Janey sat in numb silence as Baby Blue drove them back to the motel and talked on his cell phone to his boss back in West Palm Beach.
Streetlights cast the front seat from darkness to shadows. That was her life these days. Darkness and shadows. She stared straight ahead, weary of feeling numb, weary of feeling weary.
And to think—not more than fifteen minutes ago she’d been flirting with her bodyguard. For a while there, she’d actually forgotten about all the fun and games of murder and mayhem and a million-dollar jackpot that her life had become. Well, she was back on the board now, playing the game whether she wanted to or not.
Damn. It felt like her life had turned into one big blender and she was stuck on the puree cycle.
Whoever had killed her mother knew a lot about her. Right down to the make, model, year, and color of the only car Alice Perkins had owned.
What could that mean? What could that possibly mean?
She thought about the photograph she’d tucked into her purse. And didn’t know whether to hope she was right or pray she was wrong. Was it a picture of her father? Did she really want to know?
“Here’s a list of names,” Janey heard Baby Blue say after reviewing with his boss all the bizarre things happening—from Grimm’s grisly gifts of raw and bleeding hearts, to the million-plus in her mother’s lockbox, to the man trying to pass himself off as her proxy at the bank and using the same name as the car that had been used to kill her mother.
God, her head was spinning.
“See what you can find out about these four women. And start the search in Mississippi. They may be locals. May be women Alice Perkins had known for some time, because she has both their married and maiden names listed.
“Nope, not a clue,” he added, apparently in response to a question on the other end. “They don’t ring any bells for Janey, either. Don’t suppose you have anything for me on the names I gave you the other day?”
He waited a heartbeat, then repeated the names of her band members, backup singers, Neal, Max, and Chris Ramsey.
She kept it together until after he’d hung up. “I don’t appreciate that.”
He waited for a light to change, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel. “Which part?”
“You know which part. When did you order background checks on Neal and Max?”
“Right after the break-in. Okay, look, I know you work with those people—”
“I don’t just work with them,” she interrupted, incensed that he would subject Neal and Max in particular to background checks and Lord knew what else they would do. “Most of those people are my friends.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?”
And maybe that’s why it upset her so. Maybe there was something to worry about. And maybe she didn’t want to know about it if there was. “Why aren’t you concentrating on Grimm?”
“I am concentrating on Grimm. The police are concentrating on him. Everyone’s trying to zero in on him,” he assured her.
Okay, it was true. Edwin Grimm had been the focus of his long conversation with the boss he referred to as No, who she’d gathered was one of the partners at the security firm that employed him.
“We’re both orphans now.”
She kept coming back to the message Grimm had left with the hearts in Atlantic City—it still haunted her. And as far as she was concerned, all roads still led back to the crazed stalker. It didn’t make sense that he could possibly know about the money in her mother’s lockbox, but nothing else made sense, either.
“Look, Janey,” Wilson added when she remained silent, “I just want to make certain there isn’t something else going on here. What’s it going to hurt to cover a few more bases?”
“So what you’re thinking is that not only do I have a stalker planning to finish what he started four years ago, but that someone else is out there? Someone who knew about the money in the lockbox?”
“I’m saying,” he repeated as they pulled up to the “no tell motel,” as Janey had begun to think of it, “I want to cover all the bases. That’s all. I’m just doing my job,” he reminded her.
“Why the check on my mother?”
He shifted into park and killed the motor. “As far as you know, she didn’t work, right?”
“As far as I know,” she concurred on a tired sigh.
“And yet, she didn’t spend a dime of the money you sent her. So how was she getting by?”
“I’m getting by.”
Her mother’s words came back to her again. “Maybe she had a boyfriend who paid the bills.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, opening the door and easing out from behind the wheel. “Maybe not. But she had to be living on something. We need to find out. Make certain there’s a logical explanation. And if there was a boyfriend, we need to talk to him. He could shed some light on things.”
She let out a weary breath when he came around to her side of the rental car and opened her door for her.
He leaned down in the opening, one hand on the roof, one on the door, unintentionally caging her in. “I’m sorry about all this. And I hate to point it out . . . I mean, I know how hard this must be for you, but we can’t lose sight of the fact that someone did kill your mother.
“Was it Grimm?” he continued. “Maybe. But maybe it wasn’t. The cash changes everything; we need to find out who knew about it. And we need to find out if or how this all affects you.”
He was right. She knew it. It was just . . . hell. It had been much simpler when Edwin Grimm was the only likely suspect. Not easy by any stretch, but simpler. And the money did put a new slant on things. Added a new element. A new danger. Another level of threat.
She stood when he offered her his hand.
“What do you think it means? That the exact same kind of car we once owned—right down to the color and year—was used to . . . to run down my mother?”
“You keep asking me questions that I’ve got no answers for.” He cupped her elbow as they walked toward the outside, ground-floor entrance to their adjoining rooms.
