by DiAnn Mills
“Did you locate the sender?”
“Bogus. I just forwarded it to you.”
Laurel clicked on the e-mail attachment, read the message, and studied the text. A sickening fear twisted her stomach.
“What’s wrong?” Su-Min said. “You’re ghastly white.”
If only she could mask her turmoil. “I recognize part of this code.” Laurel faced her partner and friend. “Morton Wilmington used a similar encryption to text his men.”
“The exact?”
“No, but similar enough for me to see a connection and decipher most of what’s written.”
“No wonder you’re a mess. What does it say?”
Laurel moistened her lips. “‘Same instructions. Contact me after. New leads.’ That’s all I can make out without spending time on it. But whoever wrote it didn’t give specifics.”
“Do you think Wilmington’s operating from prison?”
“Why not? He doesn’t fit the mold for rehabilitation.” Memories rapid-fired through her mind, burning thoughts that stoked the flames of regret.
Su-Min crossed her arms over her small Korean frame as though holding back a tiger.
“What are you not telling me?” Laurel said.
“Two things.” Her voice softened. “We need boots on the ground to question him.”
“I agree. Needs to happen immediately.”
“There’s more,” Su-Min said. “Word is Wilmington’s found religion. Christianity. Lawyers are working on an appeal.”
“No matter how long it takes. You’ll pay in blood.”
Laurel gazed into Su-Min’s coffee-colored eyes. Admitting her deep, bloodcurdling fear of this man would make her look weak. “An appeal will take years, so I’m not the least bit concerned. Let’s sort this out. I see a link between a fraud targeting the elderly and Wilmington’s method of encoding messages.”
“He’s in the thick of Bible studies and donating money—”
Laurel waved away her concern. “He’s always given to charities. Helps ease his miserable conscience.”
“While advocating faith?”
“Su-Min, my findings cement the unlikelihood of him ever reaching parole. I’ll get the truth out of him. After all, I put him there, and he’s not getting out. He can spout Bible verses all day long, but crimes are to be paid for. No one has more of a stake in him staying put than I do.”
“He’s already gaining notoriety for his religious stand.”
“Remember, Robin Hood loves the limelight. Our focus is the elderly fraud.”
Su-Min shrugged. “Another agent can question him.”
Laurel drew in courage. The only way she’d end the nightmares would be to face him. “I have to do this. And I’ll nail him for the scam. Arrange the interview.”
“Hope you’re right. You know he hasn’t forgotten the past. I’m surprised one of his men hasn’t taken care of you.” She tapped her foot. “Are you careful when riding Phantom?”
“Always.” She refused to fall prey to her friend’s caution. “Wilmington’s too busy running his business to care about me. I’m not worth it.”
“Or maybe one of the reasons he has a new platform is to walk out of prison free and kill you himself.”
11:00 A.M. WEDNESDAY
Houston Police Officer Daniel Hilton wove through the traffic of FM 1960 near Willowbrook Mall to a home invasion in progress, siren blaring and lights flashing, his version of parting the Red Sea. According to the call slip, a woman heard glass breaking at her back door and saw two men wearing ski masks and holding weapons. She hurried upstairs to grab her napping toddler and called 911. The operator kept the woman on the line. Other officers were on their way, but Daniel was the closest to the address.
Two minutes later, the dispatcher updated the call slip and repeated the victim’s conversation while Daniel drove to the crime scene. The woman worked in the Galleria area but took the day off because her little girl was sick. If she hadn’t been home, the alarm system would have alerted the police.
A red light stopped the car in front of him. Daniel slammed on the brakes while vehicles blocked him in on all sides. He alternated between the air horn and the siren. The driver ahead finally realized an HPD patrol car needed through and crept into the intersection far enough to let him pass. Where had this guy taken his driver’s license test?
The home invasion address was in an upscale neighborhood, the intruders either high or stupid not to stake out a house before attempting entry. Did the woman have a weapon? And had she been trained to use it? She must be frantic . . . and with a child, too. He prayed they were safe and able to hide until help arrived.
Daniel braked next to the curb three houses back from the address as two hooded men hurriedly dumped armloads of goods into a late-model Ford parked in the driveway. They jumped inside, and the driver sped backward before the passenger door closed. Daniel sped his car to block them, but the driver jumped the curb and whipped around the front of the patrol car in the opposite direction.
“Don’t think so,” Daniel said and raced after them.
Fixed on the car’s bumper, he tailed them toward State Highway 249 and radioed for backup. Another patrol car passed him from the opposite direction en route to the crime scene. Up ahead the burglars were slowed by a semitruck turning onto the feeder leading to the beltway. He anticipated them swinging their vehicle into a gas station, and he was right. The two men exited and ran, still in ski masks. Great. No identity there. Daniel parked behind their car and chased the closest man, who disappeared around the corner of a storage facility. The second man pulled off his mask and headed into a residential area.
The pursuit through the storage facility reminded him of a TV script—down a narrow drive, then around a corner to hurdle a sleeping dog. The ski mask lay on the ground. He’d snatch it later. Probably some hair fibers on it. A fifteen-foot chain-link fence loomed in the distance, but unless the man held an Olympic track record, he wouldn’t make it over before Daniel yanked him to the ground.
