See How She Runs (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 2)

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “Sam plans to be here tomorrow afternoon,” he said abruptly.

  Her fingers went still and she stared at him. “He’s coming here?”

  “I told you he’d want to talk to you,” he said, puzzled by her shock.

  Naomi nodded, but looked dazed.

  Adam reached for her hand, but she didn’t return his clasp. Her fingers felt cold and unresponsive.

  “Does he think he can tell if I lied to you?” she asked after a minute.

  He frowned. “He wants to hear your story himself, that’s all. This is big, Naomi. The FBI has been trying to nail Cobb for a long time. Arresting a U.S. Congressman for conspiracy to commit murder is even bigger. Won’t happen without iron-clad evidence. To move ahead, he has to be sure. He might have questions I didn’t think to ask. He wouldn’t be coming if he didn’t believe what I’ve told him.”

  She nodded again, but still uncertainly. “Is he, well, planning to stay? I mean, here?”

  Adam tried to picture Sam bunking on the sofa and failed. Plus, he didn’t much like the idea of him making any assumptions about Naomi because Adam was sleeping with her.

  “No. He can have my rental house tomorrow night. I doubt he’ll hang around any longer than that.”

  “Okay.” She relaxed marginally, making him realize she’d had an attack of hostess anxiety, something he would never have expected of her. Although, come to think of it, owning a restaurant meant dedicating yourself to pleasing customers. He thought of Naomi’s mother and the reason she’d worked at being a good cook. Yeah, being the best hostess possible was probably a need rooted in Naomi’s deepest psyche.

  “Sam’s a good guy,” he heard himself say.

  “Are you friends?”

  “Uh…” He had to think how to explain. “No. He has some of the attitude that always pisses off local cops who have to deal with feds. Mostly, though, except for the niece and nephew we share, the job is all we have in common. He’s, I don’t know, ten years older than I am? Has kids heading into their teenage years.” Adam shrugged. “We get along. Respect each other.”

  Naomi nodded, and he saw how nervous she still was. “Him being FBI means he can overrule you, doesn’t it? I mean, if he threatens me with jail time to compel my testimony, or something like that.”

  “No.” He set down his coffee mug with a clunk. Making sure she saw that he meant every word, he said in a hard voice, “Nothing’s going to happen I don’t okay. I swear.”

  She went back to crumbling and squishing her cookie into nothingness. “How can you promise that?”

  “If it comes to it, I’ll help you disappear before I let him put you in jail. That is a promise, Naomi.”

  After a moment, she dipped her head. “Okay.” She hesitated. “If you want to sleep with me tonight…”

  Had that been in question? “Yeah,” he said. “Trust me, I’ve been living to make it into your bed.” He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. “The cookie is dead, you know.”

  She looked down, expression rueful. “I guess it’s past saving, huh?”

  “I’ll toss it outside for the birds, if any of them stick around for the winter.” Her stress level noticeably ratcheted up when he said he needed to make a circuit outside before they hit the sack, which meant donning the vest again, and slipping out the door with his gun in hand.

  Soaked again by the time he came in, he took a quick shower before joining her beneath the flannel-covered duvet in her bed. This time he made love to her slowly, taking time to learn where she was sensitive, where ticklish, what made her breath hitch or her back arch. She explored with her small, strong hands, discovering his vulnerabilities at the same time until he had to capture her wrists to hold onto enough control to finish this the way he wanted to.

  He slept heavily for a couple of hours, then woke with a start thinking he’d heard something. A vehicle passing slowly in front, he realized, probably a Cape Trouble P.D. patrol car. From then on he slept lightly, as he had been nights out on Naomi’s sofa, aware on one level of every sound. Twice he got up and walked through the house on bare feet, reassuring himself enough to be able to go back to bed.

  Nothing happened on the way into town come morning, but he wasn’t about to leave her alone in the kitchen. His reward for the long, slow hours watching Naomi work was a fantastic breakfast and an even better lunch, along with several tastings in between. If he hung around with her for long, he’d have to up the miles he ran to combat the calories, he thought ruefully.

