by Debra Webb
He peered down at the wide-eyed woman beneath him. “You okay?”
She hesitated, and then nodded.
He looked around. Any second now sirens would start wailing. He doubted the shooters would dare make a second run. “We have to get out of here.”
“Where’re we going?”
He pulled her up with him and headed for his rented car. “Some place safe.”
“What will we do then?” she asked as he ushered her into the passenger seat.
He started to lie and tell her they’d contact Cannon and get some backup. Instead, he opted for the truth.
“I don’t know.”
Chapter Eleven
12:40 p.m.
Blake drove for nearly half an hour in silence. Every time he opened his mouth to say something, he snapped it shut again. What did he say? He felt as if he were kidnapping her. Maybe he was. He told himself his actions were for her safety, but he’d lied to himself before.
What he needed was a plan. How the hell did he expect to get away with this? He’d gone over the edge. There was no other rational answer. He glanced at the woman staring vacantly out the window. The memory of those seconds on the ground with her soft body under his kept haunting him. The urge to kiss her… to grind his hips into hers had almost robbed him of any good sense he’d still had.
How did he expect to pull this off?
If he’d had a slim chance of salvaging his career before, he had absolutely zero prospects at this point.
He’d been a Marine and then a cop his entire adult life. Becoming a detective was all he’d ever wanted. A wife and kids hadn’t been on the table. Back home in Birmingham, he’d had the occasional girlfriend from time to time. His sisters had warned he was setting a bad personal example for his younger brother. After all, Luke had chosen to go into law enforcement just so he could be like his older brother. Only, he’d taken the college route. With his degree under his belt, he’d served a couple of years as a beat cop before applying to the FBI.
His brother was dead and it was Blake’s fault. He should have set a better example.
Fury burned through his chest. So what if his career was in the crapper? Why not add a kidnapping charge? As long as he accomplished his goal of bringing down Randall Barton, he could live with whatever came next. His family would forgive him when they understood his reasons.
Randall Barton would pay for taking Luke’s life.
“Where are we going?”
Blake waited until he’d taken the right onto County Road 32 before he responded. “It’s a quiet place I found a few miles outside Fairhope.” He lifted his shoulders, let them fall. “Off the beaten path.”
He could feel her staring at him. The shock of being shot at was wearing off, leaving her uncertain and confused. If she argued or demanded an explanation, he might be able to grasp how to proceed. Her silence left him without the slightest idea what to say next.
“You need time and distance to regroup. Get a handle on what’s happening.” Sounded reasonable. He dared a look in her direction. “Do you know a good attorney?”
She turned away. “The only thing I know is that I must be losing my mind.”
Dividing his attention between her and the road, he ventured, “You’re scared. A lot’s happened in the last couple of days.”
“I’m angry,” she said, her attention focused on the passing landscape. “And I’m terrified.”
She trembled. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel to prevent reaching for her. “Understandable.”
More of that heavy silence closed in around them as he drove the final few miles to Bay Haven Drive. He stopped at the end of the driveway, ensuring his car was hidden from view by the trees and mature shrubs surrounding the small cottage. As they climbed out of the Taurus, the gentle breeze blowing in off the bay wrapped around them. Though the location was only minutes from town, it felt like a lifetime away from the rest of the world to Blake. This was the only place he’d found in the last year where he felt some sense of peace.
It was the one place where he might be able to protect her.
To her credit, Julie didn’t protest as he led the way to the back door and unlocked it. Inside, she wandered through the small kitchen and living room combination before disappearing into the short hall. No need for him to follow her. There were two small bedrooms and one bathroom. A large screened-in porch overlooked the canal that led out to the bay. Inside and out, the décor was shabby coastal chic according to the realtor who’d leased him the place. Mostly, the place had that lived in feel and he liked it. Everything from linens to silverware was provided. He’d stocked the kitchen with canned and dried goods. Depending on how long they were here, a few fresh foods would be necessary.
“Is this where you live?”
He leaned against the counter near the sink as she wandered back into the main room. “When I need a break.”
“From reality,” she suggested.
“Yes.” No point denying the truth.
He watched her inventory the furnishings and decor. Nothing here belonged to him. The books and magazines had been left by other tenants over the years. Some had even left framed photos of their families. There were no photos of his family in this cottage or at his townhouse back in Mobile. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his family, he did. Very much so. It was about the fact that he couldn’t bear to look at their faces while he was doing this.
“Is this your family?” she asked as she picked up one of the photographs.
“No. Previous tenants.”
She placed the photograph back on the table and looked directly at him. “Why did you bring me here?”
For a moment, he was distracted by the hope mingling with the fear in her blue eyes. Her blond hair hung free around her shoulders. The desire to trail his fingers through the silky length was palpable. The pink tee and faded jeans made her look so young… so lost and alone. He hated himself for wanting to take her into his arms and comfort her. Wanting her was killing him.
She was a Barton.
He cleared the turmoil from his mind. “We need to talk.”
