A woman came around the curve, stumbling and crying—holding a wailing infant in her arms, tucked close to her chest. Little arms and legs flailed everywhere from a baby Miranda had no trouble recognizing.
It was the blood that Miranda would never forget.
43
Miranda stared at the redheaded woman who’d been Dusty’s best friend from about the first day they’d entered kindergarten together. And that was definitely Clint’s baby in her arms. “Maggie! What happened?”
“I…” There was blood on Maggie. Her blue eyes were wide, and Miranda had no difficulty recognizing shock setting in. “He…shot the house.”
“Who shot the house?” Carrie Lorcan asked, stepping closer, her hand wrapped tightly around her phone. She’d been just about to call Jac and report the incident to the rest of the team, as per PAVAD protocol. “Is your baby ok?”
“That’s Clint Gunderson’s daughter,” Miranda told the other agent quickly. Miranda’s weapon was drawn, and she put herself between Maggie and the direction she’d come from. Just in case.
“She’s…not my baby. But… I’m the nanny. The housekeeper.”
“Ok,” Carrie said quietly. “Can you tell us what happened? Is Clint around?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. He was…we were waiting for him to get home. He called and said he’d be coming home soon. For lunch. On his way somewhere. I needed to talk to him. To tell him…and then the car came. The WSP.”
Miranda stepped into Maggie’s path, tucking her weapon back in her holster—but not fastening the strap. “Maggie, look at me. Right now.”
Blue eyes met hers.
Miranda used to babysit for Maggie when she’d been fourteen and Maggie five years younger. Maggie had been in and out of her home for years, always tagging along with Dusty. “Mags, you are safe. You’re safe. Carrie and I—we’re not going to let anyone hurt you.”
Tears flooded Maggie’s eyes. “I…Randi, I…Clint told me not to trust the WSP. It’s corrupted. He’s trying to find out who, but I think…it was the WSP!”
Miranda wrapped her arms around the baby and pulled Violet out of Maggie’s arms. The baby was crying, no doubt sensing the fear that surrounded Maggie. “You’re safe. You are both safe now.”
Miranda passed the baby to Carrie. Carrie had two children of her own back in St. Louis. She was far better equipped to handle a baby Violet’s age than Miranda was at the moment.
“Miranda…they…I saw him. He was in the yard. In a WSP squad car.” Maggie started crying even heavier. “I…thought it was Clint home early when I heard him pull in, and I didn’t want to talk to him yet. So I took Violet out back to see the horse. I took her to see the horse. And then the man started shooting. He shot Clint’s house, and I don’t know if he shot the dog. The dog…Kody…Is Kody ok?”
Miranda hustled Maggie to the car. She looked at Carrie, who was rocking Violet and trying to soothe her.
Clint’s house was just over the next rise. In a WSP car, they wouldn’t know friend from foe. But she suspected the shooter was long gone now—and Carrie had a partial license plate. They could work with that. Easily. “We need to get them out of here. Now.”
“We all need to move,” Carrie said, already opening the rear of the vehicle. “She’s a witness. She needs to be protected.”
“If he’d shoot a house with an infant inside, he wouldn’t have any qualms about any of us.” Miranda reached for the rear door. She guided Maggie inside. Her hand came away covered with blood. Fresh blood, at that. “Maggie’s bleeding. Maggie, were you hit?”
“One of the bullets went through the windows of the living room and kitchen. It struck the barn. I think it hit me, too.”
Maggie was in full-blown shock, adrenaline putting her on autopilot. Miranda swore. Maggie needed medical attention—fast.
“Miranda, drive. Just drive,” Carrie ordered. Technically, as a department supervisor, she was higher on the hierarchy than Miranda. She was in charge. Miranda climbed behind the wheel and did just that. “Get us to the airport. Now.”
Miranda put the truck into drive. The airport was less than two miles away. “Why?”
“Lacy Deane’s at the airport now, with her husband. Lacy works in the ER. She delivered my son. She’s at the airport. Go.”
