by Lisa Harris
Time might have smoothed out some of the jagged edges of the pain, but she knew she’d carry them with her the rest of her life.
“I’m so sorry.” Nate leaned back against the couch. “It’s hard for me to imagine how he could have done something like that. I also can’t imagine how hard it would be to lose a child.”
“It’s been over three years since he left, and for the most part I’ve found ways to move on, though I don’t think it’s ever possible to get over the loss of a child. There’s always this . . . this deep, black hole inside me. Like something’s missing. And then the dates of her birthday come around, or the anniversary of her death . . . those feelings are magnified. Sometimes it feels as if I’m starting all over again with the pain and loss. Parents aren’t supposed to bury their children. They say a high percentage of marriages break up after losing a child. I guess I never imagined it would happen to us. That we’d become nothing more than a statistic. But we did. And at the time, I didn’t even see it happening.”
She took in a deep breath while he waited for her to continue. “I find myself hardly able to breathe sometimes. I don’t know why she died before me. I still feel guilty when I’m happy. Miss the memories we never created. And yet at the same time, I’m thankful for the time we had and don’t regret any of it. I wouldn’t be who I am today without her short time on earth.”
“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I know it can’t be easy to dredge up all those memories. And with all that’s going on right now—especially with today being her birthday.”
She nodded. But this wasn’t a place she could stay. Not today, when there was so much she needed to deal with right here. Stephen was dead. Someone had broken in, threatened her life. No, she needed to stuff her grief back into its compartment. At least for now.
She glanced at her watch. “We should go. The bank’s going to open soon—”
“Gracie, forget it. You don’t need to do this. Not with everything you’ve gone through. You should be spending the day with friends and family. Definitely not this. We’ll get the necessary paperwork and get it done.”
“You need answers, and I can help get them for you. Besides, not only is it a distraction I need, it puts off having to clean up the mess here and having to deal with all of this.”
“Gracie—”
“Please.” She touched his arm. “I need to do this. If I go home, I’ll just end up eating a pint of ice cream and binge-watching Netflix.”
He squeezed her hand. “You’re sure?”
She nodded, surprised at how comfortable she felt talking with him. Out of all of Kevin’s friends, Nate had been her favorite. He’d been funny, smart, steady . . . and today it felt as if time hadn’t even passed since she’d seen him.
Except for her, everything had changed.
He glanced at his watch. “Okay, but that’s it. You walk into the bank, get Stephen’s stuff, and leave. I’ve got a team on their way here to see what they can find. With all the people who are in and out of this office, I’m not expecting much, but there could be something in your office that will help point us to the intruder.”
She grabbed another tissue and nodded. “Just give me a couple minutes, and I’ll be ready.”
She walked into the small bathroom, stopped in front of the sink, and splashed some water on her face, trying to ward off the familiar panic she’d learned—in part—to deal with. There was something about Nate’s presence that helped to center her. She’d made it through this day before, and she’d make it through again.
Five minutes later, she followed him out to his car, feeling the rising defenses she’d put into place so many times before. When today was over, she’d go home, have a long soak in the tub, and cry. And maybe eat that pint of ice cream.
Nate’s phone rang and he answered the call.
“Everything okay?” she asked once he’d hung up. But she could tell by the expression on his face that it wasn’t.
“No, actually. That was my partner. The medical examiner isn’t done yet with his autopsy, but he’s found evidence that Stephen Shaw didn’t commit suicide. He was definitely murdered.”
6
Nate measured Gracie’s reaction as he drove them away from her office and toward the bank a few miles down the road. Murder changed everything, and made him wonder if they’d made the right decision to bring her along with him to the bank. But in order to expedite the process, he needed her. Some banks had regulations that didn’t allow anyone into the safe-deposit boxes until the estate was cleared, and the last thing they needed was a delay in getting whatever Stephen had left for Gracie. In order to figure out what was going on, they needed answers.
“Are they positive he was murdered?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Apparently there were a couple of indicators, including contact range. In most suicides, the bullet is shot from close range, producing a star-shaped wound.”
“And in Stephen’s case?”
“The shot came from farther away.”
“So, his suicide was staged.”
“That’s what it looks like,” he said. “On top of that, his shoulder had been dislocated.”
“What are you saying?” She kneaded her hands together in her lap. “He was tortured?”
“It’s possible.”
He turned onto Main Street and headed into a familiar part of town. They needed to find out who they were dealing with and how all the pieces connected. What he didn’t want was her entangled in the situation. Whether or not Stephen had been tortured for information, he had gotten himself into something way over his head.
That wasn’t a place he was going to let Gracie go.
He stopped at another light, his decision made. “We’re going to call this off. I’ll get a court order to get into the box if I need to. It shouldn’t be that difficult—”
“Forget it,” Gracie said. “Even if Stephen was murdered, I’m not going to change my mind, Nate. I want to do this. I need to know the truth about what happened to Stephen. And in order to do that, you need answers.”
