Hidden Peril

by Irene Hannon

  “I’m not just talking about physically, with this case.”

  “Me, neither.”

  Colin sized him up. “She’s a very special person. The best.”

  “I agree. And after this case is over, I plan to get to know her a lot better.” No reason to keep that under wraps. Colin—and Rick—would find out soon anyway.

  Several silent seconds ticked by while his fellow detective studied him. He couldn’t fault Colin for his concern. From what Kristin had told him, he and Rick thought of her as a sister.

  But he wasn’t about to be intimidated, either.

  After a few moments, one side of Colin’s mouth hitched up. “You know Rick and I will be watching you, right?”

  “I assumed as much. Does Kristin know that?”

  “She’ll suspect—and she won’t like it.”

  “That sounds like her.” His own lips twitched.

  “As long as we understand each other.”

  “Let me clarify. If I do anything you don’t like, you’ll send a hit man after me. Does that about sum it up?”

  “Close.” Colin grinned. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. Good luck with whatever’s breaking.”

  “Thanks. I hope it helps us wrap this up—soon.”

  He waited until Colin retreated down the hall, then picked up his phone again. Two calls to make . . . including a return one to Kristin to set up the reunion he’d been anticipating for six long weeks.

  The knock on the back door came at exactly three o’clock—as Luke had promised.

  Kristin sized up the two customers browsing through the shop. Neither appeared on the verge of checking out or leaving.

  “Ladies . . . I have a few chores to take care of in the stockroom. If you need any assistance or find an item you’d like to purchase, just knock on the door.”

  They nodded in acknowledgment and went back to perusing the items on display.

  Kristin left the showroom, closed the door that separated it from the storage area, and finger-combed her hair as she hurried toward the rear door.

  The two men she’d expected were waiting for her on the other side.

  Luke, in his standard work attire of jacket and tie, was every bit as handsome as she remembered from six weeks ago . . . and the lean, sandy-haired man in the dark suit who stood beside him epitomized the stereotypical clean-cut FBI agent.

  “Come in.” She ushered them through the door and closed it behind her.

  “Do you have customers up front?” Luke smiled at her, setting off a flutter in her stomach.

  “Yes . . . but they can knock if they need me.”

  He did the introductions, and she returned Agent Bradley’s firm shake.

  “Is the box back here?” The man got straight to business.

  “Yes.” She led them over to a worktable beside her desk, where the travel-weary carton rested.

  “It’s big.” Luke eyeballed it.

  “They always add a bunch of packing material to keep the candles from breaking.”

  “It arrived this morning?” The FBI agent pulled a folded-up plastic trash bag from his pocket.

  “Yes. About ten.”

  “And it’s been here ever since?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does anyone else have access to this room?”

  “No.”

  He shook the bag open. “We’ll return the candles as soon as possible.”

  “Does the box always arrive that dinged up?” Luke gave it another scan.

  “Yes. But I’ve never had a broken candle.”

  Agent Bradley handed the bag to Luke, picked up the box, and worked the plastic around it.

  A knock sounded on the door to the storeroom.

  “Go ahead and deal with that. I’ll get these back to the office.” The agent hefted the box into his arms.

  She glanced at Luke.

  “I’ll let Nick out and stay for a few minutes.” He followed the agent to the exit and opened the door for him.

  “Okay.” Better than okay. After all these weeks apart, with only a few fast phone calls from him to sustain her, she wanted more than five minutes in his company.

  Another knock sounded.

  “Kristin?”

  “That’s Ryan.” She sighed. Of all times for her neighbor to show up.

  “Go deal with him. I’ll wait.”

  She hurried to the door as Luke disappeared behind a shelving unit, pasting on a pleasant expression before she opened it.

  “Hi, Ryan.” She slipped into the shop, clicking the door shut behind her. Both of the customers were still busy inspecting merchandise. “What’s up?”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “As I pulled into the lot, I saw two guys going in your back door.”

  Bad timing.

  She straightened a silk scarf on the display beside her as she formulated a response. “Just some leftover police business. They had a few more questions.”

  “Oh. Any suspects?”

  “They’re pretty close-mouthed about the case. If they ever do solve this, we’ll probably hear about it on the news.”

  “True.” One of the customers walked toward the checkout counter, a glass paperweight in her hand. “I’ll let you get back to work. Glad there wasn’t a problem. I’m still spooked after what happened here.”

  “I hear you—and I appreciate your concern.”

  “Neighbors should watch out for each other.” He fell back as she moved toward the counter. “Talk to you soon.”

  Kristin finished the transaction as fast as she could, and the second customer left empty-handed on the heels of the one who’d made a purchase.

  Perfect.

  She should have no interruptions while she spoke with Luke.

  Back in the storeroom, she closed the door behind her. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  “The Wizard of Oz.” He emerged from behind the shelving unit. “I loved that movie as a kid. It had everything—adventure, fantasy, witches, flying monkeys, a wizard with magical powers.”

  “I hated the monkeys. They gave me nightmares.”

