Colby Rebuilt

by Debra Webb

  “A couple weeks before she disappeared,” Ms. Brooks replied slowly as if she were taking pains to answer accurately, “she told me that he had been tense. That he made her nervous when he got that way.” Mary Jane turned to face Shane more fully. “You had to know my sister, Mr. Allen. She wasn’t afraid of anyone. This was not like her at all. I asked her why she didn’t break it off, and she refused to talk about it.”

  “Anything else you might think of would be very useful,” Shane assured her. “Make notes whenever anything at all comes to mind. Frankly, my initial assessment would be that her former employer is responsible for her death, but your feelings regarding the boyfriend muddy the waters to some degree. I would suggest moving forward under the assumption that either one could be responsible.”

  “The truth is all I want,” Ms. Brooks insisted. “She would do the same for me.” She looked to Victoria. “After Detective Bailen gave me the news about the possible connection between my sister and your agency, I did a little research. The Colby Agency is the best. I want you to find out what happened to her. So, how do we do this? I’m sure there’s a retainer fee.”

  “Under normal circumstances,” Victoria agreed, “there would be a retainer fee. But this case is different. I had already decided that we would launch our own investigation after Detective Bailen’s visit today. There won’t be any fees involved with our taking this case, Ms. Brooks. We need the truth, as well.”

  The lady’s relief was undeniable. “I appreciate that, Mrs. Colby-Camp.”

  Shane’s senses went on alert. Something in her voice had changed. The change in inflection was so subtle that he might have missed it had he not noted the shift in her posture. She sat up a little straighter, poised for battle.

  “But,” she continued, “you see, I need to be involved in this investigation. Fully involved. That may change the way you see things.”

  Shane and Victoria exchanged a look.

  Since Victoria was the boss, Shane let her take the lead. She asked, “Involved in what way, Ms. Brooks?”

  Shane watched her chin tilt slightly as she braced to argue her position.

  “My sister was murdered,” she said, “possibly for nothing more than her desire to do the right thing. As far as I can tell from the past eleven months, the only thing the authorities are worried about is finding a way to reopen their case. They don’t care about my sister. And I doubt that Chicago’s finest will get very far with the FBI and the U.S. Marshals running things to facilitate their own interests. I don’t want Rebecca forgotten, and that’s exactly what I believe will happen unless someone goes into this investigation with her interests as their primary goal.”

  “Solving your sister’s murder would likely prove helpful to the Bureau’s case,” Shane countered. “Certainly, bringing down Horizon Software will be their goal, but don’t believe for one second that Rebecca will be forgotten.” He had to give credit where credit was due. Federal law enforcement took a bum rap for a lot of things. He couldn’t in good conscience fail to speak up when he was all too well aware of protocol.

  Mary Jane Brooks shifted her attention to him. The doubt was crystal-clear in her eyes. “That may be, Mr. Allen. But I need to be sure. I’m not taking any chances where my sister is concerned. I want the truth. The whole truth. Not some version that serves the best interests of anyone else involved.”

  “Rest assured, Ms. Brooks,” Victoria cut in, “we will find the truth, and it will not be diluted by anyone’s influence. You have my word on that.”

  Shane couldn’t say whether or not Ms. Brooks understood what she was getting when she got Victoria Colby-Camp’s word, but he hoped she understood exactly how significant the offer was.

  “Then you won’t mind if I follow this case with your investigator,” Ms. Brooks countered, a hint of defensiveness in her tone. “Generally when there’s nothing to hide, full disclosure isn’t a problem.”

  “Full disclosure and shadowing an investigator,” Victoria reminded her, “are two very different things. Ms. Brooks, there are safety issues that cannot be ignored. We have to assume whoever murdered your sister doesn’t want to be revealed. Any attempt to do so will likely have dangerous repercussions.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Mary Jane returned crisply.

  “You need to consider carefully what you’re asking,” Shane said, jumping in and reiterating Victoria’s words. If this was going to be his case, and it seemed it would be, he had no desire to be saddled with a civilian. Especially not one emotionally connected to the victim.

