Shadow of Doubt (An SBG Novel Book 2)

by P. A. DePaul

  “No,” Michelle interrupted, resting a hand on his forearm. Heat sizzled up his arm from the contact. “It’s all right. He has the right to ask and it’ll help take my mind off . . . things.”

  Cappy clamped his jaw shut, not liking it one bit.

  “You claimed earlier that your coworker received the tickets to Ardent’s grand opening as a birthday gift,” the Senator started.

  “Yeah,” Michelle answered, seeming to brace herself for a verbal punch.

  “How?”

  “How? I have no clue. I was out in the park checking on some sick plants when she got them. When I got back to the ranger station at the end of my shift, she was crowing about the gift and handed me one.”

  “Only one?”

  Red stained Michelle’s cheeks and she flicked a glance Cappy’s way before meeting the Senator’s gaze again. “Yes. I haven’t . . . I’m not dating anyone, so there was no need for two.”

  Cappy’s heart lurched at the confession. The caveman inside liked hearing how she didn’t have another man sniffing around his territory. Not your territory, dumbass. You’re walking away.

  “So you didn’t send a ticket to my son as a way to lure him to Indianapolis?”

  Michelle blinked. “What? No. I’d never even heard of your son before Friday night.”

  The Senator’s eyes narrowed and he placed his propped leg on the floor before leaning forward. “Bullshit.”

  Her eyes widened for a beat, then she lifted her chin. “You’ve either hired a really good PR firm or I guess I’m not that up on political gossip. I’m assuming it’s the latter by the disbelief rolling off you.” She jabbed a finger on top of the table between them all. “I’ll answer the question you should’ve asked. Colin admitted he didn’t actually score the tickets to the opening either. It was his friend who got them and convinced Colin to come to Indianapolis to attend.”

  The Senator raised an eyebrow. “What’s the friend’s name?”

  Michelle’s cheeks flared redder. “He said it but I was too drunk to remember. I know we laughed about finally having something in common.”

  “Convenient,” the Senator quipped. “Let’s say I believe it all happened the way you say. Did some guy approach you and tell you to come on to my son?”

  The red flags from earlier began waving in Cappy’s head again.

  Her brows furled in frustration. “No—”

  “So, you’re saying that by some miracle Colin just happened to discover you in a crowded nightclub’s grand opening and picked you up—a woman, I might add, who’s not his normal type.”

  Michelle’s eyes snapped. “I can’t tell you why he did it, only that he said he’d been waiting for me. As I told you back at the cottage, I thought he originally approached me to get to Cindy. I had no clue who he was when he introduced himself to me, which delighted him to no end. I didn’t target him.” She poked the table with her finger again. “He’s the one who had to tell me he was your son as an enticement to get me to leave with him. Wanted me to believe he was safe and trustworthy because of your position.”

  Cappy’s knuckles popped and he jammed his clenched fists into his lap. Slimy bastard had all the lines down to lure women out of the bars.

  The Senator’s glittering eyes hardened and a fierce frown stole over his face. “So, he approaches you, tells you he’s my son, and you just follow him to the hotel. Was it the fact that he had connections that made you hop off your stool and run to his room?”

  Michelle jerked as if the Senator had actually slapped her.

  Cappy bolted upright in his seat, his short fuse lit and about to explode.

  Michelle curled her hand around his arm, forestalling his impending tirade.

  “You may not like me,” she said in an even voice, “but you don’t get to judge me. I didn’t kill your son. Jeremy brought up other points beyond the YouTube video. Why don’t you focus on them instead of crucifying me?”

  Chapter 39

  Buzzzzzzz.

  Victor curled his lips at the warning tone. The steel door to the visitation room behind him clicked loudly before it swung open. A draft of air rushed in, but he couldn’t call it fresh. Bleach, fear, sweat, and desperation wouldn’t exactly make Febreze’s top-ten list of bestselling fragrances.

  Heavy boots shuffled, then paused at the entrance.

