by DiAnn Mills
“No,” Lance and Jack echoed.
He sighed, wanting to get them all as far away from Houston as possible. “You’re still under suspicion, and refusing additional protection might not look favorable. Those who believe you’re guilty will use your stand against you.”
She lifted a brow and her blue eyes emitted anger. “I’m fully aware of my status.”
Cole sighed. He wanted proof to exonerate her. “I understand. If taking advantage of a federal program is out of the question until after the funeral, then you should consider further precautions.”
“Like what?” Sally dug her fingers into her palms. “Are you insinuating I’m shirking my responsibilities?”
“I’m a friend who doesn’t want another crime hitting this household.”
Sally rallied the boys’ attention. “Your current tutoring will continue until arrests are made. You are not permitted to leave the house. Understood?”
The boys nodded.
“And if you choose to leave, then you’re looking at me shipping you out of state. I want your lives to be as normal as possible, but if I learn about your trying anything, sneaking out, then it’s over.”
Cole used his phone to display pics of Lawd, Ustach, Bentley, and the wounded man. He handed it to Sally. “Do you recognize any of these people?”
“The blond man is the one I recognize from the news as being killed yesterday. But I’ve never seen the others.” She passed the phone to Lance, who glanced at it, then gave it to Jack.
Neither boy had seen the men before.
“Boys, what are your friends saying about this?”
“It’s bad, CJ,” Jack mumbled. “Bully stuff. Don’t want to talk about it.”
Cole studied Lance. “How are you handling it?”
“Trying to ignore them.” He jutted his jaw. “Being home stops me from getting into a fight. But I know who they are.”
Some kids wore cruelty like a suit of armor. “Do you have any information that can help us make arrests?”
The older boy peered at his mother.
“Lance, answer Cole. No more secrets in this house.”
Lance squirmed, confirming Cole’s suspicion. “I went through Dad’s trash sometimes. His habit was to shred it last thing at night, so while he and Jack did the homework bonding thing, I’d take a look.”
What? “Why didn’t you come forth with this sooner?”
His gaze fell to the table and then to his mother. “Dad’s gone. Just wanted all of us to get past it.”
Wouldn’t do a bit of good by tearing into Lance. “What did you find?”
He rose from the table. “They’re in my room. I’ll get them.”
While they waited for Lance, Sally squared off with Jack. “Are you keeping anything from Cole or me?”
“No, Mom. Promise. Sure see why Lance was always mad at Dad.”
Cole held his comments until the older boy returned. “Before I look at what you have, here’s a question. Did you ever confront your dad about any of the things you suspected?”
Tossing two crumpled pieces of paper onto the table, Lance sank into a chair. “Read these, then I’ll answer your question. I got the one on the left after the bombing. The second one the night he died. Pulled it from his office before the police arrived. He hadn’t run his trash through the shredder yet.”
Cole smoothed out the papers. Both had been typed. He picked up the earlier one.
“Read them aloud.” Sally’s voice hit a high pitch.
“All right,” Cole said. “‘Do what is right before it’s too late.’” He laid it on the table and read the second one. “‘I gave you many chances. You think you and your family are safe. Wrong. Now deal with the consequences.’” He stared into Lance’s face. “I’ll need to take these, have them analyzed.”
Lance rubbed his temples. “Figured so.”
Cole folded the papers and gave them to Tori. She pulled a plastic bag from her purse and dropped them inside.
“Why did you hold on to them?” Cole said to Lance.
“The first one didn’t bother me. Thought it was a prank. By the time I read the second one, Dad was already dead. I was afraid Mom had done it and wanted to protect her. In answer to your other question . . . No, I didn’t ask Dad about his stuff.”
“And you didn’t find envelopes?”
“No, sir. I was always in a hurry.”
Sally moaned. “Son, do you have more secrets? Because if you’re withholding information, you’re also protecting the killer.”
Lance whitened. “No, Mom. I swear. Nothing else. I want Dad’s killer found. Really. I want our lives back.”
