Shadow of Doubt (An SBG Novel Book 2)

by P. A. DePaul

  Romeo was Delta Squad’s explosives expert. It wasn’t surprising his mind instantly went to bombs first.

  “So, these were left sometime after the search warrant and before you visited,” Talon mused, frowning at the rooms.

  “Had to be,” Romeo answered. “They’re not in the photos the FBI took before they executed the search.”

  Cappy couldn’t rip his eyes off the black menaces. Why wasn’t anyone else picking up on the vibe the frames contained something that shouldn’t be revealed?

  “So we’ve got about a twenty-four-hour window when the person could’ve done this,” Talon continued brainstorming.

  “Shorter than that, I’d suspect,” Cappy pushed through his locked jaw, trudging through his instincts to make sense of this new twist. “If it’s the same person who killed April and Colin.”

  The sound of snapping plastic made Cappy twitch and his gaze flew to Magician. Damn nerves. She situated a pair of latex gloves onto her hands and picked up a frame off the coffee table. Flipping it over, she inspected underneath the cardboard stand.

  No. No. No. Acid threatened to eat through his stomach lining.

  “Nothing,” she said, her tone almost robotic. “No price tag, barcode, or any other marker to say where it was bought.” She turned it in her hands again and ran a finger around the glass and wood seam. “No signs of anything shoved into the edges.”

  “That makes no sense,” Ted interjected.

  So much for the wizard having anything to contribute.

  Ted’s bloodshot eyes darted around the room. “Who’d want to leave frames all over the place with the fake families?”

  Put it down. He let go of Michelle and stepped forward.

  Magician strode over to the single lamp they’d turned on and held the frame up to the light. “Wait.”

  Blood roared past Cappy’s ears and his heart tried to thunder out of his chest. Don’t open it.

  She placed it on the futon’s wooden arm and dug her finger under the metal hooks holding the back onto the frame. After prying all four up, she lifted the back off and sucked in a breath. “Sweet mother of God.”

  Cappy’s mind blitzed.

  Romeo vaulted to her side and Cappy almost took out the coffee table in his haste to see what the hell would make her say that.

  Romeo’s skin whitened and his eyes flew to Michelle. He swallowed hard, then grabbed the pieces of the frame and shoved them into Cappy’s outstretched hands.

  Michelle plastered herself to his side and he could feel the rest of the team at his back.

  A bloody arm caught his attention and he moved the rest of the backing out of the way. His breathing stuttered and his stomach threatened to heave. “No,” he breathed.

  Michelle wailed, her hands covering her mouth as she gagged and swooned. Talon caught her, which shamed Cappy, but his mind had trouble processing anything else. His operative held her and uttered a low growl that blended with Wraith’s cry and Grady’s expletives.

  Cappy couldn’t take his eyes off the photo resting within the frame. Michelle lay handcuffed, spread-eagle in the center of a bed, its paper-thin mattress barely keeping her away from the rusty springs underneath. Goddamnsonofabitch. Blood, dirt, and evidence of a heavy beating along with burns and cuts covered her naked body.

  His hands shook so hard he could barely keep a hold of the frame. Memories tried to invade his mind, wanting to take him back to that hell and relive the moment when he saw her like this.

  “Gather them up,” Cappy ordered hoarsely. “Every single one of these goddamn things. We’re taking them with us.”

  Michelle cried into Talon’s shoulder, her body convulsing with each sob.

  Cappy snatched the loose photo and shoved the frame pieces into Romeo’s hands. “Sonya, pack her a bag of clothes. I’ve got to get her out of here.” He collected Michelle from Talon, hoisting her into his arms so he could cradle her against him. He couldn’t stand not being the one to comfort her, and to be honest, he needed to hold her for himself.

  ***

  Cappy sat in the flimsy plastic chair on the cement-slab back porch of Cottage One. Magician had given Michelle a mild sedative to calm her ragged emotions and help her sleep. Cappy had then placed her in the master bedroom, praying the whole time the drug was strong enough to keep the nightmares at bay.