  “Becca always said the same thing. Another indication you two would get along well.” He stopped in front of her. Inches away. Close enough for her to feel the heat of his body and catch a faint whiff of his spicy aftershave. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Keep it light, Kristin. Let him set the pace. Don’t read more into a husky comment than might be intended.

  “Mutual, I’m sure.”

  “White Christmas.”

  “You’re good at this game.” She clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from straying his direction. “But I’m surprised you know that one. It’s about as far from The Wizard of Oz as you can get.”

  “Mom made us all watch it together every Christmas. We can recite every line and sing every song. It was a family tradition.”

  “I like the notion of family traditions.”

  “We’re going to relaunch that one this Christmas. Becca’s planning to host. We all decided that at a family barbecue at her house on Sunday. Dad and his wife came up for the Memorial Day weekend.”

  “And you attended?” Apparently the past six weeks had been productive for him on the personal front, if not with the case.

  “Uh-huh. We’ve mended our fences. Or I should say, I saw the light and apologized.”

  “I’m glad, Luke.”

  “So am I.” He propped his left elbow on a shelf filled with merchandise for restocking, his ring finger on full display.

  It was empty.

  Her pulse took an uptick.

  It appeared he’d made his peace with a lot of issues during the weeks they were apart.

  “So, uh, where do we go from here?” She dragged her gaze away from his finger.

  “You mean with the case?” Humor glinted in his jade irises. “Because I could answer that a couple of different ways—depending.”

  Was
he flirting with her?

  “On what?”

  “On how your pal Ryan fits into your life. He hangs around here an awful lot.”

  “He’s nothing more than a friendly neighbor. Never has been, never will be.”

  “That’s what I hoped you’d say. I was afraid your relationship with him might have heated up while we were waiting for the candles to arrive.”

  “No.” Her answer came out in a croak.

  If Luke noticed her lapse in composure, he let it pass.

  “Then back to your question. In terms of the case, we wait to hear from Nick. They’ll x-ray the candles tomorrow morning, so we’ll have an answer to the burning question—pardon the pun—within twenty-four hours. If my theory holds, we’ll regroup and decide on next steps, depending on what’s inside. If it crashes and burns . . . we’ve waited six weeks for a big disappointment, and we’ll be back to square one.”

  “Meaning if the murders and that dead terrorist aren’t connected, someone has gotten away with killing Susan—for reasons we might never discover.” A sobering possibility that put a damper on her romantic fantasies.

  “No.” His jaw hardened. “I’m not giving up on her case if my theory falls through. I’ll continue to troll for leads, and I’ll revisit all the evidence. I don’t intend to stop working it until there’s nothing left to work. Victims deserve justice.”

  That sounded like the man who’d dominated her thoughts since the day they’d met.

  “I’m relieved—but not surprised—to hear you say that. You strike me as a man of integrity.”

  “Always. I take promises . . . and vows . . . seriously. Including this one.” He lifted his left hand and wiggled his bare ring finger. “You noticed the ring is missing.”

  “Yes.” No sense pretending otherwise after staring at the empty spot.

  “It’s taken three years, but I’ve finally come around to Becca’s way of thinking. And my dad’s. And yours. I’ll always love Jenny—but that doesn’t mean I can’t find room in my heart for someone else . . . if the right someone comes along. I’m now open to that possibility. Or I will be, once this case wraps up.”

  She searched his face. “Is that your way of saying you plan to ask me out after this mess is resolved?”

  He gave her a beguiling smile. “Yes. I’d like us to get to know each other apart from this case—and I’m hoping you feel the same.”

  “Yes.” Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

  “That’s the best news I’ve had in weeks. Months. Maybe years.”

  If he was willing to lay his cards on the table, why not do the same?

  “Can I be honest?” She sidled a hair closer. “I wish we didn’t have to wait.”

  His irises darkened. “Don’t tempt me.” He lifted his hand and traced the curve of her jaw with a gentle finger.

  Her breath hitched . . . and her nerve endings began to buzz. Without any conscious decision to do so, she swayed toward him.

  He hesitated . . . then slowly leaned down.

  Her eyelids drifted closed, and . . .

  Jangle, jangle, jangle.

  Oh, for pity’s sake!

  Her eyes jerked open to find Luke’s lips hovering a whisper away from hers.

  Two incidents of bad timing back to back.

  What were the odds?

  “Saved by the bell.” Luke straightened up, his lighthearted comment at odds with the hoarseness in his voice. “I told myself I wasn’t going to do that, and I have a fair amount of self-discipline—but you manage to undermine it. That was a close call.”

  Not close enough, as far as she was concerned.

  Like three inches too short.

  “I guess this gives us something to look forward to.” That was one positive spin on the interruption, anyway.

  “Count on it. Now I’ll get out of here and let you go back to work.”

  “I can think of things I’d rather do.”

  “Hold that thought.” He winked and eased back. “I’ll slip out the way I came in. I’d rather no one notice I was here.”

  She started to turn toward the front. Stopped. Swiveled back.

  “Darn. I meant to tell you sooner, but I got a little . . . distracted. Someone did notice. Ryan. That’s why he stopped by.”

