Love On the Run

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Well, I’ll leave you to get settled,” Sophie said. “Let me know if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Sophie and Grant withdrew, leaving Jared and Cassi alone in the small room with Sampson, who was already making himself at home on the bed. Cassi put her arms around Jared and kissed him before gently disengaging herself from his grasp. “I’ll see you two in the morning.”

  “What?” He’d just been thinking about how nice it would be once he was alone with her in the other room.

  She looked pointedly at Sampson on the bed before dragging Jared into the hall. “We can’t leave him here alone,” she whispered. “What if he runs off again?”

  “He promised he wouldn’t.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “Yes.” But Jared admitted to himself that Sampson might not keep his word. He wondered how many times the boy’s father had broken his promises to take care of business interests. Did Sampson know what true honor was, taught as he was by a mobster? Thieves’ honor wasn’t exactly the same thing.

  “Even if he keeps that promise, what if someone comes in? We have to protect him. I’d stay with him myself, but it hardly looks right.”

  “But . . .” Jared took her again into his arms. She seemed to melt into him. For a long moment neither said anything, but let their bodies communicate their love and commitment to each other.

  Finally Cassi pulled away. “I know it’s tough—it’s my honeymoon, too. But like it or not, that child is our responsibility.”

  “I know.” Jared sighed with defeat. “But once this is over . . .” He left the sentence unfinished.

  Cassi laughed, giving him an impish grin. “As you are fond of saying, we have a lifetime to make it up.”

  He tried to kiss her again, but she flitted up the stairs. It was just as well; he might not let her go.

  After peeking in to see if Sampson was all right, Jared used the Trubekons’ phone again to call Fred. Still no answer on his cell phone. What was he doing? Well, there was nothing for it but to try again tomorrow.

  He found a heap of blankets and pillows on the floor by Sampson’s bed. The boy leaned up on his elbow, looking inordinately pleased. “In the doghouse, huh?”

  Jared sighed. He couldn’t tell Sampson the real reason he wasn’t sleeping with his new bride. “Something like that,” he muttered. “It’s just us guys, I guess.”

  Sampson chuckled, obviously finding the whole situation very amusing. “Well, I’d rather be alone, but I guess you can sleep on the floor.”

  * * *

  THE FORENSIC TEAM ARRIVED QUICKLY. It was all Dennis Faron could do to show them to the scene. He was shaking badly. What had happened to Holbrooke? The envelope and its contents were in plain sight for everyone to see.

  “Don’t touch it or get too close,” one of the FBI agents had told him. “You might end up dead.”

  Dennis felt sick. Had he unwittingly killed the mob boss with the envelope? He knew he had. A love letter, he thought bitterly. No one pays a million dollars for a love letter. But a death, yes, that’s worth a million.

  “Hey, Dennis, phone’s for you,” Earl said. “It’s Gloria.”

  He was grateful to leave the appalling scene. “Hi, honey.”

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine. How’s everything there?”

  She laughed. “I called the travel agency. Are you sure you mean it?”

  “Yeah, you deserve it, honey.”

  “The kids are so excited—especially about missing school.”

  He forced his laugh to sound natural. “That’s kids for you. But we’ll talk about it later, okay? There’s some stuff going on here, and I’ve got to get back to work.” That “stuff” he knew would be all over the evening news.

  “Okay. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Dennis hung up the phone, wondering if he’d been right to insist that Gloria didn’t work. He loved the idea of her being home waiting for him. The house was always spotless and dinner ready. Gloria said she enjoyed being at home, but she could have been earning money, now that the kids were in school. Maybe then he wouldn’t have accepted a million dollars to kill a man.

  I didn’t know! he screamed silently. It could have been a love letter, couldn’t it?

  Ultimately, it didn’t matter if Gloria worked or stayed at home. There had been no real choice in what he’d done. It had come down to Holbrooke or his family. He had made the right choice—the only choice.

