Desperate Play (Off the Grid: FBI Series Book 3)

by Barbara Freethy

  "Bored, huh? So far hanging out with you has been anything but boring."

  "But this isn't my normal life. That is usually quite uneventful."

  "Well, hopefully we can get you back to that."

  "Hopefully," she echoed, although a tiny part of her wondered if that was really what she wanted.

  Not that she needed to live in a world where her friends were dying, but Noelle had just ranted to her the night before about being too complacent, unwilling to take risks, always playing it safe.

  Well, she wasn't doing any of that anymore. She was not playing it safe and she was taking a risk by trusting Wyatt, because as much as Hamilton seemed to like him, he'd only known Wyatt for a month. Maybe she needed to find out more about Hamilton's favorite new security guy.

  * * *

  Despite her interest in getting to know what Wyatt Tanner was all about, his studio apartment gave her few clues. It was very small, utilitarian, no real signs of any kind of personality. He had a couch and a chair in front of a large TV and a queen-sized bed in a sleeping alcove, but there were no pictures or photos anywhere in the apartment.

  "It doesn't feel like you've lived here long," she said, as he threw some clothes into what appeared to be an old Marine duffel bag.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "There's nothing here that feels personal. Where are your photos?"

  "On my phone."

  Somehow, she doubted that. "Really?"

  He shrugged. "I don't take a lot of photos. I keep memories here," he said, tapping the side of his head. "And I don't need my space to be personal. It's just a place to crash."

  "Exactly. It's not a place to live. And I can't help but feel that your salary at Nova Star would allow you to live a richer life."

  "I'm not into material things. I've spent a lot of my life moving around. It's easier to leave when you don't have to pack and unpack."

  She stared back at him, studying his expression. Wyatt certainly didn't give much away, his gaze unreadable, his thoughts masked, and his emotions hidden away. He was over six-feet tall, with a powerful stance, a commanding presence. He was definitely the kind of man anyone would follow—the kind of man a woman would look at twice, or three times…

  She drew in a quick breath at that distracting thought, trying not to notice his full, sexy lips, the strong jaw, the thick wavy brown hair that fell over his forehead.

  "What?" he asked, his brows furrowing at her continued stare. "Something in my teeth?"

  "No," she said. "Sorry for staring. I was just…thinking." She licked her lips. "So, you said it's easier to leave if you don't unpack. Does that mean you're not planning to stay here or at Nova Star?"

  "I have no plans to leave, but life can be temporary. This weekend is proof of that. I've seen a lot of people plan for a future that never came. It seems pointless."

  "That's cynical and depressing."

  "Or realistic and pragmatic," he returned, as he moved toward his closet.

  She couldn't help but notice that he didn't have much more in there than a few suit jackets, dress shirts and slacks. He grabbed several of those items and put them in a green duffel bag that looked like it had seen better days.

  "Is that from the service?" she asked.

  "It is."

  "Why did you leave the Marines?"

  "You're very curious," he said, zipping his bag.

  "I'm a scientist. I question things. And you didn't give me an answer."

  "I lost my hearing in a bomb blast. It came back about two weeks after they booted me out of the Corps."

  "I'm sorry you were injured. Do you miss being a soldier?"

  "I still fight, just on a different battlefield."

  There was a steel gleam in his eyes, cockiness in his tone, and a core of strength that she found very, very appealing. She had no real reason to trust him, but she did. She hoped she wouldn't regret that.

  "We should get going," he said. "I want to get us checked in somewhere before we go to the mortuary. We can talk later."

  She nodded, but she wasn't sure if they would talk later, at least not about personal matters, and maybe it was better that way. She needed to think of Wyatt like a bodyguard, keep a good solid emotional wall between them.

  After leaving his apartment, Wyatt drove them to a hotel in Marina Del Rey. It was big, impersonal, with lots of people around, and she suspected his choice was deliberate. After Wyatt checked them in, they took the elevator to the seventh floor. They had two connecting rooms and the first thing Wyatt did was open the door between the rooms and do a thorough check of both.

