by Irene Hannon
“How about Saturday?”
He frowned. “Why Saturday?”
“I know you’re distracted by that neighbor of yours, but Mac’s birthday is Sunday, remember? I thought the three of us might meet in St. Louis for lunch. He and Lisa have plans for Sunday.”
Oh, man. How could he have forgotten his big brother’s birthday?
“Yeah, I can do that. Text me the place and time.”
“Will do. I’d invite you to bring Dana, but this is a guy event.”
“Understood.”
“So are you two going to stay in touch after you move to Atlanta?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Think she’d come to a going-away party your last night here? Christy wants to fix dinner for you.”
“No kidding?” Finn eased back on the gas pedal as Burnett slowed behind an over-the-road truck. “That’s nice of her.”
“Yeah. She’s a real nice woman. That’s why I married her.”
“I can understand that. What baffles me is why she said yes.”
“Ha-ha.”
Finn grinned. “Anyway, tell her I said thanks. And I’ll ask Dana—despite your ulterior motive.”
“Which would be?”
“You all want to size her up.”
“I’ll follow Mac’s example and plead the Fifth.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m on to you guys. But believe me, she’ll pass any test you throw at her.” He picked up speed again as the truck turned off the highway and Burnett lengthened the space between them.
“Hmm. Am I detecting the scent of smitten here?”
“Go back to your stakeout, bro.”
“As a matter of fact, I will.” The clipped inflection was back. “We might be about to see some action. I’ll be in touch.”
The line went dead.
Finn slid the phone back onto his belt. Typical Lance. A jokester one minute, all business the next if the situation demanded it. The FBI gig suited him to a T. And Mac had turned out to be a stellar detective. Amazing how they’d both found perfect careers in their post-special-forces life—and lucked out in the romance department as well.
Best of all, if the spark between him and Dana continued to sizzle, he’d be following in their footsteps in the not-too-distant future.
Feeling more content than he had in a long while, he propped an elbow on the open window and continued to guide the SUV north.
One hour and twenty minutes later, on the outskirts of St. Louis, the Beaumont police chief arrived at his destination.
As the man pulled into a parking spot and entered a building, Finn read the sign above the door.
Midwest Gold & Coin
Interesting.
Even more interesting was the tagline underneath.
We buy and sell treasures.
Hmm.
If the chief had been in search of treasure on his clandestine dives, his visit here suggested two things.
First, he must have found whatever he’d been seeking.
Second, he was in a sell mode, not a buy mode.
But why would the man resort to covert—and likely illegal—activity if his wife’s family money had left him with a nice cushion, as Hazel had confided?
He puzzled over that for fifteen minutes, until Burnett reappeared, got back behind the wheel, and began to retrace his route south.
Finn followed at a discreet distance, pulling out his phone after they left the city behind and the heavier traffic thinned. Mac might be able to find out the reason for Burnett’s trip to the city today. Cops often cultivated relationships with reputable dealers of gold and jewelry, and the place the chief had gone to was in a respectable part of town. Knowing what business the man had conducted could be helpful.
It was possible that Hazel’s information, for once, wasn’t accurate. Perhaps the man did need to raise some cash. Woodside Gardens had to be expensive. He might be feeling the financial strain of some hefty extended-care bills.
Whatever the reason for Burnett’s clandestine activity, though, they were one step closer to getting some answers—assuming Mac came through for him with the gold and coin shop.
His next order of business.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, he punched in his eldest brother’s number. Waited while the phone rang once . . . twice . . . three times . . . then rolled to voicemail.
Finn left a succinct message. Knowing Mac, he’d return the call before Burnett hit Potosi again. Especially after their conversation earlier, when he’d given him a quick briefing and alerted him that Dana might call if she sensed any trouble.
And in the meantime, he was going to stick close to the chief. Today had already been profitable—who knew what else he might discover?
“You have a nice morning off, Chief?” Hazel poured a mug of coffee and pushed it across the counter.
Roger slid onto a stool at the Walleye and set his uniform hat beside him. “How did you know I took a half day of vacation?”
“I have my sources.” She smiled and propped a hip against the counter. “In this case, it was LouEllen Bradshaw. She was driving back from Potosi after visiting her sister and passed you heading the other way. She said she waved, but you didn’t notice her.”
No, he wouldn’t have. His mind had been on the pending transaction in St. Louis.
He stirred some sugar into his coffee. “It wasn’t vacation in the usual sense. I had some business to take care of, and after that I stopped in to visit Leah.”
Hazel’s expression softened as she patted his hand. “How’s she doing?”
“Not great.” Far from it. In truth, today had been one of her worst days. He’d no sooner stepped into the room than she began screaming for him to leave. Accusing him of imprisoning her. Screeching how much she hated him.
Even though he knew the words weren’t coming from the heart of the woman he loved, they never failed to wound.
He picked up his coffee and took a sip, praying the caffeine-laced liquid would squeeze past his constricted throat.
