Conceal, Protect

by Carol Ericson

  When she came on to him, he’d know it.

  Not that she had any intention of doing so. She slurped her chocolate through the cream and burned her tongue. “It’s delicious.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Tell me about Bruce Pierpont.”

  “He’s loaded, in case you couldn’t figure that out. Comes from a wealthy family, silver spoon firmly clenched between his teeth.”

  “I know someone like that, but you’d never guess he comes from money—not like Pierpont, who oozes that upper-crust vibe.” He swirled his coffee. “How’d you meet him?”

  “He came to one of Alex’s exhibits. It’s true what he said. His family supports the arts and part of that is backing new, young artists.”

  “Did he switch his allegiance from Alex to you?”

  “Not right away. That came gradually.”

  “Along with his gradual attraction to you?”

  She set down her mug too quickly, and the brown liquid sloshed over the sides. “Yes.”

  “And Alex figured it all out.”

  “He accused...” She pressed her lips together. She wouldn’t say anything bad about Alex. He wasn’t here to give his side of the story. “We both figured it out and stepped away from Bruce for a while.”

  “Did Bruce step back in when Alex died?”

  “Yeah, all solicitous and helpful.”

  “And stalkerish.”

  “Not really.”

  J.D. choked on his coffee and grabbed a napkin to wipe his eyes. “Excuse me? When you saw him on the street, you said you’d found your stalker.”

  “I said he might be my stalker.” She planted her elbows on the table and cupped her chin with one hand. “Don’t you think it’s suspicious that he showed up here the day after someone breaks into my house and hides a camera in my bedroom?”

  “Your brother showed up about the same time. What makes you suspect Bruce more?”

  With her elbows still on the table, she covered her face with her splayed hands. “I haven’t told you everything.”

  Silence greeted her from across the table, and she peeked at J.D. through her fingers.

  He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “You’re not obligated to tell me anything—unless you want to.”

  Folding her hands on the table, she took a deep breath. “Someone broke into my place in D.C., too. That’s part of the reason why I wanted to escape the city.”

  “Same thing in D.C.? Someone slipped in and stole some meds?” He crushed the napkin in his hand.

  “Completely different. Someone ransacked my place, and I didn’t find anything missing.”

  “What about a hidden camera there? Could someone have bugged your place?”

  A sick dread twisted her insides. She hadn’t wanted to think about that before, but it made sense. “Maybe that’s how they knew I was headed to Buck Ridge.”

  “Is Bruce Pierpont off the hook now? He wouldn’t have had to bug your apartment to know you had a house here.”

  “I don’t know.” She buried her fingers in her hair. “Maybe there was no hidden camera at my place in D.C. Now that I know your cell-phone trick, I should go back there and search for it.”

  “If it is Bruce keeping tabs on you, at least you know why. If it’s not Bruce, what possible reason would someone have to search your place and then tag along after you to Buck Ridge?”

  “Search?”

  “What?”

  “You said search. Do you think someone’s searching for something?”

  J.D. flattened the napkin on the table and ran his thumb along the creases. “If the same person—or people—broke into both places, it stands to reason. They trashed your apartment in D.C. without taking anything. This time they were more careful—probably didn’t want you to know you’d been followed.”

  “Sounds like you’ve really given this some thought. Go on.”

  “It’s just common sense. Out here, they didn’t want to be obvious, but just in case you did notice someone had been in your house they stole some prescription meds out of the bathroom so the break-in could be brushed off as a petty theft.”

  “Wow, you’re good.” Too good. Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms across her stomach. “Almost like you have the mind of a criminal yourself.”

  “You’re not going to point a shotgun at me again, are you?”

  She formed her fingers into a pistol and shot it at him. “You have the how figured out. Now give me the who and the why and I’ll declare you a genius.”

  He dragged a finger through her rapidly melting whipped cream and aimed it at her. “You tell me the why. Do you have something that someone wants?”

  “I was going to finish that.” She eyed his index finger dripping cream onto the table.

  “You’re avoiding the question.”

  “I’m not avoiding it. I don’t have anything that anyone would want. All my money’s locked up in a bank. All my artwork is in storage—and I wish someone wanted my paintings that badly.”

  “Did anyone give you anything for safekeeping?”

  “No.”

  J.D. slouched back in his chair, the tension melting from his frame as fast as that whipped cream had melted into her chocolate.

  “You’re completely in the dark.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a question, but I’m going to answer it anyway. Yes. I’m completely in the dark. I had one traumatic event in my life. One reason why someone might be after me. And as you pointed out before, there would be no reason for Alex’s killers to harass me now.”

  “That one event was enough, but it doesn’t have to be a trauma. It could be something out of the ordinary, something you didn’t give much thought to at the time.” He steepled his fingers and peered at her over the tips. “Nothing like that?”

  The fact that her roommate had disappeared without giving any notice ranked up there as something out of the ordinary, but maybe just to her. The cops hadn’t seemed to attach much significance to it at the time. Other people got up and moved, took risks, had adventures. Look at J.D. Discharged from the service and traveling the country.

