Secrets of the Lynx

by Aimée Thurlo

  * * *

  KENDRA KEPT HER eyes on the rearview mirror. “Nick sounds like a sharp young man.”

  He nodded. “He’s a good kid. He’s had some rough breaks, but he’s managed to weather them all. I have a feeling he’ll go far in life.”

  A long silence settled between them as Paul drove through town toward the northeast part of Hartley.

  “The guy who’s after you isn’t coming across like a pro,” Kendra said at last. “A professional hit man gathers intel below the radar.”

  “And seldom misses—unless that’s his intent,” Paul said as he passed a slow-moving bus. “I’ve been giving this some thought, and the fact that the rounds came really close and were tightly grouped tells me that it wasn’t meant to be a hit. It was a warning.”

  “A warning against doing what? You can’t testify against Miller even if he did kill your partner. You never got a look at the shooter. Are you involved in another case you haven’t told me about?”

  “No, nor have I investigated anything that hasn’t been solved—except the hit on the judge.”

  She said nothing for several long moments. “I’m getting a real bad feeling about this.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” he answered. “There’s more to this attack than we’re seeing, and in our line of work, the unknown is what always gets you.”

  As Kendra glanced at Paul and their eyes met, she felt a spark of awareness. Almost instantly, she pushed that feeling aside. She was here to do a job, and nothing could be allowed to interfere with her work. The colonel had drilled that into her until it had become a part of everything she was.

  “Nick wants to go into the marshals service someday,” Paul said, breaking into her thoughts. “He’s only sixteen and has a long way to go, but I think he’ll make it.”

  “You really like that kid, don’t you?” she said, noting the slight gentling in Paul’s voice whenever he spoke of him.

  “Yeah, he reminds me of my brothers and me in a lot of ways. Nick was in a truckload of trouble this time last year. His mom had died six months before and his father had buried himself in work,” he said. “That’s why Nick started running around with the wrong crowd. Before long, he was in over his head. He wanted out, but the street gang was putting a lot of pressure on him.”

  “So you helped out. How did you deal with it?” she asked.

  “The gang leader’s a punk with a bad attitude, but I’m badder.” He gave her a quick half smile.

  * * *

  THEY PARKED IN front of Bookworm’s Bookstore ten minutes later. The hand-painted sign out front advertised their coffee bar and Wi-Fi connection in big, bold letters.

  “Bookstores have really been impacted by the economy. These days they have to diversify just to stay alive,” she said.

  “All the small businesses in this area have taken a hit, especially the mom-and-pop places, like Bookworm’s.”

  “Yet you started your own agency,” she said.

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t easy staying in the black, particularly at first. I’ve got my pension and disability, and I had to rely heavily on those to get by.”

  They’d just stepped inside the shop when they heard someone calling out.

  “Hey, Mr. Grayhorse.” A teenager she assumed was Nick stood and waved, then hurried over to greet Paul. “I brought your laptop. It’s over there,” he said, pointing to the corner table.

  Paul took one of the three seats around the square table and opened his laptop. “Nick, did you look around your dad’s coffee shop before you came over?”

  “Yeah, but that guy hasn’t come back,” he said. “I also warned my dad to watch out for him. If he comes in, Dad’ll give you a call.”

  “Great. Now think back carefully and tell me exactly what this guy looked like,” Paul said.

  “Like I said, he was just a regular guy. Tall, about your height, brown hair, brown eyes. I don’t think he spent a lot of time outside, because he had light skin. He’d roast in the sun. Oh, yeah, I think he had freckles.”

  “Did he have any kind of accent?” Kendra asked. Miller had been known to speak with a slight Texas drawl. The light skin also fit. Miller was a natural redhead, though he repeatedly dyed his hair.

  Nick, obviously unsure whether to answer her or not, looked back at Paul.

  “Excuse my manners,” Paul said. “This is U.S. Marshal Armstrong, Nick.”

  Nick shook her hand, then said, “He spoke just like everyone else—normal, you know, no accent.”

