Tristan stared at the back of her head until she disappeared through the automatic doors. Recalling that she'd lost or destroyed her cell phone, he wondered how she was going to communicate with anyone—most importantly Hilary, who would be equally as dumfounded as Tristan to hear that her boss was finished with investigating Coenen.
At that precise moment, Tristan's cell phone buzzed, and he snatched it from his pocket. Speak of the devil. "Hey," he said.
"Hi, Tristan." Hilary's bright greeting contrasted sharply with his gloomy tone. "Juliet's not answering her phone for some reason, and I have something really important to tell her." Juliet's assistant sounded like she might burst with excitement.
A driver behind him beeped his horn, urging Tristan to move out and make room for others. "She destroyed her phone somehow," he explained, slipping back into his car.
"How'd she do that?" Hilary asked.
"No idea." His glum terseness finally got her attention.
"Is everything OK?" Now Hilary sounded worried.
"Not exactly." Putting his phone on speaker, Tristan set it in the cup holder and concentrated on merging back into traffic. "I just dropped her off at the airport. She said she was pulling the plug on her investigation and she wanted to leave."
Hilary's silence was a replay of his earlier disbelief. Then she exploded. "What? I mean, seriously! What. The. Hell! We have been busting our butts back here for hours upon hours. Not only that, we just had a breakthrough on our end," she reported.
Tristan's curiosity flickered. "What kind of breakthrough?" he asked, changing lanes and accelerating.
"You'll never guess who arranged and paid for Peter Goyle's funeral."
He took a stab at it. "Hans Coenen?"
"Nope, Renata Blumenthal."
"What?" Renata had been speaking to Juliet during those ten minutes that changed everything.
"Renata knew all along who painted that emblem. She and Peter Goyle were a couple. They'd been together for decades before he died," Hilary relayed.
"Are you kidding me?" Tristan was briefly distracted by the road signs he was approaching while trying to discern which way to go. "Isn't she like twenty years younger?"
"Twenty-five," Hilary corrected. "You can tell by the condolences written in his funeral register that people considered her his common-law wife."
Tristan gave a thoughtful grunt. "It's all moot now," he decided. "Juliet's made up her mind that, with Goebel dead, she's not going after Coenen."
"I can't believe that." Hilary's denial was just as fervent as Tristan's had been.
"Yeah, me neither. Listen, I gotta go so I can use my map app. I think I took the wrong exit."
"Oh, sure. Sorry. Are you OK, Tristan? You sound really upset."
Self-pity was a noose around his neck. "I gotta go," he repeated hanging up on her.
Upset was an understatement. The thought of never holding Juliet again, never spending time with her, sucked every drop of joy out of him. He'd known for a while that he was in love with her—though he hadn't realized until then how much he'd been relying on her falling in love with him, too.
No, he wasn't upset. He was fucking devastated.
Chapter 17
Standing in the breezeway outside of Hilary's quiet apartment, Juliet strained her ears for evidence that her assistant was up and moving at eight o'clock in the morning. All Juliet could hear was the light patter of rain in the parking lot. She could always wait for Hilary to come rolling into the office around 10 a.m. and give her new phone number to her then, but no doubt her red-headed techno wonder had to be worried about her. Besides she wanted to make sure Hilz knew they were still definitely on the case of her parents' murderer.
By now, Hilary would have most certainly called Tristan, which meant she would have heard about her boss's decision to suspend the investigation. Juliet couldn't wait to set her straight. Coenen had threatened her because she was on to him. If she could link him somehow, some way to Goebel, she could establish his motive for murdering her parents.
Silence followed Juliet's firm knock. Hilary was definitely still sleeping.
Damn it, this wouldn't be necessary if the woman didn't get herself a new cell number every time she broke up with a boyfriend. Juliet would have simply texted her already, using the cheap flip phone she'd purchased at a kiosk at Monterey Regional.
The scraping of the chain lock preceded the door swinging open. Juliet blinked in surprise to see the SEAL who'd manned a laptop in his part of a search-and-rescue team in Mexico gazing down at her. She hadn't heard his footsteps, but then, of course, he would have moved swiftly and silently.
