by DiAnn Mills
“Will a verbal suffice?”
“I suppose.” She grabbed the refrigerator door. “Got any bacon?”
Daniel assessed the woman before him, figure perfect and yet she loved Snickers and bacon. “Yep. May find a few buttermilk biscuits too.”
She offered a high five, and they both winced with their gunshot wounds. He liked spending time with her. Very much.
“How many people cook this time of night with firearms tucked in their waistbands?” she said.
“Few, Agent Evertson.” He faced her. “Kinda cool, though.”
She opened the fridge. “We need apple jelly.”
“Get the dairy-free butter, too,” Daniel said.
“Lactose intolerant?”
“Another one of my dark secrets.”
She stood with his butter substitute in one hand and apple jelly in the other. “So am I.”
“You mean we finally have something in common?”
“That and slugs.”
Daniel whipped up omelets while she fried bacon and warmed biscuits.
She set silverware, napkins, and large glasses of orange juice on the table. “This smells so good.”
“Then let’s eat.” He filled two plates with their feast. “Mind if I pray first?”
Her face went blank.
“It’ll be short.”
“Sure, why not?” Her terse tone indicated she wasn’t on board, but her disapproval didn’t stop him.
His prayer lasted all of twenty seconds, but they still ate in silence and cleaned up the kitchen with only a few words exchanged between them. Daniel left her to her thoughts and rummaged through the upper cabinets for anything Gramps might have hidden away.
Laurel paced the kitchen floor, reminding him of a caged cat.
“I’m not apologizing for praying before we ate.”
She opened a cabinet filled with cookbooks. “Give me some hints about where your grandparents might hide this thing, whatever it is.”
“Avoiding a subject doesn’t make it go away.”
“A business card or a phone number that seems obscure?”
“Laurel, being a Christian doesn’t mean you’ve entered enemy territory.”
She kept her back turned to him. “As if you’re going to influence me. Morton Wilmington already tried, and both of you struck out.”
“Is God the problem here?”
“Something like that.”
“How about an open mind?”
“No, Daniel. I’m not interested.”
“Why?”
“Because of who I am.”
“You’re not making sense. We’re both in law enforcement. My past and my beliefs are why I’m committed to the police department.”
“My past is why I have no choice but to avoid God. Conversation ended.”
He took her shoulders and turned her to face him, gazing into the depths of her smoldering eyes. “If you can’t trust me after what we’ve been through, who can you trust?”
She trembled. “I don’t think there’s anyone alive who fits the bill.”
He released her shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. “We have time to find something or nothing. Tell me what’s tearing you apart. I care too much to see you upset.”
“You faced your demons and mastered them.” She stepped back, releasing his hold on her. “I am a demon.”
CHAPTER 41
8:45 P.M. WEDNESDAY
Laurel fought her staggering emotions as Daniel’s face softened. “Don’t pity me.” She meant the words to be harsh. Instead they choked out, sounding like the frightened little girl inside her.
“This is not about pity. I see a beautiful woman who’s hurting. All I want is to help.”
Her stomach tightened. “I’m the kind your grandmother warned you about, the kind who hung out with your mother. Name it, and I’ve probably done it.”
“Who are you running from? Yourself? God? Or me? Actually, I’m not the real issue. I know from experience it’s God.”
She frowned, doubting he had any clue how she felt. “You think because you visited your mother in prison that everything’s right in your world.”
“She told me never to come back. My point is I know life is hard. When we keep the junk bottled up inside, we end up like those who hurt us.”
She crossed her arms, realizing her body language indicated what she wanted to hide. Coming here was a bad idea. Daniel seemed to look straight through her, but he didn’t see the ugliness. She avoided his gaze while wrestling for control. “My story is a nightmare. Wilmington learned most of it through his sources. Su-Min heard bits and pieces.”
“I don’t judge. I read media reports about what you had to do regarding Wilmington. I have a good ear. You could start at the beginning and finish at the end.”