  That ‘if’ wasn’t something he was letting himself think about, not yet.

  He liked least having to bring Naomi out of the café after it closed. Today, Daniel Colburn showed up, his official car blocking access to the alley from one end.

  “Stay down,” Adam told her, his gaze sweeping every direction as he emerged from the alley. “Son of a bitch. Where is this guy?”

  She didn’t say, Which guy? She didn’t have to. Right now, only one of them wanted to kill her. Unless they’d been wrong all along and there really was one. What if, after the failed attempt to grab her laptop, Cobb had said, “To hell with it. Kill her.”

  But he didn’t believe it. Plus, he’d heard Cobb’s voice well enough when she called to think he’d been surprised and alarmed at the news someone was trying to knock her off.

  A car Adam didn’t recognize sat in front of her cottage as they approached. Mid-size sedan, silver…rental, he diagnosed. Sam stepped out of the driver side as Adam slowed to turn into the driveway. Frowning, Adam wished he’d made his approach more circumspect.

  Once he was out of the Tahoe, he summoned Sam with a jerk of his head. “Why didn’t you wait until dark?”

  “I’ve only been here a few minutes. Sitting outside the rental would have made me conspicuous, too.”

  Annoyed at himself, Adam shook his head. They should have made arrangements in advance. He could have left the house unlocked, or the key hidden outside somewhere.

  “Let’s get inside,” he growled.

  Sam moved to shield Naomi from the other side as Adam hustled her in the side door. He left the two of them in the laundry room while he checked out the rest of the house. He came back to find Sam studying her openly, but Naomi only sneaking shy – or alarmed – looks.

  Despite the standard issue dark suit, white shirt, undistinguished tie and wingtips, Sam Weismann didn’t have the ability to make himself as bland as did many FBI agents. Although only in his forties, he was balding on the crown of his head, creating the beginning of a monk-like tonsure, and with his saturnine complexion, brown eyes, bushy eyebrows and the enormous, hooked nose, he was one of a kind.

  Having holstered his Glock, Adam tapped his own nose. “See? This is a guy who doesn’t do undercover.”

  Sam narrowed his eyes. “Damn it, will you let up with the nose? It’s not that bad.”

  “It’s that bad.”

  A sound came from Naomi he recognized as a suppressed giggle. Sam’s mouth crooked at the sound, too.

  “You’re definitely not the man I saw,” she said.

  “Glad we can confirm that.” Sam held out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Varner.”

  “I prefer Kendrick.”

  “Kendrick it is.”

  She eyed him, obviously suspicious of the easy tone, and with reason.

  “Can we sit down and talk?” he asked.

  They chose the table. Perhaps symbolically, Adam sat between the other two, who faced each other.

  Yes, Sam agreed, he’d seen the video. What he wanted was to walk her through the entire evening.

  He did ask questions Adam hadn’t thought to. She explained that guests to a private event entered through a side door that let out into the parking lot on the side. She had discovered early on that if the marquee was lit and people were coming and going through the front, passersby assumed the restaurant was still open and staff had to turn them away. A wrought iron fence and rioting bougainvillea shielded part of the park
ing lot from the street and sidewalk, allowing relatively discreet arrivals and departures.

  “The bougainvillea was already there,” Naomi said abruptly. “I didn’t intend anything like that.”

  Sam tapped something into his laptop.

  Yes, staff entered and exited through the back door. There was a short hall there behind the kitchen, off which were her office, a pantry and a small room used by staff to hang coats, leave purses and backpacks, and take breaks.

  The side entrance was interesting; where staff hung their coats seemed irrelevant to Adam, but this was Sam’s show unless he stepped wrong.

  By previous agreement, she hadn’t seen any of Greg Cobb’s guests until her peek through the partially open door. If he was hosting a larger group, she’d set up a coffee urn in advance. For smaller gatherings, as this one had been, he would come into the kitchen himself to say hello and pick up a tray with a carafe and cups.

  Had he kissed her? Adam shook off the irritable thought.

  “Did he ever send bodyguards to fetch coffee or pass messages?” Sam asked.

  “Yes, sometimes, but not that night.”