  * * *

  FRED WAS BUSY THE REST of the morning and into the afternoon. By the time he left the prison, he had talked to several other prisoners and most of the guards. The only clue was the envelope. He was awaiting results on that now.

  Outside the prison, he found the reporter Brooke Erickson pacing. He wasn’t too surprised. “Did you follow me?”

  She smiled. “No, your office told me where you went—I can be very persuasive. Besides, you didn’t tell your secretary not to tell me. I’ve tried to see Big Tommy myself, you know, and they wouldn’t let me. So I thought I’d pop on over to see what you found out—about his cousins. Then suddenly this place started hopping. Wow!”

  “Holbrooke’s dead,” Fred stated, leading her to his car. “And before you ask, we’re not yet sure how he died, but it looks like poisoning. All we have to go on is a note he was reading and book.”

  Brooke’s smile faded. “I was right, then.” She didn’t appear happy.

  “Yeah, you were right. And now Jared and Cassi and that child are in bigger danger than ever.”

  “Who would kill a child?” Brooke looked at Fred, but it was Justin who answered.

  “Money does strange things to people.” He pulled a pad from his pocket and began writing. Fred knew that before the day was out, Justin would have doubled-checked every area of the investigation.

  “Your phone was ringing like crazy earlier,” Brooke said as Fred opened the door. “While I was waiting for you, I checked the parking lot for your car—just to make sure you were here. I had it down to this one or that gray one on the far aisle. You know, you really shouldn’t leave your cell phone out on the seat like that. Not only could it be ruined by the sun, it invites crime.”

  “Must have fallen out of my pocket on our way over. It does that sometimes.” Fred knew he should put it in his suit coat pocket instead of in the front pocket of his pants, but the truth was that his favorite suit had a hole in the suit coat pocket, and he hadn’t taken it in yet to be fixed. He would do it soon.

  Fred checked the caller ID and the message screen. There were several calls. “Looks like Cherral called about Jared. Oh, and here’s another message from Jared himself.” He started to mutter a curse, but thought better of it. It’s not Brooke, he thought. Swearing’s not good for my blood pressure.

  Justin slid his tall frame into the car, staring up expectantly at Fred. “I have to get back,” Fred said to Brooke. “I hope Jared’s left a number with Cherral.”

  Brooke hesitated. “Look, can I go public with this murder thing? I mean, the media’s going to be all over this one.”

  “Go ahead,” Fred said. “Just don’t mention my name.”

  “How about ‘a high FBI source’?”

  “That’s good.” His phone rang and Fred answered it. Brooke started to leave but he touched her arm, asking her to wait. The contact was even more pleasant than Fred expected.

  “I suspected as much,” he said into the phone. “Poor guy. Well, let me know if you find anything else. Thank you.”

  “It was the fellow who’s heading up the police side of the investigation,” he told the others. “They found a cyanide derivative saturating the note. Inside, there was a thin capsule rigged to emit a cloud of gas as the envelope was opened. It was potent enough to kill within a minute. I’ll bet the autopsy will confirm the cause of death.”

  “That means the envelope was probably given to him this morning,” Brooke s
aid. “Or he would have opened it before.”

  Justin wrote on his pad. “Well, it certainly didn’t go through regular channels.”

  “No,” Fred said. “They would have found it and had it opened by professionals. My guess is that one of the guards gave the letter to Holbrooke.”

  Brooke’s eyes widened. “Bribery?”

  “Yes, or coercion. They’re going to question all the guards tomorrow and give them a lie detector test.” Fred smiled at Brooke. “But that has to be off the record, or our deal’s off.”

  “Got it. I’ll mention the cyanide but not the guards,” Brooke said. “But you’ll let me know when I can print the rest?”

  “That’s our deal, isn’t it?”

  She pulled her own cell phone out of her pocket. “Is it okay if I drop in later today? I may have some information by then. I’m going to make an appointment with someone who might be able to help.”

