by Dani Pettrey
“I don’t have a home anymore.”
“Sure you do. You’re at least going to see Katie, right? She’s been searching for you this whole time.”
“I know. I made her PI in Malaysia.”
“Is that why you came back?”
“For Katie? No.” He wished, but he’d left that life, left her behind. She might have been looking for him, but she couldn’t possibly still hold feelings for him. “And you can’t tell her.”
“What?”
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’ll kill her. Kill you all. It’s a wonder you and Tanner aren’t dead already.” He grabbed the room service cart and moved for the door.
Tanner’s eyes widened at the mention of her name. Declan hid his surprise better, but Luke still sensed the shock.
“She still loves you, Luke.”
Luke paused, his grip tightening on the cart’s edge. “That’s impossible.”
“I’m telling you, she does.”
Luke swallowed. “It doesn’t matter.”
Declan took a step back. “Who are you?”
“A ghost,” he said, shutting the door behind him.
Two hours later Declan was still processing what he’d seen, or rather who he’d seen—Luke Gallagher in the flesh. Kate was right. Luke was alive, but she didn’t know that he was in the States.
How did Luke tie to Ebeid?
Who was running the Houston branch of the terrorist network?
Had the hit man been sent because they’d touched a nerve today? If so, which nerve? Asking around about Nisa was his best guess. But, again, how did Luke fit into all this?
“You okay?” Tanner asked, as she slid under the bedcovers.
“Yeah.” They’d switched hotels and with only king-size rooms left, he’d once again be taking the floor. But, after what happened—or nearly happened, thanks to Luke—he wasn’t leaving Tanner’s side for an instant.
Tomorrow they were on a flight back to Baltimore.
If the enemy planned to return for him and Tanner, he preferred to be on home turf.
Resting his weight on his forearms, he leaned over and kissed Tanner’s forehead. “’Night.” He smiled, amazed at how intensely he cared.
“’Night,” she said sleepily.
He checked his watch. One o’clock. She had to be exhausted.
He, on the other hand, was filled with questions and adrenaline, which thankfully would help keep him awake.
Settling back on his blanket on the floor, he gazed at Tanner, only to discover she was already fast asleep. Since the light in the room was clearly not bothering her, he’d leave it on and get some work done while he waited out the remaining hours of the night.
He retrieved Burke’s copy of Die Trying and opened to the slip of paper tucked inside, where two neat columns contained page numbers. Flipping to the first corresponding page number, he read the scene, hoping to find something, but nothing popped out. He did the same with the second column . . . but nada. Then, just as he was about to place it back in the evidence bag and cut the lights, an idea hit him.
What if the first column was the page number and the second column the number of the word on the page? Kind of like the Ottendorf cipher he’d learned about at Quantico but had never used in the field. And they used it in that adventure movie Tanner loved. What was it called? Something Treasure . . . National Treasure—that was it.
He flipped back to the key and started with page thirteen, word number forty-two. Leader. He continued through the list.
Luke surveyed the perimeter one last time before settling in his motel room. It was drafty and sparse, but it’d do. He’d disposed of Lark’s body, making sure it would never be found. After taking a long, hot shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist. Swiping the steam from the mirror, he stared into it, Declan’s question echoing through his mind.
“Who are you?”
Did he even know anymore?
It’d been months since Kate’s contact, Hadi, had lost Luke’s trail in Malaysia, and she wondered if Luke had moved on or if he had simply slipped under Hadi’s radar. She’d spent years trying to find Luke, and now, after just a glimpse, she’d lost him all over again. Though not remotely prone to crying or getting overly emotional, she felt on the brink of a meltdown.
Why was this so hard?
Why couldn’t she let go?
Because it was Luke, and no matter how much she wished otherwise, he held her heart. It belonged to him. If only he’d return so she could be whole again.
The question beating inside, the one that refused to lessen its stranglehold, was where had Luke gone, and what route had he taken to get there?
She’d been running a facial recognition program through the world’s ports and airports ever since Hadi lost his lead on him. “Come on . . .” She had to get a hit soon. Her leg bounced as the images flashed by on the screen.
Exhaling, she pulled back her hair and then let it fall across her shoulders. The Barefoot bobbed in the harbor’s waves. She glanced out the starboard porthole at the patrol car stationed up the metal ramp from her slip. It was there at Griffin’s insistence after Declan and Tanner’s nasty homecoming last night. While it was possibly overkill, she actually didn’t mind the extra protection for once. The bullet holes peppering her boat were a vivid reminder of what could happen. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt strangely vulnerable lately. Like something was coming she wasn’t prepared for.
With a sigh, she let the porthole curtain fall back in place. Praying for a match, she glanced back at the program sifting through facial images by the nanosecond. A few possibilities had come up in the low ten percentiles, but she needed more. She needed a match.
Hours later, her laptop dinged beside her on the bed, rousing her from slumber. Rolling over, she fumbled to slip her glasses on and stared back at the screen, her heart thwacking in her chest as she stared into Luke’s eyes.
