by Debra Webb
“Then we’ll know in a minute,” he whispered back.
That was true.
“Mr. Trenton will take care of you,” the tellee said with a smile.
Shane thanked her.
“Sign in here, please,” Mr. Trenton instructed.
Mary Jane, her heart thudding, sat down at the desk and picked up a pen to sign the register, which reminded her of an old-fashioned hotel registry.
She held her breath as he read her name, then typed the information into his computer.
“May I see some ID, Ms. Brooks?”
Did that mean her name was in there? Surely, if it wasn’t he would have just said so.
Her fingers trembling, she reached into her purse and fished out her wallet. She provided her driver’s license and waited, hoping against hope this was the place.
“Very well.” Mr. Trenton passed the license back to her.
She took it, her heart at a near standstill waiting for him to tell her something one way or another.
“You have your key, I presume.”
She nodded and showed him the key.
“This way.” He stood. “Is the gentleman going to accompany you?”
“Yes…if that’s all right.”
“Just sign in, sir, and show me your ID.”
Shane did as instructed, and then they followed Mr. Trenton into the bank’s massive vault room, which contained hundreds upon hundreds of secured boxes.
Mr. Trenton walked straight over to the rear wall and inserted his key into box 414. Mary Jane was overjoyed that she hadn’t had to ask him the box number. She was pretty sure he would have seen that as suspicious behavior. Her head was reeling with the idea that her signature had somehow been on file. Had Rebecca forged her name? Her hand still shaking, she thrust her key into the second lock and gave it a turn. Evidently so.
Trenton removed the box and carried it to a nearby table. Each table had privacy sides that prevented anyone except the person at that particular section from seeing the contents of the box. Each section contained a brass desk lamp and a desktop computer.
Mr. Trenton gifted her with a polite smile. “Take your time.”
Mary Jane sat down at the table, mainly because her legs had gone unsteady beneath her. Shane stood next to her.
“Would you like me to open it?”
She sucked in a harsh breath. “No. I’ve got it.”
The box wasn’t one of the large ones. Regular size. Gray metal. Nothing special. And yet her sister had left her a message here.
“Okay.” She lifted the lid and stared at the contents. One CD and one white business-size envelope with her name written on it.
Mary Jane picked up the envelope and opened the unsealed flap. A single piece of paper was folded in the same manner as a typical business letter. Emotion filled her eyes as she visually identified the handwriting as her sister’s.
Dear Mary Jane,
I am so sorry for any pain this situation may have caused you. I left you the videotaped message at the condo in hopes that if anyone were watching you that they would assume you knew nothing and would stop. The little game using the Monopoly card was to give the plan credibility. I pray it worked.
The idea of my former employer getting away with what he did prompted me to make other arrangements for covering that possibility. The FedEx package was to be delivered in the event I died. So, if you’ve come here, then there is reason to believe I am dead. The woman I paid to deliver the package has heard news that this is the case and has set this phase of my plan in motion. The CD contains copies of everything the FBI will need to take Anthony Chambers down. I have provided this same evidence already but, if I’m dead, I suspect it was covered up.
Therein lies my one problem. Someone working my case is dirty. I don’t know who. We tried to figure it out, but couldn’t. So be very, very careful who you give this to. Otherwise, it will all be for nothing. Jason is trying to help me escape the inevitable. He loves me, MJ. He would do anything for me. If he is still alive when this is over, thank him. He tried hard to help.
Do what you have to do, but be careful.
I love you,
Bec
Somehow Mary Jane managed not to cry. Maybe it was because of the strength she had felt as she’d read her sister’s letter. She should have known better than to doubt Rebecca. No way would she have been involved in anything wrong.
“We can’t walk out of here with that,” Shane said quietly. “If we do, it’ll be like stamping a huge bull’s-eye on our foreheads.”
“Will it be okay to leave it here?” She’d never had a safety deposit box before. Seemed safe enough, but then, what did she know?
“The bank’s not going to let anyone near it without a court order, and if we’re dealing with a dirty fed the last thing he’s going to want to do is leave a paper trail.” Shane seemed to consider their options a moment. “But before we go, I’d like to know what’s on that CD.” He gestured to the computer. “Let’s have a look.”
Mary Jane removed the CD from its protective holder and placed it into the appropriate slot. A few seconds later she opened a document that listed dates, locations and transactions. She and Shane studied the information as they moved from document to document. Digital shots of faxes and e-mails. Unbelievable. Anthony Chambers had been selling secrets to terrorists! Middle Eastern, Russian, you name it. This looked to be sufficient evidence to nail him to the wall, in Mary Jane’s opinion.
“Before we put that away—” Shane crouched down next to her “—I’m going to take some snapshots of key pieces of evidence with the camera in my phone and send it to the Colby Agency for safekeeping.” His gaze fixed on hers. “Just in case.”
“Sounds like a smart move.”