That sounded like a plan to her, considering the nearest hospital was eighty miles away, and far too small for them to get Maggie inside securely.
Miranda would admit it, strategy like this was not her strong suit.
“There are side roads up here. They go by Phil Tyler’s place—and his brother, Ben’s—and then circle back to the main highway. If we can get there…” Miranda’s mind was driving as fast as the car. “If they were WSP, then we can’t keep Maggie anywhere in this state. Not where she’ll be safe. Until we identify the shooter one hundred percent positively.”
“The sheriff of Masterson County’s office?” Carrie asked. Then she shook her head. “No. Too small. Every room has an entry point. It would be a nightmare.”
Miranda agreed. “And there just aren’t enough of us to do a protective detail—without tapping the WSP directly. Which would completely defeat the purpose.”
Carrie leaned forward. She’d placed the baby in Maggie’s arms and wrapped the seatbelt around the two of them. It wasn’t safe, exactly. But it was better than an armed gunman in police clothing. “We need to get her out of town.”
“Before anyone realizes Maggie was there today.” Miranda nodded slowly. That was the safest option. Put Maggie somewhere safe, quick. Even if it was just for a night or two, until they could speak with Clint and Joel and make certain there wasn’t more going than they knew. Clint had told her once he was IA. She knew exactly what that could mean. “How far are we by road to St. Louis?”
“At least nineteen hours. And we have no car seat, diapers, or formula. In a truck that has Masterson Vet written on it. We wouldn’t be too hard to find.”
“No, we wouldn’t. That leaves that option out.”
“We need to find a safe place to hide her.” That left very little options.
Except…there were plenty of Tyler ranches out past the airport. They could hide her with her family and get Max and one of Joel’s deputies on protective duty.
“First, let’s find Lacy Deane. Get her arm checked out. There’s a hospital eighty miles northwest of here, if we have to head that way.” It wasn’t ideal, but Masterson was an all around bad option right now.
“That baby isn’t safe here. Neither is that woman. I want to help her. Let’s get her out of Wyoming as fast as we can. We can deal with the consequences later.”
“I gotcha. Then…let’s make this happen. That’s my goddaughter back there, and my cousin’s best friend. I want to make certain they are as safe as I possibly can.”
Carrie nodded, determination in her hazel eyes. “Then let’s make them disappear for a little while. Somehow.”
44
They couldn’t find Monica Diane Beise, now going as Diane Monique Meynardo. She’d changed her name two more times, according to what Jac had found in her access to IRS files. Monica lived in a variety of locations, oftentimes with various men. Most of whom had reasonably high incomes compared to whatever Monica Diane was bringing in. And her social media posts showed a woman who…liked men. Men that ranged in age by thirty years.
Jac didn’t get it. She’d never had an easy time with men. She’d only had two serious relationships in her twenty-nine years, and none of those had lasted more than two or three months. For one thing, this job could really screw with a social life. For another—she had a hard time trusting people enough to let them in.
It was a wasted trip. By the time they got to the address in Nebraska that she had been ninety-nine percent certain was the most current, there was no sign of anyone.
There were signs someone had been there recently. There wasn’t enough dust on the furniture in the small single-wide, for one thing.
And it still smelled like cleansers and feminine perfume.
The landlady had had no trouble letting them in once they’d flashed their badges. Well, that and Clint Gunderson shot the woman a smile and asked her politely. That had been enough.
“Is this the woman who rented from you?” Jac asked, flashing the most current driver’s license photo they had for Diane Meynardo. Facial recognition software had matched her to the photo they had from Miranda’s grandmother’s collection.
“Yeah, that’s her.” The woman almost sneered. “Had a real attitude, all the time. And you never knew what kind of guy would be hanging around her, either.”
“Do you know where she might have gone?”
“No. Skipped out on twelve-hundred-fifty dollars rent, too.”
