliberately.
“Back off,” a male voice whispered. The same message as on the note Clay had found.
Violet’s stomach tightened. “Who is this?”
Another inhale.
She disconnected.
Violet picked up her cell and retried the number from the call she’d received at Bernice’s house, as well as the number her informant had used night before last. Both failed to go through.
She needed to contact Gwyn, but the informant had refused to share her cell-phone number for fear Angelo would discover what was going on behind his back. In fact, Gwyn had made Violet promise never to reveal where she got her information to anyone.
Violet had kept that promise even when the Gazette editor had waved a permanent job in front of her face like a carrot. She’d lost the full-time position on the prestigious Chicago paper, but she’d been true to her word and never gave up her source.
Once again, the shrill ring of her landline echoed in the stillness of the house. Violet swallowed down the anxiety that swelled within her. Silly for a phone call to illicit such a response. Pulling in a determined breath, she reached for the receiver.
Inhale. Exhale.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“Stay away from the mob.”
Her cell rang. She glanced at the incoming number, noting a different Chicago area code, and flipped the phone open.
“Violet?” Clay’s voice, concerned, urgent. “Your living room light is still on. Everything okay?”
“Someone called. He mentioned the mob.”
“I’m coming over.”
Before she could respond, her home phone rang again. She reached for the receiver and raised it to her ear. Silence. Then the rhythmic pull of air.
“Violet, let me in.” Clay pounded on the front door.
He must have sprinted to get here so quickly. Relief swept over her as she threw open the door. Clay stood on the porch in his shirtsleeves, face flushed, windblown hair, looking like he’d kill anyone who hurt her.
Stepping inside, he grabbed the phone and spoke into the mouthpiece. “This is the police. I’m tracing your call, and I will find you.”
He dropped the phone back to its cradle. “The creep hung up. What did he say to you?”
“To stay away from the mob.”
Clay pursed his lips and nodded. “It’s probably the same guy who broke into your home. Did you recognize anything about his voice?”
She tried to remember the cadence of his speech and any inflection that might have been familiar. Finally, she shook her head. “He spoke so quickly. Before I could process what he said, he’d hung up.”
“I’ll let Officer O’Reilly know what happened. Although I doubt he’d place a trace on your phone, unless the guy calls back again.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want the police coming over tonight. It’s late.” She pointed to her computer. “I’ve still got work to do.”
“Then I’m staying,” he insisted.
“Clay, please.”
His gaze shifted to the front door. “You need dead bolts, Violet. There’s an all-night discount store not far from here. I’ll pick a couple up and install them tonight.”
She held up her hand in protest. “Absolutely not. It’s too late. I’ll get the locks tomorrow. Maybe you could install them after work?”
“Yeah, sure. But I don’t want you staying here alone. Grab your laptop and come over to Bernice’s house. She’s got a third bedroom that’s not being used.”
As inviting as the offer sounded, Violet needed to stay put. “I won’t let a call frighten me out of my own home. The guy’s a coward or he wouldn’t have used the phone to warn me.”
Clay’s face twisted with disbelief. “He was standing in your kitchen last night, Violet.”
“You can’t be sure it was the same man.”
Clay let out an exasperated sigh and raked his fingers through his short hair. “Is your Aunt Lettie as bullheaded as you?”
She bristled. “Was. Past tense. She died when I was a child.”
His face softened. “I’m sorry about your aunt, Violet. But you need to accept the fact that the mob knows what you’re doing. They’ve got someone watching you in Missoula. That person has warned you twice to back off. The next time might be more than a warning.”
Of course, she knew he was right. She could no longer pretend the break-in and phone calls weren’t connected, but she wouldn’t—couldn’t—stop her search for the truth. Women were being targeted. She needed to find out as much information as she could about the mob’s activity in Montana. A news article exposing their murderous tactics would warn others who might be in danger.
“You’ll be right across the street, Clay. I’ll keep my cell on and call you if anything happens.” She gave him a ragged smile. “Having a cop living in the neighborhood has its advantages.”
The corners of his lips curled into a grin that rocked her to the core. Had to be 8.5 on the Richter scale. Why was he affecting her so much? Probably the late hour.
He stepped toward the door. “Call me if you need me.”
“Thanks for your help.”
“See you tomorrow night?”
“Yeah, sure.” She locked the door behind him, feeling a letdown. As much as she’d wanted him to stay, the hour was late and she did have work to do. Clay would have been a distraction.
With a heavy sigh, Violet turned back to her computer and hit the refresh button. A new message appeared from Gwyn.
