by Aimée Thurlo
“You said you had a recording of the call I supposedly made to you?” Yolanda asked Paul.
“Yeah, it’s in my voice mail,” Paul said.
“Let me hear it.”
Paul pulled out his cell phone and played it for her.
“That’s not my landlord, and not his wife either. Her voice sounds gravelly. But you can tell it wasn’t me!” Yolanda protested.
“She was whispering,” Kendra said. “For my money, it was you.”
Yolanda shook her head. “Play it again, louder this time,” she asked Paul. As he did, she smiled. “Now I know who it is. That’s Annie, Annie Crenshaw. We used to be friends, but she’s got so many problems now I can’t stand to be around her. I forgot she still has a key to my place.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Now I know what happened to some of my Navajo jewelry. I thought I’d misplaced it, but Annie probably ripped me off. She’s hooked on meth and always needs cash to make a buy.”
“Tell us more about this Annie Crenshaw,” Kendra pressed.
“She got clean about six months ago, then her boyfriend dumped her and she started doing drugs again. She ended up losing her apartment. Now she’s working the streets.”
“Where does she hang out?” Paul asked.
“You might try the old brick building where Hensley’s Gym used to be. It’s supposed to be empty now. Last I heard she was sneaking in at night and crashing in one of the old locker rooms,” Yolanda said. “But I doubt she’s there right now. Once she’s on meth, she finds it hard to stay still. Last time she was using she hung out in the alley between the bus station and the free clinic.”
“Do you happen to have a photo of Annie?” Paul asked.
“No, but I’m sure you’ve got a mug shot somewhere,” Yolanda said, looking over at Kendra.
“What about Alex? Does he know Annie? Could they be working together?” Kendra asked.
Yolanda stared at Kendra as if she’d suddenly lost her mind. “No way. They can’t stand each other. Last time they were in the same room, they went at each other major league and she threatened to have him killed.”
“All right, then. We’ll look into this,” Kendra said.
“So, can I go?” Yolanda stood, looking toward the door.
Kendra shook her head. “Not yet. Detective Bowman still wants to talk to you about Alex. What happens after that is up to him,” Kendra said.
They walked to the door, Kendra knocked, and Preston let them out. He’d been standing in an adjacent room, listening and watching through the one-way glass.
Preston nodded to Kendra, then looked at his brother. “So what’s your take on Yolanda? Do you think she’s telling the truth?”
“I do, which means we need to track down Annie Crenshaw. My guess is that she was paid to make that call, and we need to know by whom,” Paul said.
“That person is probably our shooter, maybe Miller, so finding Annie is our top priority now,” Kendra said, glancing at Preston. The man was a hard-assed cop, yet he never questioned Paul’s take on Yolanda’s credibility. Something told her there was more to Paul’s ability than he’d said.
Maybe he’d trained with covert ops somewhere, working closely with their professional con men and other highly skilled consultants. Federal law enforcement agents often had interesting, varied backgrounds.
Kendra looked at Preston, then at Paul. “How about going behind closed doors right now and tossing around a few ideas? Whatever we say stays there.”
Preston nodded. “My office.”
* * *
PAUL FOLLOWED KENDRA into Preston’s spartan office, which held only a small desk, file cabinets and two folding chairs. There were no photos on the wall, only documents listing Preston’s credentials.
Once they were seated, Kendra began. “What evidence did the crime scene team find at the site where Paul was ambushed?”
“Two slugs from a .45 were found embedded in the bricks of the Murray building.”
“I was standing with the building at my back when the shooting started,” Paul said.
“The shots were grouped tightly, the sign of an experienced marksman,” Preston said.
Kendra leaned forward, resting her forearms on her legs. “My theory is that the gunman who came after Paul is probably someone with a personal grudge, maybe someone linked to his P.I. business. With a rifle, Miller can hit a target at a thousand yards. With a .45, he can make a head shot at one hundred feet. The only reason he failed to kill the judge last November was because two U.S. Marshals got in his way. This can’t be his work.”
“I get what you’re saying,” Paul said. “When I got shot at last night I was the only target around and I was less than fifty feet away from the gunman. Miller’s weapon of choice is the rifle, but he shouldn’t have missed at that distance with a handgun either. I’d just been illuminated by a lightning flash—like I was standing beneath a flare. It was an easy shot for anyone with his level of training.”
“Maybe he choked,” Preston said.
Kendra shook her head. “Professional hit men don’t choke and still group their shots that tight.”
“Well, if it wasn’t Miller, I have no idea who it could have been. Grayhorse Investigations primarily handles routine video and electronic surveillance,” Paul said. “The reason I got involved in this last case was because a police officer was allegedly involved in domestic abuse.” He paused, then added, “Anyone who wears a badge should be held to the highest standard.”
She heard the barely concealed anger in his voice and realized the case had clearly struck a chord with him. Another idea suddenly popped into her head. What if the shooter had known Paul would react exactly as he had and used that knowledge to set him up as a target?
“Who would know that’s how you feel about those who carry a badge?” she asked.
Preston answered her instantly. “Anyone who knows Paul or has worked with him.”