  Maybe, Adam reflected, she’d been on edge because Cobb had been even more secretive than usual.

  As she did her best to remember everything she’d seen and heard, Naomi closed her eyes, as if to run the reel of the evening back. The stress on her face made him want to stop this. The hand that lay on the table trembled when she talked about taking out her phone and filming, just as it had trembled when she did it. Her eyelids quivered. Adam had never seen her look so painfully vulnerable. It was all he could do not to reach out and grip that hand to offer reassurance, but he’d rather Sam didn’t find out how personal this relationship had gotten. Not yet, anyway.

  Her whole body jerked when she talked about seeing the men’s room door opening just before she whisked back into the kitchen. Adam moved restlessly. He felt Sam’s gaze flick to him.

  “What did you do after Cobb left? Did you look around to be sure everyone really was gone?”

  Naomi shuddered and opened her eyes. “No. I usually did a walk-through before I left, but not that night. I was scared.”

  Sam nodded in apparent approval for her sensible response to events. “Was your car the last in the parking lot?”

  “Yes.” She hesitated. “Actually, I left through the alley, so I don’t know for sure whether our side lot was empty.”

  Sam’s fingers flew. Click click click.

  “What difference does that make?” she asked timidly.

  “Can’t say what matters yet.” He lifted his head to look at her. “There is the body found in your kitchen.”

  She shuddered again. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Not someone you’d ever seen before?”

  Naomi shook her head.

  “But you assumed when you found him that he was one of Cobb’s men.”

  Her fingers curled into a fist. “I didn’t assume anything. I got stuck on the dead part. I’d never seen a body before. It…stays with you.”

  “Especially when the death was violent.”

  She quaked. “Yes.”

  Adam’s teeth ground together. He knew where Sam was going with this, and wasn’t happy. “What’s this have to do with Congressman Greer hiring Cobb to kill his opponent?”

  “Something,” Sam said, leaning back, “or your partner wouldn’t have ended up dead in Ms. Varner’s – excuse me, Ms. Kendrick’s – restaurant kitchen. I don’t buy the murder being coincidental, do you?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t like what he saw in her eyes. Fear. He hoped Sam didn’t recognize it, then felt sick. Damn, had he avoided pressing her on Frank’s death because he didn’t want to know if she’d had anything to do with it?

  Yeah. That’s exactly why I’ve been letting it slide. Not entirely; there’d been plenty going on to divert him. Somewhere in there, keeping her alive had risen to the top of his list of priorities.

  So I could sleep with her?

  He gritted his teeth again.

  He tuned back in when Sam removed an envelope from an inner pocket of his suit coat. “I’m going to show you some photos,” he said, his normally unrevealing tone giving away a hint of unhappiness. “I know you don’t think you’ll recognize the man who identified himself as an FBI agent. If you can’t, you can’t. He may not be here. Some of these photos are of agents who work out of the L.A. office, some are…let’s call them control subjects.” He took a pile of photographs out of the envelope and slid it across the table to Naomi. “Take your time. Don’t force it.”

  She nodded, not reaching immediately to touch the photos even though she stared at the one on top. Her expression suggested a diamondback had inexplicably appeared on her kitchen table, and it was rattling a warning.

  At last, she slowly turned over the top photo, then the next, and the next. From what Adam could see, it was a good lineup. Sam had chosen subjects who weren’t all that distinguishable from each other. Brown hair, from short to a little shaggy, some straight, some wavy. Some of the photos could have been mug shots, or taken for a badge.

  Naomi hesitated over one, started past it, then went back. After a moment, she set it aside and continued through the pile. She removed one other picture, then started all over again. Finally she looked up.

  “I really didn’t get a good look. This one—” She gently nudged the first photo she’d set aside across the table. “He makes me uncomfortable. I can’t swear it’s him, but…well, he’s my best guess.”

  Watching closely, Adam caught Sam’s flinch.

  “All right,” he said, voice sharp. He shoveled the whole pile back in the envelope and restored it to his pocket. “Let’s talk about what we’re going to do.”