If only she could make all the nightmares disappear. “You make it sound simple.”
“I know better. Every word and memory will be tough.” He nodded at the coffeemaker. “We have plenty of coffee and lots of time.”
She hated her inability to stay strong. Why not unload so he’d stop pursuing her? “All right.”
He gestured to a kitchen chair, and she lowered herself onto it. Her gentle giant seated himself across the table and took her hand. He smiled, and she clawed for courage. Could she tell him about the night her world collapsed and how it hadn’t made sense for far too many years?
“What if we’re interrupted?”
“We’ll pick up where we left off. If it’s easier, close your eyes.”
She obeyed and was immediately transported back to a peaceful time, when her world danced and sang to a little girl’s whim—the days when she and Mom baked cookies and visited the art museum, and Dad showed her how to ride a horse and play math games. “When I was ten years old, while I slept in my canopy bed in a room painted pink, with my dolls and stuffed animals in perfect order, burglars broke into our home. I heard two shots and rushed out of bed and down the stairs, surprising two masked thieves. They must have thought shooting a child was beneath them because they left through the back door.” How many times had she wished they’d killed her, too? She opened her eyes.
“My mother had collapsed on the floor near the sofa with a hole in her chest, and Dad made it as far as the kitchen. A shot in the head. Blood everywhere. The walls, furniture. I called 911, but my parents bled out before the ambulance arrived. Mom struggled for breath and whispered my name. I cried for God to save them, but He refused.” Memories sliced through her heart. How many times had Miss Kathryn begged her to talk about that night?
“The police never found the killers. My whereabouts were kept secret because law enforcement feared my life could be in danger. Social services placed me in a foster home—a little girl overcome with bitterness, hurt, and incredible loneliness. Rebellion became my middle name. My foster parents tried to reach me, and Miss Kathryn never gave up. No one could take my parents’ place, and I refused to let anyone into my hellish world. Miss Kathryn showed me unconditional love. She showed me in every way what it meant to love with no stipulations.” She drew in a breath that hurt.
“Don’t stop now.” He lightly squeezed her hand.
She’d come this far, but her heart seemed cold, like the little girl in her nightmares never existed. Laurel tried to smile, but it refused to grace her lips. “In the past, I worked as a cryptologist, where I decoded puzzles, even though I can’t make the jagged pieces of my own life fit. So that’s why I’m on a crusade to stop anyone who threatens others.” She stood from the chair, not willing to look at him, and walked into the mammoth living room. Her energy depleted, she sank into the cushions of the sofa. Daniel followed her into the dark room and eased down beside her.
“Miss Kathryn was a Christian. I had no clue what she meant. Neither was I interested. Her husband tolerated me because of her. He had no use for a little girl who swore like a sailor and later drank like one. I attended church with her, but I couldn’t trust a God who’d
allowed the horror in my life.” She paused, reining in the tears. “Miss Kathryn was my lifeline.”
“Love works that way,” Daniel said. “It’s a glimpse of how life is supposed to be.”
His tender words swirled through her. “As a teen, I grew tired of feeling invisible and wanted someone to notice me. My method was sexual promiscuity.” She caught his chocolate gaze. “Except I refused Miss Kathryn’s husband, and he hated me for it. I locked in a scholarship at Stanford and later earned my master’s. Went to work for the FBI, and here I am.” She rubbed her arms. “Daniel, there’s more. The agent who was killed the night of Wilmington’s arrest? I thought I could talk Wilmington down and hesitated. That’s when he was shot.” She swiped at a tear. “Jesse had a family, a dear wife and children. He was a Christian. A lot of good his faith did for him or his loved ones.”
“Laurel, his death was not your fault. The agent made the choice when he planted his feet at the scene.”