“A month?” Jac tried not to sound like an idiot, but where she was standing was not a twelve-hundred-a-month rental. Far from it.
“Three months. I’d given her ninety days, and only half the late fees. Trying to be nice to her, on account of that kid of hers.”
“She has a child?”
“Has one with her, anyway. Heard the little girl call her Mom and Diane, so I don’t really know. Kid kept to herself and never caused any problems.”
“How old?” Knight asked quietly. He always did things quietly, even though he was a big, imposing guy. Jac was starting to get used to him. He wasn’t as frightening as some of the rumors said, at least.
She hadn’t missed how Miranda had been tiptoeing around him at breakfast that morning, though. It had her intrigued. And planning to give her friend the third degree first chance she got. Payback for Miranda needling her about Max.
“Around nine or ten, I think. Maybe younger, though. Talked big for her britches most times.”
“Was the girl always around?” There had to be another parent somewhere. Which could give them a better lead on tracking down Monica Diane.
The woman shook her head. “Gone just about every weekend, I think. But who the daddy is, if that’s what you’re after, I couldn’t tell you.”
“What was the girl’s name?”
“Danielle, I believe. Something like that.”
Jac made a note. It was a real start. Too bad it had taken them this long just to find out she wasn’t there, though.
She started to ask another question, but her phone beeped with a text.
Clint continued questioning the woman about what she might have observed while Jac turned away to check the message.
—Don’t say a word. Problems. Is Clint with you?
Miranda.
Jac quickly texted back.
—He needs to call Rex Weatherby right now. Now!
Jac asked her why.
—Just have him call. Now!
45
Travis watched as his wife handled emergency first aid on a strawberry-blond woman he had never seen before as Travis himself held a tiny girl of no more than eight or nine months tightly and did his best to soothe her as he had his niece and nephew many times before. They had five minutes before the Lucas Tech jet was taking off, with him, Lacy, and Phil inside.
Phil had his arm around his little niece, comforting her after someone had nearly killed her.
Seeing her like that was bringing back far too many memories for Travis at the moment.
His arms tightened around the little one. She blinked up at him, her eyes baby blue. Soft, downy strawberry-blond hair covered her head.
Her clothing was bloody.
It just looked so completely wrong right now. “We need to get her clean clothes.”
“Go ahead and strip that onesie off of her,” Lacy said as she calmly stitched the wound in the young woman’s—Maggie’s—arm. Fortunately, it had been from shrapnel, and not a bullet like they’d first feared. “I’ll wrap her in one of my tee shirts until we can get her some supplies.”
Lacy had already demanded the jet wait until she was ready for take off. That was his woman—used to taking charge when it was needed.
“Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done—if Miranda and that redheaded woman—I…” The woman hadn’t completely broken down, but she was holding herself together. Tyler women were tough cookies; Travis had suspected that before.
Carrie—who looked a lot like her sister, Travis’s brother’s wife—was currently on her phone, making some sort of arrangements Travis hadn’t quite caught while he was focusing on the little one in his arms.
“That woman is a good friend of mine. Your uncle Phil has stayed with us—and her sister—many times. You are safe, we promise,” Lacy said firmly. “No one will hurt you or the baby.”
“I just…hope I’m doing the right thing,” Maggie said on a sob. Travis tuned back in just as Phil assured her she was.
“You did,” Phil said. “You have to stay safe, Maggie-girl.”
“Clint…I’m taking his baby. I just took Violet. I’m taking her out of the state, to strangers.”
“No. You’re protecting her. He’ll understand that.” Phil looked at her. Poor kid was just about ready to have a full-on panic attack right now. “That’s probably all he would want in the world.”
“How is he going to know we’re all right?”
“I’ll make certain he does,” Dr. Talley said, patting Maggie’s uninjured shoulder. “Phil, thank you. We weren’t certain what we were going to do at first.”
“I don’t know where Finley Creek is.” Maggie looked at Violet. Travis kissed the baby on her downy head as she finally settled. “Violet will be safe there?”
