“We wouldn’t want that. I’d have to hear about it all night.” Sullivan couldn’t help but smile as he clapped Elliot on the back. “Did you bring the files?”
“Got them in the truck along with extra munitions and snacks. But I have to be honest, I ate all the nuts on the way here. This place is in the middle of nowhere.” Swiveling his head around Sullivan, Elliot caught sight of their new client. Jane. The con-man-turned-investigator sidestepped his boss, something close to intrigue smoothing out his features. “And you must be Jane. Your picture doesn’t do you justice.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jane asked. “That’s your opening line?”
“Oh, I like her.” Elliot’s smile made another appearance.
Sullivan clamped a hand on his investigator’s shoulder. Elliot had absolutely no interest in their new client, but something inside had tightened at the thought of another man coming anywhere near her with that look on his face. What did he care? He’d taken her on as a client, however forced. He didn’t have any kind of claim on her. “How about you do your job and get me those files from the truck?”
“Sure thing, boss.” Elliot half saluted Jane, then spun back toward the front door and disappeared.
A tri-chimed message tone brought the burner phone back into his hand. Sullivan read Elizabeth’s message, then dropped the phone onto the hardwood and stomped on it. The screen cracked under his boots, pieces of plastic skating across the floor. “My team couldn’t trace the number. We weren’t on the line long enough to get a location.”
“And you felt the need to take it out on your phone?” she asked.
“Can’t be too careful.” In reality, he’d been thinking ahead. If this case went south and the man hunting Jane expanded his crosshairs, Sullivan wouldn’t leave any evidence behind that could lead to his team.
“So that’s your private investigator.” Not a question. Jane’s arm brushed his as she passed him heading into the living room. A shot of awareness trailed up Sullivan’s arm. He slapped a hand over the oversensitized skin, but she didn’t notice. Head in the game. Standing in front of the fire, her bruises and cuts illuminated by the brilliant orange flames, Jane still held her head high. There was a target on her back, but she hadn’t fallen apart. She didn’t trust him with her emotions. Didn’t seem to trust anyone.
“Elliot is the best private investigator in the country.” He closed in on her one step at a time, giving in to the urge to have her nearby in case her stalker took a shot through the front windows. He’d already tried to kill her once. No telling what he’d do next. At least for now. “Used to be a con man. Elliot can read people. He has the resources to dig into their lives and a genius-level IQ to see three steps ahead. He’ll find whoever’s targeting you.”
“What if he can’t?” Turning toward him, Jane gave him an exhausted smile. Her shoulders sagged as though she’d collapse into a puddle on the floor. “I’ve been through those files a dozen times. I know them better than anyone, and I couldn’t pick out any potential suspects.” She massaged her temples with her fingers. “I just want my life back.”
“Look at me.” Sullivan closed the small space between them. He pushed every ounce of sincerity into his expression, his gaze, his voice, but didn’t move to touch her this time. “I don’t give my word lightly. You might’ve blackmailed me into it, but I promised to protect you, and I will.” The small muscles in his jaw tightened. “We will figure this out.”
She nodded. “I believe you.”
“Good.” Four hours ago, he’d tried kicking her out of his office. But now... They were in this together. He’d saved her life. She’d saved his. And he wouldn’t let some nutjob with a sick obsession get close to her again. No matter how much he blamed her for Marrok’s death. “You’re dead on your feet. Why don’t you go lie down in the bedroom? I’ll wake you if we find a lead.”
Jane nodded, her eyes brighter than a few moments ago. “I’ll also expect that meal you promised when I come out.”
A laugh rumbled through his chest as Sullivan watched her disappear into the bedroom. Flashes of those long legs peeking out from under his blanket skittered across his mind, and his gut warmed. He stared after her a few seconds longer, but the weight of being watched pressed between his shoulder blades. His neck heated. Damn. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to see you’re going to break your own rule if you’re not careful.” Elliot dropped the box of Jane’s case files and laptop onto the built-in desk and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, now you look like you want to kill me.”