If only she could believe him, maybe the blackness covering her heart would vanish. “I transferred from undercover to cryptology after Wilmington was sent to prison. Tried to put it all behind me. Thatcher Graves had been my partner before Jesse, and he suggested we work together again, but I couldn’t. I stopped sleeping around and placed my heart in a cocoon. Then I learned Miss Kathryn had dementia and her husband had shoved her into a nursing home that barely met state requirements. I’m sure his reason for not allowing me to see her was because I refused to sleep with him. Being alone at my desk was worse. So I transferred to white collar.”
She was thankful for the shadows so she couldn’t see his condemnation. “You heard it all. Junk my counselor has been trying to pry out of me. You should consider hanging a shingle, ‘Police Officer and Psychologist.’” Now for the inevitable question. “Where’s your interest in me now?”
“The same place it’s always been. You haven’t said a thing to change my mind. You heard my story, and now I’ve heard yours.”
Shock trickled through her. “Didn’t you listen?”
“I heard a story about a beautiful woman who’s smart, compassionate, and loves my gran and gramps.” His fingers brushed against her cheek, and his gaze captured hers. His lips met hers gently like she’d imagined. She wanted to stop him, but one time shouldn’t be a problem.
When the kiss ended, he drew her closer to him. “When this case is over, will you give me a chance?”
“I can’t promise.” She sensed an urgency to fall into the warmth of his words, but he deserved so much more. The sharp edges of regret cut deep, but someday the shattered pieces would all come together. At least she could cling to a dream. But not tonight. “I can help look for what might have your grandparents in danger.”
CHAPTER 42
12:02 A.M. THURSDAY
At midnight, Daniel wanted to end the search. He’d checked Gramps’s hard files for past business dealings and gone through each one. Nothing indicated a potential threat. His wrist pounded like a war drum, and his efforts to find an unknown item among his grandparents’ belongings produced nothing. Each time he attempted to use his injured wrist, pain shot up his arm, adding frustration with it.
His current project was to sort through Gramps’s desk, the place where the brochure from Lifestyle Insurance had been found. But nothing obvious or hidden surfaced. He needed to stretch his legs and dump energy into his body.
“You’re pale,” Laurel said. “Why not take a nap, and I’ll keep looking?”
“When I find something substantial, I’ll call it a night.”
“More like a day. Okay, how about a break? We can analyze your grandparents’ habits.”
His agony won. “Short break.”
She pointed down the hall to the living room. “Stretch out on the sofa, and we can talk.”
“Keep the lights on, and don’t let me sleep.” Once he rested his head on a pillow, and she curled up in Gramps’s chair, he explored his brain for a hiding place. “I’m fresh out of ideas. Beginning to wonder if this is a wild-goose chase. A smart man would see the life insurance policy is what the scammer values. I imagine it’s a chunk of change.”
“What is your grandparents’ schedule?”
“Up early, take their meds, shower, and dress. Until recently, on to Silver Hospitality for six out of seven days.”
“Where do they keep their meds?”
“Some are at the facility. A supply is with them at the hotel, but extras are kept in their bathroom. Why?”
“Great place to hide something small.” She wagged a finger at him. “Stay right there. I’m going to take a look.”
“For what?”
“Not sure. Remember I found a flash drive in Wilmington’s hidden safe.”
“I’m right there with you.” Daniel forced his aching body off the sofa. Crazy, useless wrist.
In the master bathroom, which was larger than his bedroom and contained more marble than he’d ever own, Daniel opened the cabinet containing the prescription meds. “It looks like the back room of Walgreens,” he said.
“Or CVS.” She pulled the lid off each one. “Agents are working on your theory, the idea that Cayden and Wilmington are preying on the elderly with health issues by hacking into a pharmaceutical database, most likely Almet. But that might be too obvious.”
“My grandparents’ prescriptions come from the same pharmacy, one of the most reputable in the country.” Daniel picked up a bottle of antidepressants with Gran’s name on it. But she refused to use them.
She reached for her phone. “I’m sure agents have looked into that.” She typed a text message. “I’ll find out for sure.”
“To see if Preston has researched it?”
