Witness (Otter Creek Book 1)

by Rebecca Deel

  “Moccasin telegraph.”

  “What’s that?” Serena asked.

  “The grapevine,” Ruth said. “And I think I know how to plug into it.”

  “You plan to enlighten me?” Ethan asked.

  Serena smiled. “Madison’s knitting group.”

  “It’s time I dusted off my knitting needles,” Ruth said. “Serena, drop me at The Bare Ewe in a couple of hours; I need to do a bit of armchair sleuthing.”

  Ethan chuckled. “Otter Creek’s secrets are about to be unveiled.” He kissed Ruth on the cheek and turned to Serena. He kept his gaze locked on her face. “Aunt Ruth, cover your eyes.”

  “Why?” Ruth sounded puzzled.

  “I’d like to kiss Serena goodbye and your crutches are too handy for comfort.”

  She laughed and covered her eyes with her hands. “Get on with it, then.”

  Ethan bent, and brushed Serena’s lips with his. For a brief instant, he lifted his head, then settled his lips on hers for a longer kiss.

  Serena’s pulse pounded so hard she had trouble breathing. Ethan’s mint-flavored toothpaste tingled on her tongue. She didn’t think mint had ever tasted so good.

  When he drew back, Serena realized with surprise that her arms were locked around his neck. She stared at him, dazed.

  Ethan smiled. “All right, Aunt Ruth. It’s safe to look now.”

  The squealing teakettle startled Serena. She turned off the burner and poured water with a shaking hand. She glanced back at Ethan and was rewarded with a wink.

  “I’ll see you ladies later,” he said and walked out the door.

  “You won’t get much baking completed staring at the door.”

  “What? Oh, right.” Serena smiled at Ruth, her cheeks on fire. “Sorry.”

  “Why? It’s about time Ethan showed some sense and I’m thrilled with his choice. Now, how can I help?”

  #

  Ethan scanned the information from Parrish as each page slid from the printer. The latest report from Interpol showed The Fox wanted in nine countries for assassinations of government officials, royalty, and one wealthy financier and his wife. The right price remained his sole stipulation for work.

  The man had no loyalty except to his contract. Once the fee hit his Swiss bank account, he completed the contract—no matter how long it took. To date, he’d never failed to complete an assignment.

  The Interpol brain trust believed him responsible for over 40 assassinations. Even with multiple intelligence agencies searching for him, no one had captured his image on film.

  Ethan opened his office door. “Rod.”

  When the detective appeared, Ethan motioned him inside and shut the door. “Parrish just sent information on The Fox.”

  “What have we got?”

  “Read it for yourself.”

  His eyes widened with each page he scanned. When he finished, Rod whistled. “What’s the plan?”

  “Did the hospital send us those security tapes?”

  “They just arrived. I haven’t had a chance to view them yet.”

  “Grab the tapes and we’ll watch them together. Let’s see if The Fox noticed the security cameras.”

  When Rod returned with the tapes, Ethan punched the start button on the VCR in the corner. Each tape held six hours of activity. He fast-forwarded through the second tape until the recorded time read 9:50 a.m.

  “Do you have the pictures from Miller’s funeral?” He slowed the tape to regular speed.

  “They’re printing right now.”

  “We’ll examine those in a few minutes. I want every person in those pictures identified.”

  “You think The Fox showed up at the funeral?”

  “It’s a place to start. We already know he’s connected to the mob. I’m going with Serena to a dinner Saturday hosted by Frank Stephens. He also owns a casino on the strip in Las Vegas and is rumored to be in bed with the mob. I’m curious how many people at Miller’s funeral will also be at this dinner.”

  “Need back up?”

  “I don’t think so. The Feds arrive by noon tomorrow. They’ll line up a couple of servers at the dinner. So far, I don’t seem to be a target, and The Fox doesn’t kill in a crowded room.” Ethan paused. “I’ll take the SUV.” He’d have access to his radio if anything happened.

  The time on the video read 9:55 a.m. Sanders, the guard Ethan had placed outside Miller’s door, moved down the hall out of camera range. At the bottom of the screen, two orderlies strolled into sight. Both wore surgical masks, but there was no mistaking Tony Coronado sauntering down the hospital corridor.

