by Debra Webb
“Thank you.” Patrick ushered Sande out of the office and along the corridor. He didn’t slow down or speak until they were outside and in his car.
Before he could say what was on his mind, Sande spoke up. “I don’t think that detective is too happy with his partner right now.”
“There’s definitely an element of discontent.” Patrick fished out his cell phone and put in a call to Windy. “Hey, check with the agency’s Bureau contact and see if we can learn who’s working with Detective Lyons on this stolen identities case. According to his partner, Lyons is definitely working with the Bureau.”
Windy assured Patrick she would get right on it.
He tucked his phone back into his pocket. It wasn’t that he found it surprising the Bureau was working on this case. What was unusual was that he hadn’t heard from whoever was doing so. And that Lyons hadn’t mentioned the situation fell under federal jurisdiction. If his Bureau contact had been at the scene of the Childers murder, Lyons hadn’t said so. Even more unusual, the agent hadn’t wanted in on the interview of Sande Williams.
It wasn’t like the Bureau and the Colby Agency were strangers.
“That means it’s a bigger case than we first thought,” Sande commented.
Patrick met her worried gaze as he braked at an intersection. “That’s likely.” He didn’t want to say more than was necessary. There was no need to fuel her uncertainty until he had reason. And no choice. That was already occurring far more swiftly than he would like.
His cell phone vibrated. If Windy was getting back to him with word on the Bureau, that was damned fast, even for her. “O’Brien.”
“We need to talk.”
Lyons.
“Where are you?” Patrick analyzed the man’s tone. He sounded distressed.
Patrick’s first instinct was to ask why he hadn’t mentioned the Bureau but decided to save that for when they were face-to-face.
“Meet me at the coffee shop on the corner of Broadway and Briar Place. There’s…”
Patrick waited out the man’s silence.
“There’s something you need to know about your client.”
“I’m on my way.” He closed his phone and placed it on the console.
“What’s wrong?”
Obviously he hadn’t done such a good job of concealing his concern. “That was Lyons. He wants to talk.” Patrick shot Sande a reassuring glance. “Maybe we’ll get the full story this time.”
SATURDAY MORNING SHOPPERS slowed their progress. A full fifteen minutes were required to reach their destination. Then another several to find parking. City life. It could be problematic at times.
Just as Patrick put the car in Park his cell vibrated again. Windy. He listened to the news, his uneasiness mounting, then thanked her before he broke the connection.
Sande watched him, unblinking. She apparently sensed that the news he’d received was not helpful.
“The Bureau isn’t involved in this case,” he told her. He lifted an eyebrow to emphasize his next point. “At least, not that they’re willing to admit.” The Colby Agency’s contact at the FBI was solid. If he believed the Bureau wasn’t involved, then, officially, it wasn’t. At least not from the Chicago office. Generally, if another field office followed an investigation out of their own jurisdiction, word was passed along. Cooperation sought through the proper chain of command.
The worry in Sande’s eyes deepened. “But why would Lyons lie about that? It doesn’t make sense.”
“That—” Patrick shut off the engine “—is what we’re going to find out.”
He and Sande emerged from the car at the same time and walked together across the street. He scanned other vehicles closely to ensure they weren’t being watched. He’d kept an eye out for a tail since leaving his condo. That whoever had been following them the day before had suddenly vanished was too much to hope for. Someone was out there watching, waiting for the right opportunity. Patrick had to make sure he didn’t give them one.
He had to be ready for their next strike. Considering Alma Spears’s death, this case had elevated to a more dangerous level. He couldn’t take any unnecessary risks.
The bell on the door jingled as they entered the coffee shop. Patrick scanned the customers’ faces, as well as those of the employees. Lyons was not among them. Patrick ordered a coffee and a hot cocoa so as not to draw attention as they waited.
“We’ll give him a few minutes.” He moved toward a table near the windows. “If Lyons doesn’t show, I’ll call and find out why.” Assuming the detective started answering his cell.
Sande accepted the cocoa and took a seat in one of the chairs. Her appetite was still missing, but the warmth felt good to her hands. O’Brien sat down across from her with his back against the wall. He repeatedly scanned the coffee shop and the entryway. Sande glanced over her shoulder regularly. There was something unnerving about sitting with her back to the door. Anyone could just walk in and fire that single shot into the back of her head.
And then she’d be dead like all the others.
She shivered.
No matter that she couldn’t remember who she was or where she’d come from, she didn’t want to die.
Not anytime soon, anyway.
When she’d tolerated all the silence she could take, she asked, “Do you think those men are still following us?” They could be keeping a low profile, staying back and watching from a distance. Another of those icy shivers rippled through her insides. If she only knew what she was up against, or what she had done to have these people out to get her.
“Possibly.” O’Brien gave another long, slow perusal of the folks milling about in the coffee shop. “I haven’t picked up on a tail as of yet, but if they’re good enough they could avoid detection.”
She thought about the man she’d seen behind the wheel of the car that had chased them. Dark hair. Sunglasses. He’d worn a jacket of some sort. From what she had seen he’d appeared well dressed. But then, what did she expect? For her would-be killer to be dressed like a thug? Wearing a ski mask?