“I know, but someone killed him, Gracie, and someone tried to shoot you last night. We know the two situations are connected, and that potentially puts you in a dangerous position. If someone believes Stephen gave you something—something they’re willing to kill for—your life is in danger as well.”
“I’ll be fine.” Gracie gripped the armrest as she shot him a grin. “I’ve got you watching out for me, don’t I?”
He frowned at the compliment, not sure that was going to be enough, considering he had no idea what they were dealing with.
“Then here’s the deal. We’ll go to the bank together, but then I’m going to arrange to have you stay at a safe house until we find out what’s going on—”
“Forget it, Nate. I can’t just live in fear and go into hiding. What about my clients? My friends? I came here to start over. Not run at the first sign of trouble.”
He turned on his blinker, then passed a slow pickup. He understood her frustration, but that wasn’t going to keep her safe. “Until we know what’s going on—”
“I can’t go into hiding and end up jumping at every shadow I see.”
He glanced at her. Her blonde hair that fell past her shoulders had darkened, but her eyes were still the color of amber. He looked back at the road. She was strong. She always had been, and he was sure that all that she’d gone through over the past few years—all that she’d lost—had made her even stronger. In the end, he couldn’t force her to accept protection, but he also couldn’t just play down the danger.
“We’ll talk about it more later. For now, just think about it. Okay?”
“If it will make you feel better, I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you.” He couldn’t help but smile. She was just as stubborn as he remembered her.
And just as beautiful.
Five minutes later, Nate pulled into the parking lot of Stephen’s bank, hoping that whatever it
was that Stephen had stashed away before he died was going to give them some answers. Half a dozen cars were scattered across the small lot, but at the moment the area was quiet.
He turned off the motor. “You still sure about this?”
“Nothing’s changed in the past few minutes, though I’d forgotten just how overprotective you are.”
“Overprotective?”
“In a good way.” She smiled, but the tension was still in her eyes. “Did you ever go into the military like you used to talk about in college?”
Nate nodded. “Four years. Marines.”
“And now you’re a homicide detective. I’d say that pretty much makes my case.”
“I like ensuring justice wins, and while not everyone agrees with this anymore, I still believe in chivalry.”
“Which is why you’re insisting I go to a safe house?”
He shot her a smile back. “Just doing my job, ma’am.”
“Then why do I feel like I’m about to do something illegal?” Gracie chuckled as she undid her seat belt.
Nate nudged her with his elbow. “Stephen said he set you up jointly on his account, so you’re fine. We’ll be out of here in ten . . . fifteen minutes tops.” He undid his seat belt and climbed out of the Explorer.
He’d get her out of here and insist she go somewhere safe where he wouldn’t have to worry about her while he was working. She’d put up a fight. He was sure of that, but that was okay. Kevin might have walked out on her, but he wasn’t going to.
He shoved down the thought as he walked around the car. He had no desire to judge his friend. And this certainly wasn’t a competition.
As he reached Gracie, who was just stepping out of the car, another car pulled into the empty space next to them. Nate glanced at the driver and felt his pulse quicken.
“Gracie . . .” He stepped between her and the opening car door, pulled out his service weapon while pushing her back into the Explorer, and turned around, but he wasn’t fast enough. The driver was already out of the car, shooting a Taser into his back. Nate collapsed, helpless, as the electricity coursed through him, while a second man grabbed Gracie.
He fought to stay focused despite the intense pain shooting down his legs. He couldn’t give in. Couldn’t let the pain stop him from keeping Gracie safe. But every muscle in his body seemed frozen, and he couldn’t respond to what his mind was telling him to do.
The man dropped the Taser and zip-tied his wrists, then opened the back door of the Explorer. “Get in the car.”
Nate struggled to get his legs under him, and the man grabbed his arm, pulled him up, and shoved him into the back seat. A tattoo on the man’s wrist peeked out from his suit sleeve as he pulled Nate’s gun from its holster, then searched his pockets for the car keys. There was nothing Nate could do to stop him. Another few seconds and he would regain his strength, but what then?
“What do you want?” Nate forced out the words while staring at the blurred dome light of his car above him.
“Stay down, or I’ll shoot both of you.”
Nate tried to move so he could find Gracie, but he couldn’t see her. Panic coursed through him. This wasn’t some random mugging. These guys knew exactly who they were targeting. Stephen had been murdered, and now they were after Gracie and whatever was in that safe-deposit box. Shots fired in front of the bank would get someone’s attention, but at this point it didn’t matter. He couldn’t do anything, and Gracie wasn’t armed.
Where was Paige?
He heard one of the men talking to Gracie. Ordering her to show him the bank key. His mind raced. As long as they needed her, she’d be safe. She could signal the guard, stall until backup arrived. She’d be okay.
Please let her be okay, God.
The man tossed Nate’s gun onto the front seat, then closed the back door.
What had he been thinking? He should have gone with his gut and never allowed Gracie to get involved.