“That’s not going to narrow things down much for us,” Kendra said.
“To track down whoever set me up, we’ve first got to find Annie,” Paul said.
“I’ll get you a booking photo of Annie Crenshaw. If you need backup, call,” Preston said.
“Do you know the alley that Yolanda spoke about?” Kendra asked Preston.
Preston looked up from the computer screen and nodded. “Downtown, between Third and Fourth streets. Strictly small-time dealers hang out there, but they watch each other’s backs and usually see our people coming. It’s hard to set up a sting there.”
“I hear you,” Kendra said, then glanced at Paul. “Street people are usually unpredictable and half the dealers are high themselves. You want to sit this one out? Someone’s likely to pull a weapon once I show a badge.”
“A lot of people around here know I’m private, not a cop, and I’ll get farther than you can flashing your badge. Let me help out.”
“All right, then. Let’s go,” she said, leading the way out of the building.
“Unless we actually see Annie, let me pick who we approach. We’re more likely to avoid trouble that way,” Paul said.
Kendra didn’t answer. In situations like these, only one rule applied. Whatever could go wrong would—and at the worst possible moment.
* * *
THEY WERE BACK in Paul’s truck moments later. “Before we head over to the alley, let’s stop by Hensley’s Gym. It’s on the way,” Paul said. “I’d like to check out the place where Annie supposedly crashes at night. It might give us some insight into her current situation that’ll help when we question her.”
“If we go onto private property without probable cause we’ll be trespassing, and that’ll place us on shaky legal ground. Do you know someone who could give us access?” Kendra asked.
He nodded. “I went to school with Bobby and Mike Hensley, the sons of the late owner. I’m sure I can get a key from one of them.”
Several minutes later they arrived at a large sporting goods store on Hartley’s
west side. The place was bustling with customers.
“Looks like a sporting goods store is more profitable in Hartley than a gym,” she said.
“No, that’s not it. The gym was Jim Hensley’s dream. He was really into bodybuilding and training. After their dad passed on, Mike and Bobby followed their own interests and started this business instead.”
“Paul, is that you?” a voice called out.
A man in his early thirties came out from behind the counter and shook Paul’s hand. “I heard you’d moved back home. I’ve been wondering how long it would take for you to come by and say hello. Man, it’s good to see you again.”
“Sorry, Mike. I’ve been getting things sorted out and haven’t had time to touch base,” Paul said.
“Yeah, I heard. It sucks having to give up your career like that,” he said. “You were the only one in our class who knew what he wanted before college. It took guts, reinventing yourself like this.”
“At least I was able to walk away,” Paul said.
“True enough.” Mike took Kendra in at a glance and smiled.
“This is Marshal Armstrong,” Paul said, introducing them. “We came hoping you might be able to help us out.”
“Of course. Whatever you need, buddy. Let’s go into my office and talk.”
Once the door was shut and Paul explained what they wanted, Mike reached into the open safe behind him. He pulled out an envelope and slid it across the desk. “The key’s inside. Guess Bobby and I should have boarded up that place.”
Just then the door flew open and a boy who looked about three came bouncing in. He leaped into Mike’s arms, and squealed with delight as his father lifted him into the air. “This is little Mike, guys.”
Kendra smiled. She loved kids, but particularly ones close to that age, full of energy and innocence. The thought filled her with a familiar yearning, one that had become a permanent part of her these days.
For the past few months she’d been looking into the possibility of single parent adoption. She’d never met Mr. Right and wasn’t sure he even existed, so she’d checked out other options. As she’d researched the adoption process, she’d discovered a series of holdbacks, some due to her profession, and all valid issues she’d need to resolve before she could take things any further. Unfortunately, she still hadn’t come up with any solutions.
Paul shook Mike’s hand and thanked him. “You’ve done really well for yourself, buddy. I’m glad to see it.”
“My wife, Cynthia, and little Mike changed my life. I never thought I’d get married, but it was the best thing I ever did.”
As they walked back out to the pickup, Kendra noticed how quiet Paul had become. “What’s up?”
“I’ve seen two of my brothers settle down and I know they’re happy, but the marriage scene....” He shook his head. “It sure isn’t for me.”
“How come?”
“I’m a confirmed bachelor,” he said, then before she could press him for more of an answer, he added, “What about you? Is there a guy back in Denver?”
“Not in Colorado, not anywhere at the moment, but in case you’re wondering, I have no intention of becoming one of those career marshals married to the job. I want...more...for myself.”
“Like what?”
She shook her head, signaling him to drop it.
“A woman of mystery...” Paul smiled slowly.
The impact of that very masculine grin spread an enticing warmth all through her, and she avoided looking at him, afraid she’d give herself away.
Paul was big trouble, no doubt about it. He was a man who loved flying solo, yet he was built to perfection and could entice any woman with a pulse. Everything about him, from those wide shoulders to those huge hands, spoke of raw masculine strength. The steadiness of his gaze mirrored courage.
“I imagine you’ve got no shortage of girlfriends,” she said.
“I can usually find a date,” he said.
She suspected that was the understatement of the year. A man like Paul probably left a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he went.
