by Lisa Harris
She hesitated at the question. “He kept telling me that he wanted what Stephen had given me. A key, like I mentioned. But Stephen never gave me anything.”
“So you don’t know what key he meant?” Detective Morgan looked up from her note-taking.
“No, though I’ve asked myself the same question over and over.” Grace gripped the edge of the couch cushion, trying to steady her hands. “I can’t think of anything that Stephen might have given me that seemed classified or confidential. Nothing that raised any red flags.”
“That’s okay. Let’s switch to who Stephen was. What can you tell me about him?” Nate asked.
She automatically replayed their last conversation in her mind. A surge of guilt swelled. If she’d taken Stephen seriously, would things have turned out differently?
“Stephen had been coming to see me off and on for the past few weeks, mainly because he was under a lot of stress at work and, on top of that, believed someone was stalking him.”
“You don’t sound as if you believed him,” Nate said.
“Honestly, I thought he was a bit paranoid.” During all their sessions together, he’d never given her any kind of proof that someone had actually been watching or following him. Because of this, her focus had been to help him deal with his stress and anxiety.
“Do you know what he was afraid of?” Nate asked.
She caught his gaze, wondering if there were other things he wanted to ask her. Like why she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Why she’d moved back to Dallas. And why there were no photos of her and Kevin on the mantel. All things she really didn’t want to explain to him.
She switched her mind back to the subject they were discussing. “He told me he was worried he’d gotten involved with the wrong people.”
“Do you know who?” Detective Morgan asked.
“He never gave me specifics. Just told me about several incidents when he felt that someone was following him. How he’d ordered some bug detector online because he was convinced someone had bugged his office.”
“Did he find anything?” Nate asked.
Grace shook her head. “If he did, he didn’t tell me.”
Detective Morgan leaned forward. “Why didn’t he go to the police?”
“I told him that if what he believed was true, then he needed to report what was going on. But he didn’t have any solid proof, so he kept hesitating. I think he was convinced the authorities wouldn’t believe him.”
“And what about you?” Nate asked. “Did you just think he was being paranoid?”
“I believed he was truly afraid of something. But honestly, I didn’t know if it was in his head or if someone was really after him. At least I didn’t know until now. Clearly he was right and someone was after him.”
But why?
Grace squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to figure out what she might have missed. Stephen had come in to her office a few minutes late yesterday, clearly flustered and upset. He’d been struggling to keep things together like he did every week, but had something been different yesterday?
“What about his work?” Nate asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Do you know what he did for a living?”
“Yeah, he . . . he worked for a company as a computer security specialist—I’d have to look up the name—and was also doing some consulting work on the side for the FBI. He told me what he did was classified, but I know that he was working on top clearance security issues. Really, that’s all I knew.”
Nate turned to his partner. “If our victim was working with the FBI, they’re going to want to be read in on this.”
“Agreed. I’ll call them now.” Detective Morgan slipped out of the living room to make the call.
“I know there are doctor-patient privilege issues involved even after a client is deceased,” Nate said, “but can you tell me more specifically why he was coming to you in the first place?”
Grace hesitated, careful with the wording of her response. “We worked on things like self-talk and relaxation techniques. Basic things that helped him handle the strain of his work better.”
“You said you saw him yesterday?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me what his state of mind was?”
She stared at a spot on the couch, then pressed her finger against it. “He was extremely upset when he came in, but to be honest, most of what he said to me didn’t make sense. He just kept saying that he was in too deep, and he didn’t know how to get out.”
“Out of what?”
“I assumed his job, though he might have had money issues. I can’t be sure about that. He was always careful not to give specifics, which is why I assumed whatever he was working with—in particular with the FBI—must be classified.”
“So he never specifically mentioned money issues or any other problem?”
She shook her head, wishing she could be more helpful, but she’d never pressed Stephen to disclose details he wasn’t comfortable divulging.
Nate made another note. “Anything else you can think of?”
“He . . . he told me he was going to meet with his FBI handler last night and confront him with his concerns. And if the handler wouldn’t listen to him, he was planning to get out.”
Nate’s brow rose. “Meaning?”
She shook her head. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I know this sounds a bit crazy, but I couldn’t help wondering if he was planning to disappear.”
“That would explain a few things. We found his car parked not far from where he was killed, and there were two suitcases in the trunk.”
The initial shock of Stephen’s death was beginning to pass, but not the guilty emotions that had come with it. “Do you have any idea who killed him?”
“At this moment, we can’t confirm how he died, but he had your business card on him, and he called you late last night. That’s why we came here.”
“He called me?” Grace grabbed her phone off the coffee table and checked the call log. “You’re right, but I missed it. I turn the volume off at night so I can sleep. And then with everything that’s happened since then . . .”
She found the message and put it on speaker.