“Just like you, all I’ve got are more questions. Like why was the car dumped in the river? I’ve got to figure it wasn’t supposed to be found. But if that’s the case, why all the trouble to use that specific car? It took a lot of planning. A lot of effort looking for that particular car and then stealing it.”
Janey hadn’t thought things out that far. But he was right. “Why use a car,” she continued, picking up on his chain of reason, “that was identical to one my mom used to own when whoever did this never intended for anyone to ever see it? To ever know that specific car was, for all practical purposes, a murder weapon?”
“Exactly. That tells me your mother’s murderer knew her. And that the murder was very personal,” he added.
“And the car is significant to the murderer, why?”
He shook his head. “Did your mom ever have an accident with that car? Maybe—”
“Run someone down in a drunken stupor?” she speculated, seeing where he was going with this. “It’s possible, but I don’t know. I . . . just don’t know.”
They were both silent for a long time. “And it’s not a coincidence, is it? That the guy at the bank used the name Lemans?”
“No,” he agreed. “It’s no coincidence. We find him, we probably find your mother’s killer.”
It was no coincidence, either, that when Jase unlocked Janey’s motel room for her and swung the door open there was a new game prize waiting amid the ruins of a room that had been thoroughly and violently trashed.
13
Get me away from here.”
That’s all Janey had to say and Jase had moved into action. As soon as they’d finished dealing with the police and motel management they’d thrown what few things they’d packed in their carry-ons and headed south on Highway 45. Right after he’d stopped at a pawnshop to pick up a handgun.
She didn’t like the idea. Jase didn’t much care. He was way past concerned. Way past
pissed.
Whoever they were dealing with—Grimm or someone else or a combo of both—from this point on, he was packing. If he hadn’t been convinced that Janey was in danger after Grimm had broken into her Atlantic City hotel suite, the incident at the bank and the latest break-in had made him a true believer.
Now this deal with the car that had been used to run down her mother—well—someone out there was determined in a very calculated, very sick way to do her harm. Whether the intent was to terrorize, rob, or murder, it didn’t matter; at this point it was all the same to him. He needed to protect her. Would do whatever it took to keep her safe. And to do that, he needed firepower.
The gun was within easy reach under the driver’s seat of the rented Taurus. He’d have preferred a military-issue M9 Beretta 92F 9mm. He settled for a .38 S & W and was happy as hell that an extra Ben Franklin handled the permit issue.
“This is getting dicey,” Jase told Nolan, whom he’d called once they’d been well away from Tupelo.
“No shit,” No said on the other end of the line as Jase turned off the highway and pulled into a gas station.
They’d been traveling for a little over half an hour. For the last fifteen minutes, Jase had been filling Nolan in on the latest turn of events, from the precise details about the car that had been used to run down Alice Perkins to another set of bloody hearts that had been prominently displayed in the center of the trashed bedding in Janey’s motel room.
“And nothing was stolen?” No asked.
“We’re traveling light. Basically there was nothing to steal.”
“So you’re thinking . . . what? The break-in was supposed to terrorize her?”
“Could be. There was no note this time. Not sure what that means.”
“He could have run out of time.”
“Yeah. Or he could have been looking for something, gotten angry when he didn’t find it.”
“The money?”
“Yeah, sure, it’s a possibility, but I can’t see anyone figuring we’d leave that much cash lying around. And I can’t see Grimm knowing about it, either.”
“Well, someone does.”
“Yeah,” Jase agreed, thinking about “Lemans.” “Someone sure as hell does.”
“So you know, I put Dallas on things full time at this end,” No said. “He’s already initiated a computer search on the names you gave me earlier.”
“Have him do something else for me, would ya? Look up all the available public information on Grimm’s trial and conviction. I want to know how much detail was printed on the stalking incidents and how accessible that info still is.”
“You got something specific in mind?”
“Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t pinpoint it, but something’s off. Grimm’s calling card—the two bloody hearts? I’ve been thinking . . . See if you can find out what kind of birds they came from—and if he always used the same kind of bird. I’m guessing he did.”
Beside him, he felt as much as saw Janey shiver as he pulled up to a bank of gas pumps.
“And you want to know if these latest two episodes exactly replicate the ones Grimm pulled three years ago?” No’s voice was thoughtful.
“Exactly.”
“You’re thinking there might be a possibility of a copycat?”
“I don’t know what I’m thinking. I’m just . . . I’ve got a feeling is all.”
“Good enough for me.”
Jase had been known for his “feelings” in hot zones. More often than not, his “got a bad feeling about this” had been the heads-up their squad had needed and heeded to get them through an explosive situation.
“Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of. Just, well—”
“Just get the lead out and get you something to work with,” No supplied what Jase hadn’t felt comfortable suggesting to his boss.
“Um . . . yeah. Thanks. Boss,” he added with a grin.
No chuckled and disconnected. Jase hung up, wishing he could have had that conversation with No without Janey having to listen to the grisly details.
Couldn’t be helped. They needed to move on this. And they needed to move fast. Somehow, some way, Grimm or whoever the hell was doing this seemed to be able to follow Janey everywhere she went. That was also a puzzle. And a big problem.