Travis nodded. “Extremely safe. It’s actually one of the safest places in the world. Carrie’s brother-in-law designs security technology that is used worldwide.”
Carrie disconnected the call. “It’s arranged. Mel will be waiting at the airport, with her bodyguards.”
“I—“
“Enough, Maggie. Finley Creek is where you’ll be safe. I’m taking you there myself,” Phil cupped her cheek. “You’re as dear to me as one of my own daughters. I’ll keep you safe. I promise. And for once, do what you’re told, honey. Trust me. I trust these people. I’d have no problem sending any one of your cousins with them.”
Finally, Maggie pulled in a deep breath and nodded. Agreeing. “I’ll go.”
Travis got it, then. And he agreed it was a damned fine plan.
He’d do whatever it took to keep a baby like this safe, too.
But he sure felt for Clint Gunderson right now.
He made a silent vow to the man he’d only met a handful of times. He’d keep Maggie and baby Violet safe until the other man could handle that task himself once again.
46
Knight drove Clint’s black SUV like the proverbial bat out of hell, taking the road a good fifteen miles over the limit. He tried to wrap his head around what Rex Weatherby had reported.
The man had been doing what he could over the phone to calm Clint down. The slightly younger man was practically yelling, demanding to know where someone named Violet and someone named Maggie were. Knight assumed that Violet was the man’s baby, who Miranda had been cooing about with Clint.
Knight had no idea who Maggie was, but Clint was beside himself with worry.
Jac Jones sat almost quietly in the backseat, texting with her phone, trying to gather the members of the PAVAD team in order to have them meet at Clint’s property.
No one knew how what had happened tied into Clint.
But they were going to find out.
Weatherby had broken the news to Clint over speakerphone. He’d insisted on it to make certain Clint didn’t have to repeat what had happened in the heat of the moment. Knight got it.
The two men were good friends; they hadn’t come out and said it, but he got the feeling Weatherby had Clint’s back.
He just hoped Clint’s baby was found. Soon.
She was Miranda’s goddaughter. No doubt she was beside herself now, too.
He looked in the mirror, gaze meeting Jac’s. “Word from
the team?”
“Coming now. As soon as they can,” she said, glancing at Clint. The man was balling his fists, slamming one to the door frame.
The fear in Clint’s eyes was something Knight wasn’t ever going to forget.
Knight wasn’t in charge of this one, but there was no way he was letting this man go through this alone. He couldn’t sit back and watch the man be destroyed like that. Knight just couldn’t watch another man deal with that alone.
47
Clint stared at the destruction of his home, and panic choked him, twisted his gut into a thousand knots. He turned to the man next to him. Allan Knight stared back. Clint hadn’t been aware of Knight even moving closer. “Where are they?”
Knight shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Clint shoved past the men and women he worked with as they processed the scene, yelling for them.
The scene.
It was his house. Violet. And Maggie.
His life. The two people in the world who mattered to him. And they were gone. Bullets. Near his baby, near Maggie. Clint fought the urge to be sick.
“They took them.” There were tire tracks. And vomit. Right there next to the drive. Had it been Maggie? She’d been sick that morning. He’d heard her in the bathroom. Maybe they’d hurt her, and she’d gotten sick from the shock.
There was a lot of blood there on the grass. Right in front of his house.
“We don’t know. There is no sign of blood inside. No sign of a struggle. We have no sign they were even inside at the time,” Joel Masterson said.
“They were in there.” Maggie hadn’t been driving lately. Her car wasn’t running. She didn’t like to drive his truck. She’d only drive it in an emergency. He looked around. There it was. Right where he’d left it. “Is the diaper bag there? Is it? Maggie always left it there by the door so she could find it. Always. Maybe her brothers took her somewhere.” But Maggie hadn’t told her brothers she was working for him. That was unlikely.
Buried Secrets: PAVAD: FBI Case File #0005 (PAVAD: FBI Case Files) Page 17
