Harlequin Superromance May 2016 Box Set

by Janice Kay Johnson

  The marriage didn’t last long after that. Bran had overheard enough of his parents’ arguments to know they had thrown terrible accusations at each other. What marriage could survive that? Bran had already known that his mother was sleeping around, too. In the heated weeks following Sheila’s murder, it became apparent that Bran’s dad knew, as well, or had at least suspected.

  In the end, a great divide opened. The boys had had to choose which parent they wanted to live with. Bran’s bitterness about his mother’s infidelity guaranteed he would choose Dad; Zach, who refused to believe Mom was anything but saintly, had chosen her. Turned out there was an added factor: he’d heard their father get up during the night of Sheila’s death, although he told the police he’d never stirred.

  Because of the lie, Zach had always believed their dad was the killer, too.

  There’d been calls and letters and gifts at first, but contact slowed to a trickle by the end of the first year, then ended completely.

  When the brothers had met up again this past spring, their divided loyalties had spilled over into their relationship. Mending it had meant keeping an open mind about who the killer could have been. Unfortunately, every trail they’d followed so far had dead-ended, however promising it initially seemed.

  Most recently, they had been looking hard at men who’d been teenagers at the time of the murder.

  “Crap,” Bran said out loud. “I’m going to print all this and take it home. The manager of the Bank of America agreed to meet me there today so I can watch more videos. I still have a couple days’ worth to go.”

  Charlie stretched and groaned. “Sounds like a plan. Maybe I can do the same if I can get in touch with anyone to let me in.” He’d taken Wells Fargo. “But damn, I keep thinking these assholes might have cased the banks two weeks ago. A month ago. Who knows? We could be wasting our time completely sticking to just the last week.”

  “But how practical is it for us to watch a month’s worth of videos at every bank in town?” Bran countered. “And that’s assuming they even have that far back. Why would they store more than a week or two?”

  “Just saying.”

  “I don’t like anything about this,” Bran said shortly, and strode to the printer to start collecting the reams it was spitting out.

  * * *

  THE FIRST THING Mrs. Greaver said was, “It really is you.” She looked shocked.

  Zach laughed at that. “You thought I was lying about who I am?”

  “I just don’t understand why you’re back in town.” She let him inside. “You left a long time ago.”

  “Twenty-five years,” he agreed, assessing the small living room crammed with too much furniture. The drapes were closed, the light dim. He’d heard the television before he rang the doorbell.

  As a kid, he’d been in and out of some of the other homes on the block, but not the Greavers’ as far as he could remember. Their kids were older than the Murphy gang; they didn’t play together. He’d known the daughter best, as she’d babysat them.

  When he asked about Mary, Mrs. Greaver led him to the photos on the fireplace mantel. Studying them, he would have recognized his former babysitter anywhere. Like her mother, she had remained scrawny and short, with a foxy face and tight mouth. Mary hadn’t loved babysitting, no secret about that. Or else she just hadn’t liked the Murphy boys. She looked all buttoned up as an adult, too, though, so maybe that was just her.

  The Greavers’ son, Zach hardly recalled. Rob was a couple years younger than Mary, apparently, which would have made him around fifteen when Sheila was killed and Zach’s family imploded. Bran, twelve then, remembered him better than Zach did, which was why their original plan had been for Bran to take this interview.

  Mrs. Greaver asked about Bran, and Zach explained that he was the detective in charge of investigating the bank robbery, which was consuming his days. He didn’t mention that the one witness was a woman who was pregnant with Bran’s baby.

  Zach learned more than he wanted to about Mary, who lived in Yakima now, on the eastern side of the mountains, was married and had two kids. Mary’s oldest had joined the air force right out of high school. Momentarily stupefied, Zach thought, Wait. Was that possible? With a little calculating, he figured out that she must have had the kid right out of high school.

  Funny thing, though, Mrs. Greaver didn’t volunteer a word about Rob. Zach had to ask. He’d been married and divorced, his mother said. No children. Her mouth closed tightly. When prodded, she said he was in Seattle and drove trucks for a living.

  Zach knew better than to push right out of the gate. Years as a cop had taught him how to get someone to open up. He told a funny story about Mary when she was taking care of him and Sheila. Bran must have been at a friend’s, because he wasn’t in that memory. Mrs. Greaver reminded Zach tartly of a few of his and Bran’s more infamous escapades. Only gradually did he bring Sheila into the conversation. By that time, Mrs. Greaver seemed to have forgotten he’d ever moved away from the neighborhood.

  “The reason we wanted to talk to you,” he said at last, “is because your kids were older than Bran and me. We figured if anyone knew all the teenagers in the neighborhood, it would be you.”

  Instead of preening as he’d expected—people liked being considered an expert—she said grudgingly, “I suppose I did.”

  “I’m sure you’d have told the investigating officers at the time if you’d been aware of any older boys in the neighborhood who had seemed interested in Sheila,” he said. “But it’s possible you’ve remembered something since that might help us find out who killed her. Twenty-five years ago, the detectives probably didn’t even consider a teenage boy could have done it. They were looking for an adult. But times have changed.”