No way was he going to talk about this with his private investigator. Or anybody. Ever. “What did you find when you went through the files?”
“I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities within the army after you said the guy erased his tracks after taking off with your supplies. That takes a lot of skill, and not many of the people she has regular contact with have any kind of training like that.” Elliot shoved the lid off the box and extracted three manila file folders. “Your girl took some damn fine notes on the cases she worked. Made my job easier.”
His girl? Not even close. But Sullivan didn’t correct his investigator. He took the files from Elliot and scanned over the extensive notes inside. Must’ve been Jane’s handwriting. Precise, to the point. Nothing fancy. But the purple and pink Post-its stuck through the files surprised him. Just as her red toenail polish had. He scanned over the first file. “Staff Sergeant Marrok Warren.”
Something sour swept across his tongue.
“Now, that guy is a piece of work. There’s only one problem.” Elliot leveraged his weight against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Jane prosecuted him for sexual assault of three female enlisted soldiers, but—”
“He’s dead.” There it was. Stamped across Jane’s case file in big red letters. Deceased. Sullivan’s ears rang. He discarded the file back into the box, his body strung as tight as a tension spring. His brother might’ve had the skills to pull off blindsiding them in the SUV and taking their supplies without leaving behind a trace, but it wasn’t possible. Marrok Warren was dead. Sullivan had buried him ten months ago almost to the day.
“That would be the problem. I tied him to Jane’s case because of the guy’s father.” Elliot pulled a bag of peanuts from his jacket pocket. “Ever heard of the Anchorage Lumberjack? Killed twelve victims, all with an ax. With Staff Sergeant Warren dead, could be a close family member coming after Jane now, maybe one of those psychopathic groupies I’m always hearing about. Wonder what they’re like...”
Sullivan crumpled the files in his hand, the tendons in his neck straining. He locked his attention on Elliot, then took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. “Who else do you have?”
“We’ve got her commanding officer.” His private investigator nodded toward the second file in Sullivan’s hand, ignoring the obvious tension that’d filled the room. “Major Patrick Barnes is Jane’s CO. He’d know her daily schedule, her routine, and have access to all of her files. He would know her whereabouts while on tour, and he’s the one who grants permission for her to go on leave.”
“It’s not Major Barnes,” a familiar voice said.
Twisting around, Sullivan locked on to Jane, the grip around his rib cage lightening at the sight of her. As long as she was in his sights, she was safe. He tossed the files onto the desk. “You should be resting.”
“Couldn’t wind down. Besides, this is my case. I should be helping.” Jane shoved off from against the doorjamb and sauntered forward. Reaching for Major Barnes’s file, she scanned through the pages, her proximity setting Sullivan’s nerve endings on high alert. She tossed the file on top of Marrok Warren’s and crossed her arms over her chest. “I owe Barnes my life. He tackled me to the ground after an IED exploded in the parking lot outside my office in Afghanistan two months ago. He wouldn’t have done t
hat just to turn around and come after me himself. And he has no motive.”
“All right. Then we take a tour of your life outside the army. The only other name that stands out to me is Christopher Menas.” Elliot handed the file to Jane, but shifted his gaze to Sullivan before settling back against the desk. Hesitant? “He’s won a few hunting awards, but that’s about all I know aside from his criminal record. I can’t find any employment records, no college degree, no military record, nothing that says he’s changed his name, or a death certificate attached to this guy. Menas simply dropped off the grid after skipping bail, but you two had a complicated past and that’s why I’m pinning him as a suspect.”
“I can’t believe this.” She stared at the name on the edge of the folder, her eyes panicked and wide. She slipped her index finger between the yellow card stock but didn’t move to open the file. “I haven’t thought about Christopher in years.”
“Jane?” Warning bells rang in Sullivan’s head as he closed in on her. “What are you thinking?”