Unless he was fucking invisible, Jase was having trouble buying the idea that they were being tailed. He’d seen no one, nothing suspicious. And he’d been watchful as hell. And that just added more questions to the mix.
“If it’s not Grimm, then who?”
He glanced at Janey as he unbuckled his seat belt and opened the car door. “There you go again,” he said, trying to cast light on a very dark situation, “asking me questions I can’t answer. And I’m not saying Grimm isn’t behind this.”
“But you’re thinking it may be a copycat,” she continued, clearly puzzled and frustrated and needing to think out loud. “Why would anyone copy Grimm? What’s the point?”
“Hell, a million-plus could be a mighty big motivator for murder. Grimm could be a convenient scapegoat. We look for him, it throws us off the trail of someone else.”
She bit her lower lip. “The names on the list. What do they have to do with anything—if they have something to do with what’s going on.”
He sighed heavily, as frustrated as she was. “Look—there’s only one thing I’m certain of right now. Too many coincidences are racking up for them to be coincidences.”
Way too many, he thought, getting out of the car and starting the gas pump. A woman was dead. Another appeared to be the next target. And not just any other woman, he thought as he topped off the tank. A woman he’d grown to like and respect, and there was no way in hell he was letting anything happen to her.
His mind kept winding back to the million bucks. And that million bucks bumped another question to the top of his list of priorities. He needed to find out how Janey’s mother had been living in relative comfort without any means of support and without spending Janey’s money. And he needed Alice’s motor vehicle record to see if she had ever been in an accident.
Somehow, he felt that an answer to those questions were the key. He wasn’t going to get any answers tonight, though. Tonight, the only thing he could do was keep Janey Perkins out of harm’s way—and maybe do something about that haunted look in her eyes.
He paid for the gas at the pump and they headed out again. An hour later, certain they didn’t have a tail, he pulled into the first motel that popped up along the interstate. She needed sleep and it was up to him to see that she got it.
Okay, hot stuff. Gimme your best shot.”
If anyone had asked her five minutes ago if she was capable of smiling, Janey would have told them with a look and a snarl to get real.
But she was smiling now. It was forced and it was weary, but Wilson had a way about him. And he was employing it to great effect.
He’d checked them into another one of those “we’ll leave the light on for ya” motels. He’d booked a suite this time, with two bedrooms and a small living area between them.
She’d watched in curious silence as he’d moved all the furniture to the edges of the living area before it dawned on her what he was up to.
He was offering her a kickboxing match. A chance to work off some of her tension. At this very moment, he stood before her in his jeans, T-shirt, and bare feet. The only other thing he wore was a cocky grin.
Another day, another time, she’d have loved to go a few rounds with him. But this wasn’t the time.
Yeah, she’d like to let off a little steam with a good, hard round of physical exertion with an opponent who she strongly suspected could give her a helluva lot better run for her money than a staff trainer at a local gym.
Yeah. She’d like to. But tonight, she was too tense. Too close to the edge. She might end up doing more than fighting. She might end up crying, and she didn’t want to do that. Not in front of anyone. Especially not in front of him
.
“Look, I know what you’re trying to do,” she said, putting on her best “I’m fine and dandy” face. “And I appreciate it. But not tonight, okay?”
“What’s the matter? Afraid of a little competition?”
He was goading her. It may have been well intended, but it was goading just the same. It ticked her off, but she wasn’t going to bite.
“If you want to think so.” She turned toward her bedroom, where she knew she’d spend a sleepless night.
Behind her, he made clucking sounds.
She stopped. Clenched her teeth. And slowly turned, working hard to keep her temper from getting the best of her. “Is that how you talked to your dates back home on the farm?”
He raised an eyebrow, his grin broadening. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? Trash talk? Puny trash talk at that.”
Bastard. He was enjoying this just a little too much. “Look, Blue Eyes, when the time is right, I’ll drop you like a bag of dirt. But now,” she continued, walking slowly toward him, “is not the time.”
She struck like a snake. A swift, high, exact kick that caught him off guard and hit him dead center in the breadbasket—just like she’d planned it.
He doubled over with an “umph,” gasping for breath and clutching his gut. She took advantage with a sharp kick behind his knees and he landed on his back with a thud.
“On second thought, maybe this is the right time,” she amended, standing above him with a triumphant smirk.
“Ah,” he managed when he caught his breath. “The lady plays dirty. I respect that in a woman.”
He held out a hand, which she took. The least she could do was help him up.
Wrong.
The next thing she knew she was flat on her back on the floor beside him after falling for the oldest trick in the book. He’d latched onto her hand, kicked her feet out from under her, and taken her down without so much as a by-your-leave.
“That would fall into the turnabout’s fair play category,” he said when she turned her head to glare at him.
“Fine. So we’ve established that we’re both cheaters.”
Cindy Gerard - [Bodyguards 04] Page 15