  Ethan focused on the second man dressed in a surgical cap and mask, his right hand covered by a load of linen he carried. “He looks about six feet tall, maybe 200 pounds. No distinguishing characteristics from this angle.”

  “He never faces the camera,” Rod said. “That head shot isn’t much use.”

  “It tells us one thing. The Fox is aware of his surroundings.”

  On the tape Coronado glanced up, alarmed. He said something to The Fox, and both men swung around to face the wall.

  “There’s Serena,” Rod said.

  She walked down the corridor to Room 1321, carrying a small mailer. The tape time read 9:58 a.m. One minute later, Serena left the room devoid of the package, an irritated look on her face.

  The two orderlies waited until Serena was out of sight before they moved toward Miller’s room. At 10:02, they exited the room, The Fox still carrying his armload of linen.

  Ethan shook his head, chilled by Serena’s close call. The tape continued to run. The volunteer entered Miller’s room at 10:04. She backed out, hysterical. Sanders raced back into camera range and darted into Miller’s room.

  Rod and Ethan watched the tape nine times, searching for details they might have missed during the first viewing. Satisfied they’d garnered all useful information, Rod brought in the pictures from Miller’s funeral.

  Ethan studied the photographs. He recognized several people from Cornerstone’s congregation. Setting aside pictures of his aunt and Serena, he focused on the rest. The mayor of Otter Creek, and several other town officials shared prominence in several shots.

  When he’d identified everyone in those photographs, Ethan picked up the pictures with Serena and Ruth. In the first, he noted the tall blonde-haired man watching the two women. He flipped through the rest, some from different angles, but all showing Mitch Harrington.

  “You know this man?” Ethan asked, staring at the photo.

  Rod glanced over. “That’s Mitch Harrington. Works for the Gazette. He’s a hot-shot writer from out west.”

  “Did you notice he’s watching Ruth and Serena in all these pictures?”

  “Not too surprising,” Rod said. “Mitch and Serena were an item.” He grinned. “Grapevine says she dumped him since you came into town.”

  “What do we know about him?”

  “He’s never been arrested here, if that’s what you’re asking. You’ll see him around town wherever there’s a breaking story.”

  “Why haven’t I seen him in connection with Miller or Pam Oliver before now?”

  Rod chuckled. “He targeted Serena for an interview, and Megan came after you.”

  Harrington targeted Serena for more than an interview. Ethan frowned. From the pictures, the reporter seemed almost obsessed with her.

  A knock sounded on his door. Suzie said, “Chief, Gage reports that Serena dropped your aunt at The Bare Ewe.”

  “Tell him to stay with Serena.”

  Rod watched Ethan a minute. “Does Serena know you put a tail on her?”

  “No, and if you want future promotions, you aren’t going to tell her. She already complained about Preston following her home last night.”

  “I hope I’m not around when she figures it out.”

  #

  Serena sank into the driver’s seat of her car, grateful to leave the hotel noise behind her. She couldn’t believe it took more than four hours to fi
nalize details for Saturday’s dinner. Stephens had requested a southern banquet to thank Dunlap County officials and Otter Creek elite who helped the Pot o’ Gold become a reality.

  Trained in France, the hotel chef didn’t include southern cuisine as part of his repertoire. Serena laughed remembering Jacque’s horrified expression when he learned no wine would be served with dinner. He muttered in French as he accepted her written instructions for brewing iced tea. In this case, not speaking French might be a blessing.

  Serena locked her doors, strapped herself in, and pulled out of the hotel’s parking lot. She maneuvered through late-night Knoxville traffic as she headed home.

  Headlights glared in her rearview mirror. Serena glanced back. Multiple cars jockeyed for position on Interstate 40. On the far side of Knoxville, she exited onto Highway 18, which led to Otter Creek.

  Car headlights flashed in her mirror, blinding her. Serena flipped her mirror to the night setting and changed lanes. The car’s glaring headlights made her eyes water. Maybe the car had those halogen headlights Meg told her about last week.