I planned to talk to you at the coffee shop about another woman in Witness Protection. Angelo got information before I left Chicago. I’ve attached the photo he received. Her name’s Jen Davis. The mob’s after her. She’s next on their list. Mama’s Diner in Billings plays into it somehow.
Violet opened the attachment and stared at the photo. The woman was pretty with a sweet smile and long brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She wore what appeared to be a white nurse’s uniform and stared back at Violet with green expressive eyes. Printing off a color copy, Violet shook her head as the ink dried.
She scribbled Ruby and Carlie’s names on a piece of scrap paper. Underneath, she wrote Jen Davis followed by a question mark. Jen Davis was in the crosshairs of the
mob. She needed to be warned.
Violet searched the white pages online. No Jen, Jenny or Jennifer Davis was listed in Billings, which meant she probably used a cell phone.
Plugging Mama’s Diner into a map search, Violet found a hospital, nursing home and six doctors’ offices located within a few blocks of the restaurant.
Although the hour was late, she requested the diner’s phone number from directory assistance. Tapping the digits into her cell, she heard a recorded message. “Mama’s Diner is closed for the night. Call back when we’re open for business—7:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.”
The mobsters had mentioned Mama’s Diner, so the place had to have significance. Maybe Jen worked there. Maybe she was a frequent customer. Surely someone would know her or recognize her name.
Unless she used an alias.
A woman’s life was in danger, and Violet was stuck in Missoula. On a whim, she checked the airlines. The distance from Missoula to Billings was over 350 miles. Too far to drive there and back in one day, but a flight left at 8:00 a.m. and returned at 4:00 p.m.
Before she had time to change her mind, Violet purchased a round-trip ticket to Billings then printed off the boarding pass and electronic ticket. She sent an e-mail to Stu saying she planned to work from home tomorrow, which he’d get when he arrived at the paper in the morning.
A noise outside pulled her attention from the laptop. Her heart thumped a warning. She reached for her cell, ready to call Clay when a knock sounded at her front door.
“Honey, it’s Bernice.”
Violet opened the door, surprised to find her neighbor wrapped in a thick flannel robe, hair disheveled and clutching her pillow.
The older woman threw her thumb over her shoulder. “I got up for a drink of water and found Clay hunkered down on the front porch. The man insists he needs to keep watch over your house. I told him it made more sense if we both spent the night at your place.”
Violet looked around her neighbor to where Clay stood on the sidewalk. He smiled like a little boy who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
Bernice stepped past Violet and headed for the back hallway. “I’ve got the guest room. Clay said he’d sleep on the couch. See you two in the morning.”
Clay stretched out his hands and shrugged as he climbed the steps to the porch. “I told Bernice I was fine, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Any chance she’s related to your Aunt Lettie?”
Violet had to smile. “No, but she’s equally determined. Come in where it’s warm. Surely you didn’t plan to keep watch all night?”
He followed her into the living room. “Of course not.”
His reply sounded anything but truthful. Clay was skewing her usually low opinion of law enforcement. The guy wouldn’t let up where her safety was concerned. Not that she was complaining. In fact, Violet was starting to enjoy having him around.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked.
“No, thanks.” He glanced at her laptop. “I know you’ve got work to do. I’ll just stretch out on the couch.”
Violet grabbed a blanket, sheets, pillow and pillowcase from the laundry room and returned to find him staring at the photo of Jen Davis and the note with her name scribbled under Ruby Maxwell and Carlie Donald.
“Your informant contacted you again?” he asked.
No reason to keep the information from him. Violet shared what Gwyn had told her. “The mob thinks Jen’s in Billings. I’m flying there tomorrow.”
His eyes widened. “You’re what?”
She held up her hands. “Just for the day. I want to go to Mama’s Diner and see if anyone recognizes her from the photo. Jen needs to know she’s in danger.”
“Which you are, as well, Violet.”
“You can’t talk me out of going, Clay.”
“Then I’ll get a ticket and fly there with you.”
A warmth spread over her. “You’d do that for me?”
“It’s my job to keep you safe.”
Job? Was that why he’d been so attentive?
Violet pulled the flash drive from the USB port but left her computer running. “You can use my laptop to make your flight reservation. Help yourself to anything that’s in the fridge.”
Clay’s brow furrowed. “Did I say something wrong?”
She shook her head. “No, of course not, but it’s been a long day, and I’m tired. Check the doors before you go to sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
She hurried back to her bedroom and closed the door behind her, relieved to have some privacy. Clay filled her living room with too much of a male presence.