She sat down on the sofa, her gaze never leaving his. “You can start with why you’ve been watching me.”
“I’ve been watching anyone connected to Randall Barton. Your husband is dead so that leaves only you.” Why bother with all the details of how he’d stalked her for months. How he grew aroused just watching her shadow move in front of her bedroom window. How he’d yearned to taste that lower lip she chewed on whenever she was nervous.
She sat perfectly still as she seemed to digest his answer. Seven or eight seconds later, she asked, “Why?”
The lie he’d decided he would tell her if this time ever came eluded him. There was only the truth pressing against his chest. “He killed my brother.”
Her lips parted on a gasp, and then she clamped those straight white teeth down on her lush lower lip.
“Luke was a special agent with the FBI,” he went on. “His first assignment was in Manhattan.” The sound of his brother’s voice filtered through his mind and Blake smiled. “He was so excited. I think he felt that being an FBI agent trumped being a local cop back home.”
“How would Randall have had anything to do with your brother’s death?” The worry and uncertainty clouding her expression told him she remained open to listening.
“Wrong place, wrong time.” He pushed off the counter and claimed the chair directly across the wicker coffee table from her. “Barton was in New York on business in March of last year.”
She nodded. Blake imagined she would remember. Austin had accompanied his brother on the trip.
“While there, Randall met with a man my brother and another agent had under surveillance. A major drug distributor for the northeast.” He paused to give her an opportunity to respond. She said nothing. “As he left the meeting, one of Randall’s bodyguards spotted the surveillance detail. Randall and your husband drove away with the other bodyguard w
hile the first one took care of the two federal agents on surveillance detail.”
The worry and doubt had given way to disbelief. “How can you be certain? Did the other agent survive?”
Blake struggled to keep his emotions under control. He couldn’t allow her to see that side of him. He needed her to believe him—to trust him. “No, they were both murdered that night.”
“How can you be sure what happened?” She turned her hands up. “Were there video cameras? Witnesses?” Her voice grew louder with each word. Hysteria was taking hold.
“There was a witness,” he said quietly, hoping to calm her. “He said the shooting was racially motivated and even picked out two guys from mug shots to frame, but I knew better. I waited and when he was least expecting company, I showed up. He was at the Port Authority about to board a bus south. Randall Barton had a new home and a hefty bank account waiting in Mobile for him. I offered to give him a ride. As you can imagine, he was a little hesitant at first but he came around.” No need for Blake to mention that he hadn’t given the man a choice.
“Where is he?”
“Living in a little house on the river south of Atlanta.”
“How did that happen?”
“I took every penny I’d ever saved. I mortgaged the house I’d inherited from my grandfather. Whatever it took to buy the truth. I managed to convince him that if he showed up in Mobile he’d end up dead. So he took the better offer, which included a new identity and a one-way ticket way south of the border. And I got the truth.”
She schooled her expression, clearing away all emotion. “Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“With what? The old man had already given his statement. The case was closed. I was never going to change anything with the truth I’d purchased. If I’d turned the guy in—assuming he would have told the same thing to anyone but me—Barton would have had him killed long before trial.” He shrugged. “I decided to take care of it myself.”
Fear widened those blue eyes staring directly at him. “Did you kill Austin?”
“No.” Damn. Is that what she thought of him? “Austin didn’t give the order, Randall did. It’s Randall I want.”
She licked her lips and his heart skipped a beat. Fool.
“You want to kill him to avenge your brother’s death.” She frowned as if she’d realized the absurdity of her own question. “You’ve been in Mobile a whole year. Have you made any attempts on his life?”
“If I wanted him dead, he would be dead.”
She rubbed at her temple as if an ache had begun there, and then she shook her head. “I know Randall Barton. There is absolutely no way he’s involved with drugs and murder.” She exhaled a weary breath. “I think you might have picked the wrong brother.”
He laughed, a dry sound. “You just don’t know the real Randall Barton.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but then frowned again. “The detective in charge of the investigation into Austin’s death—”
“Cannon?”
She nodded. “He claimed that Randall said I cheated on Austin and that I didn’t want to lose my connection to the Barton money. Cannon has to be lying. Randall would never say any such thing.”
“Are you sure about that?” Blake flared his hands. “Do you really know Randall as well as you think you do? Cannon has no reason to lie.”
She stared at the floor for a moment. “I thought I did, but I guess I’m not sure of anything anymore. Cannon had a receipt with what looked my signature and a copy of my driver’s license where I’d purchased a gun—the same kind of gun used to kill Austin. I’ve never owned or fired a gun of any sort. I didn’t buy one.”
“With the right connections, it’s not difficult to get a copy of anyone’s license from the DMV. Randall has the right connections. He’s setting you up to take the fall for the murder.” All the pieces fell neatly into place. The idea had crossed Blake’s mind, but he’d resisted on some level. Now, there was no denying the cold, hard truth. Blake stood and walked to the window to look out over the water. “Randall killed his own brother.”