  He wanted Naomi to return to L.A. with him. Other people would need to talk to her. It was time to bring in the U.S. Attorney’s office. Ultimately, her testimony in court would be needed. “You did understand this?” he asked, and she nodded.

  He discussed protective custody. She gave Adam a panicky look before turning it on Sam.

  “If an agent in your office was involved with Greg, what makes you think he’s the only one? As I’ve told Adam, I saw police officers from three or four different jurisdictions doing guard duty for him. I’m reluctant to put my life in the hands of these unknown agents. I’d prefer to hide on my own and appear when you need me.”

  “Not an option.”

  She met Weismann’s stare with her own, not backing down at all. “What if I say going back to Los Angeles with you isn’t an option?”

  “Then we have a problem.” His tone was completely inflexible. “I do have the ability to compel you to come with me, Ms. Varner.”

  Seemingly forgotten by the combatants, Adam said calmly, “No, you don’t, Sam. I made promises to Ms. Kendrick—” he gave the other man a hard look “— that I intend to keep. She has come forward voluntarily. Agreed to testify despite the inherent risks. You are sure as hell not snapping handcuffs on her.”

  Sam transferred his glare to Adam. “You overstepped.”

  “You’d know nothing about any of this if it weren’t for Ms. Kendrick’s civic-mindedness. And her courage.”

  That momentarily silenced Sam. No way he could deny the courage she’d displayed when she filmed that scene. The tremor of her hand spoke volumes; she’d been scared to death, and by God she’d done it anyway.

  After a tense interval, Sam sighed. “Let’s put off a decision until tomorrow. You two talk tonight. See if you can come up with an acceptable plan.” His tone suggested he harbored grave doubts, but that was Sam for you. In Adam’s experience, he never brimmed with optimism. “You got the key to that house?” he asked. “I assume there’s a bed?”

  “There’s a bed. Table and chairs. Not much else.” Not anything else, as Adam knew from uncomfortable experience.

  Naomi jumped to her feet. “Oh, but you have to stay for dinner! I don’t think Adam left any food
over there.”

  Sam’s face registered surprise. Asshole that he’d been there at the end, he didn’t deserve to be offered one of Naomi’s meals, but what better way to soften him up? Something told Adam that wasn’t what she was thinking, though; her need to feed people ran deep.

  Adam excused himself to do another perimeter walk. Darkness had long since fallen, even though it was barely six o’clock. The rain had let up, but the air felt damp and with every step he felt as if the ground was sucking at his feet. The whole damn Oregon coast must be soggy for months on end. He had the passing thought that an excess of rain might beat an excess of sunshine. Funny, when he’d grown up in southern California, that he didn’t love the heat and the brown hills.

  He came in to hear Sam talking about his youngest, a girl who played the cello at a level that had her talking about Juilliard.

  “You must be proud of her,” Naomi said, scraping something from her cutting board into a skillet.

  “I am,” Sam said. “She got it from my side of the family. I have a grandmother who was a well-known opera singer back in the 1920s and 30s. Musical ability passed me by, but as far as I know it never cropped up in my wife’s family.”

  “Passed you both by,” Adam said brutally, remembering the last time he’d heard them sing Happy Birthday.

  Sam sneered at him.

  Adam inhaled and decided dinner involved curry. His stomach rumbled. Naomi surveyed him and said, “You’re not wet.”

  He lifted one foot in wordless argument. The bottom couple inches of his chinos were soaked.

  Her impish smile probably hid a boatload of apprehension, but he appreciated the effort. “Don’t be a wimp.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  To Adam’s surprise, she coaxed Sam into continuing to talk about his family. He went so far as to take out his wallet and show her pictures of his wife and kids, and then of his brother Abe, Adam’s sister Ellen and their children. The softening process was going just fine, Adam decided.

  Dinner was indeed an Indian curry, and as good as everything else she cooked. In other words, magic. She’d brought home half of a key lime pie that hadn’t sold out at the café, giving them each a slice. As usual, she served herself a skinny one and then proceeded to mash it and push bits around more than actually eat it. Sam noticed, too; he watched, then met Adam’s eyes.