  She’d been so risk-averse since Alex’s murder, she couldn’t even switch shampoos. She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  J.D.’s eyes flickered, and then he downed the rest of his coffee. “I have some supplies to pick up, and you have your own errands. I suggest we get going.”

  “Okay.” She shot J.D. a sidelong glance as she gathered her jacket and bag. He seemed almost disappointed she didn’t have any more traumas to share with him. Probably thought she was dull as dishwater.

  * * *

  “I’M TELLING YOU. She doesn’t know anything.” J.D. slammed the door of his truck and rested one arm on the steering wheel.

  “Did she tell you about Abby?” Coburn’s tone carried a challenge.

  J.D. kept the sigh out of his voice. “No.”

  “Don’t you think that’s strange? She told you about the murder of her husband and yet she withholds the fact that her roommate took off without a trace. Why would she do that?”

  “Maybe the D.C. cops did a good job of convincing her she had nothing to worry about. Noelle talked about traumatic events in her life. Obviously, the disappearance of a roommate doesn’t rank up there with the murder of a spouse.”

  “How do we know she’s not hiding something? How do we know Abby didn’t confide in her? Give her the plans? Make her an accomplice?”

  J.D. set his jaw. Coburn didn’t get it. To him, Noelle was just another piece in a puzzle. Another suspicious person on the way to snagging Zendaris.

  But to him— What was she to him?

  “J.D.?” Coburn’s voice sliced through his thoughts.

  He had to protect Noelle. She didn’t deserve any of this. He cleared his throat. “The subject would be safer if she knew and understood the threat facing her.”

  “The subject might be safer, but what about you? If she’s involved and you tell her your interest in Zendaris
, you’ve just overplayed your hand, putting yourself and this entire mission in jeopardy.”

  “She’s not involved, Jack. I don’t know why she hasn’t told me about Abby, but it’s not because she was Abby’s accomplice.” He thumped his chest. “I feel it.”

  “Feelings will get you in trouble.”

  “Better not let Lola hear you say that.”

  Coburn grunted. “I keep my feelings for my wife separate from the job.”

  “Wasn’t always that way.” Jack Coburn had met his wife when he’d been on the most important mission of his life—recovering his memory. And once the mission ended and he’d claimed Lola for his own, he’d never looked back and never had any regrets.

  “I don’t recommend it. The feelings I developed for Lola on that mission almost got me killed once or twice.” Coburn sucked in a breath. “You’re not developing feelings for the subject, are you?”

  Of course I am. He’d lost it the minute she’d turned those violet eyes on him.

  “I’m not here just to track down any leads on Zendaris. I’m here to protect the subject, and I think she’d be safer knowing the truth.”

  “Unless that truth compromises your cover and our goal.”

  “I can’t believe you’d sacrifice someone to reach Zendaris. That’s not Prospero training.”

  “We don’t have to throw Ms. Dupree to the wolves. You can protect her even if she doesn’t know the truth—that’s Prospero training.”

  “I’m doing my best, but I’m just the ranch hand. She’s going to start getting suspicious once my mad spy skills become apparent.”

  “You’ll figure it out, J.D. You always do.”

  “So the order to stay undercover still stands?”

  “Until you can determine she’s not part of Abby Warren’s plot.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do, boss.”

  Coburn ended the call, and J.D. checked the clock on the dash. He figured Noelle would be done with her errands before he was. He’d practically cleaned out the hardware store and checked out of his hotel.

  He turned on the radio and tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs. He scanned the street for a white parka with a fur-trimmed hood. They were surprisingly popular, but none of the faces beneath the hoods were Noelle’s—that combination of wariness and vulnerability.

  Maybe he saw the vulnerability because he knew her past.

  He grabbed the cell phone in the console and punched the button for his contacts, realizing the moment he saw the empty list that he’d grabbed his secure Prospero phone.

  He’d left the other phone in his coat pocket. He reached between the two front seats for his duster in the back. Pulling it into the front passenger seat, he fumbled for the pocket.

  The phone fell on the floor of the truck, and he swore. Scooping it up, he glanced at the display. Noelle had texted him.

  Took the shuttle to the mountain to meet Ted. You can leave or wait in town.

  Dread thudded against his temples. He’d let her out of his sight, and she’d taken off to meet her brother. Hadn’t he just proclaimed to Jack that his priority was protecting the subject?

  He’d failed.

  With thumbs suddenly too big for his phone’s keyboard, he texted her back, asking why she’d gone to meet Ted.

  He stared at the little display until his eyes burned and his mouth felt like sandpaper. When her response flashed on the screen, relief flooded his body, loosening the muscles he hadn’t realized he’d been tensing.

  He hurt himself snowboarding.

  J.D. growled in the back of his throat. Why didn’t Ted man up and stop running to his half sister every time he stubbed his toe?

  Tired of the back-and-forth of little abbreviated words, J.D. punched the button to call Noelle’s number.

  She answered on the first ring and started talking. “You can go back to the house if you want. In case you didn’t notice, I put a few purchases under the blue tarp in the back of your truck while you were still at the hardware store.”

  “I didn’t notice, but you don’t plan to get a ride to the house on the back of Ted’s bike, do you? Is he in any condition to give you a ride?”