  There was nothing out of the ordinary in the way she said it, but Fred felt an odd sensation creep up his spine. Who was she going to see? He didn’t like the idea of her nosing around. What if she got hurt? But he couldn’t exactly tell her how to do her job, and she had promised him she’d be careful.

  “Sure. That’ll be fine,” he said. He watched her leave, feeling disgruntled and upset. Why did he care so much about Brooke Erickson?

  “She is one good-looking woman,” Justin said. “Smart, too. And I think she likes you.”

  “Huh?” Fred said, turning to eye his friend in amazement.

  “Oh, yeah. I can tell all right. Look at her body language.”

  Fred had been trying not to look at her body. He stifled a sigh.

  “You should ask her out.”

  “I don’t think so,” Fred said shortly. “I’m a little busy with this case.” Justin didn’t say anything, and Fred felt obligated to add, “Maybe later.”

  “Yeah,” Justin murmured. “When dogs fly.”

  Fred pretended not to hear.

  * * *

  TC BROHAUGH WATCHED THE WOMAN as she came into the study. She cut an exceptional figure, and he allowed his gaze to linger over her suit coat and skirt, not finely tailored but fitted and becoming to her slender curves.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” she began.

  “You were a little persistent.”

  She smiled, and he noticed that the action made her more beautiful. Brohaugh sat in a plush chair, motioning for her to do the same. As he sat, his elaborate house jacket slid off one shoulder and revealed his sling.

  “You’re hurt.”

  He shrugged and pulled the jacket up to cover the shoulder. “Pulled a muscle, that’s all. Now, you said you had some important information?”

  “How do you feel about the latest developments in your brother-in-law’s case?”

  “Latest developments?” He smirked. These reporters. It was always the same thing. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

  “Well, with Big To—Holbrooke’s death, I guess the question is who is next in line for his fortune?”

  TC’s smile vanished. “Excuse me? Did I hear correctly?”

  “You didn’t know Holbrooke was killed in prison this morning?” The reporter put on a concerned face. “I am sorry to be the one telling you this. I thought the police would have contacted you by now.” She stood. “I should be leaving.”

  “No, stay,” TC said forcefully. “Please. Tell me what happened.”

  “He was murdered. I really don’t know the details.”

  “How?”

  She met his eyes and her expression changed, as though she saw something that didn’t agree with her. “Maybe you can tell me,” she said coldly.

  “Are you implying that I had something to do with my brother-in-law’s death?”

  “Of course not. But what the public will see is who is next in line for Holbrooke’s fortune. With two cousins dead, another who disappeared, and the child missing in Europe, there seems to be only you and a few odd relatives left holding the bag. Do you know who could be responsible?”

  “I assure you I have no clue,” TC said. “But I will, of course, cooperate with the police in their investigation. Now, if you will excuse me . . .”

  “Of course.”

  TC pushed a silent buzzer, and a servant appeared in the doorway to show the reporter to the door. He read the card she had given him: Brooke Erickson, San Diego Union-Tribune. “I want her followed,” he said to Baker, who stood like a shadow by the window. “She knows more than she’s letting on.”

  “I’ll get right on it. But it looks like the police are here to see you.”

  “Better show them in.”

  As Baker left, TC laughed softly to himself. So, Quentin was out of the way permanently. Things were getting better and better. Now to find Sampson.

  * * *

  FRED WAS RELIEVED WHEN BROOKE showed up again in his office. Justin was off checking on a few things, so he was alone.

  “I went to see Brohaugh,” Brooke said without preamble. “Boy, that guy makes my skin crawl. When I talked to him about Holbrooke, he acted really odd. But I could tell he didn’t give a hoot about his brother-in-law dying like that. Not one tiny little bit. There was absolutely no sorrow in his eyes. I think he was even glad. It was a terrible feeling.” Brooke shivered.

  “You shouldn’t have gone there.” Fred looked at her sternly.

  She laughed. “What, I can’t interview the relatives? I have to. It’s the news. People want to know.”

  “You said you’d stay on the sidelines.”