  The moment he came out, Magician and Wraith tag-teamed on telling the story behind the photo to everyone.

  Christ. He had almost lost it listening to every goddamn detail of how she’d received those marks and scars. He never knew the origin, only the result. The moment Magician and Wraith were done, he’d instructed everyone to pack it in for the night. He needed to be alone. His emotions were on the razor edge and he couldn’t handle answering even one question. Talon hadn’t been ready to call it a night, so he’d offered to take the first shift and recon the area. The rest of the team didn’t like being dismissed while this new bomb had dropped. They wanted to discuss how the picture frames fit into the puzzle, but he couldn’t talk about any of it yet.

  The single light beside the sliding glass door wasn’t the brightest, but he didn’t need a spotlight to know what the photos contained. His hands trembled as he gripped the cock-sucking things by their edges.

  Those planted frames hid twelve eight-by-ten photographs, each more disturbing than the previous one. His shaking fingers managed to flip to the next shot. More of the same of what the team saw in the apartment, except in this one, she was looking at Cappy and attempting to talk. Her face was a battered mess and his mental-video tried to press Play.

  He cradled his head. He didn’t need the photos to remind him of the condition he found her in. Every day for the last six years, his subconscious had done an excellent job of keeping his memory fresh by arbitrarily coughing up an image.

  When Cappy reached the last photo, ice pumped in his veins. He barely held himself back from crushing the offending picture. The quality wasn’t as good as the others, as if the photographer had rushed to take the shot, but Cappy knew exactly what it portrayed. The doors were open on the Black Hawk helicopter and Michelle was strapped to a gurney. A medic worked in the background while a large man, with his back to the cameraman, bent over her. Enough of the man’s profile was captured to see his lips pressed against her skin, beneath her earlobe.

  Cappy kissing the love of his life for the first time.

  Fury burned through him. Who got their hands on these pictures?

  He racked his memories but couldn’t recall the sergeant ever handing him the disposable camera.

  Jersey’s dead.

  A cold sweat dotted his forehead and he dashed the moisture away. Ghosts were not coming back to haunt him. When the truck bomb blew up, most of his team died instantly. A few survived long enough to make it to a hospital, but they were declared dead shortly thereafter.

  Who else could it be?

  A snippet of the voice spewing from Victor’s cell phone tried to give credence to the ghost theory.

  Stop it, he ordered his mind. He couldn’t come up with an explanation yet, but someone got a hold of the camera in Jersey’s vest and planted the photos in Michelle’s apartment.

  The same twisted fuck also planted a packet for the Senator. Cappy didn’t see the actual photos, but by the politician’s white complexion, they weren’t good news. The only thing the Senator would say was, “Ted assured me he took care of the blackmail.”

  Damn it. This thing with Victor needed to get shut down.

  Cappy raised his face to the breeze and closed his eyes. I’m getting too old for this shit. The constant barrage of five-alarm clusterfucks wore him at the edges.

  Chapter 47

  Nacio Ramirez slouched against the cold bricks of the alley and fiddled with the zipper on his hoodie. He barely slept last night, his excitement at putting the first phase
of his plan into action almost too much to contain.

  Angling his head to peer around the corner, he slid his eyes to the main road ahead. Still no sign of the Algers. He ran the zipper up, down, up, down, up, down.

  He’d snuck into the alley he had discovered yesterday just as the sun crested the horizon. No way was he going to miss his best chance by sleeping in.

  Up. Down. Up. Down.

  He patted his pocket and breathed out when he felt the outline of his phone. The linchpin to his plan rested within the device. Thank God he had held onto the phone all these years. So many times he almost tossed it or traded it in for money, but something held him back.

  “Just another way God ensured I’d succeed,” he murmured, his confidence soaring at knowing he had the Almighty’s blessing.

  Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

  He glanced down the alley but it still remained clear. A bum had slept against the far Dumpster but he’d taken care of that problem as soon as he’d discovered the guy.