“Well, you sit here for a spell, take some deep breaths, and have a nice lunch. You know everyone in the community is behind you. That’s one of the beauties of small-town living, as I told Dana Lewis and that handsome young man who’s renting the Busch place. They stopped in for pie last night and we had a nice chat. They might not be locals, but they’re real sympathetic to all the tribulations you’ve had.”
“You talked about me?” He tightened his grip on the mug.
“Oh, not in the way you mean. I’ve never been one to gossip, you know that. They were just sorry to hear about all you’ve been through. I didn’t say anything personal except that you don’t have a minute to call your own these days—and everyone in town already knows that.”
He took another careful sip of the hot coffee. “I don’t mind being busy. It’s not like I have any other obligations that require my time.”
“Nor hobbies either, like that model railroading Marv obsesses over. I don’t know how the man keeps the hardware store afloat, with him running all over the place to those train shows. But you could use a diversion once in a while. Too bad you gave up scuba diving.”
He jerked, and the coffee sloshed out of the mug, searing his fingers.
“My word, your poor hand! First a nasty case of poison ivy, now a burn.” Hazel scurried over to the ice bin, wrapped a handful of the cubes in a towel, and pressed it against his fingers. “You hold that there for a few minutes. It’ll take away some of the sting.”
Stay calm, Roger. Just because she mentioned your scuba diving doesn’t mean there’s anything to worry about.
“I’ll be fine. It was only a quick splash. The mug must’ve slipped.” Hard as he tried to control it, a slight quiver vibrated through his words.
“I hope it wasn’t wet when I gave it to you. I did grab it out of the dishwasher.”
“No. It was my own clumsiness.” He adjusted the ice on the burn. Keep it casual and conversational, Roger. “F
unny you should mention scuba diving after all these years. What made you think of it?”
She twirled her pencil. “I don’t rightly know. It must have been on my mind from that nice chat I had last night with Dana and her neighbor. I mentioned it to them.”
As her words registered, his skull began to pound with the pulsing beat of a supercharged rock band, drowning out the lunch buzz in the café.
Finn McGregor knew he was a scuba diver.
Knew he’d pretended ignorance when confronted with the fin buckle.
Knew he most likely was Dana’s midnight diver.
This was a disaster.
“Chief? Chief? Are you okay?”
Hazel’s concern managed to penetrate his panic.
Pull yourself together, Burnett. See what else you can find out. You could be overreacting.
He attempted without much success to force up the corners of his lips. “Yes. A little tired is all.”
“And no wonder.” She patted his uninjured hand. “You need a vacation. A real one, not half a day to take care of business.”
“I’ll have to give that some thought. Some place where I could refresh my scuba skills might be nice.”
“Now you’re talking. White sand, blue water, a tropical breeze—that would help you relax.”
As if his budget would allow even a weekend trip to Lake of the Ozarks. He might be willing to use that gold to help Leah, but he’d never spend a penny of it on himself—or anything else.
Holding on to the mug with both hands to prevent another spill, he took a cautious sip of coffee. “I bet Dana and her friend were surprised to hear someone in Beaumont had taken up an unusual sport like that.”
“They did seem a bit taken aback, like we all were. But I told them you took to it like a duck to water.”
The knot in his stomach coiled tighter.
“Did you also tell them it was years ago?”
“My, yes. You haven’t had a spare minute for a hobby in ages. Excuse me a minute, Chief. Harvey and his cronies are trying to flag me down.”
As soon as she walked away, Roger dug out a couple of bills, set them on the counter, and stood, praying his shaky legs would hold him up. He needed to go to his office, close the door, and try to figure out where this whole mess Wayne had created stood—and what, if any, damage control he could do.
One thing he did know, though.
He’d gone to far too much effort to let anything—or anyone—jeopardize Leah’s future.
Burnett wasn’t going to come through for him.
Back resting against the rough bark of an oak tree, Wayne lowered the binoculars and regarded the Lewis cabin. There’d been no outside activity—but Leo’s granddaughter was still there. After sitting here for two hours, he’d finally spotted her passing by a window.
Muttering a curse, he picked up a rock and hurled it into the woods.
He needed to cook . . . and he needed privacy to do that.
Meaning he’d have to take matters into his own hands.
As he stowed the binoculars in their case, he mulled over next steps. More vandalism was a possibility, but if it hadn’t worked on the first two tries, there wasn’t much chance a third attempt would produce different results. Besides, that muscleman from next door was hanging around too much. For all he knew, the guy could show up some night and catch him in the act.
No, it was too risky. He was done with vandalism.
Besides . . . maybe it wasn’t necessary.
Other than the one hike she and her beefy neighbor had taken in the woods, and their evening rows on the lake, neither had wandered from her cabin over the past few days—and his lab was pretty far off the beaten path. That’s why he’d chosen the location. It was a fluke they’d come as close as they had on that hike.
So why not get on with his cooking—preferably in the daytime, as he used to do before Dana Lewis showed up—but take a few precautions to make sure no one stumbled onto his operation?