Cole would like to shake this stubborn family. “One more incident, and I’ll insist on witness protection.”
“Okay.” Sally’s lined face showed she understood the seriousness. “As much as I value my privacy, I’ll request two of the bodyguards be inside the house at all times . . . just in case. And that means a total of eight bodyguards will know my business. I’ll live with it. At least they work long shifts, so more people won’t be involved.”
How much more could this family take?
TORI OPENED HER EYES AT 5:55 A.M. The doorbell rang again. Never good in the life of a special agent who worked violent crime. Grabbing her robe, she slipped her arms inside while racing to the door. She peered through the peephole. An older man with glasses smiled. Gray hair and spider eyebrows gave him a comical look, but not enough appeal to open the door. He seemed familiar, but she failed to recall from where.
“What do you want?”
“My name’s Albert Weiman. You attended college with my son, Erik. I’d like to talk to you about Sally Moore.”
“I remember Erik. Why are you here so early in the morning, and what does this have to do with Sally?”
“She gave me your address when I expressed—”
“She wouldn’t give anyone my address without my permission.”
“But she did. I apologize for the early hour. This is the only time I have while my son’s with his caretaker.”
Tori rested against the door. “Are you referring to Erik?”
“Yes. He has MS. In bad shape.”
She studied him more carefully. “Again I ask, why are you here?”
“Erik asked that I give you his condolences for Nathan’s death personally. He said the two of you had dated before you were engaged to Nathan.”
“Erik and I?”
“Yes.”
Erik had dated Sally until Nathan showed up on the scene. “That’s not true.”
Albert rubbed his face. “You are Tori Templeton?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re a nurse? Work at Methodist Hospital?”
The man was delusional. Sally had worked prior to Lance’s birth, but at a doctor’s office. Now pity washed over her. “I’m not in the medical field. Sally is the RN.”
“I must have the wrong person. Erik said he’d seen you at physical therapy.”
“No, sir. You have me confused with someone else.”
“Okay. Sorry. I’ll tell Erik you didn’t want to hear from him. Neither do you remember him.”
“I didn’t say either of those things.” To think she could have slept awhile longer.
“Can I come in and talk?”
“No. Can I call someone to escort you home?”
“I’m not crazy, Miss Templeton. I simply wanted to personally express my sympathies. If you’ll let me in, we can talk.”
His last statement triggered her alarm button. “Sir, I suggest you return home.” Tori said nothing else.
The older man shook his head and disappeared.
The conversation vexed her. Was Erik really suffering from MS? If that were true, she’d want to see him for friendship’s sake. But how did Albert Weiman find her? Definitely a question for Sally.
She showered and drove to meet her mother at the Starbucks near the FBI office for their weekly, civil mother-daughter time. Mentally
labeling it as civil was Tori’s way of soft-pedaling Mom’s constant prying into her business. But after viewing Lance and Sally last night, Tori had resolved to do a better job with their relationship. The two had DNA in common and shared a last name. Plus, they were survivors of the Templeton family, and the glue kept them from verbally destroying each other.
Arriving first, Tori purchased her Venti black and Mom’s grande skinny mocha with soy milk and a glass of water. She secured a table and sat where she’d see Mom enter and anyone else who came through the front door. Her thoughts turned to the two notes in her purse. As soon as she made it to the office, she’d send them to the lab.
She doubted if much could be lifted or if any DNA could be traced, but it was worth a try.
Promptly at 6:55, the striking middle-aged woman, known as Valerie to her friends, waved at Tori. Mom’s figure rivaled most thirty-year-olds’, and she’d inherited genes that kept her skin flawless. Tori’s skin hadn’t gotten to the point where she’d show the telltale signs of age, but she hoped for the best. Both had dark wavy hair and the same green-gold eyes.
Mom wore jeans and three-inch heels. Nicely.
Tori wore a navy-blue pantsuit and sensible shoes for the day’s work—and Nathan’s funeral.