  The would-be client didn’t so much as spare him a glance. “I have to do this,” she announced, undeterred. “If you can’t allow me to participate, I’ll be forced to go to another agency.”

  That could present a whole other set of problems. Not the least of which was the source of personal information the woman could provide.

  “Ms. Brooks,” Shane spoke up again, “we completely understand your concerns.”

  “You can’t possibly.” All signs of hesitancy or uncertainty were gone now. She looked at Shane with something bordering on contempt. “My sister was murdered. To the police this is just another case in a city where there’s likely to be another murder later today. And another one tonight and maybe tomorrow.” Her hand rested against her chest, over her heart. “She was my sister. I need this done right. For her.”

  Shane looked to Victoria for confirmation before making a move he would likely regret. Victoria gave him a single, slight dip of her head as authorization to proceed as he saw fit.

  “All right, Ms. Brooks,” he relented with a heavy dose of lingering doubt as to the intelligence of the move. “You’ve made your wishes perfectly clear. I’ll do what I can to facilitate your request. But—” he fixed her with a gaze that said his terms were non-negotiable “—you will be required to operate under my rules. No exceptions. What I say goes one hundred percent of the time. I make the decisions and set the pace.”

  Surprisingly, she thought about his offer for a time before responding. He had expected her to jump at the chance.

  “As long as your rules don’t prevent me from knowing and comprehending each step taken. I won’t be left in the dark, Mr. Allen.”

  She’d definitely thrown down the gauntlet. The depth of her strength startled him just a little. She looked so delicate and fragile on the outside.

  He might be about to make the first major mistake of his new career, but this woman had pretty much left him without any alternatives.

  “Then we understand each other, Ms. Brooks,” he confirmed. “We’ll start today. If—” he directed his attention back to Victoria “—that’s what you had in mind, Victoria.”

  She gave him another succinct nod of endorsement. “The sooner the better.” Her gaze moved between them. “For all involved.”

  Mary Jane Brooks stood and turned to Shane. “I’d like to start with Jason Mackey. I’m certain he’s the key to what happened.”

  Oh, yeah, he’d definitely made a mistake. Sixty seconds into the agreement, and she had already broken his first rule.

  Chapter Three

  Shane Allen did not look like any of the U.S. Marshals Mary Jane had seen on television or in real life. Not that she had seen that many, but she had been interviewed by two shortly after her sister’s disappearance. Once the marshals had realized she didn’t know anything, they hadn’t visited or called again, nor had they returned her calls whenever she’d tried to get information about her sister’s case.

  Mr. Allen wore his hair long, almost to his shoulders. Dark and full, he made no effort to restrain the wavy length. A goatee on his chin drew her attention to the strong lines that delineated his square jaw. He looked not only dark…but dangerous. She resisted the urge to shiver.

  He was not at all what she had expected.

  Where was the tailored suit and polished oxfords? She’d noticed a couple of other Colby Agency employees while she had waited to see the woman in charge, and all had bee
n dressed in a very businesslike manner. But not Mr. Allen. In contrast, he had worn jeans and a V-neck navy sweater over a white T-shirt. In lieu of oxfords he wore black leather boots, evidently to coordinate with the black leather jacket he’d donned as they had left the tenth floor.

  In the parking garage of the Colby Agency building she had gotten another surprise: he drove a Harley.

  A motorcycle!

  Why would Victoria Colby-Camp assign this man to her sister’s case? Was he as reliable, as good as the men she’d seen dressed in their classic suits? Or was she getting the low man on the totem pole because no money would be changing hands?

  Mary Jane shook off the questions. She had to give this investigator the benefit of the doubt. Looks could be deceiving. She had learned that the hard way. Every single associate in her sister’s life had worn the power suits and the polished smiles, and her sister was dead—murdered by someone from that world. Judging anyone by their outward appearance was clearly a mistake.