His captor slid into the driver’s seat and started the car. “Here’s how this is going to play out. You’re going to stay out here while my partner goes inside. I’ve got orders to shoot you if you do anything stupid, so if you’re thinking of being a hero or something . . . think again.”
They were taking a huge risk, immobilizing a police officer in front of a bank with the expectation of walking inside with a hostage. But they’d worked to cover their bases. If she refused to play, they’d kill him. If he refused to play, they’d kill him. Someone was determined to get what was in that box, and he was out of options.
“You know you’ll get years for this,” Nate said, frantically working to undo the zip tie. The pain had begun to ease, but his brain still felt fuzzy.
“No I won’t. I’ll be long gone before they start looking.”
“Do you even know what’s in that bank box?” Nate continued, looking for a way to throw off his captor. “I hope it’s worth it when you go down for murder one.”
“Shut up.”
“How old are you?” Nate asked as the man pulled out of the bank parking lot. “Twenty-four . . . twenty-five? Why throw your life away for this? The contents of a safe-deposit box. Because I’m right. There’s no way you’ll get away with this.”
“This is far bigger than me. Far bigger than either of us.”
“If that’s true, then whoever you’re working for won’t mind you taking the fall when this goes bad.”
“Shut up.”
What was so important that they would risk taking hostages, including a police officer? Nate tried to make sense of what was happening, but there was only one clear thought in his head. Stephen Shaw hadn’t been paranoid.
7
Grace glanced back at Nate’s car one last time before heading toward the bank. Last night she’d stayed up late reading a thriller about a woman being stalked. Today, it was as though she was living inside the nightmare.
“Keep moving.” The armed man who’d pulled her away from the car gripped her elbow too tight.
“You’ll never get away with this.” She forced down the terror of the past few hours. “What happens if security notices you have a weapon? He’ll have the cops here in a matter of minutes. You’ll never get out.”
“I’m not going to need a weapon. If you try anything stupid—if you do anything at all that catches someone’s attention—we’ll shoot the detective back there. Is that enough motivation for you?”
She wanted to tell him that she didn’t care what happened to Nate. That she didn’t know him. But she wouldn’t gamble on Nate’s life by trying a bluff that failed.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “You’re going inside the bank with me. If you do anything at all to make the employees inside suspect even for a second that something is wrong, the detective is dead. If you do anything to catch someone’s attention, he’s dead. And if that’s not enough motivation, I have no problem shooting you as well.”
She glanced at him and studied his face, ensuring that she memorized his features so she could give a description to the police when this was over. Assuming there was going to be an end to this. Thirtysomething, Caucasian, an inch taller than her five foot seven. His short, sandy hair had been jelled and spiked . . . jeans and a blue button-down dress shirt . . . and he carried a slim messenger satchel.
“Did you kill Stephen?” she asked Spike as they approached the glass front doors.
“Forget about Stephen. Get out the key.”
“It’s in my purse,” she said, digging through the side pocket until she found it, willing her hands to stop shaking. “But you still haven’t told me what you want.”
“What I want is for you to shut up.” He stopped about ten yards from the doors to the bank and caught her gaze. “Because you have one job, and one job only. You’re going to walk into that bank with me and sign in, and when I’ve gotten what I want, you’ll be getting me out of here without any trouble.”
“Do you even know what’s inside the box?”
“
It doesn’t matter what’s inside.”
She could tell by the twitching of his lip and the beading of sweat across his forehead that he was anxious. More than likely this had been a spur-of-the-moment plan after torturing Stephen for information. But that didn’t really matter, because they still held the advantage. It might have been something they’d talked about as a plan B, but clearly they thought they’d be able to walk in, open up the box, and waltz out with no one being any wiser.
The sun streamed in through the windows as they stepped inside the bank. In the air-conditioning, the temperature felt a good ten degrees cooler. Grace glanced around the lobby where there were six or seven customers, including a young mother and her small children, and a security guard standing in the far corner of the large, open space. A wave of nausea swept over her. How in the world was she supposed to go through with this like nothing was wrong?
She debated her options. She could try to signal to the security guard or one of the tellers, but then what? The guy had a gun. He could turn this into a hostage situation where someone got killed, not to mention what they’d do to Nate if she didn’t do what they told her.
No. She couldn’t do that. For the moment, she was going to have to play along and pray Nate had a plan of his own. What she couldn’t think about was what was going to happen when they left the bank and this guy didn’t need her any longer. She could identify him and they wouldn’t want to have any witnesses.
A female employee wearing a gray suit and blue shirt greeted them with a too perky smile. “Can I help you?”
Grace fingered the key and felt her mouth go dry as she read the woman’s nametag. “Shannon . . . hi . . . I, uh, need to get into a safe-deposit box.”
“Of course. Your name?”
“Grace Callahan.”
“And the box number?”
“Nine sixty-nine.”
“No problem. If you’ll just give me a second, I’ll find your card.”