“That’s simply not possible.” Julie joined him. “Randall loved Austin. That’s the one thing I know for certain.”
Blake turned to her. She still didn’t get it. “Austin was playing too fast and loose. Randall could no longer count on him to keep all his secrets and to conduct business discreetly. He may have loved Austin, but not enough to risk facing the death penalty for murdering two federal agents or for all the other crimes he has committed.”
“Austin proved time and again he wasn’t the man I thought he was.” The doubt in her eyes told Blake he was getting through to her on some level. “I’m beginning to think he was capable of anything. But not Randall. I can’t see him doing those things.”
“Trust me. He does do those things.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked him straight in the eye. “Whatever we believe, the real question is what can we prove? I didn’t kill Austin, but I can’t prove it any more than you can prove Randall ordered your brother’s death.”
“All we need is a starting place. Austin must have left something we can use.” Damn they needed a break.
She chewed on that lip again and his mouth went dry. “I may have something that could be important. Maybe.”
He fisted his fingers to prevent grabbing her and shaking her. If she knew anything at all, she needed to spit it out now. “What?”
“First I need to call Marie. I should have called her already. She needs to know I’m okay.”
He didn’t like the idea of her contacting anyone. On the other hand, he needed to keep her comfortable and cooperative. “All right. But you cannot tell her where you are. Understand?”
She nodded, and then made a face. “I don’t have my phone.”
“You can use mine.” He dragged it from his pocket. “I want the conversation on speaker.” As much as his body wanted to, his brain wasn’t ready to trust the lady completely.
“No problem. I have nothing to hide.” She entered her friend’s number.
After two rings, Morrison answered. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“Oh my God! Julie, are you okay?”
Worry cluttered Julie’s face once more. “Yes, yes. I’m fine.”
The woman on the other end of the line started to cry. What the hell?
“Marie, what’s going on?” Julie asked.
“I was afraid you were dead!”
“God, no. I’m okay. Did someone call the police about the shooting?”
Hesitation. “Julie, what’re you talking about? What shooting?”
Julie rubbed at her forehead. “Sweetie, when I got back to your house after the meeting with Lieutenant Cannon…” She glanced around the room, her gaze landing on Blake. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter. Why did you think I was dead?”
“The house.” Her friend made a keening sound before continuing. “Someone set it on fire. I was afraid you were inside.”
“Your house burned?” Julie pressed a hand to her chest, but not before Blake saw the way it trembled.
“It’s a total loss.” A hiccupping sob echoed across the line. “Thank God none of us were home.”
“I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry.”
After another minute or so of discussion about what Morrison and her kids would do, Julie pleaded with her friend to be careful before ending the call. She passed the phone back to him. The news had rattled her. He couldn’t quite label the emotion in her eyes now. Determination, maybe?
“I don’t understand any of this.” She searched his face. “And I’m not sure whether I believe your story. But whatever is happening, there’s only one thing I care about and that’s making it stop. If you can help me do that, we’re good. If not, you’d better take me back to Mobile.”
Blake gave a single nod. “I can help you do that.”
Chapter Twelve
5:00 p.m.
“Those are all
the names you remember?”
Julie nodded. He’d asked that question a dozen times. The jump drive was hidden in her apartment. She couldn’t very well get to it since the police still held her place as a crime scene. The names she’d given him were the only ones she recalled. She’d told him about the conversations she’d overheard. None of it was real evidence, but she inherently understood that it was wrong.
“You heard Austin reference the list in phone calls?”
“In a roundabout way. He tried to make me believe I was being ridiculous, but I know what I heard.”
“Do you remember exactly when you confronted him about the list?”
The answer was easy. “Right before I moved out. I was sick to death of his lying and cheating. The possibility that he was involved in something illegal was the last straw.”
The truth was she’d been ready to go long before that moment. Fear had kept her in place. She’d had no idea how she would manage. She’d gone straight from her parents’ home to college and grad school, and then directly from graduation to being Mrs. Austin Barton. She was going on thirty and she’d never supported herself. Hard work didn’t scare her at all but the idea of living on the street certainly did.
Detective Duncan stood. “I could use some coffee. You?”
“No thank you, Detective.”
“Blake.”
She pushed to her feet. “Blake. I’ll take a bathroom break while you get your coffee.”
For an instant, they stood there staring at each other. Whether he believed ladies should go first or he wanted to ensure she didn’t take off on him, he waited for her to make the first move.
The tiny bathroom was circa 1950. The blue toilet and sink reminded her of her childhood summers spent at her grandmother’s. Her entire life she’d always felt safe and protected. Her family had been good people. She’d grown up surrounded by wonderful, caring people. How had she chosen such a bad man for a husband? Why hadn’t she recognized him for what he was? Sweet Jesus, he was dead. Murdered.
After taking care of necessary business, she washed her hands and frowned at her reflection. She looked like the walking dead. Dark circles under her eyes. How long had it been since she’d had a good night’s rest? Too long.