  He hit Send on the text message he had already painstakingly prepared on the older-model phone, then tucked the cell phone into the hidden pocket inside his jumpsuit.

  He couldn’t see his lurking visitors since he had been positioned to face the opposite direction, but he could just imagine Cappy and the Senator surveying the small cement room that had no windows, mirrors, or recording equipment.

  That last revelation was mighty telling. Should be an interesting chat.

  Victor lifted his head and stared at the solid wall in front of him with his one good eye, since the other was still swollen shut. He clasped his hands together, and the chain from his handcuffs scratched along the bar welded down the center of the table. Tethered like a damn dog.

  Yeah, but this dog bites. Time to set the tone. In a low, theatrical voice Victor quoted a piece of the old Mary Howitt poem. “‘Will you walk into my parlor?’ said the spider to the fly; ‘Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy. The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.’”

  A sense of irritation preceded the two men as they crossed the threshold, and Victor forced his face into a blank expression instead of letting out the laugh he really wanted to utter. Ah, stupid little flies. Don’t you know how that poem ends?

  “Orange looks good on you,” Cappy boomed in a jovial voice while strolling behind Victor’s stool, which was bolted to the cement floor.

  Victor clenched his hands tighter, the nerves along his spine twitching. He hated having the son of a bitch at his back. His left shoulder, which now hung a little lower, twinged at the tight position, and the bruises on his knuckles protested. Goddamn security guard. The memory of the medics strapping Gay Napoleon to a gurney and rushing him to the trauma ward almost cracked Victor’s blank facade.

  Senator Bob Harris all but vibrated as he stopped just on the other side of the table.

  “Well, well, well,” Victor drawled. “If it isn’t our esteemed Senator and his faithful lapdog.”

  The Senator opened his mouth but Cappy cleared his throat and shot him a pointed look. Bob Harris scowled and jammed his hands into his pants pockets. After a few breaths, the vibrating aura disappeared behind a cold mask.

  Very interesting. Victor pinged his gaze between the two. Did he sense dissention in the partnership? How could he use that to his advantage?

  “Just wondering,” Cappy stated in an easy voice, though his eyes didn’t share any warmth, “is my new license plate ready for pickup? It should be easy to spot. It says ‘I’M FREE U R NOT.’ You finished with that one yet?”

  Smug bastard. This boy needed to be brought down a peg and Victor had just the thing. “You think you’re so cocky, standing there under the protection of the good senator when you really should be sharing a cell with me.”

  Cappy crooked an eyebrow. “You get free mental checkups while you’re enjoying your stay?”

  Victor leaned forward, the chain on his cuffs rattling with the motion. “You denying you have blood on your hands too?”

  Cappy stilled and his face closed off. “We’re nothing alike.”

  You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you? Let’s include the Senator, shall we? “We’re more alike than you’d care to admit.” Victor motioned his finger back and forth between them. “My predecessor, Sam, kept some interesting notes in a separate file. Guess the old CIA spook wasn’t as trusting as he liked everyone to believe.” Victor paused to draw the suspense out. “I know we�
�ve both sent men to their deaths.”

  The Senator shifted, his gaze pinging between Victor and Cappy. It was hard with only one eye, but Victor monitored the politician while holding his former operative’s attention.

  “You killed for money and power,” Cappy retorted in a low voice.

  Gotcha. “You murdered five men for vengeance,” Victor shot back. “Which would you classify is worse?”

  Cappy jolted. His mask slipped, showing alarm before he got it under control. “I never pulled the trigger.”

  “Yet, you’re responsible just the same.” So satisfying knocking the self-righteous ones down a peg. Chains rattled as Victor adjusted his feet to relieve the ache in his back from the welts. “By the way, I never pulled the trigger either.”

  The Senator stepped forward. “Still pleading innocent?”

  Victor tilted his chin up and smiled. “Until proven guilty. Isn’t that one of my fundamental rights?”

  Cappy motioned toward Victor’s injuries. “Looks like you’re just as popular in here as you are out there. Can’t you play nicely anywhere?”