“Yep. I’d like to see a comparison of the victims and the pharmacies they used.” She laid her burner on the counter. “Take a deep breath, Officer Hilton. You could use a little color.”
“You’re as tired as I am. I’ll look through the top shelf while you wait for a reply.” He pointed. “It’s Gramps’s storehouse.”
She stepped back, a little colorless herself in Daniel’s opinion, but he wouldn’t go there. Two type A personalities could inflict a lot of damage. A multitude of reasons lined up for her less-than-stellar appearance, from her shoulder, to lack of rest, to her confession. He’d process it later. All he could see was a little blonde girl with sorrowful eyes who needed someone to love her. If his images were pity, then he was guilty. Not the kind of sympathy and compassion some men ran from, but the kind survivors were made from. Laurel had fought and won—she simply didn’t understand victory came with sacrifices, and the One who’d given her stamina had already saved her.
Her phone buzzed and she snatched it. “Yeah, individual pharmacies have been cleared.”
One by one, he opened Gramps’s prescriptions, not without a struggle, everything from liquid cough syrup to old meds once used for his Alzheimer’s. Nothing out of the ordinary. In the far back, he noticed a ballpoint pen. Grabbing a tissue, he draped his fingers around it and made a path through the bottles. He slid the pen to the front and read the advertisement on the barrel. “Are you ready for this?”
“Only if it’s good.”
“The pen is from Almet Pharmaceuticals in Miami. Where did he get this? A lead? Wonder if Gramps will remember where he got the pen. Send SSA Preston the info.”
She grinned. “On it, Officer Hilton. This can’t be what they’re looking for, though.”
“You’re right. My wrist has gotten in the way of my better judgment. Those guys want my grandparents dead to collect on the life insurance. Not a ballpoint pen. I’m sure Preston appreciates the late-night texts.”
She scrunched her forehead. “Daniel, I’m not sure what to think. But this needs to be investiga—”
The piercing crash of broken glass snatched his nerves on alert. A siren burst through the house. Daniel rounded the corner to his grandparents’ bedroom, where a red light flashed on the alarm system, an indicator that so
meone had attempted access through a bedroom window on the second story.
CHAPTER 43
12:55 A.M. THURSDAY
Daniel whipped out his Glock and cut the lights, then glanced at the alarm panel in the master bedroom. “We have a visitor in the rear, west side of the house. There’s a balcony right outside it. Easy for someone to scale. I’m heading upstairs.”
“Right behind you.”
He frowned. “You could get hurt.”
“Batgirl has your back.”
“Are you pulling the FBI card?”
“Naturally.”
“Rather have you than anyone else. The alarm system is tied to the police station, so we’ll have help soon. I’m not disarming it.”
She didn’t respond, but he didn’t expect her to. He crept through the house to the stairway, Laurel behind him, her presence strangely comforting. Not the time to label it caring. It was her training with the FBI or simply a body with a weapon. He climbed the winding staircase and reached the landing. The construction gave the intruder an opportunity to bring them down on the turn.
Daniel reached behind and stopped her. No sounds, only the knowledge someone lurked upstairs. Messner was dead. With the hospital shootout, Fields was out of commission tonight. Who’d yanked her into the black Escalade? Cayden? One of his men? How many roamed the upstairs, and were they looking to eliminate his grandparents? Were the orders to get rid of Laurel and him?
The third step from the top always creaked. He whispered the potential giveaway and motioned for her to follow. He aimed his gun. He’d been in better condition, not the best physique for a shootout. The upper level held thirty-five hundred square feet of bedrooms, baths, a library, and a sitting room—all rarely used. Each area contained corners and closets to hide.
A flashbang to flush out the intruder would help, but those were in his truck. In the hallway, he and Laurel slid into the first room on the right, a bath. A quick search revealed they were alone.
Risking revealing their whereabouts, he ventured forward. “Hey, you’re trapped up here. Come on out before this gets bloody.”