“Stop. HPD. You’re under arrest.”
The man continued toward the fence while reaching for his weapon, tucked into the back waist of his jeans. Daniel grabbed the perp’s arm as he turned to fire, tossed him to the ground, and cuffed him.
“Hey, cop, don’t you work in twos?” The man cursed. “If we’d known HPD sent just one, we’d have smoked you.”
“No need for two officers when one works just fine.”
“That woman invited us in. Wanted to give away some stuff,” the man said.
“Tell that to the judge.”
“I can explain. I have rights.”
“Sure, buddy. Everyone has rights. Bet your story is real solid.”
With the cuffed man in the back of the squad car, Daniel checked their vehicle. The rear seat and floorboard were filled with computer equipment, a large jewelry box, and a flat-screen TV. Big haul for such a short time. Recovering stolen goods was great news for the homeowner, making Daniel’s job worth it. He radioed his location and where he saw the other intruder take off. The woman and child were fine, he was told, just shaken up.
“Meet you at the home,” Daniel said. “Bring a K-9.”
CHAPTER 2
4:45 P.M. WEDNESDAY
Daniel opened the door to Silver Hospitality, the prestigious memory care facility that hosted his grandparents during the day, Monday through Saturday. Polished marble floors, white pillars that seemed to hold up the ceiling, and a three-foot-wide crystal chandelier gave the facility a five-star rating. This afternoon he didn’t focus on the elite environment of Silver Hospitality or their state-of-the-art security system because he had a few hours of employee interviews to conduct here.
His grandparents had lost money to a fraudulent salesman who convinced Gramps to purchase a life insurance policy. An unexplained withdrawal of fifty thousand dollars from one of his grandparents’ savings holdings to an overseas account alerted Gran, but nothing had been resolved. No rece
ipt or paperwork. And his grandparents insisted the fraud occurred at the facility. Daniel had no idea how many clients had been affected.
Marsha Leonard, the director, greeted him in the foyer. The cavernous pits beneath her eyes told of sleepless nights. No one wanted to believe such an atrocity had happened. Since the clients suffered from dementia, asking them questions when they didn’t know if a crime had even been committed made the going tough. The one reliable source was his grandmother—a mentally healthy woman. She’d witnessed a man persuading a client to purchase a life insurance policy, not knowing Gramps had given the salesman access to their own financials.
“Daniel, I really appreciate your expertise in conducting these interviews.” Perspiration beaded around Miss Leonard’s mouth. “Notifying the caregivers and guardians of these precious people makes me ill.”
Did she have reason to be nervous other than her job being at stake? “I want the situation rectified as badly as you do,” he said. “We need to make an official announcement once the interviews are conducted. We have nearly twenty-five people to question. What we don’t finish today, we’ll continue tomorrow afternoon.”
She drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’d do without your guidance. If this is true, our reputation is ruined.” She hesitated. “That’s callous. A crime might have been committed, and I’m worried about my job.”
“A crime has been committed. The question is the source.”
The lines between her brows deepened. “Let’s get started.”
“I’d like to speak to my grandparents first. Won’t be long.”
Daniel signed in and made his way to the recreation room, where Gran and Gramps spent most of their daytime hours. Gran had her nose in a Kindle, while Gramps played dominoes with a couple of other men. Daniel kissed the top of Gran’s head.
Her gaze flew to his. “Hi, Daniel. You surprised me.”
He chuckled. “What adventure are you in today?”
“Third novel in George R. R. Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire saga, A Storm of Swords.”
“Hope it’s a good one.” He glanced at Gramps. “How is he?”
She tilted her head. “Slipping.”
“I’ll say hello before talking to the staff.”
“I don’t want to think any of them are guilty, but there’s no way that man got inside here without help.”
“Right.” He greeted Gramps, who paid no attention, and hurried to Marsha Leonard’s office, where he’d be busy for a while.
For the next two hours, he talked to people who worked at the facility. Though he wasn’t here in an official police capacity, he requested written permission to record the interview as a representative of Silver Hospitality and to verify the validity of their statements. The questions were the same. Were they satisfied with their position? How long had they been employed at Silver Hospitality? Had they allowed anyone to enter the premises without appropriate security measures? Had they ever been convicted of a misdemeanor or felony? All had undergone background checks prior to employment, but he repeated the questions in case their status had changed.
At seven o’clock, Liz Austin slid into a chair across from him. She’d applied a fresh coat of bright-red lipstick, and she’d pulled out her ponytail, allowing her blonde hair to fall in waves. Yep, a beauty right down to her light-blue eyes. No, he wasn’t interested, no matter how many times she threw herself at him. Women who flaunted the obvious spelled trouble.
“Miss Austin, I see you’ve been with the facility for nearly ten months.”
“Please, call me Liz. We’re friends.” She crossed her legs and leaned forward. Cleavage was her specialty. “Ten months is correct.”
“Are you satisfied with your position?”
She laughed. “I’m in the kitchen with Chef Steven. I do grunt work. Seeing you is the highlight of my day.”