"Oh. You haven't left yet," she exclaimed. No wonder Hilary was still in bed then.
On the other hand, Hack was fully dressed and, given the scent of bacon wafting out of the apartment, he'd been up for a while now.
"Remember me?" she prompted when he simply stood there, saying nothing.
"Juliet." He stepped back and let her in.
"Thanks. Um, sorry to show up like this, but I need to talk to Hilary." A blanket and pillow stacked on the couch in the living room caught her eye. "Is she awake yet?"
Hilary's door swung open. "I am now." There she stood in a pair of plaid pajamas, her hair sticking up in all directions.
All signs suggested the couple had not slept together. Juliet divided a speculative gaze between them.
Hilary propped her hands on her hips. "What the heck is going on?" she demanded of Juliet. "Tristan said you'd destroyed your phone or something, and you were pulling the plug on the investigation."
Aware of Hack's acute interest, Juliet hesitated to make her reply. "Can I speak with you alone?" she asked uncomfortably.
"What?" Hilary exclaimed with predictable affront.
"I'll take a walk," Hack offered, pivoting toward the door.
Juliet shot him a grateful look. For a man described by his teammate as socially inept, Hack proved himself surprisingly astute.
"Ten minutes," she called as he stepped outside the door, shutting it behind him.
Juliet met Hilary's baffled gaze. "Can we talk in your bedroom?" She couldn't take the chance of Hack overhearing their conversation.
Hilary shrugged and led the way, flicking on the light. The half-made bed affirmed Juliet's ealier guess. Curiosity made her want to ask what their status was, but she stuck to the matter at hand.
"You can't tell Hack any of this." With sudden exhaustion, Juliet dropped onto the edge of Hilary's bed and scrubbed a hand over her eyes. In spite of arriving home late the night before, she hadn't slept so much as a wink. Tristan, who had once avowed he loved her, had to hate her now. She would never again feel his arms around her, never know the sweet bliss of his kisses.
Hilary gazed down at her, visibly confused and concerned. "What's going on, Jules?" she demanded.
Juliet dropped her hand and sat up straighter. "Coenen caught up with me at the Monterey Aquarium yesterday."
Hilary gasped. Her eyes seemed to fill her face. "Tristan didn't tell me that."
"He doesn't know. And that's the way it's going to stay." In a ragged voice, Juliet related what had happened the previous morning, including Coenen's threat and his assertion that Kapova had once been KGB.
Hilary wrung her hands. "You really think they would target Tristan?"
Her skepticism was understandable. Tristan could probably take on Coenen and Kapova at the same time with one arm tied behind his back. No man, however, could stop a bullet coming unexpectedly out of nowhere. Juliet wasn't willing to take any chances.
"I know it sounds improbable, but we can't underestimate Coenen. And who knows what Kapova is capable of if it's true she was really KGB. Maybe she only pretended to defect so she could spy on the U.S. and report back to the Kremlin."
"I suppose that's possible," Hilary relented. "I can't picture any woman slitting Tristan's throat though. Shooting him, maybe. How would they even know where to find him? Special Ops protects th
eir warriors. It's not as if his address is listed online."
"Exactly. As long as Tristan's down in Virginia Beach, he's safe. But not with me."
"Oh." Comprehension dawned in Hilary's eyes. "So that's why you broke up with him! Oh, Juliet, that's so sweet!" Throwing herself down on the bed beside her, Hilary gave Juliet a heartfelt hug.
Pain wrenched at Juliet's heart. "No, I broke up with him because I don't need or want a relationship," she insisted. "It was going to end anyway. The situation just enabled me to do it before he became too invested."
Hilary sat back to regard her sadly. "And you're not?" she gently queried.
Tears promptly rushed into Juliet's eyes. Ignoring the question, she sprang up to pace around the bed and back. "I don't want Hack knowing any of this. You can't tell him in confidence, either. SEALs are tight. They have this teamwork philosophy that's drilled into them. If Tristan finds out about Coenen's threat, he's not going to stay away. He'll be back in my life, all concerned that Coenen's going to come after me."