“Dr. Callahan . . . this is Stephen, though I guess you know that. Um . . . it’s late, and I probably shouldn’t be calling you, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m on my way now to meet with my FBI handler, but I don’t know . . . something’s not right. Something big’s in the works, and I don’t know who to trust. And I think they figured out I’m on to them.”
There was a pause, as if he was walking fast and struggling to catch his breath.
“Listen . . . I know you think I’m just paranoid, and to be honest, I hope you’re right. Though I don’t know which is worse. Feeling like you’re crazy or knowing you’re crazy. Anyway, if things turn out the way I think they might, I’m going to need you to get ahold of the Colonel. He’s the only person I know who could actually stop this. Because if they use what I have, the fallout’s going to be huge. I know . . . I know you think I’m acting crazy and maybe I am, but I’ve seen now what they can do and I don’t know how to stop them.”
Another pause, followed by something ruffling in the background. “There’s a key to a safe-deposit box . . . Hopefully, I’m wrong about what’s going on, but either way, I need you to find him . . . He can help stop this. I left everything you need to put an end to this with Oscar. I put your name on record with the bank, so you shouldn’t have problems getting what’s in the box. Take it to the Colonel, and please know that I’m sorry. For everything. I just . . . I don’t know who else to trust—”
The message cut off.
“He left me a key.” Grace stared at the phone, her pulse racing. If she’d picked up the call last night and talked to him, he might still be alive. “But I still don’t understand. He never gave me anything.”
“Who’s Oscar?” Nate asked.
“I have no idea.”
“And the Colonel?”
She stood up, confused with Stephen’s cryptic message. If whatever he had left her was so important, why had he been so vague with his directions? Why talk in code, especially if it was something so critical?
She turned back to Nate. “Why not just tell me outright what he needed me to do?”
“I don’t know, but you said he’d been acting paranoid. Maybe he was afraid someone was listening in to his conversations.”
She nodded. That made sense. If Stephen had been right about his phone or office being bugged, his vagueness would be justified.
But the Colonel . . . Oscar . . . What was he talking about?
Whatever his reasons were, she needed to figure out what he’d been trying to tell her.
“Okay. Was Stephen in the military?”
“If he was, he never mentioned it.” Guilt continued to eat at her as she sat back down on the couch. “How could I have been so wrong?”
“You know, don’t you, that none of this is your fault.”
“I know. But I’d given him my private number—something I rarely do. He was so convinced his life was in danger. If I’d taken him more seriously or found a way to help him deal with what he was so afraid of, maybe he’d still be alive.”
“Stop.” Nate leaned forward and brushed his fingers across her hand. “You have no way of knowing if you could have prevented this.”
“I just made a couple calls,” Detective Morgan said, stepping back into the room. “Stephen Shaw wasn’t on the FBI payroll.”
Nate glanced up at his partner. “What do you mean?”
“I talked to our FBI liaison, and they don’t have any record of our victim working for them.”
4
Nate took a few seconds to let the news sink in. If Stephen Shaw hadn’t been running security tests for the FBI, then who had he been working for? And in the process, had there been any breach in security? Or was he really crazy? All were questions that were going to have to be answered.
“How is that possible?” Gracie asked, beating him to the next question he wanted to ask. “He told me he’d been working for the FBI for the past couple months on several classified matters.”
Paige sat back down on the edge of the chair across from them. “I don’t know, but either he was lying to you, or I suppose it’s possible that he really did think he was working for the FBI. But according to my contact, he definitely wasn’t on their payroll.”
Gracie stood up again, clearly flustered, and started pacing in front of the fireplace. The line of photos on the mantel behind her caught his attention. There was one he recognized of her with her parents and sister. A couple more of her were candid shots with a little girl with bright-blue eyes. But there were none with Kevin. He glanced at her left hand. And no wedding ring. Which was strange. To him they’d been the perfect couple. But he of all people knew how much could change in ten years.
“I’m sorry,” Gracie said. “But I don’t understand what’s going on. Even though Stephen was paranoid and depressed, he wasn’t suicidal. So that leaves murder. I guess someone was after him. Because there was no reason for him to lie to me. Maybe he wasn’t really working for the FBI, but he definitely thought he was.”
“We need to tackle things one at a time,” Nate said. “You said you don’t know anything about a key he might have left you?”
“No. I’ve been trying to figure out why he didn’t just give me the key if he wanted me to have it.” She stopped in front of the mantel, hands on her hips. “I stepped out of the room for a few minutes halfway through our session yesterday, which might have given him time to hide a key, but why all the cloak and dagger? He must have been scared. Paranoid.”
“It doesn’t make sense to me either,” Nate said. “Which is why I think we should head over to your office now and see if we can find that key.”
“Agreed,” Paige said. “The robbery unit is on their way here now. I can stay and update them on what happened. They can take an official statement from you later, Grace.”
“Of course.” Gracie grabbed for her purse sitting at the end of the couch, along with her cell phone. “Let me just quickly tell Becca where I’m going.”