  As he talked, her expression had become downright hostile. “From what I heard, the police believed your father killed that poor little girl. You may not believe that, but it doesn’t excuse you wanting to shift the blame to people just because they lived nearby.”

  So much for softening her up.

  “Mrs. Greaver, you must watch the news. There’ve been several ugly cases in the past year alone of boys who were only fourteen or fifteen years old sexually assaulting and murdering a younger girl. It happens. I’m hoping you can give me names of any boys who were around then. I’m not conducting a witch hunt, but one of them might have been arrested in the intervening years for something that will raise a red flag. None of them will ever even know I’ve run their names unless they become a person of interest.”

  Her spine stiffened. “Your sister is long gone. Why don’t you let her rest in peace?”

  He nodded and rose to his feet. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, Mrs. Greaver. I didn’t want to do that. I can only remind you that Sheila was the victim. I loved my little sister. She was the sweetest kid in the world.” Even after all this time, his throat tightened. “She didn’t deserve what happened to her. Just think about this—how many other little girls has that man hurt in all the years since then?”

  She didn’t respond, or even stand to see him out. When he left, she was still sitting on her sofa, hands clasped tightly on her lap, looking straight ahead at the fireplace and all those family pictures—none of which included an adult Rob Greaver.

  * * *

  WHEN FIRST PROMOTED to detective, Bran had had no idea how much of his time would be spent watching piss-poor footage from surveillance cameras. Or how grateful he’d be that it existed at all, grainy and poorly lit or not. Half the time, it would turn out that the camera pointing right at a crime scene or escape vehicle hadn’t worked in years. The business owner had been sure criminals would be scared off by the sight of a camera, functional or not.

  Three hours after sitting in an office at the bank to watch the less than riveting action from two days before the robbery, Bran found his vision already blurring.
He’d never given any thought to how busy banks were. The Bank of America didn’t seem to have much in the way of lulls. Not many chances to fast-forward or let his mind wander. Thank God he didn’t also have to watch footage from the camera outside that pointed at the ATM.

  A fair number of the customers he saw coming and going appeared familiar to him. Clear Creek was the largest city in the county, but that wasn’t saying much. In many ways, it functioned as a small town. Everyone knew everyone else.

  He rewound a couple of times when someone behaved oddly, then shrugged and went on. The manager, who couldn’t leave him alone in the bank, had gotten the coffee machine going and kept his cup filled, which he appreciated. So far, every bank officer in town had been completely cooperative. They were all but doing somersaults in their efforts to help. They knew damn well they’d dodged a bullet when the pair chose to rob a different bank. Outside urban areas, it was easy to get complacent about security. A whole bunch of people had just been awakened to frightening reality.

  After rubbing his eyes, he watched as a woman with two toddlers came in, saw a line and turned right around to go out. A man politely held open the door for her and proceeded to one of the self-help counters. Beneath a parka he wore a gray, hooded sweatshirt. The fact that he didn’t push the hood back had Bran sitting up. Then he stiffened as he saw how careful the guy was to keep his face averted from the cameras, the way he kept his chin tucked in to achieve maximum coverage from the hood. He took his time, filling out some kind of a deposit or withdrawal slip, but his head kept turning. Oh, yeah, he was looking around. After a minute, he ostentatiously patted his hip pocket but came up empty. Then the pockets in his parka. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to him. He thrust the deposit slip in one of those pockets, then went to the display stand to grab a brochure. Finally, he strolled out, without once letting the camera capture his face full-on or even close to it.

  Damn, Bran thought. They could, and should, use this video for training bank employees. This is what you should watch for.

  From his size, this guy wasn’t the one who’d shot Maya Lee. He was the partner, described by Lina as lean, wiry and not very tall. Bran went back several minutes to watch the same footage again in slow motion, freezing it a couple of times when he glimpsed the line of the guy’s jaw or cheek. The IT people might be able to do something with this. The man had been wearing gloves when he opened the door, but stripped them off as soon as he was inside. It would have looked too odd if he hadn’t. He didn’t make a single slipup, though, using a pen he produced from his pocket and taking the only piece of paper he’d touched with him when he left, his back to the camera. Sure as hell, he had put his gloves back on before he pulled open the door.

  It was frustrating, but more than they’d had. As Bran called Novinski, it occurred to him he’d be watching the camera positioned outside above the ATM after all. The guy probably hadn’t parked in the bank lot, but everyone made a mistake eventually.

  Of the two, he speculated, was this the brains of the outfit? The boss, responsible for making the decision on which bank was their best target? Or had they divided up the task of evaluating the possibilities and made the final decision democratically?

  The FBI agent came on the line. “What’s up?”

  “I found one of them on camera at the Bank of America. No good look at the face, but someone with the skill might be able to do something with the video.”

  Another call came in before they finished talking. Charlie.

  “Let me call you back in a minute,” Bran said, and switched to his partner.

  “Found him,” Charlie said.

  They compared dates and time. The visit to Bank of America had come first. An hour later, what had to be the same man had checked out Wells Fargo.

  “Can’t see his face,” Charlie said in frustration, “but at least we know when they were in town. With only a few days in between, it’s possible they stayed until the heist. I’m going to talk to bank personnel, just in case this guy caught someone’s eye. If anyone saw him get in a vehicle...”