She watched as he made snapshot after snapshot, checking each one to make sure it was readable. Then he forwarded each one to his associate, Simon Ruhl. When he’d finished, Mary Jane placed the CD back into its case and returned both it and the letter to the safety deposit box. Shane carried the box back to its slot in the wall of boxes and slid it into place. Mr. Trenton returned to secure it.
“Do you think they’re watching us?” she asked as they strolled out of the vault.
“Yes.”
She shuddered at the danger they were both in. And yet, somehow, she felt safe next to this man.
Mary Jane thanked Mr. Trenton on her way out. She glanced back one last time before exiting the main entrance. Her sister had been right to pick this place. There were hardly any grand places like this left anymore. And who knew. Maybe one day she would live in a house like this.
But she wouldn’t hold her breath.
Like Shane, she exited onto the street with extreme vigilance. The enemy could be anywhere. Watching. Ready to take action. She wouldn’t be forgetting the shoot-out in the middle of the night last night. Or finding Detective Bailen’s body today.
They’d gotten settled in the car and Shane had started the engine when his cell rang.
The conversation was pretty much one-sided, but his occasional mono-syllabic response was loaded with disdain.
Had to be Mitchell. His ex-partner was the only person she’d heard him to speak to with such low regard.
When he closed the phone he said, “We have a command performance at the Bureau. LeMire insists on seeing all parties involved. Mitchell and Bolton are on their way there now.”
Mary Jane heard what he said, but mostly she was obsessing on the idea that what she’d seen and read in the safety deposit box pretty much confirmed that her sister was dead.
The phone calls had to be fabricated.
A new wave of sadness washed over her. She hadn’t really expected Rebecca to still be alive, but it had been kind of nice to believe for just a little while that it might be possible.
She didn’t talk as they drove to the FBI headquarters. Shane knew the letter had gotten to her. He wished he could say something to make her feel better, but there was nothing. She would
have to grieve the loss of her sister.
Mary Jane had lost every member of her family in the past year.
That had to be tough.
Really tough.
Though he didn’t see his family often, they were there. He could visit anytime.
He stopped at the guard shack and showed his ID. When the guard waved him through, he drove onto the lot and parked, then turned to his passenger.
“You okay?”
She shrugged. “I think so. It’s just been a lot to deal with.”
That was definitely true.
“Let’s get this out of the way and we’ll find a nice quiet place to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”
“That would be nice.”
Halfway across the parking lot, his phone rang again. He paused to take the call. “Allen.”
“Shane, this is Simon.”
From the sound of his colleague’s somber voice, this wasn’t going to be good news.
“What’s up?” He glanced at Mary Jane, hoping he didn’t have to dump anything else on her today.
“We found the orthodontist Rebecca Brooks used. Dr. Leonard Strickland. Fortunately, he still had her file in his office. The M.E.’s office e-mailed a copy of the victim’s dental views to Strickland. The victim was positively not Rebecca Brooks. We don’t have confirmation that the vic was Amanda Ferguson, but it definitely was not Rebecca.”
“Thanks. Maybe that’s why we were called to the Bureau for a face-to-face.”
“I’m not sure they have this information yet. I can be there in fifteen minutes,” Ruhl offered.
Shane didn’t see any reason for Ruhl to rush over here. “I’ll let you know if we need any assistance.”
“Also, we expect to have that voice analysis no later than tomorrow morning.”
“That’ll help.” Shane ended the call and dropped the phone back into his pocket.
Mary Jane didn’t ask any questions as they continued on toward the lobby of the building, but he knew she needed to know this.
“That was Simon Ruhl. They found the orthodontist in St. Louis. The remains did not belong to Rebecca.”
Mary Jane’s continued silence told him that she didn’t know how to feel. Was Rebecca dead or alive? Either way, where the hell was she?
He could certainly understand that.
Once they were cleared through security, they made the trip to the fourth floor conference room in more of that thickening silence.
Mitchell, Bolton, LeMire and his partner were all on hand. It surprised him that there was no representative from Chicago PD. This was their case, as well. With Bailen dead, evidently the Bureau had opted to leave the whole division out of the loop.
“We have evidence that Detective Brandon Bailen may have been involved in the disappearance of Rebecca Brooks,” LeMire announced.
If he’d said Bailen had been resurrected in the morgue, Shane wouldn’t have been more surprised.
Before he could say as much, Mary Jane shot out of her chair. “You have to be joking! Detective Bailen was one of the finest policemen I’ve ever met. He worked hard to solve Rebecca’s case. More so than any of you,” she stated with a solemn appraisal of those gathered. “I can tell you that.”
Shane put his hand on hers and urged her with his eyes to have a seat. No need to let this get out of control right out of the chute.
LeMire spread an array of photos across the table. All showed Rebecca and Bailen in a variety of settings and obviously deep in conversation. One included Jason Mackey, as well.
“That ‘for sale’ list you discovered with Amanda Ferguson’s name on it,” LeMire said, “was a case Bailen had pushed aside as unsolvable more than a year ago. Suddenly, the remains for a name on that list shows up in his highest-profile case. Strikes me as a little too coincidental, wouldn’t you say?”