Maybe talking wasn’t such a good idea. Every time she asked a question she learned something else she really didn’t want to know.
By the time she’d finished her cocoa, O’Brien was growing visibly impatient.
“I guess he’s not going to show,” she commented with another glance over her shoulder.
“He may have been unavoidably detained, or diverted to a crime scene.” Even as he said the words O’Brien scrutinized the comings and goings behind her.
“Do you still believe Detective Lyons knows more than he’s telling us?” She was pretty sure of the answer to that one, but asked just to be making conversation, since not talking gave her too much time to think about all the things she didn’t know. Not to mention piece together far too many ugly scenarios that might explain who she was and what she’d done in the past.
“Absolutely.”
A dark sedan easing up to the curb outside the coffee shop tugged her attention to the window. The driver was the sole occupant. O’Brien was explaining how he would get the truth out of Lyons, whatever he was hiding, that she needn’t worry. But Sande didn’t respond to his assurances; she was too busy watching the man in the car. As he opened the door and emerged from the vehicle, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
The man wore a charcoal suit and dark glasses. He strode confidently into the coffee shop. Sande twisted in her chair to watch him at the counter, where he placed his order. The waitress smiled as if he’d said something charming, and accepted his money. Sande studied his profile. The curve of jaw, the angle of his nose. Coal-black hair cut short. Medium height and build.
Her heart pounded. Drawing in a deep breath felt impossible. What was it about this man that made her react so fiercely?
Cup in hand, he pivoted. He paused halfway, as if looking directly at Sande, but his eyes were hidden by the sunglasses. Then he walked out of the coffee shop and strolled to his car.
/> Sande started to speak, but then the man opened the driver’s side door. He looked right at her again for another of those pulse-pounding seconds. It wasn’t until he looked away and lowered himself behind the wheel that her breath left her lungs entirely.
She knew that man.
“I know him.”
“What?”
“The man driving off.” Sande pointed to the car pulling away from the curb. “I know that man.”
O’Brien was on his feet and out the door before she realized he’d moved.
She exited the coffee shop to stand next to him on the sidewalk. O’Brien’s fingers were working frantically to enter numbers into his cell phone.
Before she could ask if he was calling Windy or the police, he said, “Got it.”
She blinked. “Got what?”
“The license plate number.” He surveyed the street and sidewalk in both directions. “Let’s go back inside and call this in to Windy. Then—” his gaze met hers “—we’ll call Lyons and find out what’s keeping him.”
They had no sooner returned to their table than another vehicle parked in the very spot the man in the dark glasses had used.
Not the same car, Sande assured herself. Not the car from the chase, either. This one was…
Detective Cates got out of the vehicle and strode toward the coffee shop.
O’Brien finished his call to Windy and closed his phone. “This can’t be good.”
Sande twisted again to watch the detective enter the coffee shop. He glanced around, spotted them and headed for their table.
“Patrick O’Brien,” Cates said, then turned to Sande, “Sande Williams, you’re to come with me.”
“What’s going on, Cates?” O’Brien asked as he rose from his chair. “We’re waiting for Detective Lyons to arrive. He wanted us to meet him here.”
“We’ll talk at the precinct.”
A muscle in the detective’s jaw flexed rhythmically. It wasn’t until then that Sande noticed the hard expression he wore. Whatever was going on, Detective Cates was not happy about it.
“But what about Detective Lyons?” she asked as she pushed back her chair and got to her feet. She still felt a little rattled by the man in the charcoal suit. She knew him. She was certain of it.
“Let’s not do this here,” Cates insisted.
His eyes burned with fury and another emotion Sande couldn’t quite label. Regret, maybe.
“I don’t understand,” she argued. Maybe she was disoriented from last night’s dreams, and then the strange fixation she’d experienced when the stranger appeared in the coffee shop. Whatever the case, she couldn’t quite gather her wits.
“Outside,” Cates growled. He did an about-face and stormed from the shop.
“Come on.” O’Brien placed a reassuring hand on Sande’s back. “We should probably do as Detective Cates suggests.”
Sande acquiesced. She trusted O’Brien’s judgment.
The wind whipped through her hair and stung her cheeks as she joined O’Brien and the detective next to his car. She shivered. It hadn’t seemed so cold when they’d arrived. Maybe she just hadn’t noticed. What day was it? October 31, or was it November 1 already? Saturday. Not Sunday she was certain.
She’d lost all track of time.
If it was October 31, that meant today was Halloween. Fitting, considering the bizarre turn her life had taken recently.
“Why don’t you tell us what’s going on, Detective,” O’Brien insisted. “Your partner is—”
“Dead.”
Sande’s heart missed a beat. Dead?
“Wait,” she blurted, surprised that the word came from her. “He called just—”
“That’s why you two are coming with me.” Cates looked from Sande to O’Brien. “According to his cell phone, you were the last person he contacted before someone put a bullet in his brain.” Cates turned his attention back to Sande. “Just like Alma Spears, even if her manner of death was different. Dead is dead.”