  Insisting on starting with Rebecca, Allen had followed Mary Jane to her sister’s apartment building. He’d parked his Harley directly behind her sedan at the curb outside the prestigious address. Rebecca had lived well, but then she’d worked hard for all she had attained. And she’d given freely.

  Despite the fact that Mary Jane was the one who’d had to set her career aside to take care of their parents, Rebecca had insisted on paying her full salary and any other involved expenses. How could she hold her sister’s lack of patience with children and the elderly and ailing against her? Some people just weren’t cut out to be caregivers.

  Mary Jane’s eyes welled with emotion as she strode up the walk to the front entrance. Mr. Allen kept pace with her, but didn’t ask any questions or make any comments. He’d left the helmet and gloves with the motorcycle, but he still looked a bit like a road warrior with the leather jacket and well-worn jeans. She reminded herself again not to be judgmental. He could be the best investigator on staff at the agency. He was a former U.S. Marshal.

  But was former the key word?

  He opened the full-view glass door for her as they entered the lobby. At least his manners appeared to be impeccable and classic.

  “Good morning, Ms. Brooks.” The security guard smiled broadly as Mary Jane approached. During the past few months she’d been here often enough to get to know the guards on all shifts.

  “Good morning, Wallace.” She produced a smile that lacked the sincerity of the guard’s jovial one. “This is Mr. Allen.” She indicated the man who paused next to her. “He and I are going to check on Rebecca’s apartment.” She hadn’t told anyone here that her sister was dead. The news was too fresh for her to pass along so casually. Calling when she’d made all the other necessary contacts would have worked, but she just hadn’t been able to talk about it to the folks here yet. The security personnel treated her like family, spoke of her sister the same way.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pushed the register toward the edge of the counter. “I’ll need you both to sign in and I’ll need to see ID for you, Mr. Allen.”

  Mary Jane didn’t miss the speculative glance the guard sent in Allen’s direction. She could understand his misgivings. Shane Allen looked a little sketchy. And it was Wallace’s job to protect the tenants of his exclusive building, or their belongings in the event of their absence…or death. An ache settled deep into her bones. Everyone she’d loved was dead now. Gone.

  Forcing her thoughts away from the grief, she signed the register as Allen withdrew his ID. He didn’t speak as Wallace considered the driver’s license and Colby Agency identification.

  When the security formalities were out of the way, Mary Jane thanked the guard.

  “Ms. Brooks’s apartment is a popular place this afternoon,” Wallace said as he passed Allen’s ID back to him.

  Mary Jane frowned, surprised. “There’s been someone here today?” Detective Bailen? She supposed she should have expected that. Confirmation of her sister’s murder changed everything. Reignited the investigation into her disappearance.

  “Chicago PD was here earlier. Two of those marshals,” Wallace explained, “are still up there now.”

  Next to her, Shane Allen seemed to tense…to become wary. “That’s good, actually,” Mary Jane offered in an effort to cover her confusion at her companion’s reaction. “I hope it means they’re putting forth some renewed effort.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Wallace drew his register back to his side of the desk. “Miss Rebecca sure isn’t going to be happy about all this coming and going in her apartment.” He amended quickly, “Except for you taking care of all those fish and her plants.”

  Mary Jane barely kept the tears in check as she nodded her agreement before making the necessary parting comments. She walked stiffly toward the bank of elevators, reminding herself to breathe…to block the sad thoughts. She had to focus, to keep every iota of her attention on finding out what had really happened to her sister. She pressed the call button and, thankfully, didn’t have to wait. The elevator car opened welcomingly and she stepped inside, then selected floor twenty-one. Allen followed.

  The doors closed, ensconcing her and the investigator who looked nothing like she’d expected in a small, silent space that made her thankful for the reprieve. Under any other circumstance she would have been nervous at the idea of being in a closed space with a man who looked more like a devilish pirate than a professional businessman. But then she reminded herself that he came with the Colby Agency’s backing. The best of the best, the cream of the crop. Those were the phrases repeated over and over on Google when she’d done her meager research.