Something was terribly wrong with the picture—Tori should be the cute and fashionable one, not old and out-of-date.
Grow up, Tori.
When she wasn’t being immature and jealous of Mom’s good looks, she admired her mother’s optimism and unending stamina. Kevin had said they were alike, and he’d been right. They both journeyed from one crusade to the next with their type A personalities and love of people. Tori stood and gave Mom a real hug and spent a few extra seconds silently letting her know how much she loved her.
“Are you tired, dear?” Mom’s smile deepened her dimples as they sat at the table. “Are you certain helping to solve Nathan Moore’s murder is a good idea for you? The years you’ve spent with the family have to make the case difficult. I mean, are you stressed?”
“Sort of. It’s complicated.” She cringed. “I forgot you hate that phrase.”
“Drives me insane, and I certifiably don’t have far to go.” She took a sip of water. “‘It’s complicated’ says either I’m too stupid to figure it out, or I’m not in the inner circle for privy information.”
Not a great way to start their time together. “Sorry. I can’t talk about the particulars.”
“Oh, I know the FBI has specific protocols.” She tilted her head. “My concern is for you and the pressure of work and friends suffering with tragedies. And don’t get me going on the danger.” She swiped beneath her eyes. “Now I’m sorry. I keep thinking about the man killed at the oil rig . . . the pic of you covered in blood. The FBI should offer coping skills for those who care for a special agent.”
Mom’s words melted her pride. “Thanks. I’ll be all right. This hasn’t been an easy ride, and I imagine it’ll get bumpier.”
“I’ll change clothes and be at the funeral this morning.”
“Sally will need all the support she can get.” Tori rubbed her left wrist.
“Dear, have you hurt yourself?”
“No. Just habit.”
“Are you sure? Can I see?”
“Really. I’m good.”
“Your forehead is wrinkled. What are you not telling me?”
Tori inhaled deeply and ushered in patience. “Along with the case, Max is in stage 3A. His lung.”
Mom startled. “Is he undergoing treatment?”
“He refuses. You know how stubborn he can be.”
“I’m aware of stubbornness.” Mom sighed. “But it’s not incurable. You and I understand the hole of pain and despair.”
Opening up to Mom meant taking a huge risk with her own emotions. Still, why hold back when their relationship could be stronger?
“Feels like I’m always there.” The plague of the big C—needing courage when it came to cancer.
Mom glanced away only to return with watery eyes. “Victoria, I’ve seen you beat yourself up since I was diagnosed and then Kevin. He was more than your big brother, the gentle giant you adored—”
“Mom.”
She held up her hand. “Let me finish, please. I see the fear in your eyes every time you get a cold, a headache, or a mark on your skin. You can’t live when you’re afraid of dying.”
Tori drew in the sharp reminder of her weakness. “Are you saying I’m preoccupied with my health?”
“Are you?”
“You make me sound . . . sick, and I resent it.”
Mom reached for Tori’s hand. “You’re my strong, determined, beautiful daughter. You battle violent crimes and help keep people safe. You’re bold and daring except in one area, and that’s cancer.”
Tori opened her mouth to speak, but the lump stopped her. “I’ve got to go. I’ll . . . call.”
She snatched her purse and hurried toward the door. If Mom saw the constant dread, then who else did? But the accusation was true. Tori would rather face a dozen armed men than a diagnosis of one more loved one with cancer . . . or herself. She rushed past the line of those ordering coffee and out to the parking lot. Touching her car door, she heard the familiar chirp and would soon be at work, a haven from facing the truth about herself.
“Tori.”
She whirled around to her mother offering the coffee she’d left behind. “I love you. Behind your worry is the ability to overcome it. Reach to your core. You can do this.”
Shame hit her for treating her mother without respect. “Thanks, Mom. I’ve been thinking. When this case is over, why don’t you and I take a long weekend together? Stay at a nice resort, get massages and manicures and pedis.”
“I’d love it.”