  “I have no idea. I haven’t found him yet.”

  J.D.’s heart slammed against his rib cage. “What do you mean? You haven’t seen Ted yet?”

  “I thought he’d be at the first-aid station here, but he’s not and the ski patrol hasn’t picked him up.”

  “Did he tell you he’d be at the first-aid station?”

  “Actually, no. I just assumed. He texted me that he’d injured himself snowboarding and asked me to meet him on the mountain. When I tried texting him back, I didn’t get a response. I tried calling and it went straight to an automated voice mail, like the phone was turned off. He may not be getting reception on the mountain, especially if he’s on a run.”

  “Where are you now, Noelle?” His dry mouth seemed to be impeding his speech, and he didn’t even know if his words had made sense.

  “I’m still at the first-aid station. I figured if ski patrol picked him up, they’d bring him here.”

  “Stay there. Don’t move. I’m on my way.”

  “J.D.? Are you okay?”

  “I don’t want to make you jumpy, but someone broke into your place—twice. He set up a camera the second time, and for all you know, the first time, too. I just don’t like the idea of you roaming around the ski resort by yourself.”

  Her sharp intake of breath told him she hadn’t even thought about her own safety as she’d run headlong to Ted’s rescue.

  “I-it’s broad daylight. There are thousands of people crisscrossing this resort.”

  And Zendaris’s men could still get to you if they wanted to.

  “Just stay at the first-aid station. You’re right. Ted will be headed there one way or another.”

  “Okay, I’m sitting down inside as we speak. You should be able to make it up here in fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m on my way—as we speak—so I’d better not drive and talk at the same time. Sit tight.” He ended the call and tossed the phone into the cup holder.

  The flurries had turned into some serious snowfall, so he cranked up the windshield wipers and the defroster. The snow on the road kept him from racing to the resort, but his hands clutched the steering wheel and his leg hovered over the gas pedal, aching to slam down the accelerator and go one hundred miles an hour to reach Noelle’s side.

  The slow-moving storm drew the skiers and boarders to the mountain like devotees on a pilgrimage—and that’s what they were—snow devotees. He maneuvered his truck around the boarders clomping along in their boots and the skiers, their skis balanced on their shoulders, poles under their arms.

  He waited for a car pulling out of a spot and glared at the other driver eyeing the same spot. The glare won, and J.D. pulled into the empty slot.

  Breathless, feeling as if he’d just come down from the mountain himself, he strode toward the resort. He knew the first-aid station sat at the end of the row of windows selling passes and ski lessons, and he cut through the lines to reach the front door.

  Pushing through the door, he spotted Noelle parked in a chair, her white jacket slung over her knees in the warm room. His jaw ached from tension, but he managed a smile and he also managed to not charge across the room, tuck her under one arm and haul her out of there.

  “No sign of Ted?”

  “It’s weird. The patrol hasn’t received any calls about an injured adult boarder matching Ted’s description—only a few cocky teens and a newlywed trying to impress his wife.”

  “How long ago did Ted text you?” He held out his hand. “Can I see your phone?”

  She fished in her bag and dropped her cell in his outstretched hand. “I’ve been sitting here for about twenty-five minutes, and it took me twenty minutes to get up here on the shuttle.”

  J.D. checked the time on the text, which matched Noelle’s calculations. Then he noticed the sender
, and he held up the phone facing her. “How do you know this text is from Ted?”

  “Duh. The first thing in the text is this is Ted.”

  “The sender is unknown. Don’t you have his phone number in your contacts?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ted has trouble paying his bills sometimes. He usually goes with a prepaid phone.”

  “You said you reached voice mail. Was it his voice on the message?”

  She crinkled her brow. “It was one of those recordings, you know, the caller you have reached, blah, blah.”

  He sat in the chair next to hers and placed the phone in her hand. Hadn’t it occurred to her yet that the text could’ve come from anyone? Anyone who knew her half brother was in town. Anyone who knew she’d rush to his side. Anyone who knew Ted had an unidentifiable phone.

  Anyone who knew a lot about Noelle Dupree.

  “Have you tried calling him back since I talked to you?”

  She pressed a button on the phone and listened. Then she held it up to his ear. A robotic voice invited him to leave a message at the tone.

  “Do you know where Ted’s staying?”

  “He mentioned last night he’d met a few people at the lodge up here. I’m assuming that means at the Buck Ridge Lodge.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “It’s that way, where we’re having dinner with Bruce tonight.”

  “I know it. Let’s head over there.”

  Noelle waved to the attendant at the front desk. “Thanks for your help. I guess my brother wasn’t injured very seriously.”

  J.D. helped Noelle into her jacket, and she zipped it up while they stepped into the cold. She flipped up the hood. “I don’t understand why all these people like skiing in this mess. I’d rather wait until it clears up, leaving a nice powdery carpet.”

  “There will be even more people when this storm passes.”

  They trudged toward the Buck Ridge Lodge with its timbered, Alpine roof and huge picture windows looking out on the mountain. They swung through the red doors in the front and wandered into the lobby.