  “Was his voice higher or lower pitched than Paul’s?” Kendra asked. People often knew far more than they realized.

  “Um, higher. And he talked faster, too, like he was in a hurry.”

  “Thanks,” Kendra said. Reaching into her jacket pocket, she brought out her notebook, took out a photo of Miller, and showed it to Nick. “Could this have been him?”

  Nick studied the photo. “Hard to tell. This guy’s wearing a cap and sunglasses and the photo’s bad. Looks like it’s been Photoshopped, too.”

  “Yeah, but it’s the best we’ve got,” she said, disappointed.

  “Were you able to direct the feed from my surveillance cameras?” Paul asked Nick.

  “It took a while, but I got it to work,” he said. “I tested it out, too, so it’s all set. No matter where you log in you’ll be able to monitor everything from your laptop.”

  Paul powered up his computer and entered his password. After a few keystrokes, he had the screen he needed. There was a small compass on the lower right hand side. “With this software I can redirect the cameras with the touchpad and conduct a real time 360-degree sweep of the area. If I catch anyone watching my apartment, I can zoom in on their location, lock on the cameras, and they’ll track that person as long as he stays in range.” Paul manipulated the touch pad to demonstrate.

  “Sweet,” Nick replied.

  “One more thing, Nick,” Paul said. “If you see the guy again, don’t approach him yourself, you hear me? We have reason to believe he could be dangerous.”

  “Okay, no problem, Mr. Grayhorse.”

  After Nick left the shop, Paul remained at his laptop, sipping coffee while Kendra finished off a cheese Danish.

  “I’ve looked at the prerecorded feed from all the angles. He’s either incredibly lucky or he knew where to find the cameras and stayed away from them.” Paul took his final swallow of coffee, logged off his laptop, and closed it up. “I’ve also checked real time surveillance, and things are clear over at my place. There are lots of people in and around the coffee shop underneath my apartment, so I think it’s safe for us to make a quick stop by my place.”

  “Why take the risk? If we’re going to have a face-off, I’d rather it go down away from a crowd of civilians.”

  “You need a place to change clothes, otherwise the people who hang out around that alley will take one look at you and scatter,” he said. “They survive by avoiding anyone who might be a cop.”

  “I can stop at the MallMart and buy myself something less businesslike.”

  “Then they’ll notice that what you’re wearing is brand-new,” he said, shaking his head. “You need to fit in.”

  “So what’s your plan?”

  “Borrow a pair of my jeans. You’ll have to roll them up a bit, but they should fit. You can also wear one of my pullover sweaters. It’ll be big on you, but you can conceal your badge and gun beneath it easily.”

  “Okay,” Kendra said after considering it for a moment. “But I’m calling your brother and asking for extra patrols in your neighborhood while we’re there. If the guy shows up, I want backup close by.”

  “I can live with that.”

  As she called Preston, her gaze continually strayed back to Paul. Though she knew it would only complicate matters, the more she got to know Paul the more she liked him. After all he’d been through, she’d expected to find a jaded former marshal, sour on the world. Yet Paul wasn’t like that at all. He still cared about people and had shown remarkab
le loyalty to the marshals service and his former partner.

  “What’s on your mind, pretty lady?” he said, his voice a gravelly whisper that ignited her senses.

  For a moment she felt herself drowning in the dark, steady gaze that held hers. Certain he knew precisely how that look could make even the most sensible of women go a little crazy inside, she forced herself to look back down the street.

  “It’s not going to happen,” she said firmly, pretending to be watching traffic.

  “What?”

  “You’re not going to charm me, or tempt me to forget I’m here on business,” she said.

  “You’re wound too tight,” he said, chuckling. “I’m just being myself.”

  She didn’t answer. She liked Paul way too much and he knew it. If she didn’t keep her guard up, she’d end up in a world of trouble.

  Chapter Six

  They arrived at Paul’s second-story apartment a short while later. “Living above a coffee shop has definite advantages,” she said, noting the wonderful aromas that filled the air as they climbed the flight of stairs. “How did you find such an interesting place?”