  “What did he say?” Luke was instantly back in detective mode.

  “He said he saw two guys coming in my back door as he pulled into the alley and wanted to confirm there was no trouble.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That you were here on some follow-up police business.”

  “Did he seem to buy that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’m not too worried about our visit today. We both parked on a side street, so our cars weren’t in the lot to raise any suspicions.”

  “Why would your cars raise eyebrows? Lots of people park back there. Didn’t you say we were under the radar at this point?”

  “We are—as far as we know. But now that the candles are here and we’re moving toward what could be an aggressive investigation, we’re taking extra precautions. We definitely want WorldCraft to appear to be doing business as usual. I’ll be more alert as I leave.”

  “Will I hear from you soon?”

  “The minute I have any news from the FBI.” He crossed to the back door, cracked it, gave the alley a sweep, and slipped through.

  The bell in front jingled again—either the customer leaving already or a new one coming.

  She needed to get back to work.

  But with the investigation—along with a budding romance—shifting into high gear, she doubted anything in her life was going to be business as usual for the foreseeable future.

  12

  We have a hit. Can u meet me at our office ASAP?

  Luke skimmed the text message from Nick, pivoted back toward his car in the police headquarters parking lot, and broke into a jog, thumbs working.

  On my way.

  Once behind the wheel, he sped toward downtown St. Louis.

  Nick and another agent were waiting for him after he passed through the magnetometer and the receptionist behind the bulletproof glass window buzzed the door open.

  “My colleague, Mark Sanders—who also heads our SWAT team.” Nick motioned to the man beside him.

  Luke shook hands with the agent, processing his inclusion in their meeting.

  If Nick wanted the SWAT team leader up-to-speed on the case, the analysis of the candles must have revealed something very hot.

  Nick started down the hall. “We’ve commandeered a conference room. Let me show you what we have.”

  He followed the two men through a beehive of cubicles and into a room that held a long table lined with chairs.

  Nick closed the door behind them. “We’ve had a busy—and productive—morning. One that validates your theory.”

  “So the candles did contain contraband.”

  “Of a very unique nature.” Nick motioned toward the carton they’d picked up from WorldCraft yesterday, sitting on the far end of the table. “There are twenty-one candles in there that are nothing but candles. Those”—he indicated four lined up on the table in front of them—“contained what I believe, based on some googling and a discussion with our Art Crime Team agent, to be valuable and highly illegal items. Take a look.” He lifted a cloth that was spread on a small section of the table.

  Luke stepped closer and leaned down to examine the objects resting on a square of felt. The gold earrings and necklace he could identify. The three carved tubes, ranging in length from one to three inches? He had no clue what they were.

  But all of the items appeared to be old.

  “What are those?” He indicated the tubes.

  “We think they’re cylinder seals. The ancient equivalent of a notary’s stamp.”

  “I take it they’re valuable.”

  “That’s what my initial research suggests. I’ve got a call in to the expert on Middle Eastern antiquities at the art museum to valida
te that.”

  Luke dug into his memory, calling up some articles he’d read about the atrocities being committed against ancient sites in the Middle East. “Are you thinking these might be looted artifacts? The kind ISIS has been selling on the black market to fund its terrorist activities?”

  “Yes. But before we go too far down that road, I want an expert to weigh in. Are you available to sit in on my meeting with him?”

  “Yes.” He’d clear whatever was necessary from his schedule to make himself available.

  “I’m hoping to get in there today. If I don’t hear back from him within the hour, I’ll place another call. Have a seat and let’s talk about how this might play out.”

  Luke pulled out a chair, and Nick took the one beside him. Mark leaned a shoulder against the wall a few feet away.

  “I assume those four candles were marked in some way?” Luke motioned toward the ones in front of him.

  “Yes.” Nick picked up a small, clear plastic sleeve containing a paper disk. “Every candle has one of these stickers on the bottom. They’re printed in Arabic, and each has an illustration of a cross. The crosses on most of the labels have no line above or below them.” He passed over the plastic sleeve.

  Luke examined the cross on the label. “There’s a line over this cross.”

  “Yes. Two of the crosses have lines at the top; two at the bottom. These were the labels on the four candles containing contraband.”

  Luke quickly fit the pieces together. “Are you thinking ISIS is sending looted artifacts here in the candles, selling them through some established network to less-than-scrupulous galleries or private collectors, and using the profits to fund US cells?”

  One side of Nick’s mouth hiked up. “Why aren’t you working for us?”

  “I like where I am—but thanks for the compliment.”

  “To answer your question . . . yes. That’s our speculation. And here’s how they hid the merchandise.” He picked up one of the four candles sitting on the table and tipped the top away from them.

  The center of the candle had been hollowed out from the bottom.

  “Clever.”

  “Very. All they had to do was insert the items, put in a wax plug, and replace the doctored label. However . . . there’s no hard evidence to support our theory that ISIS is involved. As we’ve discussed, the terrorist-watch-list victim your people found in that shallow grave led nowhere. The few suspicious activities that put him on the list happened more than two years ago.”