Silly of her to think his concern for her went beyond his duty. Cops were trained to defend and protect. That’s what Clay was doing. No more. No less.
Violet tried to sleep, but she kept thinking about who was stretched out on her living-room couch.
The light from the hallway shone under the door. Evidently, she hadn’t turned it off. No doubt, it would bother Clay’s sleep, as well.
Throwing on her robe, Violet tiptoed into the hallway and glanced into the living room. Clay was sound asleep. The top of the blanket had fallen to the floor. Violet stepped closer and placed it over his shoulders.
Glancing at her desk, she spied his electronic airline ticket next to her own. The screen saver flickered across the screen. Might as well turn everything off.
She tapped a key and the home page for the Billings newspaper returned to the screen. Had Clay uncovered more information on Jen Davis?
Violet hit the BACK icon and watched as a photograph and story unfolded. She scanned the text.
Billings lawyer Barton Perry—known for civic outreach—and his wife, Anna, killed in a tragic automobile accident…survived by only-child, Kristin, currently attending the University of Westbrook…the Perrys had worshipped at Faith Church in Billings.
Violet enlarged the photo. Mr. and Mrs. Barton stood next to their daughter.
Kristin? The same name Eloise had given her baby girl who had been adopted years ago. Violet did the math. Kristin would have been college age by now.
Violet leaned closer to the monitor and compared the young woman’s likeness to the news photos of Eloise she’d uncovered in the Chicago Gazette archives. The resemblance was striking.
She glanced at Clay, sleeping peacefully. Had he been interested in the photo and article because of his old friend from Southside Foster? The mob wanted to find Eloise. Hopefully, they wouldn’t try to find her daughter, as well.
Violet closed out of the newspaper’s site then turned off the computer and retraced her steps back to her bedroom, switching the hall light off as she went.
She’d let Clay keep his secret about Kristin. The less anyone knew about the young woman the better.
Keep her safe, Lord. Keep all the women safe.
SEVEN
As the sun rose on the horizon, Clay left Bernice and Violet sleeping while he walked across the street to Bernice’s house. He showered, changed into a starched shirt and khakis and fixed a pot of coffee. Strong and black.
Glancing into the living room, his eyes rested on the couch where Violet had sat last night.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her sparkling eyes and inviting smile and the way her hair had felt like silk against his arm. The desire to draw her into his embrace had stayed with him through the night.
The house was chilly. Knowing Bernice would return home soon, Clay arranged crumpled newspaper around a bundle of kindling in the fireplace. Striking a match, he held it to the wood.
The flame spread as fast as corruption did in Chicago. Clay shook his head, thinking back to what had happened. He had worked so hard trying to learn the name of the person who ran the prostitution racket for the mob. One name. That’s what he’d been after for too long.
The way the mob exploited women sickened him, and going undercover meant mingling with men who cared nothing about the people they hurt.
The smell of burning wood swirled
around him, warming the room, but his thoughts turned to the cold night when all his hard work and the efforts of the law-enforcement team that had set up the sting should have paid off.
Everything went wrong when Cameron Trimble stepped on to the scene. He had recognized Clay. Working undercover was dangerous. Being exposed could cost a man his life.
Using the end iron, Clay adjusted the logs. The fire sputtered and crackled. A log shifted, sending sparks into the air.
Clay had fought for his life that night. Luckily, backup had arrived in time.
Flames licked at the logs. Clay stared into the fire. The Bible said Christ was the light of the world. He remembered that much from what Eloise had told him. She said God could transform evil and allow good to come from the bad.
Could something good come from his run-in with Cameron Trimble? If Clay hadn’t been on probation, he wouldn’t have been free to help Jackson. Since Clay had come to Montana, he’d felt an inner sense of completeness as if part of him that had been unraveled was starting to knit together. For the first time in a long while, he had hope that the future could be filled with something good.
Was Violet the reason?
Or was he fooling himself?
“Morning, Clay.” Bernice let herself in and headed for the kitchen. He retraced his steps and found her pouring a cup of coffee, her flannel bathrobe wrapped around her waist. “Sure is nice to have the coffee ready. Thanks.”
She smiled at him, like the grandmother he’d never known. “You’re worried about Violet, aren’t you?”
“She’s too independent for her own good.”
Bernice nodded. “You’re right. I’ve been praying someone special would come into her life.”
Warmth spread over Clay that had nothing to do with the crackling fire or the hot coffee.
“I told God she needed a good man.” Bernice’s eyes crinkled. “Looks like the Lord sent you.”