Tearing her attention from the folder, Jane lifted her gaze to his. “It’s him. He’s the one doing this to me.”
* * *
CHRISTOPHER MENAS.
Flashes of his face, of those cold brown eyes and dark skin, lit up the back of her eyelids. Jane bolted upright off the bed, out of breath, surrounded by pure darkness. She’d been in love—outright smitten—with the quarterback of the University of Washington Huskies football team. And it’d all been a lie.
She couldn’t see anything with the bedroom door shut, but her instincts screamed she wasn’t alone. The silhouette of a man shifted in her peripheral vision. She slipped her hand under her pillow, curling her fingers around the gun Sullivan had lent her when she’d gone to bed.
“I’m not armed.” A chair creaked to her left before the mattress dipped with added weight. Her hand relaxed from around the Glock. Sullivan. The light on the nightstand flickered to life, bathing his stern features in warmth. “Tell me about Christopher Menas.”
“What?” She squinted into the brightness. “What time is it?”
“Just before dawn. You were talking in your sleep earlier. About Christopher Menas.” Every muscle in her body tightened at that name. Sullivan’s voice remained soft, coaxing. “I read the police report on him. He sexually assaulted two women while you two were dating. Your roommates, right? Right before he came after you.”
A shiver chased up her spine. How could this be happening again? She’d moved on with her life, joined the army, made something of herself. She’d left that part of her life—left Christopher and everything that reminded her of him—behind.
“Is that why you went after my brother so aggressively? To make Marrok pay because your college boyfriend got away with his crimes?” Sullivan stared at her, stone-like. The muscles in his jawline flexed as though he was grinding his back molars, but Jane still forced herself to meet his gaze.
“Are you really accusing me of corruption, or is this because I prosecuted your brother for sexual assault?” She regretted the words the second they left her mouth. Clenching the sheets, she steadied her nerves. No. This was his job; this was why she’d blackmailed him in the first place. He got the job done, no matter what it took. And if Christopher was the man behind this, she’d make sure her ex paid this time. With Sullivan’s help. “I’ll tell you anything you need to know about Christopher, but believe me when I say this has nothing to do with you or your brother.”
“How can I trust you?” Sullivan’s calm, collected exterior broke around his eyes and mouth. “You charged my brother with these exact same crimes, which led to Marrok committing suicide. You’re blackmailing me into helping you now. And you purposefully left out a credible lead.”
What? “I never—”
“You told me you didn’t have any ex-boyfriends who would hold a grudge against you. You’re the one who turned Menas over to the police all those years ago. You knew he’d skipped bail. All this time you didn’t think he was the one who might be after you?” Standing, Sullivan ran his hands through his hair. Shadows threw his features into sharper angles and brought out the darkness he’d kept under control up until now. “Damn it, Jane. I could’ve gotten people on him the second we left my office and none of this would’ve happened.”
“How do you know it’s him stalking me or he’s the one who ran us off the road? You said it yourself, whoever took the bags didn’t leave any evidence, and you never got a look at the driver.” Jane threw her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, thankful she’d chosen warmer attire tonight rather than her usual T-shirt and panties. None of this made sense. Why would her ex-boyfriend come after her now? That was a lifetime ago. The statute of limitations had run out on his charges and he’d never gone to prison. What could he possibly hold against her now?
“Weren’t you the one who said, ‘It’s him. He’s the one doing this to me,’ out there?” Dropping his hands, Sullivan faced her head-on, body still tense.
She didn’t know how to respond. The idea of Christopher coming back into her life after all this time...
“Anchorage PD recovered the vehicle. The tow truck that blindsided us was recovered from behind a gas station just inside town.” Sullivan pulled a hand through his short hair. “My forensics guy has been working with Anchorage PD. They’ve confirmed the black paint on the fender is from my SUV. Jane, the registration is filed under Christopher Menas’s name.”