  “The apartment belongs to Nick’s dad, Jerry. He gave it to me free of charge—minus utilities—as a trade-off for my surveillance services. It’s worked out for both of us, too. Ever since I put up the cameras, his place hasn’t been held up,” Paul said. “Of course that’s not the only reason he wanted me close by.”

  “I get it. You’re a good influence on Nick,” she said, and saw him nod.

  “Jerry and Nick aren’t close, but the gap between them widened even more when Jerry found out that Nick was in a gang. He had no idea how to help his kid.”

  “So what made you get involved?”

  “Nick was headed in the wrong direction just like I was at one time. If it hadn’t been for Hosteen Silver, my life would have been a real mess. I figured it was time for me to step up and do the same thing for someone else.”

  “Pay it forward,” she said with a nod.

  “Exactly.” He entered a set of numbers on an electronic keypad lock, opened the door, and invited her in.

  As she looked around Paul’s combination living room, office and kitchen, Kendra realized that this wasn’t so much a home as a place Paul lived in while he worked.

  A large wooden desk held three computers, a multifunction printer and a monitor with a webcam. Two larger monitors with split screens and speakers hung on the wall behind and above the desk. Beside them, on a second rolltop desk stood a larger printer and a nineteen-inch flat screen TV. Across from that was a comfortable-looking leather recliner.

  Beneath two small windows on the south side of the kitchen area was a counter that held a microwave oven and a coffeepot. On the adjacent wall stood a small fridge and narrow stove.

  “It’s small,” he said as if he’d read her mind, “but it’s easy to keep and serves my purpose. What’s your apartment like in Denver?” he asked her.

  “It’s large, an old office loft, close to the federal building. It took me forever to find it. I needed lots of shelves for my...stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Mostly knickknacks and collectibles I’ve bought over the years. Life with the colonel took us all around the world. Sometimes we’d move as often as twice a year. With his rank, we didn’t have much trouble getting our stuff from post to post, but making each new place feel like home could be tough. Eventually I learned to surround myself with familiar things that had special meaning to me.”

  “You’ve referred to him as ‘the colonel’ before. You didn’t call him Dad?”

  “He preferred ‘colonel.’ He told Mom that it helped maintain a sense of discipline in the family.”

  “So he was strict?”

  “Oh, yeah. For my brother and me, our house was like boot camp. You did things his way—no argument. Rules were everything to him. It was even more so after Mom passed away. By then I’d turned seventeen and I was marking off the days until I could leave for college. My brother received an appointment to West Point the year before. The first time he came home for Christmas, he told me being a plebe was easy, compared to home.”

  “Tough, huh? Do you ever visit the colonel these days?”

  She shook her head. “He spends most of his time overseas, and a Christmas phone call is enough.” Realizing she’d said too much, she suddenly grew silent. Paul was way too easy to talk to; she’d have to watch that from now on.

  “It’s been a while since breakfast,” he said, stepping across to the fridge. “Hungry?”

  “A bit, yeah.”

  “I have some frozen TV dinners. Take your pick—Mexican or Asian.”

  “Mexican.”

  “I’ll nuke yours in the microwave while you go change clothes. Help yourself to whatever’s in the closet. The shelves on the right hand side have my pullover sweaters.”

  “And the bedroom is...?”

  “End of the hall—on the left.”

  As she walked to the back of the apartment, she found herself wishing she could have met Paul under different circumstances. Another time, another place, they may have become good friends...or more.

  Kendra stepped inside Paul’s bedroom and looked around. It was orderly but sparse—good thing, too, because it was tiny. The closet, with its two narrow sliding doors, was nearly empty—as opposed to hers, which was crammed full. She looked at the shelves fitted into the sides and saw the sweaters he’d mentioned.

  She selected the top one, a blue wool crewneck, and slipped it over her blouse. It was warm and comfortable.