  “No, I promised to do nothing dangerous. Going to see Brohaugh wasn’t dangerous, although if you ask me, I’ll bet he’s the one who killed Holbrooke. The guy’s as unfeeling as a doorknob.”

  “That’s exactly why I want you to stay away from him.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ve had my fill of the man.”

  “Good.” Silence grew between them, and Fred wished he hadn’t been so gruff. He also wished he had the courage to ask her out. She was an incredible woman, and her presence daunted him. Fred had never thought of himself as ugly, though, even if he wasn’t anywhere near her league. What if he just asked her out for a drink?

  “Uh, Brooke, I was wondering if after work . . .”

  “Yes?” Her eyes danced as though she knew what he was going to say.

  Fred suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Not even when facing deadly criminals had his heart leapt so curiously. “Well . . .” Wait a minute. He’d forgotten about the ring she wore. Was she really married? He wasn’t the kind to ask a married woman on a date.

  There was a brief tap at the door before Justin walked in, carrying his pad of paper. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”

  Fred stifled a grimace. “Brooke was just telling me she went to visit Brohaugh.”

  Justin arched one eyebrow. “Ah, you must be the woman the police are peeved with. They didn’t like you telling Brohaugh about Holbrooke’s murder. They wanted to see his reaction.”

  “Then they should have told him earlier,” Brooke said without remorse. “But he could have done it. I was just telling Fred that Brohaugh is definitely glad Holbrooke’s dead. He could be responsible.”

  A stickler for facts, Fred noticed that for the first time she’d called him by his given name. He liked the sound of it.

  “He’s not the only one,” Justin said, waving his pad of paper. “In fact—” He broke off, looking at Fred. Obviously he had some information he didn’t know if he should share with Brooke.

  “Someone else?” she asked eagerly. She craned her neck as though trying to see what was written on Justin’s pad. Justin put it in his shirt pocket. “Who?”

  “Look, Brooke,” Fred said. “Remember when I told you Holbrooke was trying for a plea bargain? Well, I thought if—”

  “If you found out who he was going to give up, then you might have his murderer,” she finished.

  “Exact
ly. But I can’t tell you who it is. I’m sorry. FBI policy.”

  “But I thought we were working together.”

  “We are, sort of, but this has to be kept quiet until we’re sure.”

  “I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Her eyes challenged him.

  “I know, but you might go see them.” Fred gazed at her, expressionless, until she smiled in defeat.

  “Okay, I see your point. But surely there’s something you can tell me.”

  Fred smiled back, glad that she could see reason. “Holbrooke has a step-cousin who died yesterday in a fire. Another cousin, a woman this time, is missing. Three other distant relatives have also disappeared. That leaves absolutely no one except Brohaugh and the child.”

  Brooke whistled. “You’ve got to find him.”

  “Yes, we do. Unfortunately, the number Jared called me from didn’t register on my cell phone, and he hasn’t called back. I’m sure he will soon. But if you’re into praying, now would be a good time. Jared and Cassi need to be warned before it’s too late.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DENNIS FARON KNEW HE WOULD never pass the lie detector test, planned for Thursday morning. He would be caught and put in prison. As a former guard, he would suffer terrible indignities at the hands of the other inmates. Worse, his wife would have to bear unkind comments from neighbors and reporters, and his children would be taunted at school.

  He made a decision. Before going home Wednesday evening, he made last-minute reservations to Rio. An inmate he’d once known said that anyone could disappear in Brazil. Then he went home and told Gloria everything. Now the choice was hers.

  She was devastated. But through her tears, she showed courage and understanding. “You had no other choice. They would have killed you . . . or us.”

  “Everything will be okay,” he told her. “Please come with me. I couldn’t bear it without you and the kids. We’ll get new names—any name you want. We’ll have enough money for whatever we need.”

  “I never did like the name Gloria,” she said with a sniff. She arose from the couch. “If you help me, we can pack what we need tonight. We’ll tell the children tomorrow on the way to the airport.”