  Nacio grinned. He did this city a favor. Now the two-faced American citizens would never be harassed by the beggar again.

  The bum fought against Nacio’s choke hold, but he was no match for the serrated knife Nacio swiped across his throat. With all the grimy layers the guy wore, it was easy to cover the wound and stage it so the guy still looked like he was sleeping.

  Talk about an early-morning rush. His blood still pumped strong from the adrenaline.

  Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

  Clumps of pedestrians strode with self-important purpose on the main street ahead. Occasionally a person or couple would stroll down the side street toward the coffee shop the Algers said they were going to visit this morning, but the main event had yet to show.

  Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

  Knife or gun? He had yet to decide how he was going to attack. One thing he knew for sure. He had to be quick. He’d only be able to control one at a time. The other could scream or run, potentially ruining his whole setup for revenge.

  A spot of green out of the corner of his eye had his head whipping toward the main road. He almost pissed his pants when he saw the couple rounding the corner and heading straight for him. His arms tingled with an adrenaline overload and he had to consciously stop himself from laughing.

  He adjusted his Colts hat, straightened his hoodie, and pulled his phone out. Awakening the device, he opened his picture gallery and chose one of the few pictures he had with Michelle. God bless Maria for wanting to chronicle their journey toward acing their stupid environmental final.

  He stepped out of the alley and into the path of the Algers. “Excuse me,” Nacio said with profound politeness, when all he wanted to do was grab Mr. Alger and drag him down the alley.

  Mrs. Alger gripped her husband’s arm and moved to step around Nacio. No. No. No.

  “I know my next words are going to sound alarming, but Michelle sent me.”

  Mr. Alger stiffened and Mrs. Alger gasped.

  “Who are you?” Mr. Alger demanded, his eyes filled with suspicion.

  “I went to school with Michelle,” Nacio answered, holding up the picture on his phone.

  Mr. Alger grabbed it and it took all of Nacio’s willpower not to snatch it back. The photo was of him, Michelle, Luis, and Maria standing in front of the ATVs. Maria had snagged some random student to take their picture, then demanded they all hand over their phones so they’d each have the shot. He grumbled then; now he wanted to kiss her.

  Mrs. Alger’s hand flew to cover her mouth and Mr. Alger’s hand’s trembled. Nacio smoothly took his phone back and pocketed it. “Michelle’s in trouble. She had a feeling you would see the YouTube video so she asked if I would be on the lookout for you.”

  “You know where she is?” Mrs. Alger asked, her breathing to the point of hyperventilating. Good. Maybe the old bat would pass herself out and he’d just have to contend with the old man.

  “Yes. I’ve been trying to help her as much as I can but she’ll be so happy to see you.”

  Mr. Alger wasn’t so easily convinced, but Mrs. Alger completely bought his story.

  “I want to see her,” the old bat demanded.

  “Pat—”

  “No, Jim. We have to follow up on every lead.”

  Mr. Alger studied him shrewdly. “Where is she?”

  “Hiding. The police think she killed that guy. She’s so scared to show her face anywhere.” He took a few steps into the alley. “Come on. We found a place to crash through here.”

  Just when he thought he’d have to do something drastic, the couple finally took a step into the alley.

  ***

  Michelle patted the burnt-orange turtleneck and breathed in. It felt so good to be covered in her own clothes again. To have her own layer of armor protecting her against the inevitable pitied expressions she knew she’d get once she stepped out of the bathroom.

  Traces of steam edged the mirror from her hot shower. Amazing how pounding water, fresh underwear, socks, and jeans did wonders to rejuvenate her state of mind and kick the last vestiges of the sedative. Thankfully the drug had been strong enough to keep the nightmares at bay and she actually felt rested. Bless Sonya for packing her bag. Lord knew she hadn’t been able to do anything after the shock of seeing her wrecked apartment and that picture last night.