A minute later, he and Gracie were headed toward his car. Fall had blown in with unseasonably warm weather. At the moment, with a slight breeze in the air, the temperature was perfect.
“This isn’t exactly how I imagined reconnecting with an old friend from college,” he said, breaking the silence between them. “But it’s really good to see you.”
She smiled back at him. “I agree. It’s good to see you as well.”
“How long have you been back in Dallas?” Nate caught her gaze as he slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The last time he’d seen her and Kevin had been a year or so after their wedding. The three of them stayed up half the night catching up. Today, though, there was a sadness in her eyes that made him wonder what had happened since he’d last seen her.
“About a year now.” Gracie glanced at the ringless finger on her left hand that lay on the armrest between them. “Kevin and I divorced three years ago, in case you hadn’t heard.”
“No. I . . . I hadn’t, but I’m sorry. I haven’t exactly been in the loop these past few years.”
“He left me.”
He shifted the car into drive but didn’t let his foot off the brake. “I’m so sorry, Gracie. I had no idea.”
“It was over a long time ago. He’s living back east and working for a law firm.” Her words came out with no emotion. As if she was telling him what she’d had for dinner last night, not referring to the end of her marriage. “I was offered a job in a local practice and decided to move back here. It’s been a good change for me.”
Nate pulled away from the curb and started down the tree-lined residential street. Kevin and Gracie were the last couple he’d ever imagined splitting up. He wanted to ask what had happened and who the little girl was in the photo on the mantel, but he knew it wasn’t his place. If she wanted him to know, she’d tell him in her own time.
“I’ve always regretted losing track of the two of you,” he said instead. “In college, you think you’ll stay in touch forever, but then . . . I don’t know what happens. Life gets in the way, and before you know it, it’s years later.”
Time had rushed by for him and nothing had turned out the way he’d expected.
“Kevin regretted losing track of you,” she said. “He always planned to try to reconnect, but you’re right. Life happens. Things change.”
“Do you keep in touch with him at all?” As soon as the question was out, it struck him that he’d probably delved into something too personal. “I’m sorry—”
“No. He’s got his own life now apart from mine. It took a long time for me to get back on my feet again, but I’ve accepted it. I just . . . I think I feel sorry for him. I wanted to make things work. To try to find what we’d once had. He just couldn’t do that. Maybe he’s happier now. I don’t know. He remarried and has a little boy.”
“Wow.”
Her revelation surprised him. He remembered clearly the day of their wedding. Kevin was crazy about Gracie, and had been from the first time they’d met. And Gracie had completely fallen for him as well. Back in college, she was beautiful, smart, funny, and carefree. Today, she was still just as beautiful and smart, but seemed more reserved. More distant.
“I never imagined I’d be in this situation,” she said. “Divorced and single at thirty-two. Anyway, I’m really not complaining, because I know the two of you were close. I’ve always tried not to speak bad of him.”
Nate turned onto a busy four-lane road, his surprise turning into aggravation at the knowledge Kevin had walked out on her. “I guess it’s impossible to know what life is going to throw you, isn’t it?”
“I’ve worked to carve out a good life for myself,” she said. “I’ve got a good church, good friends, and I’m doing what I love again.
I just thought you should know.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Anyway, it’s all in the past now.” Her fingers fidgeted with her purse strap. “If you take a left at the light, my office will be another two blocks on the right-hand side.”
A part of him wanted to ask more questions, but it was clear from her voice that the subject was closed. Which was fine. He wasn’t going to press. As good as it was to see her, they were both different people today than they’d been back in college. He felt sorry for her—for both her and Kevin—but once he finished with this investigation, unless he took the initiative—which he wouldn’t—they’d probably never run into each other again.
Two blocks later, he turned into the parking lot of the counseling center and parked, then they headed for the older one-story building with glass doors and a brick face.
“There are four of us who have offices here,” Gracie said, unlocking the door before stepping into the cozy reception area furnished with two long couches and a coffee table piled with magazines. “There’s also a larger room in the back that we use for group meetings. Mine is the second door on the left.”
He followed her through the small reception area to a door with Gracie’s nameplate.
Gracie stopped. The door was open halfway. “Nate . . .”
He reached for his service weapon. Something was off.
“Stay here.” He moved in front of her, then stepped through the open doorway.
A woman dressed in a black pin-striped skirt and pink blouse stood in the middle of the office that had been completely trashed.
Nate pulled back his suit jacket to expose his badge. “I’m with the police, ma’am. I need to see your hands.”
“Grace . . .” She held up her hands in front of her, her eyes wide. “What’s going on?”
“Nate.” Gracie stopped in the doorway behind him. “This is Anne Taylor. She’s the secretary for the practice.”
“Sorry to have startled you.” Nate holstered his weapon. “I’m Detective Nate Quinn. Can you tell me what happened here?”
“No. I just got here a couple minutes ago. I noticed the door was ajar, and when I came in . . . this is what I found.”