  Weak. Cappy had definitely been put in his place. Now to have some fun.

  Victor shrugged his uninjured shoulder for effect. “Ah, you know, boys will be boys. I like to make friends everywhere I go.”

  Cappy snorted. “Then you exploit them.”

  Victor narrowed his gaze onto the Senator. “Interesting that should come up.”

  Bob Harris stiffened, his face paling underneath his angry veneer.

  “You know”—Victor tried to hide the wince from the pain shooting through his kidneys at sitting up so long—“I miss the freedom of picking up a phone and just calling someone. Reaching out and touching a loved one.” He focused on the Senator. “I bet you know what I’m talking about, right?”

  “You son of a bitch,” the politician seethed.

  “Senator?” Cappy asked, his attention now divided.

  Victor swung his gaze to his former operative. “And it’s such a handy device for reacquainting with those you lose track of. The warm feeling you get when a person you never expected resurfaces in your life just makes you tingly.”

  Cue Cappy’s unsettled face. “What are you implying?”

  “Not a damn thing,” Victor returned, opening his palms as if to protest his innocence. HA! Cappy hadn’t even figured out another revelation was coming. Griffin trumped Michelle by a mile. “Just chatting about the surprise when a person you never thought you’d see again suddenly shows up.”

  “Can the attempted mind-fuck,” Cappy snapped. “I don’t swing that way.”

  Victor snorted. “No shit. You’re basically a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal with a penchant for killing and, Bob, you’re too busy chasing boys to pay attention to anything else.” All Victor’s humor fled and he jabbed his finger against the table. “I know who’s behind my current address change. You tell my nephew, family should’ve come first and I look forward to the reunion with him.”

  “Do I look like a telegram?” Cappy retorted, his mouth tight. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and make a shiv in arts and crafts, then stab yourself with it.” He traced a thumb across his kidney. “Aiming right here will do the trick.”

  “And miss the fun and games I’ve got lined up? Hardly.”

  The Senator slammed his hands against the other side of the steel table and leaned close. “You think your little run-in with the guard has earned you any respect or leniency? Try again, asshole. I arranged this little private meeting at the drop of the hat. Think they allow this shit for just anybody? No. The DoD and the warden are watching your every move and are very amiable when it comes to making you suffer. With one word I can make your life in here a living hell. No one will show you mercy no matter how many times you beg, and you’ll never know when the next attack is coming.”

  Chapter 40

  Michelle allowed the coveralls to fall from her fingers into a heap on the couch. She peered out the little window—careful to stay back far enough not to be seen—but the only thing of interest was the edge of the right wing. The plane had been towed inside of a hangar and the pilots had long ago debarked after completing their shut down.

  She pulled the bobby pins from her hair and sighed in relief when her locks dropped to her shoulders. According to her watch, the sun would be setting soon. How long did Jeremy and the Senator plan to stay at the prison?

  Sonya skirted by the leather chairs, her long black hair barely shifting as she moved down the aisle with so much grace. Michelle inwardly sighed; she’d never have the ability to pull that maneuver off if someone paid her a million bucks. This woman was such a mystery. Unbelievable good looks coupled with a sense of self-confidence made her stand out in a crowd . . . Then there was the scar. Michelle wanted to ask about it so bad but knew from experience the question would be unwelcome.

  Sonya gripped a black smartphone in her petite hands. (Her perfect body did not make Michelle jealous one bit. Nope. Not at all.) She slid to a stop beside Michelle and held the phone in front of her. “Go ahead, Talon, I’ve got you on speaker.”

  Grunt. “False alarm on the raid for us. The police infiltrated a residence near Sixty-Nine’s home-away-from-home, the PussyFoot Motel.”

  Michelle cringed as a spark of annoyance flooded her brain.

  Sonya breathed out and asked, “So what’s happening now?”

  “We’ve set up Ted in cottage two and decided to remain over here.”

  “Established a man lair, have you?” Michelle couldn’t resist poking back.

  “Lair?” Talon repeated dryly. “Sixty-Nine, don’t tell me you like to read about vampires or werewolves or whatever such nonsense.”