Tori kissed her cheek and slid into her car. “I’m working on the problem.”
“You’re a survivor, Victoria. We both are.”
Tori entered the office area at 7:35. Max and Cole stood in the hallway. Both men had their impassive faces going, which meant they hadn’t discussed anything more than the weather.
“Glad you two are early.” She took a sip of coffee and allowed the caffeine to energize her body. “I’m leaving at eight thirty to attend Nathan’s funeral, but what can I do until then?”
“The funeral’s at ten.” Max eyed her with his typical annoyance. “Why so early?”
She assumed he’d balk at her announcement. “I intend to support my best friend. Truth is, I might be gone until the afternoon.”
Cole picked up the conversation. “I’ll be at the church at nine fifteen, unless I receive a call that I’m needed sooner.”
“You’re a pallbearer?” Max said.
“Yes.”
Max slammed a file against his palm. “You two are wasting valuable time.”
“Paperwork should fill your hours.” Tori fought the words she wanted to fling at him and his lousy attitude. “Who knows? Our bad guy might be at the funeral. Moore Oil & Gas shut down for the day. While the person is gloating, Cole and I can make an arrest. We’ll be able to help Sally bury her husband and stop the killer at the same time.”
TORI ARRIVED at the Moore home at the same time the caterers were unloading food and supplies for the luncheon following the funeral—courtesy of Moore Oil & Gas. Sally must have seen her park because she met Tori on the driveway. Impeccably dressed in designer black and simple gold accessories, only her eyes, red and swollen, betrayed her. She fell into Tori’s arms, silently weeping.
“I thought I could handle this morning without breaking down, but I can’t. Nathan hurt me and still I love him. Miss him every minute of the day.”
Tori held her tightly, despising the turmoil in Sally’s life. “You’ve loved him since the day you met him. I wish I could make this all go away.”
“Tell me you believe in my innocence.” She sobbed. “I have to know you believe in my innocence.”
What could Tori say? That she desperately wanted
Sally exonerated? But too many investigators viewed Sally as more than a person of interest.
Sally stiffened and pulled back. “Now I’m sorry. You have a job, and finding Nathan’s killer has priority.” She blinked.
“You are more than my friend. My sister,” Tori said. “I want you happy and at peace.”
Sally nodded. “Some moments catch me off guard and I’m frightened for my sons and how this whole thing will scar them.”
“Have you thought more about witness protection?”
“Only if there is trouble. Honestly, we’re not a threat to anyone. No reason to run.”
Tori refused to argue. “What do your parents suggest?”
“Dad is taking Kit home after the funeral. He says it’s not safe for her to stay.”
They were cowards. “Is he returning?”
Sally paused. “No. The evidence about Nathan’s character and the crimes at the oil rig have caused his blood pressure to rise, and Kit is supposedly frail.”
“What about taking the boys with them?”
“Lance and Jack make them nervous.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. The boys and I will persevere until you and Cole end the nightmare.”
Tori wrapped her arm around Sally’s waist. “It can’t happen soon enough. I wish I could give you details, but I can’t. It’s a puzzle, and while it looks devastating to you right now, some of the pieces are sliding into unusual places.”
This would be a long day.
Cole glanced at the time before taking off for Nathan’s funeral. “Max, just got a report on Dale Bentley. He was in jail in Phoenix during the crimes.”
“Just cross his name off the list and move on.”
But he was tired of running down empty trails. “What have we missed on this case? Who made sure Preston Ustach never talked?”
“Do you remember anything unusual about the men he talked to, anything said when you went to see Mrs. Ustach?”
Cole replayed the trip to the drill site earlier in the week when Ustach lost his life to a sniper. Ustach had stayed to himself except for Jose Aznar. Later Cole went with three roughnecks to tell Mrs. Ustach that her son had been killed. Aznar had shed tears and comforted the grieving mother, vowed revenge. The other two men who accompanied Cole and Aznar were emotional and caring. Hard to believe any of those three could be behind a murder.