After one last scan of the cabin, he rose and started back through the woods, the plan solidifying in his mind. It wouldn’t be hard to find out how to take care of interlopers. Meth makers were used to dealing with them, and there was plenty of information about their methods on the net. Some of the tactics they used were meant to warn . . . some to scare . . . some to hurt.
The choice of which approach to take deserved some serious thought. Catching a daytime visitor who got too close while he was working would require a different setup than catching one at night when no one was at the lab.
Based on the pattern of activity he’d observed to date, however, there wasn’t much chance anyone would be roaming around back here in the dark, other than the chief. A daytime scheme might work best . . . but he’d rig up a few nighttime surprises too—just in case.
He pushed aside some scrub and continued toward his parking spot on the unused forest road. The same road where he’d spotted the chief’s car the night he’d taken the photos that had proven to be very valuable. Except he parked in a different, more secluded spot now. No one passing by would notice his car tucked in the dense undergrowth.
If he was lucky, no one would notice his lab, either.
But if they did . . .
Wayne touched the hunting knife stuck in his belt and skirted a bramble patch, staying clear of the thorny branches that tried to snare him. He didn’t want to hurt anybody. He just wanted a ticket out of this sorry town. A chance to live a life where he didn’t have to scrabble in the dirt for every buck. The kind of life every decent human being deserved. What was wrong with pursuing that dream? And if someone got hurt because they stuck their nose in his business . . . well, that wasn’t his fault, was it?
You know what your daddy and mama would say to that, Wayne Phelps.
Quashing the rebuke from his conscience, he clamped his jaw tight. Yeah, he knew. But they were gone. He was on his own. And he wanted a real life. Maybe if Sue Ann hadn’t ditched him two years ago for that suit-wearing guy at the savings and loan where she worked in Potosi, he could have been content here.
Maybe.
But not anymore. He was done with rising at dawn, and dirty fingernails, and trucking produce north for city folks who picked over his offerings with their noses in the air. Oh, he’d keep up the pretense for a while as a cover, but no matter how hard he worked the land, his market garden wouldn’t get him out of here.
Meth was the key to his dream.
So he had to protect his lab, no matter what.
It wouldn’t be that difficult to do, either. An hour or two of simple research should give him the tools he needed to keep it safe.
All he had to do was google booby traps.
19
Gripping the wheel of the SUV with one hand, Finn pulled the vibrating cell off his belt with the other.
Mac.
Finally.
He put the phone to his ear, keeping Burnett in sight. “I thought you forgot about me.”
“Hello to you too.”
“Hey—I have a lot on my mind. Did you find out anything from the gold and coin place?”
“I didn’t . . . but one of my colleagues who’s dealt with the owner of that shop in the past did. A lot of stolen stuff gets fenced through places like that.”
“You don’t say.”
Two seconds ticked by.
“I’ll attribute your sarcasm to worry about Dana and cut you some slack.”
Finn opened his mouth to protest. Closed it. If Mac was trying to bait him, he wasn’t biting.
A chuckle came over the line. “Congratulations on your self-restraint. The kid must be growing up. Anyway, my colleague was tied up yesterday on a case and didn’t have a chance to put in a call until this morning. Seems your guy had some gold bullion to sell. To be specific, three ten-ounce bars worth close to forty thousand dollars in today’s market.”
“Wow.” Finn hung a right in Burnett’s wake.
“There’s more. The owner said the gold bars appe
ar to be old. He couldn’t date them, but they were definitely not of recent vintage.”
“Did your guy ask the owner if Burnett told him where he got the gold?”
“Yeah. Burnett didn’t offer any information, but the sale was arranged through his bank. The bank manager called the shop on Tuesday to see if they’d be interested in buying some gold Burnett had in his safe-deposit box. He said Burnett needed to liquefy some long-held family assets to cover medical expenses for his wife. Does that fit with what you know?”
“Too well.” Finn eased back on the gas pedal as the chief pulled into the picnic grounds at the edge of town. Another police cruiser was already on the scene, the officer talking to two lanky teens. “But it doesn’t explain his extracurricular activities at Dana’s lake.”
“Maybe he’s not after anything of monetary value there.”
“What else could it be?”
“I don’t know. All I can say is I’m glad it’s your case instead of mine.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Anytime. You still coming to lunch Saturday?”
“That’s the plan.” But truth be told, the notion of leaving Dana alone at the cabin and driving almost two hours north wasn’t sitting well, not with the situation at her place so up in the air.
“Stick to it. I want to see you. And if you’re worried about Dana being by herself, I can ask Lisa to organize a girls’ lunch with Christy.”
Strange how Mac had always been able to read his brothers’ minds. Must be a purview of eldest siblings.
No matter. Unless he was close by to run interference he had no intention of subjecting Dana to the third degree by a female police chief and a woman skilled at handling tenacious media types.
“I’ll think about it.” The cop up ahead held up what looked like a paint can and proceeded to load the two teens into the back of the police car. The case of the picnic grounds vandals had apparently been solved.
“If you’re worried, I’ll tell Lisa to leave the interrogation spotlight and cattle prod at home.” A hint of laughter lurked in Mac’s words.
“Very funny.”