  Shuddering, she swiped a brush through her damp hair again and forced the images away. For now, she needed to enjoy the simple comfort of using her own stuff, to draw strength from the familiar, and pleasure from fixing herself up. The empowering potency of playing up her femininity would hold all the ugliness at bay. The clothes Talon had bought were shapeless garments meant to cover. Her own jeans hugged her thighs and butt, showing off her curves—though, standing next to Sonya and Sandra, her “curves” may be called something less flattering by someone else.

  Her turtleneck accentuated her breasts, hopefully enough to make a man—Jeremy—take notice. Yeah, it was stupid to keep trying to get his attention when he had made it clear he wouldn’t do anything about their attraction, but her heart refused to give up.

  “Just admit it,” she told her reflection. “You’re in love with him.”

  Her bronze eyes peered back and she had to give in. Yes, she loved him. Had felt the pull of attraction the moment he burst into that hellhole six years ago with his beautiful expressive eyes, and fallen the moment he encircled her in his arms to take her away. Probably another reason why her relationships, pathetic attempts they were, were failures. She knew those men weren’t “the one.”

  “You still don’t know anything about him,” she whispered, setting the brush beside the sink.

  Her heart fought back with, You know enough.

  Yeah, she did. Her old therapist would probably have a field day chastising her about loving someone who refused to tell her the truth about himself. But the shrink wasn’t here, and Michelle trusted herself. Jeremy saved her life once, then willingly aided a fugitive when he had no proof to believe in her innocence. She may not know who he worked for, but his refusal to give up on the investigation, going as far as to bring in a team, showed his true character.

  She stepped out of the bathroom and stashed her bag in the master bedroom. The larger mirror over the dresser caught her attention and she paced toward it. Usually she didn’t want to have anything to do with her reflection beyond ensuring she looked decent. Now she needed to know she’d achieved her goal. Knocking the breath out of Jeremy would not only bolster her confidence but make him see her as a whole woman, not that tragic victim lying on the bed in the photo. Her makeup covered the white scar lines on her face and her blonde highlights accentuated the waves falling in her chestnut hair. She couldn’t do anything about her overall shape but didn’t think Jeremy minded her not-so-thin body. Her skin warmed as she recalled his passion-filled eyes and the way he roamed his hands
over her during their mega-hot kisses.

  Fanning herself, she turned away.

  “You’ve stalled the inevitable long enough.” She smoothed a hand down her front. “You can’t avoid the group forever.”

  Unable to do anything about them seeing her at her lowest moment, she could only pray to get past the mortification of facing the men, knowing they’d seen her naked and tortured.

  Following a low murmuring of voices, she found the whole contingent minus Isis in the living room. Every available seat was filled similar to the conversation they had conducted yesterday in the other cottage. Even Ted was perched at the dining room table with his head buried behind his laptop.

  Her eyes didn’t rest until they landed on Jeremy, sitting in the high-back chair. His brown irises darkened and raked her from top to bottom. When they began their ascent, his gaze lingered on her hips and breasts. His mouth parted and his eyes began to smolder.

  Yes. Her lips twitched from holding back a heady smile.

  His face cleared of everything.

  Shoot. It must have shown despite her efforts. She really wasn’t very good at hiding her emotions.

  “Join us,” he instructed, motioning her forward.

  All the conversations stopped and the attention shifted to her, some blatantly turning (Casper and Wraith on the loveseat) to watch her enter the room. Her cheeks burned and sweat pooled between her breasts. Dang. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t look anyone in the eye yet, couldn’t see the pity, the revulsion from now knowing what she hid under her clothes, or the disapproval because they believed she wasn’t good enough for Jeremy.

  Focusing on the tacky curtains hanging beside the bay window, she forced herself to ask, “You’ve all seen the picture. Does that mean everyone knows the gory details too?”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “We’re sorry,” Sandra interceded over Sonya. “It spilled out . . .”

  Michelle allowed herself only a glance at the two. Both women’s cheeks were flaming and guilt filled their eyes. She curled her hands into fists and fought the instinct to flee. Humiliation swamped her, but she wasn’t surprised. This group was so tight-knit they had probably demanded an explanation the second the sedative kicked in last night.