  Sonya rolled her eyes.

  Michelle lifted her chin in defiance even though he couldn’t see it. “And what if I said yes?”

  He snorted. “You’re just as bad as Romeo. He reads all that crap and especially loves it when they’re in romances.”

  Sonya frowned, her grip on the phone tightening. “Talon.” Her tone carried a warning.

  “Romeo?” Michelle pounced. Why would Sonya react to SCK mentioning the name? “Who’s Romeo? Did he get the nickname because he likes romances?”

  “He got the nickname because he’s a tramp,” Talon stated bluntly. “I gotta go. Southern IQ is back from the grocery store. I’m going to recon the perimeter.” He hung up.

  Michelle frowned but before she could ask about the strange turn in conversation, Sandra waltzed out of the bedroom.

  “What’d I miss?” Sandra asked, fluffing her sweater over her jeans. “I swear, my bladder seems to be about the size of a walnut today.”

  “Talon called. The raid wasn’t about Michelle,” Sonya answered. “Police picked up someone on the other side of town and the men have set up in the second cottage.”

  Sandra snorted and plopped into the corner of the long leather couch. “Well, that’s a relief, but if Ted manages to get ahold of an Xbox or PlayStation then we can forget about hearing from Grady for the rest of the night.” The exquisite woman squirmed then reached behind her and pulled out a holster with a gun.

  Michelle jolted.

  “I swear,” Sandra continued, pulling the handgun out of the holder and tossing the leather piece onto the end table beside her.

  Michelle blinked at the incongruity of seeing the black, deadly weapon resting so comfortably in Autumn Barbie’s hand.

  “You’d think a grown man who owned an entertainment center with a full arcade would be tired of playing video games”—Sandra prattled on like her fiddling with the gun was no big deal—“but no, he disappears into the basement and fires up one of those units and plays with people online.” She rested the handgun on her thigh then shuddered for effect, grinning as she formed air quotes. “For research purposes. I can’t tell you how many times he’s to
ld me how he needs to test the games to see if he thinks they’d be popular at Gradwick.”

  Sonya’s musical laugh filled the cabin. She took off her suit coat and Michelle started again at seeing a leather gun harness resting like an accessory over the woman’s tank top with a delicate lace overlay. Man, she was beautiful, dainty, confident, and lethal . . . No wonder Special Agent Raymond Stiles couldn’t keep his eyes off Sonya and hovered so closely all the time.

  After draping her coat across the back of one of the leather chairs around the table, Sonya settled into the other corner of the couch, saying, “Men never grow up.”

  Sandra’s eyes twinkled. “True, but when they reach a certain age, their bodies develop into a self-contained entertainment center, equipped with all kinds of tools that provide fun for hours.”

  Laughter barked out of Michelle to mingle with Sonya’s. A gleam formed in the agent’s eye as she seemed to be imagining just such a man. Raymond, perhaps? A vision of Cappy shot through Michelle’s mind. His bare chest scintillated in the sunlight as his muscles rippled with each move he made before he wrapped her in his arms by the pool.

  “So true, right?” Sandra’s content sigh ripped Michelle from her thoughts.

  A warm yet nervous feeling replaced the angry edge she had gotten from the Senator’s line of questions. It had been so long since she had really hung out with anyone, let alone other women . . . since high school in fact. Seemed as if the boy topic remained the same.

  She gingerly sat on the middle cushion, testing the waters to see if her joining them was welcome—after all, they were here to either prove or exonerate her innocence of murder. Sonya’s eyes lightened and she seemed pleased Michelle had chosen the spot.

  Michelle relaxed against the back and stretched her leg, hoping to alleviate her stiff knee. Sandra had cleaned the wound and reapplied a bandage shortly after Jeremy and the Senator had left. She hadn’t wanted to let Jeremy know the injury had reopened since he had already had to rescue her from another episode. Pride demanded that she stopped coming across like the damsel in distress even though her body seemed to try so hard to fit that impression.