After several seconds Micah sucked in his own breath. She strapped the oxygen mask on him and turned up the flow.
Steven placed a hand on her shoulder. “Paramedics are here.”
She stumbled back, her heart racing, side hurting. She pressed a hand to it and took a deep breath.
“You saved him.”
She looked up to find Zeke standing in front of her, tears tracking his dark cheeks.
“You saved him, Haley. Thank you.” He wrapped his arms around her and cried into her shoulder.
Her gaze met Steven’s and she thought she might have seen a sheen of tears in his dark eyes.
“It’s okay, Zeke,” she whispered to the trembling teen. “It’s okay.”
And then the paramedics rushed Micah out the door and into the back of the ambulance. Belinda followed, her purse thrown over her shoulder, her hair wild and face tear-streaked.
Zeke pulled away from her and swiped a hand across his eyes. “I want to go too.”
“We’ll take you.” She looked at Steven. “That okay?”
“Sure.”
Steven sat across from Haley in the all-night cafeteria in the basement of the hospital. She’d eaten exactly two bites of her chicken salad and scarfed about a gallon of coffee while her eyes continued to dance from her food to the clock on the wall to him.
“Who takes care of your horses when you’re working?” he asked.
“A neighbor friend has a sixteen-year-old son who’s a horse nut. Nathan comes over just about every day to clean the stalls and fill the water trough. I pay him a little something even though he insists he would do it for free.”
“That’s nice.”
“Yeah.” She pushed a piece of chicken to the side.
“You need to eat more,” he said.
She took another bite. Then swigged the coffee. “All right. I have to admit, I might not be thinking very clearly right now. The last two days have been rather intense.”
“Intense?”
“For lack of a better word.”
“No, it’s a good word. An accurate word.”
She glanced at the clock on the wall again.
“Where were you those five years?” he asked. “The five years Duncan couldn’t find any information on?”
She paused for a split second, then grabbed her coffee and took another sip. “Why?”
“Because I’m nosy.” He leaned back and crossed his arms while he studied her. “You intrigue me. I find myself thinking about you. A lot.”
A laugh slipped from her, but her cheeks reddened. “At least you’re honest about it.”
“So? Will you tell me? Why were you so completely off the grid that even Duncan, a man with amazing resources at his fingertips, couldn’t find you?”
She stole another look at the clock.
He figured thirty seconds had passed since her last glance. “Belinda said she’d text you.”
This time her eyes went to the phone sitting face up on the table. “I was working.”
“Where?”
“Ireland.”
He groaned. “Come on, Haley.” What had made her so tight-lipped? “I saved your life.”
“You did not. Duncan did.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I took the credit.”
She huffed a short, tired laugh. “We need to check on him.”
“Fine. We can go by his room before we leave.”
“Yes, let’s do that.”
They fell quiet. She finished her chicken salad and he figured it was a stalling tactic. But at least she was eating. When she swallowed the last bite, he raised a brow. “So?”
Another sigh followed by a sip of coffee. “It’s more who I worked for, than where I worked.”
He stayed silent. She’d either tell him or not.
“Quinn likes you,” she said.
“We think alike. That helps us get along.”
“Probably. Quinn also thinks he’s right about everything. And that he has to know everything.”
True. Steven had figured that out within five minutes of meeting the man.
“Another thing you two have in common.”
He laughed.
She looked him in the eye. “G2,” she finally said.
His eyes widened and his brows shot upward. “Whoa. Didn’t see that one coming.”
“So you’re familiar with it?”
“Of course. Irish Intelligence. The equivalent of our CIA.”
“Indeed.”
“How did you get involved with G2?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “I grew up on the streets of Belfast mostly. But when I was ten, my mam . . . or nanny . . .” She rubbed her eyes. “I’ll just call her my mam. She managed to get a job at a grocery store as a cashier. Eventually, she saved up enough to put a down payment on a small flat and we moved in—along with four others that we considered our family. We looked after one another and were very tight.”
“What about school?”
Haley’s eyes darkened and he figured she was remembering, seeing the images of her mother in her mind. “She taught me. We spent a lot of hours in the library, not just for the books and videos, but for the bathrooms as well. I’ve washed my hair in many a library sink.” She shook her head. “I’m not exactly sure how she did it, but she kept me on grade level until she died.” Sorrow flashed in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I am too.”
“You were fifteen?”
She nodded. “It wasn’t long after that, that we lost the flat and had to move back to the street. I knew my only way to better myself was to finish school, so with a little help from the street people, I managed to get some identification, get enrolled, and finish high school.”
“Where did you live? Still on the street?”
“Under a bridge mostly. It was pretty close to the school, so that’s where I stayed. Sometimes I wound up sleeping in back alleys with the others, scrounging for food when I could, stealing what I needed.”
His heart hurt for her. “It was a hard life.”