  For a moment she considered asking why the presence of the marshals bothered Investigator Allen, but other thoughts intruded and all other synapses failed. Her sister was dead. She wouldn’t be coming back. Her fish and plants would have to be moved to Mary Jane’s house. For months, she had pretended that Rebecca would be coming back at some point. Now she knew for certain that wasn’t going to happen…ever.

  “You’ve been coming by to water her plants and feed her fish for all these months?”

  The question dragged Mary Jane from her painful obsessing. She didn’t look at him, although she felt his gaze on her. “Yes. Someone had to do it.”

  “Almost a year. That’s a long time to take care of someone else’s place.”

  A very long time. But then she was used to taking care of others. She’d been doing it her whole life in one capacity or the other if the truth be told.

  “She was my sister. There wasn’t anyone else.” She shrugged. “Until today, there was a possibility that she would be back at some point.”

  She was alone. Mary Jane felt that weight crush down on her shoulders. There was no one else. No close family, hardly any friends. It was difficult to keep friends when you had bedridden patients to see after. Eventually the invitations to socialize had stopped coming. Maybe the worst part was that she hadn’t even noticed.

  On the twenty-first floor, the elevator glided to a stop and the doors opened. Mary Jane led the way to 2118. She knocked once before unlocking the door since Wallace had said that two marshals were in the apartment. She didn’t want to get shot surprising a couple of gun-toting U.S. Marshals while they did whatever they were doing.

  Investigating a murder—that was what they were doing.

  Mary Jane took a breath. Maybe she’d watched too many movies. Or maybe she simply didn’t trust anyone these days. Surely federal investigators wouldn’t whip out their weapons in a secure building like this. It wasn’t even the scene of the crime.

  Marshal Dan Bolton stood in the middle of Rebecca’s living room. He was the one who had conducted the initial interview with Mary Jane when her sister had gone missing. “Hello, Marshal.” She produced what was no doubt a dim smile.

  “Ms. Brooks.” Marshal Bolton looked past her to the investigator, who closed the door with a firm thud.

  Two things happened simultaneously. Bolton’s expression t
urned grim, and his partner, Derrick Mitchell, appeared from the direction of the bedroom.

  “Well, well,” Marshal Mitchell announced as his gaze settled on Shane Allen. “If it isn’t a ghost from the past. How’s it going, Allen?”

  Mary Jane paused near the sofa to glance back at the man who’d entered the apartment after her. She supposed she should have considered that these guys might know each other, but she hadn’t. Not even for a moment.

  Allen stepped forward. The tension radiating from him confused Mary Jane all the more when, clearly, it should have warned her that there was about to be trouble.

  “It’s going,” he said in answer to the other man’s question. Then he gave his head a little shake. “I guess now we know,” he went on, his tone deep with antagonism, “why this case hasn’t been solved in a timely manner.”

  “That’s a bit of a cocky attitude,” Mitchell tossed back, “for a man who got himself shot and forced into retirement.” He looked from Allen to Mary Jane and back. “I hope Ms. Brooks isn’t pinning her hopes on you.”

  Marshal Bolton took a step right, blocking Allen’s path to his partner. “We were on our way out.” He nodded at Mary Jane. “We’ll let you know if we learn anything new, Ms. Brooks.” Bolton turned his attention to Mitchell. “Let’s go. Now.”

  Mitchell glared at Allen as he passed him, but he didn’t say more. Bolton closed the door behind them and the tension in the room was reduced to a more tolerable level. What in the world had that been about?

  “I take it you worked with Marshals Bolton and Mitchell,” Mary Jane said when the silence went on for a second or two too long. She wanted to ask about Allen’s getting shot and the glaring tension between him and Mitchell, but that was none of her business. The only thing that mattered to her was finding her sister’s killer. Unless it somehow affected his job performance, this man’s past was none of her concern.

  Eyes so dark they were nearly black stared at her. “We knew each other. Let’s just leave it at that, Ms. Brooks.”