24
Sitting straight up in bed, Kate rubbed the haze of sleep from her eyes and stared back at the image.
It was Luke, going through customs in Toronto.
His hair was a different color, and it looked as if his nose had been broken a couple times, perhaps his jaw too, at least once, but it was him.
Cross-referencing the security records with the time the picture was taken, she determined he’d used the name Brad Walsh. Brad Walsh . . . That had been the name of a star football player during their time at UMD.
Who knew how many aliases he had, but she finally had a lead. She’d start searching other athletes’ names from their time at the university and see if any popped.
She prayed so, though now that she’d found him, she couldn’t fathom what he’d been doing all these years.
Her Malaysian contact, Hadi, had told her that Luke was not a man to be trifled with, a man to avoid if you wanted to live. That wasn’t the Luke she knew, but neither was the one who’d clearly abandoned her.
Declan’s cell rang a little after three a.m.
Kate?
He answered, trying to keep his voice low so as not to wake Tanner. “What’s wrong, Kate?” She never called in the middle of the night.
“I found him.”
Declan rubbed his tired eyes. “Found who?”
“Luke.”
“What?” Had Luke made contact after all? A weight lifted off his chest. He wouldn’t have to bear the burden of keeping that secret from his friends.
“I got a facial recognition match of him coming through customs in Toronto. It was clear. No doubt.”
Oh.
“What’s wrong?” Tanner asked, as she sat up.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said with a wince.
“Oh. Sorry . . .” Kate said on the other end of the line, her voice drenched with shock. “Who is that?”
Surely she knew he wouldn’t spend the night with a woman. Not like that. Not until marriage.
&n
bsp; “It’s Tanner. We had an . . . incident tonight. I wanted to keep her close.”
Tanner smiled.
“Are you guys okay?” Kate asked. “You’ve had a dangerous couple of days.”
“Yes, we have. But we’re fine. How are you?” She now knew for certain Luke was alive.
“I don’t know. I knew in my heart he was alive, but it still doesn’t seem real.”
“I can imagine.” He’d seen Luke and it still didn’t feel real.
“Sorry for disturbing you,” she said. “I’ll let you go. I’m going to give Griffin a call next.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow.”
“You’re headed back?” Kate asked.
“Yeah.”
“All right. See you then.”
He hung up and stared at his phone.
“What’s going on? What’s wrong with Kate?”
Had she woken as soon as his cell rang, heard him say Kate’s name, or had she simply assumed . . . ? “She found a clear picture of Luke at the Toronto airport.”
“Wow. She’s good.”
“Yeah. It’s only a matter of time before she learns he’s in the country.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”
Hesitation clung to Tanner. “Do you . . . still care for her?”
What a fool he was. He should have explained his lack of feelings beyond friendship for Kate so much sooner. Had Tanner been wondering all along? “No.” He shook his head. “Not for a long time. Not since you.”
“Really?” She asked with a soft smile.
“Really.”
She bit her bottom lip and lay back down, leaving it at that. But that was a conversation they’d certainly need to have in more detail, along with so much more. He needed to tell her everything.
He longed to move to her side and kiss her, to show her how deeply he cared for her, but it was the middle of the night. They were sharing a room.
When he shared the entirety of his feelings for her, he didn’t want it to be while they were under duress, or because they were in such close quarters, or after she’d just asked about another woman. He wanted her to know his feelings were all about her and the life he prayed they’d start together after they made it through this case alive. But that was where his focus had to remain for now—keeping the woman he loved alive and keeping his country safe.
After calling everyone to update them about Luke, Kate knew better than attempting to go back to sleep. Her nerve endings were alive and tingling with shock. The same shock everyone had expressed—everyone except Declan. He’d seemed off. Though, to be fair, it sounded like he was in über-protection mode, which was awesome. Well, not that he and Tanner had experienced danger, but that he felt that way about Tanner. She could hear it in his voice, and she couldn’t be happier for him, for them. They deserved love.
But she deserved love too.
She swallowed as pain washed over her so fiercely it was blinding.
If Luke was alive and traveling freely, it meant he’d walked away, stayed away, of his own volition. She couldn’t shake the thought. The harder she tried, the more it repeated, burning like a flame of truth over and over again in her soul. He’d left her.
Needing to abate the crushing agony so she could breathe, she pulled her MacBook onto her lap and began working Haywood and the Markums’ case. She started by digging into Lowell Brentwood’s life, and as dawn crept over the horizon, moved on to Emmitt Powell’s.
25
The Markums’ house was in the affluent Hunt Valley area, not far from the Gilmore Inn.
They certainly weren’t hurting for money, Griffin thought as he stepped from his truck on the cool October morning.
Jason had headed with Parker and Avery to question Lowell Brentwood about his fingerprints being on Haywood’s steering wheel, and to determine whether his shoes matched any of the prints found at the reservoir. Earlier that morning the coroner had confirmed that Haywood had been murdered—and that indicated the Markums had likely been murdered as well. With the most to gain and the most to lose, Lowell Brentwood appeared to be their top suspect.