“It was. But one of the friends who lived with us was from the Middle East. He spoke Arabic. For some reason he was determined that I learn his language and he tutored me every day. He made me speak it, write it, memorize it. Anyway, it was while I was living on the streets that I overheard a conversation about a terror plot—in Arabic—to blow up a cathedral. I walked into the nearest Gardaí house and reported it. They stopped the terrorists and I graduated high school. The day after I got my diploma, someone from G2 approached me and asked me if I’d consider working for them. They needed people who were fluent in Arabic. I said I would.”
“So why did you leave?”
“For a number of reasons.” She shook her head. “But mostly because my handler betrayed me.”
“And that sounds like a story in itself. Will you tell me?”
She glanced at her watch and stood. “Maybe. One day. I want to check on Duncan.”
They dumped their trash and he followed her to the elevator. His phone buzzed and he pulled it from the clip to look at it. “That’s Quinn calling.” He held the device to his ear. “Hello?”
“Richie says he wasn’t anywhere near the house, didn’t lay a hand on anyone, and was on his way to the hospital to support his girlfriend while she cares for her sick son.”
“I hope you informed him of his new destination.”
“Absolutely. He’s back in custody and none too happy about it. He’s made a physical threat to Zeke. Said it wouldn’t surprise him if the kid met an accident due to his being clumsy and all.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah.”
“Keep me updated. And we’ll keep an eye on Zeke. I’ll also let his mother know about the threat.”
Steven recounted the conversation between Quinn and Richie to Haley. Her mouth tightened and her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. He stepped off the elevator and followed Haley to Duncan O’Brien’s
room. A nurse stood at the station just outside the door typing on her laptop.
“Is he awake?” Haley asked.
“He was a few minutes ago.”
“Great.” Haley tapped on the door, pushed it open, and stepped inside.
Steven shut it behind him.
“Duncan?” She walked over next to the bed and looked down. Steven could see the tension in her shoulders, the worry on her face. “Duncan?”
Steven moved so he could see the man. The color in his face rivaled that of the sheets he lay on. Pale, almost gray, he looked bad. But his eyes fluttered open. “Aileen?” he croaked.
She took his hand in hers. “Yes.”
“Oh, Haley, I mean. Sorry.” His voice sounded stronger this time.
“It’s all right.”
“You’re okay then? You weren’t hurt.”
Her hand went to her side. “A bit of a scratch, but I’m fine, thanks to you.”
“They know,” he whispered. “Somehow they know.”
“Who knows what?”
“They know I’m here and that I’ve found you.”
She looked up at Steven and he moved so Duncan could see them both. “We believe the shooter was a man who’s a part of a gang. He and Haley had a confrontation Sunday night and he wasn’t real happy about it. We believe he came after her and you just got caught in the middle.”
Duncan shook his head. “No. They didn’t want me in contact with you.” He raised shaky hands and pressed his fingers to his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have taken the chance and talked to you.”
[15]
But who was “they”?
“It’s okay,” Haley soothed. “Don’t stress yourself. You did the right thing. You needed to talk to me, to let me know that someone might now know that I’m alive and where I am—and not be happy about it.”
“I don’t know. I do know I need to contact your grandfather and tell him where I am.”
“He knows.”
Duncan stilled. “But how?”
“He showed up on my doorstep earlier. He’s at my house.”
“What?” He gaped at her.
“Yes, that was pretty much my reaction too, but he and his friend, Hugh McCort, flew in today on his private jet.”
“Oh no, that’s not good.”
“Why?”
“Your grandfather has enemies. Very powerful, far-reaching enemies that he has no way of protecting himself from because he doesn’t know who they are. He should have stayed in Ireland, where he had security and protection. As long as he stayed at the castle, he was relatively safe. This could end very badly for him—and you.”
He shifted, his fingers worrying the sheets. Haley covered his hand with hers. “I’ll make sure he’s all right. He’s got police protection on him as we speak.”
Her words seemed to soothe him somewhat.
Haley needed to check in on Micah and Zeke, and then she needed to get with Olivia to plot a schedule for the two new clients she was determined to take on—her grandfather and the Hampton family. She patted Duncan’s hand. “I’ll look in on you later. Get some rest.”
His eyes drifted shut. She followed Steven out of the room and they paused just outside the door.
Haley rubbed her eyes. “All right. I need to make a list.”
“Of what?”
“Of my thoughts. Of all the crazy stuff going on that I can’t keep track of.” She groaned. “And I need to go home and make sure my g-grandfather—and Hugh—are settled in. And I probably need to stop at the grocery store.” She started to pace. “I’m not prepared for guests. I mean, am I supposed to get up and cook breakfast in the morning? Or . . . or . . . what? What am I supposed to do?” She spun and waved her hands. “What. Am. I. Supposed. To. Do?”
Steven grasped her upper arms, and even in her close-to-panic state, she could tell he was careful not to jar her wounded side. “Haley. Chill. Stop. It’s going to be all right.”
She drew in a deep breath. “Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump this on you.” What was she doing? She didn’t have panic attacks. She was calm. Cool. Nothing bothered her or rocked her off her axis.