The air in her throat froze. They had a lead, proof. Christopher had come to Anchorage. For her. Locking her teeth together, Jane tugged her sweatshirt off the edge of the bed, then shoved her feet into her boots. She’d gone into the army because of her ex, learned to protect herself against men like him. But no more running. Christopher wanted revenge? He was going to have to work for it. Heading for the door, she gave into the sudden rush of determination pumping through her. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
“Go where?” he asked.
Wasn’t this man a SEAL, trained to think two steps ahead of everybody else to get the upper hand in any situation? “To Christopher’s. He must have a safe house, a hotel room or an apartment—something around here if he’s stalking me, right?”
“We can’t go barging into the man’s private residence, Jane.” Sullivan shot to his feet and wrapped his hand around her arm, but she wrenched away. He seemed to be doing a lot of that in the last twenty-four hours, touching her, but now wasn’t the time to analyze the contact. Despite the fact he’d accused her of corruption, they had a stalker to find. “We’re not the police. We don’t have a warrant. The best thing we can do is put surveillance on him for the next couple days. Then we can go from there.”
On any other case, she’d agree. She’d taken an oath as a lawyer. She was supposed to play by the book, but this case had turned more personal than she’d imagined. “I don’t have a couple of days. I need my life back now.” Throwing the door open, she stalked straight toward Elliot, who was asleep on the couch. “I need your car keys.”
Elliot’s feet lifted off the couch as he dropped his arms away from his forehead. A yawn twisted his features as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Well, good morning to you, too.”
“Keys.” Jane extended her hand. “Please.”
“I take it you told her about the tow truck,” Elliot said to Sullivan over her shoulder. He sat up, digging into his jacket pocket before dangling the car keys in front of her. “Have a nice field trip, sweetheart. Call me if you need me.”
She swiped the keys from his hand.
“If we’re going—” Sullivan fisted both his hands in Elliot’s jacket and hefted him from the couch “—then you’re coming, too.”
“We don’t have much time. Christopher is smart. He probably left that truck there for us to trace back to him, but I doubt he’s going to stick around and risk arrest.” Jane took a deep breath to clear her head
and handed the keys back to Elliot. A rush of cold air slammed against her as they stepped back into the freezing Alaskan wilderness. It took a few seconds for her lungs to catch up with the change in temperature, but she refused to slow down. They had to catch Christopher by surprise, but the sun would be up soon and they’d lose their cover of night.
Once they were all within the safety of the truck, Elliot put the shifter into Reverse but didn’t move. “What exactly is our plan here?”
“You’re a private investigator. I assume you already know where Christopher is hiding.” Jane buckled herself into the back seat. “I want to surprise him and get some answers. That’s the plan for right now.”
“And if he’s armed?” Sullivan turned around, his gaze glued to her.
“Isn’t that why I hired you?” Throwing his own words back in his face wouldn’t smooth the tension between them, but Jane still couldn’t believe he’d implied she’d had anything personal against his brother during the court-martial. Sure, Marrok’s charges were nearly identical to Christopher Menas’s, but she’d always strived for compartmentalization and professionalism when prosecuting a case. She couldn’t practice law if her emotions got the best of her. Hence that damn nickname. No emotion. No attachment. Jane cringed inwardly and crossed her arms over her chest as they pulled away from the cabin. But that wasn’t her. Not anymore.
The truck barreled through the snow as they headed back toward Anchorage without signs of an ambush, but Jane still kept an eye out for any rogue tow trucks waiting for them at signals through town. According to Elliot’s research, Christopher Menas had been renting an apartment near Taku Lake. Within twenty minutes, the private investigator parked the pickup two blocks from their destination.
The apartment complex wasn’t anything special—two levels, blond-wood balconies with white stucco on the sides. Trees and shrubs gave the complex a lighter feel, but as Jane stepped onto the pavement, a ball of dread fisted at the base of her spine.
Rules in Blackmail Page 5