  The driver behind her changed lanes. Serena’s muscles tensed, her breathing shallow. Was that car following her? “Calm down, Serena,” she murmured. “This is just a coincidence.” If she slowed, the car behind her would take the hint and pass.

  Serena eased off the gas pedal until her car cruised ten miles below the speed limit. She checked the rearview mirror, expecting to see the car pulling around her. The car stayed the same distance behind her.

  She pressed harder on the gas pedal until she reached the posted speed limit. Her heart pounded. The car kept pace with hers.

  Serena squashed the urge to stomp on the gas and sprint away. That car was probably a lot newer than her Beetle. No way to outrun it. What should she do?

  Time to quit kidding herself. She needed help. Serena reached into her purse with a shaking, ice-cold hand and pulled out her cell phone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Ethan glanced at his watch. He’d left Serena a message to call him at home hours ago. Hernandez hadn’t reported a problem which should have made him feel better, but it didn’t. He opened his book to read, but his attention wandered back to Serena. The uneasiness grew.

  His cell phone rang. He snatched the instrument from the coffee table. “Blackhawk.”

  “Ethan!”

  He sprang to his feet, his book falling to the floor. “What’s wrong, Serena?”

  “Someone’s following me.”

  Terror lent a sharpness to her voice he’d never heard. He lunged out the doorway and raced to his SUV. “Where are you?”

  “Highway 18, about 15 miles from Otter Creek.”

  Had she spotted Hernandez in her rearview mirror? Ethan unlocked his car. “Serena, I need to call dispatch and find out who’s closest to you. Stay on your cell. Keep driving at the same speed.”

  He turned on his ignition and grabbed the radio. “Hernandez, this is Blackhawk.”

  Seconds later, the patrolman responded. “Hernandez here, Chief.”

  “You still tailing Serena?”

  “Negative, Chief. I got separated from her by a train in Grady’s Pass. I’m on Highway 18 East, about 20 miles out.”

  Ethan’s mind raced. He considered and discarded several possibilities. “Serena’s about five miles ahead of you,” he said. “A car’s tailing her. I want you behind that car. No lights or sirens.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ethan gave a few more instructions to the dispatcher, then raised his cell phone to his ear and heard Serena’s quick breaths. He tightened his grip on the phone and cranked his engine. He had to calm her down.

  “Serena, go to the police station. You’re closer to the station than you are to me. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Okay.” She sounded hesitant, shaky. “Is no one close to me?” The pitch of her voice told him she skated on a razor’s edge of panic.

  “Officer Hernandez is a few minutes behind you, but I want to catch whoever’s following you.” He wanted to strangle the man or woman who drove that car. Ethan goosed his engine and peeled out of the driveway.

  “What should I do if he tries to run me off the road?”

  He forced down emotions threatening to choke him and fog his reasoning. “Is the car moving up on you?”

  “No.”

  Serena sounded positive, a good sign. The driver had already had plenty of time to force her car off the road.

  “Can you tell me what type of vehicle it is?” Silence greeted his question.

  “It’s dark blue or black. Some kind of SUV.”

  Her muffled crying made Ethan’s heart clench. He needed to distract her, fast. “Serena.”

  After a few sniffs, she said, “Yes?”

  “Where do you want to go on our next date?”

  “I can’t think about that right now.”

  “Yes, you can.” He dropped his voice to a soothing tone, his words slow and deliberate. “You’re doing fine.” He searched through different ideas and blurted the most outrageous suggestion that sprang to mind. “You into mountain climbing?” He had to ease her fear so Serena could help them.

  “Mountain climbing?” Her tone sounded incredulous. “Are you kidding? Heights paralyze me with fear. That’s what stopped me from growing beyond five feet.”

  Ethan chuckled. That’s what he wanted to hear, Serena’s spunk. “What about fishing?”

  “Eww! Worms!”

  “I’ll take that as a no vote.” Smiling, he turned into the station parking lot and positioned his SUV to intercept the vehicle tailing Serena. “I’m batting zero on my date suggestions, babe. Help me out.”