Needing to pursue every viable lead, Griffin had obtained a warrant to search the Markums’ property. The best way to learn about a victim—or in this case, victims—was to see where they lived. He wanted to check their home computers for any correspondence regarding the money being stolen from their accounts.
The Markums were a professional couple with no children, so as anticipated, he found the house empty and eerily still. He made his way through the glass, marble, and cherrywood entryway, mirrors lining the back wall above a marble cutout where the Markums’ mail was piled in a neat stack. A gold tray sat beside the mail, a set of keys and a watch nestled inside. A large gleaming crystal chandelier hung from the two-story open cathedral ceiling.
His cell rang as he headed for the Markums’ home office. “Jason. Give me some good news.”
“Lowell said he borrowed Haywood’s car two days before the retreat when his car broke down at the office.”
Griffin scowled. “Verifiable?”
“Unfortunately for our case against him, it checks out.”
“What?”
“Lowell’s secretary, Margaret, confirmed the incident. So did the towing company that towed Lowell’s car to the dealer that day.”
“Great.”
“And it gets worse.”
“Seriously?”
“None of Lowell’s shoes match any prints taken from the scene. Parker and Avery are moving on to the Coveys, as they live closest to Lowell. I’m going to head over to you and can always reroute if Parker and Avery discover a match.”
“Sounds good. I’m getting ready to go through their home office.”
“See you in twenty.”
Griffin hung up, only to have his cell ring again. “McCray,” he answered. It was going to be one of those days, but he expected no less with all the irons they had in the fire.
“Detective McCray, this is Daniel Caldwell.”
Haywood’s lawyer. He’d left a voicemail for the man after obtaining his contact info from Haywood’s estranged wife.
“Thanks for calling me back.”
“Certainly. I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear about Haywood. We worked together for close to twenty years.”
“We’re all in shock,” Griffin said.
“Carol gave me permission to share any details with you. She was still listed as the executor of Haywood’s will.”
“Really?”
“After thirty years of marriage, I guess he assumed he could trust her despite the separation.”
Interesting.
“What would you like to know?” Caldwell asked.
“A number of things, but most importantly, who did Haywood leave the shares and control of his company to?”
Caldwell cleared his throat. “Haywood left the shares equally split between his children, his life insurance to Carol . . .”
Again interesting. For a man who’d separated from his wife, he still appeared to care a great deal for her well-being. But that was just like Haywood, always looking out for the people around him.
“ . . . and his control of the company to Emmitt Powell.”
That rocked Griffin back. “I’m sorry. Could you say that again?”
“He left control of the company to Emmitt Powell.”
“Lowell Brentwood said he and Haywood agreed to leave control of the company to one another.”
“Yes, and it had been left to him until two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks?”
“Yes. I was quite surprised myself by the change, but Haywood was adamant about it.”
“Did he say why?”
“I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask . . .”
“And?”
“He said he wasn’t sure he could trust his partner any longer.”
“Did he say why?”
“No, and I didn’t press. I could see he wasn’t going to share beyond that, so I let it drop. I made the requested changes and Haywood came by last week to sign the final notarized documents.”
“Do you know if Lowell or Emmitt were aware of the changes?” Griffin asked.
“He said he’d informed Emmitt of the change but would not be informing Lowell.”
“I can imagine not. Thank you, Mr. Caldwell. You’ve been extremely helpful.”
“I’m glad to be of any help. Please don’t hesitate to call if you require any further information.”
“I appreciate that.”
Well, that was a crucial piece of information Emmitt Powell had neglected to mention during their interview. He phoned Jason, redirecting him along with Parker and Avery, to Emmitt Powell’s house—the young associate had some explaining to do.
Declan and Tanner found a church to worship at in Houston, and it was a particularly God-timed sermon on David and Goliath. In this case, they were facing plenty of giants. It was a comforting reminder knowing God was the one in control and that they just had to follow His leading.
Their flight left at two, so they headed straight from the church to the airport, only to discover their flight had just been delayed by three hours.
Heading through security anyway, they found a nice restaurant in the terminal to have lunch. While waiting for their order to arrive, Declan pulled out Die Trying, the list of numbers, and deciphered series of words. Though the words didn’t reveal anything to him, they didn’t feel random either. He couldn’t shake the discovery from his mind and was anxious to share it with Tanner.
Given the nature of the words—Leader. Glock. Handcuffed. Message. Wrists. Barn. Agent.—he’d decided to wait until after worshiping God before shifting back to the case that was becoming more intricate and frightening with each new clue.
Tanner leaned across the table, studying the words Declan had written out. “Which of Burke’s cases do you think these refer to?”
Declan shook his head. “I don’t know. It could be any of them . . . or none of them. That’s what we’ve got to figure out.”
Griffin called as the waitress brought their drinks. “Sorry.” He hated to answer during lunch, but given Haywood’s case, he needed to take the call.