He printed her response minus the personal comment. “Have you been arrested for anything since you began working here?”
“Not unless my thoughts about you can get me into trouble.”
This time he gave her his best professional gaze. “The sooner we complete these questions, the sooner we can go home.”
“Alone?”
“Absolutely.”
“How sad. What are you doing later?”
“Have you ever allowed anyone inside Silver Hospitality without authorization?”
“No. Why? So they could slice limes and lemons for me?”
He smiled. “We’re finished here. Thanks for your time.”
“Later?”
“No, thank you.” He stood and opened the door.
Once she left, he noted the list of staff was finished for the night. Good thing. Liz Austin tested his patience. Not exceptionally bright if she believed her body would get her through life.
None of the interviews indicated a problem. Body language and eye contact were good. He didn’t really want any of them to be guilty, but it would make his life easier.
Daniel found his grandparents still in the recreation room and eased into a chair at a game table, where Gramps was winning at dominoes. His favorite pastime.
“Cleaned up on these old men.” Gramps grinned. “Christmas has come early.”
“But you cheat.” Gran stood with her leather bag in hand.
“No, I don’t.”
She kissed his cheek. “You play with the same men. You know their habits and read their body language.”
“That’s playing smart.”
“Call it what you want.” She turned to Daniel. “We’re ready.”
“Sorry tonight’s so late.”
“It’s all right.” Gramps moved toward the foyer and out to the parking lot. “Had some great food tonight. Guess what we had?”
“Roast beef and mashed potatoes?”
“Even better. Pork tenderloin, and if I didn’t know better, I’d bet Chef Steven marinated it in Jim Beam.”
“Earl, the facility wouldn’t permit alcohol even if it was cooked off,” Gran said. “Interferes with some medicines.”
“Maybe the cook used cider.” Daniel ached with exhaustion.
Gramps blew out an exasperated breath. “I’m old, but my taste buds can tell the difference between Jim Beam and deluxe apple juice.” He laughed. “It was cider.”
Daniel patted him on the back. He relished these moments along with all the years spent with them. “Are you happy here?”
The older man stopped. “I see my friends every day. Abby is with me. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“A change of pace might be nice.”
“Are you kidding? Miss the chess tournament? Brownie and ice cream day? Watch those cute young girls make a fuss over us? No way am I missing a day here.”
CHAPTER 3
9:00 P.M. WEDNESDAY
Daniel set a bowl of popcorn on the kitchen table. Gran crossed the tile floor of the massive kitchen that looked like a feature from Architectural Design. With slow steps, she carried sweet decaf tea for her and Gramps. The telltale signs of fatigue swept over her, and rightfully so. Her low blood pressure had dipped below the normal level, but Gramps was hungry, and he always came first. Daniel remembered her playing G.I. Joe with him and climbing trees in their huge backyard. Days gone by, when his grandparents chose to put him above all things in their lives, except God.
She touched Gramps on the shoulder and pointed to the table. What good did seven thousand square feet of luxury do when Gran’s health was deteriorating and his grandfather no longer had the sharp mind of yesterday? His snowcapped beard was his trademark, and his twinkling blue eyes still danced. But he often lived in the light of the past.
Once seated, Gran stroked Gramps’s arm, but he ignored her, an indication his mind rested in the before.
“Daniel, she was a beauty. Don’t you remember?” He bit into a handful of buttery popcorn.
“Gran?”
“No.” Gramps leaned across the table. “The redhead in chemistry. She had lashes long eno
ugh to hide behind.”
“That was Gran.”
He slapped the table. “I knew my charm would win her. Where is she?”
Daniel studied the dear man, and a tear trickled down Gran’s cheek. “She’s sitting next to you, and she’s still a redheaded beauty.” Granted, the color had faded but was still vibrant, and she had a warrior’s heart.
Gramps blinked, his mind obviously working to understand. He frowned. “You’re wrong. . . . I . . . I . . .” He pressed his lips and took Gran’s hand. “I love you, Abby.”
“I love you too,” she said. “We’ll make it through this.”
“You and I will share many good years together.”
“Until death do us part,” she whispered.
“Abby, promise me I won’t be a problem to you.”
“Love is giving, and with you it will always be easy.” She dabbed beneath her eyes. “Have some more popcorn before we become the next Hallmark movie.”
Daniel knew his grandfather wouldn’t want to burden his wife with his care full-time. But Daniel had already promised himself that a permanent living arrangement outside their home for either of them would never happen. He’d move from his own home first. Silver Hospitality would be all either of them saw of institutionalized living.
“I told Tom and Emma not to dump their money there after we lost so much. Chased good money after bad.”
Was this Gramps talking or the young man in his mind? Tom and Emma were friends from Silver Hospitality.
“I’m doing all I can to rectify this,” Daniel said.
“Hey, I don’t like that smart tone.”
Gran patted his arm. “It’s okay, Earl. I’m right here. He just wants to help.”
Gramps blew out his exasperation. “I’m sorry, son. The big A’s messing up my mind again. Anyway, my friends are losing money, and I don’t know how to stop it.”