  “How about a nice quiet walk around the lake one morning? No cars, no people, no guns.” Her voice broke. She drew an audible breath. “And you’re buying breakfast.”

  He grinned. “Deal. Where are you now?”

  “Almost at the Otter Creek exit.”

  “I’m in the station parking lot, Serena. Come to me.”

  After what seemed like two hours, her headlights came into view as she drove down Main Street. Behind her glared the headlights of a car keeping pace with her. Ethan’s lip curled. His men were in place. It was time.

  #

  “Now, Serena!”

  Serena dropped her cell. She jerked her steering wheel hard to the right and swerved into the police station parking lot. Behind her, lights flashed and tires squealed. Hands shaking, Serena turned off her engine and twisted around in her seat. Ethan’s white SUV blocked her view. He’d parked at an angle behind her, shielding her car from the sight of their quarry.

  “Get out of the car with your hands where I can see them!”

  Serena shuddered at the cold rage in Ethan’s voice. She hoped he never focused that anger on her.

  “Got him, Chief.”

  “Get him out of here.”

  Serena fumbled with the lock, then shoved open her door and climbed out. She stumbled around the back of the SUV, surprised by the weakness in her legs.

  “Serena.” Ethan holstered his gun and wrapped her in a tight embrace. His heartbeat thundered under her ear as her body quaked in his arms. He continued holding her until the shaking subsided.

  He tilted her face to the light. “You all right?” Obsidian dark eyes studied her face as he tangled his hand in her hair.

  She smiled. “Thanks to you.”

  Ethan shook his head. “You did the hard part. I’m proud of you, baby.” He steered her toward the police station, one arm still around her shoulders.

  His endearment sparked a flood of warmth through her body. Did he realize what he said? Maybe the stress of the situation or the need to comfort her brought out the term.

  Inside his office, Ethan nudged her toward his desk chair. “This is the most comfortable chair I have, and it may take a while before I finish the interrogation. Wait for me.”

  When Serena nodded, Ethan slid open a side drawer of his desk. He pulled out a small
packet and handed it to her. “This might help.” His mouth curved with an amused smile. He shut the door on his way to interrogation.

  Serena looked down at her hand and laughed. He’d handed her a packet of chamomile mint tea.

  #

  “You have no right to haul me in here like a criminal. Otter Creek’s going to hear about this harassment.” Mitch Harrington’s gray eyes glittered as he scowled at the two policemen.

  Ethan and Rod sat across from the angry reporter in the interrogation room, waiting for his rants to wind down.

  “Why am I here?”

  “Why were you following Ms. Cahill?” Rod asked.

  Harrington looked at him through narrowed eyes, his expression now blank. “What business is that of yours?”

  Rod crossed his arms. “Where were you this evening, Mr. Harrington?”

  “At the Pot o’ Gold.” He shifted his gaze to Ethan. “I lost $5,000 in a backroom poker tournament, if you must know. Why?”

  “What time did you arrive at the hotel?” Rod pulled out his notepad and pen.

  “About 8:00.”

  “You know we’ll verify your story.”

  “Go ahead. Talk to April, the stacked brunette with gorgeous legs. I played for several hours; she served drinks and snacks.”

  “You think she will remember you?”

  Harrington’s telling laughter soured Ethan’s stomach.

  “During a break around 10:00, April led me to a dark, quiet room for a private, but memorable interlude, Detective. Want me to give you a play by play?”

  “So you had sex with the server in a closet. Must have relaxed you too much, Harrington. Your concentration seems to have slipped.”

  “An expensive few hours, Harrington,” Ethan said. “Looks like you’re not very good at poker.”

  A flush of anger rose in Harrington’s cheeks. “Whether I’m skilled or not is beside the point.” He sneered. “And if I were under arrest, you would have already booked me. So why did you cuff me?”

  “Why were you following Ms. Cahill?” Ethan countered.

  “I saw her swerving as she drove from the hotel. I wanted to make sure she arrived at home in one piece.”

  “Swerving?” Rod asked.

  “Didn’t you see her? She was weaving all over the road. I thought she’d crash into a police cruiser when she skidded into the parking lot out there. You did give her a sobriety test, didn’t you?”