"Wait." Hilary clapped a hand to her chest and came to her feet. "You haven't even heard the latest, have you?"
Juliet stopped prowling. "Heard what?"
"Renata Blumenthal and Dieter Goebel, who became Peter Goyle, were a couple for at least two decades."
"Are you kidding me?" Juliet's head spun at the unexpected news.
"Not kidding. Renata paid for his funeral, and according to the condolences written in the online guest ledger, people thought of her as his wife, even though they never married. She knew him intimately, Juliet! She knew he'd painted the emblem when you asked about it, only she pretended not to know, perhaps to protect him."
"She called my cell yesterday while we were visiting the aquarium," Juliet recalled, viewing that exchange from a new perspective. "Oh, my God, she invited me to come visit The People's Eyes on Thursday morning so she could show me more of Goyle's murals!"
Hilary's eyes narrowed. "Why would she all of a sudden trust you?"
Suspicion crawled along the nape of Juliet's neck. "Who said she trusts me? Maybe she was trying to lure me back so she could probe my intentions."
"Do you think she worked for Goebel, too," Hilary asked, "like Coenen did?"
Juliet considered the question. "I don't know. She's a little young to have been a spy during the Cold War."
"No younger than your mother was."
The tired neurons in Juliet's brain sparked anew. "It's possible. I guess we need to find out."
Hilary clapped her hands gleefully. "Then we're not pulling the plug," she concluded.
Juliet spared a thought to Tristan's safety. As long as he was nowhere near her, he'd be safe. "No. I never intended to stop this investigation. We need to connect Hans Coenen to Peter Goyle, the same way we connect Renata to him."
"I knew you weren't really giving up," Hilary declared.
"Tristan doesn't need to know that," Juliet reminded her. "Again, I'm sorry, but Hack can't know either."
Her assistant's smile faded.
"I swear if he knows anything about what really happened yesterday, he's going to tell Tristan, and Tristan will show up at my door demanding to know why I lied to him. I really can't face him right now," Juliet added, revealing the depth of her vulnerability.
Hilary just looked at her boss, unable to reply.
"Listen, I'm not saying that you can't continue to see Hack," Juliet hedged, "but it would be better if you'd wait until after we find a way to get Coenen arrested."
"That could take months!" Hilary protested.
"I know, but how will you feel if you say something to Hack, who tells Tristan, who starts hanging around me and winds up getting killed? Coenen knows my address, remember? He arranged that purse snatching so a cop had a reason to ask for my ID. He knows where I live."
"Doesn't he know where Tristan lives, too?" Hilary argued. "Didn't he arrange for that cop to pull him over?"
Juliet had suspected as much, but Hilary was the first to articulate Coenen's involvement. She nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, only his driver's license is from North Carolina. Like you said earlier, SEALs keep their whereabouts secret. Coenen can't find him if he's not hanging around me."
"Look." Hilary lifted her chin in the air to make a point, "I'm not going to stop seeing Stuart, and I'm not keeping this information from him. However, I will swear him to silence," she offered. "We need his help, Jules. We're not going to implicate Coenen or find out anything more about Kapova without him. He's a freaking genius."
Juliet's shoulders slumped. Too exhausted to pursue her argument, she let it go. She would simply have to trust Hilary to do what was best for all of them.
"Fine," she conceded. "Whatever. Just try to keep Hack quiet." She turned and exited the bedroom. "I've got to get to the office and catch up on stuff. Please join me as soon as you can. The FBI's not going to consider my allegations if we don't give them more. Oh, and I have a new cell phone number. I'll give it to you when you come to work."
Hilary chased after her. "You're being careful, aren't you, Jules?"
"Of course." She'd changed the passcode on her apartment door, and she kept her pistol either on her person or in her purse at all times. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. "You're sure you can swear Hack to silence?" she asked her assistant.
Hilary nodded definitively. "Absolutely sure," she stated.
Mollified, Juliet let herself out of the apartment and started down the zigzag steps that led to the parking lot. Halfway down, she encountered Hack on his way back up.