  Kendra then chose a pair of jeans he’d draped over a hanger. Like most men, Paul had slim hips. The pants fit snugly on her, but they weren’t uncomfortable. She rolled up the legs, creating cuffs, then looked at herself in the mirror attached to the closet door on the left.

  She looked more like Paul’s girlfriend than a cop now. For a moment, the very fact that she was wearing his clothes made her feel wonderfully wicked. It was like a warm, naked hug from the big man in the next room.

  She smiled wistfully. Maybe someday she’d find a guy like Paul who could spark all her senses with just a glance. With luck, he’d also turn out to be a man who wanted the same things she did—a home and kids.

  She shook free of the thought. She’d settle for a dinner date where nobody came packing a gun.

  When she walked back to the front room Paul gave her a slow onceover. Although she was sure that it was a well-practiced gesture, it had the intended effect. The thoroughness of that look left her tingling all over.

  Needing to focus on something safer, she pointed to the tea brewing in a cup on the counter. “Smells good. What kind of tea is that?”

  “It’s a special medicinal blend. Hosteen Silver taught us to fix it whenever...we needed it.”

  “That’s the real reason you wanted to come here.”

  He shook his head. “It was part of the reason, but not the only one,” he said.

  “Are you in pain?” she asked bluntly.

  “When the wind and cold pick up, my shoulder aches. Tsinyaachéch’il makes it stop.”

  “Didn’t your doctor ever give you something you could take for that?”

  “Sure, but painkillers put me in a haze, and I need to stay alert. Aspirin helps, but only in large doses. This tea works better all the way around.”

  “What is it exactly?”

  “The main ingredient is an herb known as Oregon grape. It grows in the high country.” As he stretched his arm and reached into the back of the freezer for the TV dinners, she saw him flinch. He did it again as he placed the dinners in the microwave.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this search for Annie tonight? I could get your brother to assign me an undercover officer.”

  “In another twenty minutes, give or take, my shoulder will be back to normal. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

  She looked at the pouch that contained the tea. “Does Oregon grape taste as good as
it smells?”

  “Not by itself. The scent you’re picking up includes some other herbs Hosteen Silver taught us to add to the mixture to make the tea more palatable.”

  “So what else is in there?”

  He shook his head. “Knowledge like this isn’t shared outside family. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to go into details.”

  The microwave dinged just then, and she didn’t press him.

  After a quick dinner, Kendra helped him pick up in the kitchen. “Are you good to go?” she asked, glancing at his shoulder.

  He moved his arm in a circle. “See? No problems now.”

  Paul called Nick as they got ready to leave. “Keep an eye on my place, will you? I can’t monitor the cameras where I’m going, so I’d like you to stay alert.”

  “You’ve got it, Mr. Grayhorse.”

  Hearing the howl of the wind outside even before he opened the door, Paul turned to Kendra. “You’re going to need a coat. Take my black leather jacket. It’s on the back of the bedroom door.”

  He grabbed another, a well-worn, brown leather jacket from the hall closet.

  “We’re going to have to watch each other’s backs in that alley,” Kendra said after they were on their way.

  “Just stay cool and don’t tense up,” Paul said. “Some of my informants hang out on that street, and I expect they’ll come right up to us.”

  Ten minutes later they parked a block down from the alley, then strolled up the sidewalk. Drive time traffic had picked up since their bookstore trip.

  They were on the side of the street that was sheltered from the wind by the tall buildings. Comfortable, Kendra fell into step beside Paul.

  “Slouch a little more, and pick up some street attitude. You’re walking like a cop,” Paul said softly.

  “Okay,” she said, trying to correct her lapse.

  They turned the corner beside the bus terminal and continued down the block. The alley between Third and Fourth streets was just ahead.

  A tall redhead in a loose open coat, wearing a short skirt and a skintight top, greeted Paul with a huge smile. “Hey, Paul. How’s it going?” she said, standing at an angle to emphasize her assets. “I didn’t expect to see you downtown. You looking for some fun?”