“But,” O’Brien argued, “he called me.”
“If the statements you gave at the scene are correct, so did Alma Spears,” Cates retorted. “Seems to me death is following you two around.” That furious gaze homed in on Sande once more. “I want to know why.”
She had been right last night. It seemed anyone who got too close ended up dead.
Instead of her.
Chapter Ten
“That was Windy.” Patrick closed his cell phone and slid it into his jacket pocket.
Sande’s eyes widened in anticipation. “Did she learn anything from the license plate?”
“It was another dead end.” Literally. The plate was registered to a dead man.
Sande closed her eyes, fighting the need to burst into tears, if the trembling of her lips was any indication. She sat next to him in Cates’s office. The detective had stepped out to confer with his captain.
Patrick shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. He reached out, put his hand on her clasped ones. “We’ll figure this out.”
Her eyes flew open. There was nothing soft or vulnerable about the emotion glittering there. She’d had enough.
“How will we do that?” She blinked, visibly struggling to regain her composure. “Everyone involved with this case ends up dead.”
Before Patrick could console her with some mundane assurance about how he would make certain nothing happened to her, Cates returned. The detective planted himself in the chair behind his desk and spread what appeared to be a number of reports in front of him.
“My captain has authorized me to share some of the details of this case with you.”
Patrick didn’t mention that Lyons had already done that. There was always the chance that he hadn’t given as many details as Cates would. Or in some way misrepresented the information. Having it relayed from a second source couldn’t hurt.
“I appreciate your cooperation, Detective.”
“There’s not a lot to tell.” Cates scanned the reports in front of him. “My partner’s file was fairly incomplete.”
That surprised Patrick. He’d seen the file Lyons had amassed. Incomplete was far from what he would have called it. “Really?”
Cates gestured to the papers before him. “This is all there is.”
Next to Patrick, Sande tensed. The shift in posture was subtle, but he noticed. She’d seen the size of the file when Lyons had brought it into the interview room.
“I’m sure whatever you have will be helpful,” Patrick stated.
Cates reviewed the number of victims from the three metro areas involved. He mentioned the Bureau’s involvement again.
“Your partner didn’t say anything about the FBI,” Patrick pointed out once more, hoping the detective might clear up that issue.
Cates made a face, one that reflected his frustration. “I’m looking at a report from his Bureau counterpart.” He passed it to Patrick. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t have mentioned that.” He shrugged. “Unless the Bureau didn’t want their involvement discussed with outside sources. There’s always that chance.”
Special Agent Chet Wheeler. The agent’s cell phone number was listed in the report. Patrick committed it to memory. His next call would be to Agent Wheeler. He passed the report back to Cates. “Has Wheeler been contacted regarding your partner’s murder?”
“I’ve left three voice mails,” Cates said with another heavy dose of frustration. “The man has yet to return my call.”
That wasn’t like the Bureau. The Colby Agency worked with the Chicago field office on a regular basis and never experienced a glitch.
Cates leaned back in his chair and fixed Patrick with a look that said things were about to get complicated. “Your client—” he glanced at Sande “—is the only lead we’ve got in this mess. My captain thinks it would be in her best interest to go into protective custody until we figure this out.”
“You realize the Colby Agency has her best interests covered,” Patrick reminded him.
>
“You realize,” Cates countered, “that Chicago PD is far better prepared to handle the job.”
Sande looked from Patrick to Cates and back. “Do I have a say in the matter?”
When Cates would have answered, Patrick cut him off. “Of course you do.” To the detective’s surprise, he added, “Detective Cates does have a point, however. Tucking you away in a safe house would lessen the risk to you.”
Sande shook her head adamantly. “I’ll stick with the Colby Agency.”
“Ms. Williams,” Cates argued, “are you sure about that? We’ve had three homicides in the past twenty-four hours. All somehow related to this case—” he tapped one of the reports “—and you.”
Confusion and uncertainty were visible on Sande’s face. “But how can I find out what happened to me if I’m locked away somewhere?”
“We could hold you,” Cates pressed, but Patrick took the floor.
“Other than her name, you actually can’t connect Ms. Williams to any of these murders.”
“You mean,” Cates rebutted, “other than the fact that each of the victims was contacted in some manner by one or both of you only hours before they were murdered?”
“Come on, Detective, you know as well as I do that’s nothing more than coincidence.”
“One victim is coincidence, Mr. O’Brien,” Cates retorted. “Three…” He shook his head. “No way.”
Patrick stood. “Levy charges or back off.” He turned to Sande. “Let’s go.”
“I want to go on record, O’Brien,” Cates called, before he could hustle Sande out the door.
Patrick turned back to the man.
“I think you’re making a mistake.” The detective tilted his head so that he could look past Patrick to where Sande stood. “I might not have any evidence, lady, but my gut says you’re living on borrowed time. I think I’d hedge my bets by going into protective custody.”
“Good day, Detective.” Patrick turned his back and escorted Sande out of the building.
As soon as they were in the car headed away from the precinct, Sande spoke up. “What do we do now?”