Mitchell nodded his agreement. “Other than the four of us—” he indicated the federal agents at the table “—no one else knew the specifics of this case except Bailen.”
“So you believe,” Shane began, “that Bailen was working with Anthony Chambers.”
“It’s a significant possibility,” Bolton offered.
“We have to consider every avenue. He did have one-on-one contact with the key witness in the case.” He tapped one of the photos. “Repeatedly.”
“I’ve heard enough.” Mary Jane stood once more.
“I’m not listening to any more of this. If I were you—” she looked from one man to the other “—I would take a closer look at your own agencies.”
She walked out.
Shane had no choice but to follow.
He caught up with her at the elevator.
“They’re grasping at straws,” he offered, though not really in defense of the men they had left in that conference room but in defense of the agencies they represented.
“Rebecca said—”
He pressed a finger to her lips to quiet her before she said anything about the safety deposit box out loud.
“Not here.”
She put her hand to her mouth and turned away from him.
He had to rub his fingers together to erase the feel of her lips. Damn, he had to pull himself together here. This growing obsession he had with the woman was nothing but asking for trouble.
It wasn’t until they had cleared the building’s front entrance that he felt comfortable talking freely.
“Rebecca could have been right about her suspicions, but we have no proof,” he offered quietly to set the tone of the conversation. It wasn’t impossible that someone could be listening. No need to take the risk. “We have to see this thing through and get our ducks in a row before we go there.”
Mary Jane nodded her understanding. “Someone’s using Detective Bailen as a scapegoat.”
He had arrived at the same conclusion, but no amount of deductions would do anyone any good without evidence. Shane opened her door and then went around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel.
“Do you think we can do this?”
He slid the key into the ignition as he met her gaze. “Prove one of those guys back there is dirty?”
“Yes.”
The uncertainty in those big blue eyes tugged at his heart. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing letting this thing between them get out of hand, but he was helpless to stop it.
He shot her a smile, anything to give her the reassurance she needed right now. “Absolutely. Whoever is behind this is already running scared. All we have to do is be there when they screw up.”
Her answering smile melted something deep inside him. He was reasonably sure it was his resolve not to feel exactly what he was feeling.
He twisted the car key.
The ignition hesitated.
Adrenaline blasted through his veins.
“Get out of the car!”
Even as he said the words, he reached across her and shoved open her door.
“Get out!” he repeated as he flung open his own door and dove for the pavement.
He hit the asphalt hard then rolled as far and as fast as he could.
An explosion shook the ground.
Parts of the shiny red Mustang flew through the air and showered down upon him.
Mary Jane.
The debris was still flying as he half scrambled, half ran on all fours around to her side of the car.
She lay on the ground…unmoving.
Chapter Twelve
She could see his mouth moving, but the words were so far away she couldn’t hear.
Shane.
The ground.
She was lying on the cold asphalt.
Mary Jane tried to sit up but he stopped her.
“Don’t move.”
She read his lips this time. Why did he sound so far away?
There was a cut on his jaw. Blood dripped like crimson tears.
What happened?
His right hand pressed against her right side. She tried to move away fro
m the pressure but pain arced through her and he pressed even harder so she kept still.
Don’t move. Don’t move.
Why did her body hurt so badly?
The car.
She turned her head to where the car sat. The hood was partially open, twisted and scrunched as if it had impacted with a tree. Had they hit something? She didn’t remember driving out of the parking lot.
The memory of a horrific blast echoed in her head.
Explosion.
Her heart thumped against her sternum.
Bomb?
But they were okay…weren’t they?
She tried to rise up again, but he stopped her.
“You’ll be okay.”
This time she could hear the words…barely. His voice sounded calm. But it was the fear in his eyes that sent her pulse skittering.
If he was scared, this had to be bad.
Suddenly there were people everywhere…red and blue lights flashing.
Shane was forced back as men in uniforms dropped to their knees next to her. Paramedics.
She should just tell them that she was fine. She tried to lift herself up into a sitting position, but they forced her back down. She tried to speak, but no one appeared to be listening.
Her blouse was cut away from her torso. She started to protest but then she saw the blood.
Her blood on the gloves of the paramedic.
On the dissected blouse.
She was bleeding.
A lot.
The ground tilted, and she felt bile rise in her throat. Not again. She wasn’t going to throw up again. No way.
“Ms. Brooks, are you on any medication?” one of the paramedics asked.
“No.” Her voice sounded small, but she could hear herself. She heard the paramedics, too.
“You might feel a stick,” one said. “Don’t be alarmed. It’s just the IV drip.”
The two tossed so many questions at her that she could barely keep up. She didn’t understand what was going on. Was she hurt that badly? Where was Shane?
“We’ve got the bleeding under control,” the paramedic on her left told her. “Your vitals are stable so we’re going to transport you to Mercy General and get you taken care of.” His eyes offered a warm reassurance with the confident words.