Except someone shooting at her twice—no, make that three times—not to mention wounding her. And the whole issue of learning that her entire past had been a lie and that someone had killed most of her family. And then there was the small matter that her mother wasn’t her mother . . . She pressed her hands to her eyes and tried to still her mind.
“It’s fine to dump on me. I don’t mind.”
“Thank you, but I do.” He wasn’t Olivia or Katie or Maddy. What was she doing? Another cleansing breath. “No. It’s okay. A momentary little breakdown there, but I’m fine.” Or would be.
“You’re entitled.”
“Maybe so, but now it’s time to think. I need to get coverage for Zeke and his family. We need to get a picture of Richie and any of his known associates to the nurses and other staff.”
And she needed to formulate a plan on how she was going to investigate her own twenty-five-year-old cold case while a continent away.
Because it was past time justice was served for those who’d been killed, and she was ready to do the serving.
TUESDAY MORNING
Steven hung up his phone and pushed through the glass doors of the precinct. He made his way to his desk to find Quinn already there, seated at the one opposite him. The sounds of the department echoed in the large room. Phones rang, voices blended.
Some better than others.
“I said I’d take care of it!” Quinn bellowed into the phone crammed against his ear. “Call me again and I’m going to send an inspector over there and shut you down, understand me?” He slammed his cell phone on the desk and glowered at it.
“Do I want to know?”
Quinn transferred the glare to Steven. Steven simply grinned. Quinn’s laser-like stare faded into one of frustration. “Someone hacked my bank account. A check I wrote bounced and the guy wants his money. I’ve already straightened everything out at the bank and Maddy’s going to take the money by later today, but that’s the fourth time he’s called in so many hours.” He paused. “I only yelled that one time.”
“Wow, from what I understand you’ve shown admirable restraint.”
“Tell me about it. Restraint.” He clicked his tongue. “That’s my middle name today.”
“You still write checks? I thought only old people did that these days.”
Quinn narrowed his eyes. “Was that a crack about my age?”
Steven put on his best innocent face. “Not at all.”
“Liar. And yes, I occasionally still write checks.” He looked down and then back up. “You do realize we’re about the same age, right?”
Steven spread his hands, palms up. “Age is just a number. It’s all about how you feel—and act.”
“So you’re saying I act old?”
“You write checks.”
“Shut up and sit down.”
Steven smothered a grin, took his seat, and found three messages for return call requests.
“How’s the kid?” Quinn asked.
“Micah?”
“Right. Micah. And Zeke.”
“They’re hanging in there. Zeke and his mother are staying at the hospital right now with Micah, so they’re pretty safe. I’ve alerted security to be on the lookout for anyone suspicious hanging around Micah’s room.”
“Good.” Quinn’s phone rang and he grabbed it with a growl. Then the frown faded. “It’s the morgue.” He pressed the device to his ear. “Hello? Yeah, Francisco, what do you have?”
Quinn listened and Steven wished he could hear the conversation. Francisco, he’d learned his first day on the job, was one of the medical examiners. The one Quinn seemed to prefer to work with.
“Uh-huh. Okay, so who is he?” More listening. “All right. Well, when you figure it out, let me know, will you? Right. Thanks.” He hung up.
Steven booted up his la
ptop. “What was that all about?”
“Our guy in the trunk? Mr. James?”
“Yeah?”
“He’s not Mr. James.”
Steven paused, then realized he wasn’t surprised. “All right. Then who is it and where’s Mr. James?”
“Two questions that have the same answer—I don’t know.”
Steven rubbed a hand across his eyes. “That’s good news—and bad news. We need to find Carter James.”
“If he hasn’t turned up by now, it’s not looking good for him.”
“I know.” So they were looking at one murder, possibly two. “Any John Does in the hospital or the morgue?”
“I’ll find out.” Quinn picked his phone back up.
Steven looked up to see a rookie he’d met yesterday walk past him. “Hey, Garrison.”
“Yeah?”
The kid looked like he was about twelve years old. “Do you write checks?”
“Checks? What kind of checks?”
“You know. Checks. Those little rectangular pieces of paper you can use to pay for stuff?”
“I know what checks are.” He frowned. “No. Can’t think of the last time I wrote one. Why?”
Quinn looked up from his phone, his glare more ferocious than when he’d been on the phone with the irate merchant. Steven burst out laughing. Garrison looked confused, then rolled his eyes and walked off.
Steven had a hard time wiping the grin off his face. Score one for the new guy. Quinn would get him back and he didn’t even care. He turned back to his laptop while Quinn moved all the way across the room to make his calls.
Steven read the next email in the lineup and all sense of fun left him. Richie was still in his holding cell, but his lawyer would have him out before lunch.
Haley walked down the stairs and into her kitchen to find her grandfather seated at the table sipping a cup of coffee. His friend was nowhere to be seen. “Good morning.” She aimed herself at the Keurig. She set her weapon on the counter as she fixed her drink.
“Good morning, Haley.” He pressed a hand against the side of his head and winced.
She paused. “Are you all right?”
Chasing Secrets Page 13