  They both knew that was a pipe dream, but Bran would do the same. They had to try.

  Calling Novinski back, Bran found himself wondering where Lina was right now. Then, irritated with himself, he made the effort to shove her out of his head. A distracted man could miss something important.

  * * *

  LINA MISSED BEING able to get in the hot tub after doing her laps, a no-no according to her doctor, but she felt wonderful anyway as she wrapped her wet suit in her towel and dropped both along with her goggles into her plastic-lined tote bag. Gotta love those endorphins. This was the most relaxed she’d felt since seeing her friend’s murder, and the swim had revived her after a mostly sleepless night. Wow, she should definitely come every day until school started up again.

  On her way out, she exchanged greetings with a few people. The mother of one of her students stopped her to ask her exact due date and say how much her daughter would miss Lina when she took maternity leave. She wasn’t about to explain to anyone but a close friend how very unplanned this pregnancy had been.

  She stepped into the cold, crisp air as she left the phys ed complex and started toward her car. She didn’t miss Minnesota’s bitter winters. Here, she didn’t have to wrap a muffler around her face to keep her nose from developing frostbite in ten minutes, but the seasons were still well defined.

  With the gym and weight rooms open, too, the parking lot was surprisingly crowded considering school wasn’t in session. Lina paused to orient herself, then spotted her landmark, a giant tan SUV. Yep, there it was. Naturally, her little car was hidden behind it.

  Almost there, Lina had a moment of panic. Before going in the pool, she’d taken off the necklace that Bran had given her for Christmas and forgotten to put it back on. The gift had been so perfect, she’d never forgive herself if she lost it.

  No, no, she’d tucked it safely in her coat pocket, she calmed herself, then remembered the peacoat had slipped off the hook and been crumpled on the bottom of the locker when she opened it. What if the necklace had fallen out and she hadn’t noticed?

  Relief flooded her when her delving hand found it immediately. She pulled it out, only then becoming aware a car was coming up behind her. Lina veered out of the way, seeing her car at the same moment.

  Car keys. Darn it, she usually had them out already. She was about to grope for them with the same hand that already held the necklace...when she felt the fine gold chain slither out of her fingers. With a moan, she crouched to pick it up—at the exact moment she heard a strange popping sound and a metallic ding.

  Still crouched, Lina started to swivel to see where the sounds came from, forgetting that her center of balance had altered. She was falling even as she heard a second pop...and felt a sharp sting on her upper arm.

  Were those gunshots?

  With a whimper, she flattened her hands on the pavement to push herself between the vehicles. She heard raised voices followed by the pounding of running feet on pavement...and the roar of a vehicle accelerating away.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE BANK MANAGER had somehow sent the relevant minutes of digital images to the IT people at the Seattle FBI office. Bran had no idea how and wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Probably he should strive to be more tech savvy, but the skills were rarely required for his investigations.

  His phone rang when he was shaking the manager’s hand, on the verge of leaving. Seeing Lina’s name, Bran said, “Excuse me. I need to take this,” and pushed through the exit to the parking lot. “Lina?”

  “Somebody just, um, shot at me.” She sounded shaky. “At least, we think...”

  A fireball exploded in his chest. “Are you hurt?”

  “Not really. I skinned my knees and my hands, and a bullet grazed my arm, but it’s not much more than a scratch.” S
he almost pulled off a laugh. “Who knew I’d ever get to say that.”

  “A scratch,” he repeated, unable to move past what she’d just said. Someone had shot at her. She’d been grazed by a bullet.

  “There’s a deputy here,” she added. “Do you want to talk to him?”

  Already unlocking his car, he said, “Yes.”

  “Detective Murphy? This is Dan Elkins. Ms. Jurick thinks this incident may be related to your investigation.”

  Backing out of the parking slot, Bran asked, “Where are you?”

  “What? Oh, the high school. She was walking out to her car after swimming laps.”

  He switched to hands-free, distantly surprised that he was functioning. A sort of autopilot had taken over. “I’m on my way,” he said curtly. “Tell me what happened.”

  At least two shots had been fired, likely from a car. Lina said they sounded more like a pop than the crack that she expected from gunfire. By sheer chance, she had bent over suddenly to pick something up just as the first shot was fired. Startled, she had lost her balance and fallen, causing the second shot to miss, as well.

  In other words, she’d been saved by a freakin’ miracle. Two miracles.

  Bran turned on the lights and siren, driving as fast as he dared. On the way, he heard more of the story.

  Two men coming out of the gym had seen the car idling as well as Lina’s tumble. Upon hearing what one of them recognized as shots, they had come running. The shooter had presumably seen them, because the car took off. One of the men was an off-duty firefighter, Elkins explained, the other a soldier home on leave.

  Through the phone, Bran heard a siren cut off. “Paramedics are just arriving,” the deputy said unnecessarily.

  “Tell Lina I’ll be there momentarily.” Able to see the high school ahead, he ended the call. Fear and rage burned in him. Lina could have been killed, just like that. Gone. The thought was unendurable.