"Sorry about that," she muttered by way of apology.
With a slight nod in her direction, he continued wordlessly past her.
Juliet shrugged and rolled her eyes. He certainly was a man of few words. In her present situation, that was a trait that could save Tristan's life—provided loyalty to his teammate didn't take precedence.
* * *
"Good God, son, you're going to kill me." Gary Sigmund slowed to a stop at the scenic overlook at the top of a sand dune and propped his hands on his knees to catch his breath. "I thought I was in shape," he panted as Tristan slowed next to him. "This is humiliating."
"For a marine, you're in great shape," Tristan ribbed, taking in the view of the beach below them. A veil of morning mist hovered over the blue-gray bay, keeping them from seeing very far beyond the waves that lapped softly onto shore. A gentle breeze ruffled the hardy wildflowers at Tristan's feet and dried the sweat from his skin, lifting away a portion of the depression that had shackled him since Juliet's departure the previous day.
It was only at Gary's insistence that he'd dragged out of bed at dawn. Now, he was glad he had given in. Halfway through their five-mile run, he could feel the endorphins kicking in.
"Gorgeous view, isn't it?" his father asked, straightening to take it in.
"Hooyah," Tristan agreed, but it would have been better if Juliet were present to admire it with him.
"Ready to head back?" Gary asked.
Tristan mustered his enthusiasm. "Yeah, sure."
They set off at an easy lope, following the reverse imprints of their sneakers, left along the sandy path. Down the face of the dunes and through an abandoned WWII artillery range they trotted, arriving at a barbed wire fence that kept the range off-limits to non-military personnel. They had passed beneath the highway and were making their way along a row of crumbling barracks when a dark Buick turned at the intersection ahead and sped downhill toward them.
Tristan braced himself for trouble as the vehicle slowed, but a familiar face appeared behind the lowering driver's window. Kevin McNulty waved them over.
"Morning," he said as they crossed the deserted street to greet him. "Holly told me you'd gone for a run. I'm glad I was able to catch you before I headed to work." Excitement shone in his brown eyes as he directed them at Tristan. "What you told me last night caused a stir at the Bureau."
Tristan shared a look with his father. The previous evening, with Hilar
y's latest intelligence nagging at him, he had excused himself from Holly and Gary's dinner table to walk next door and advise McNulty of Renata Blumenthal's relationship with the former head of the Stasi.
Kevin reached inside of his suit jacket and pulled out an index card. "Renata Blumenthal is apparently already under investigation. She's been on a watch list for some time due to her radical political views. She's been promoting Marxism and gaining popularity with disgruntled millennials for some time. Everyone agrees she's a kook, though no one really thought she was dangerous until you told us who her boyfriend was. The CIA, in their infinite wisdom, hadn't shared Goyle's history with the Bureau—typical power play. Knowing Goyle used to be Goebel makes Ms. Blumenthal's agenda seem a little more ominous."
Tristan used his T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead.
"Long story short," Kevin continued, "an interagency task force already has dibs on Blumenthal. They've been watching her for years. When they got word of your intel, they wanted to invite you or Juliet to the National Counterterrorism Center in Northern Virginia, to speak with them. I tried calling Juliet, but I couldn't get through."
"Her phone got destroyed yesterday," Tristan explained. "I'll get the message to her," he promised, thinking he could tell Hack, who could relay the message to Hilary, who could then tell Juliet. "What about Hans Coenen? Did his name ring a bell, too?"
"Nope. Only Blumenthal." Kevin handed Tristan the index card. "This is the name and number of the task force lead," he said. "Make sure Juliet gets that and calls him today."
Tristan glanced at the information and frowned. Isaac Calhoun. Didn't he know that name?
"Thanks." Tristan shook Kevin's hand through the open car window. "I won't let you down." If a task force took over Juliet's investigation, he wouldn't have to worry so much about Coenen trying to silence her. That gave him one less thing to fret over.
"Better get to class." With a parting nod, the agent drove off.
Gary threw an arm over Tristan's shoulder. "You want to tell me why she took off on you?" he prodded gently.
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