* * *
TEN MINUTES LATER they reached their destination, an old brick building just one block south of Main Street in the business district. Paul drove his pickup down the alley, then parked beside what had been a loading dock. The big steel back door had a massive padlock attached to it. This entrance had clearly not been the one compromised.
“Let me go in first,” Paul said, pointing toward the door and interrupting her thoughts. “If we come across squatters, I don’t look like a cop, so we’re more likely to avoid a confrontation.”
“I don’t look like a cop either. I’m in plainclothes, just like you.”
He shook his head. “You’re wearing business district clothes—dressy slacks and a matching jacket to look professional and cover up your handgun. You’re also wearing sensible shoes, not heels, so you can fight or chase a perp. I’m wearing jeans, a denim jacket, worn boots and a working man’s shirt.”
“Okay,” she said, glancing down at herself and shrugging. “Remind me to dress country. For now, take the lead.”
She smiled as he moved ahead of her. He was long-legged, slim-hipped, and had the best butt she’d seen in a long time. Sometimes being second in line had definite advantages.
Chapter Five
Paul unlocked the door, then slipped inside noiselessly. He heard a faint scuffling and saw a mouse dart behind a discarded cardboard box. Against the wall stood an array of damaged exercise equipment, most missing key parts, like the treadmill without a walking surface.
They went through the two-story building quickly, verifying no one was about. Checking inside a large closet, they found that a weight bench had been placed beneath an access panel in the ceiling. The bench was dusty and revealed the imprints of small shoes—probably a woman’s.
Paul climbed up and lifted the access panel. There was a built-in ladder there leading to the roof. “This is how she’s been getting into the building. My guess is she’s pried open the hatch on the roof, and climbs down.” Paul stepped off the bench and brushed away the dust, not wanting to leave his boot prints behind.
“Hopefully we’ll find Annie before she realizes that we’re on her trail,” Kendra said.
“If she comes in after dark, she probably won’t notice the absence of dust on the bench,” Paul said.
They resumed searching and after a few minutes they found signs of an occupant in the men’s locker room.
Paul tried the faucet at one of the three small sinks opposite the shower area. “No water, but it looks like Annie has made herself at home.” He gestured to a mirror that had been wiped clean.
“She probably chose the men’s room because it’s closest to her exit,” Kendra said. “What we still don’t know for sure is whether it’s Annie who’s living here or someone else.”
Kendra walked around and saw the roll of blankets on top of an anchored wooden bench opposite a row of metal lockers. Farther into the room, two matching weight benches placed side by side served as a table. An empty can of soup, plastic spoon, and a bottle of soda had been placed on top of it.
Paul opened the locker closest to the blankets. “Take a look, Kendra.”
Taped to the back of the locker was a small photo of two women in their late teens.
“That’s Yolanda,” Kendra said, pointing to the tall girl on the left.
Paul nodded. “I’m guessing that’s Annie next to her. This must have been taken ten or fifteen years ago.”
Kendra edged up next to him and studied the photo. “Memories may be all Annie has to hang on to these days.”
“Do you want to wait around and see if she shows up?” he asked.
“I don’t think she’s coming back anytime soon,” Kendra said, picking up a small plastic bag on the top shelf of the locker. It held minute traces of a white, crystalized substance. “She’s either out looking for another hit or trying to raise the cash.”
�
�Next stop, that alley over by the bus station?”
“Yeah,” she said.
Paul’s phone rang as they reached the door. He listened for a second, then spoke. “Whoa! Slow down, Nick. I’m going to put you on speaker, then start again from the beginning. Tell me exactly what happened.”
“Okay, Mr. Grayhorse. It’s like this. A stranger came into the coffee shop while I was bussing tables. He said you weren’t home and asked me if I’d seen you around. He had a badge, but it wasn’t from the Hartley P.D. and didn’t look like the ones the federal marshals carry. When I asked him who he worked for, he said he was a cop with the Bureau of Indian Affairs,” Nick said, and scoffed. “But he was paler than me.”
“Nick’s blond,” Paul mouthed to Kendra.
“You didn’t let him think you didn’t believe him, did you?” Paul asked Nick.
“No way, I didn’t want to piss him off. I just nodded.”
“Smart move. Have you called Preston?”
“Not yet. I followed the guy outside to take a look at his license plate, but he drove off before I could get his number. He was driving a dark green pickup, not one of those generic white sedans or SUV’s, and he didn’t have government plates.”
“Maybe my surveillance cameras picked him up. Here’s what I want you to do for me, Nick,” Paul said, then gave him precise instructions. “You got all that?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”
“Be careful, okay?” Paul ended the call and placed the cell phone in his jacket pocket. “Because my apartment is over the coffee shop, I want to avoid it for now. Nick will bring me what I need to access footage from my cameras. With luck, we’ll be able to make a positive ID.”
“Do your cameras cover the area outside the coffee shop, too?”
“They track most of the parking lot,” he said. “There are a few blind spots, but the guy would have to have had some serious training to spot those.”
“Let’s go meet Nick then. The kind of clients Annie’s looking for probably won’t show up until the end of the work day, dinner time or later, so Annie probably won’t be there yet.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