  "What are you looking for?" she asked as he opened up her closet and the dresser drawers.

  "Just looking."

  "No one knows we're here or that we'd be assigned these rooms."

  "No, but I'd like to know if anyone comes in when we're not here." He pulled a piece of paper off a notepad by the phone, slipping it between two drawers. If anyone opened the drawer, the paper would fall.

  "Very clever. I'm starting to feel like I'm in a spy movie," she said.

  "But this isn't a movie, Avery, and you can't forget that," he said somberly, drawing her gaze to his.

  "I know that, believe me."

  He nodded. "Okay." He set up a few other simple traps in their rooms, and then they went back downstairs and headed to the mortuary.

  * * *

  The Sweet Peace Mortuary was housed in a two-story building about three blocks from a very large cemetery. Avery's nerves tightened as she entered the building. It was the first time she'd ever been in a funeral home and she didn't care for it. It was quiet and dark and had an odd smell, probably a mix of formaldehyde and something else. She did not want to think about what went on in the back rooms, so she tried to focus on the woman standing behind a tall counter.

  The receptionist, who appeared to be in her sixties or seventies, gave her a sympathetic smile and asked if they were all present.

  "We're waiting on one more," she said.

  "Let me know when you're all here, and Director Stanyan will see you in his office," the reception replied. "Please have a seat."

  "Thanks."

  As she moved away from the counter and took a seat on one of the lobby sofas, she saw brochures on the coffee table in front of her for caskets, as well as pamphlets about burial rights and cremations. The people used as models for the promotional materials were all older, white-haired, having lived long and full lives, and a wave of anger ran through her.

  "It isn't fair," she said to Wyatt, who had taken a seat next to her, picking up one of the brochures and waving it at him. "It's too soon for Noelle to be gone. She doesn't belong here. Can this be real? Can my best friend, a woman who is only thirty years old, be dead? This is a place for really old people."

  Wyatt's brown eyes filled with compassion. "I wish it wasn't real, Avery."

  "Me, too." She put down the brochure and hugged her arms around her waist, feeling ice-cold, but she doubted any amount of heat would make her feel warm again.

  "Tell me how you met," Wyatt said.

  "What?" she asked blankly.

  "How you and Noelle first met."

  "I—I don't know if I can talk about it."

  "You can." He gave her an encouraging smile.

  She thought for a moment. "It was at summer camp. We were eight years old and in the same cabin. We were going to the lake, and I saw that she had left without sunscreen or a hat, so I grabbed both items and told her she couldn't be out all day in the sun without them. She looked at me like I was crazy. But that was me. I was the worrier, the girl who looked before she leapt. Noelle just dove in, headfirst, unafraid, ready for any adventure." She paused. "I guess I should be glad she had so many adventures. She lived life. It was just too short." She drew in a breath, trying to rein in her emotions, not wanting to break down in front of Wyatt. Plus, Noelle's mom would be here soon, and she had a feeling Kari Price was going to be a mess. "I need to keep it together, especial
ly with Noelle's mom coming."

  "What's her mother like?"

  "Kari is a lot like Noelle—red hair, blue eyes, big personality. She can also be emotional and kind of flaky and sometimes a little too caught up in herself. At least, that's the way I remember her. I haven't seen her since college graduation." She twisted her hands together in her lap. "Kari was a young mom. She had Noelle when she was eighteen. Noelle's dad was eight years older, and he was a good influence on Kari, according to Noelle, but he died when Noelle was eleven. After that Kari went off the rails. She was depressed. She drank too much. She brought home different men, some who weren't so great. She was always late picking us up when it was her turn to drive us somewhere. It used to make my mom crazy. Eventually, she stopped letting Kari do any of the pick-ups or drop-offs. She just didn't trust her."

  "That must have been rough on Noelle."

  "It was hard at times, but on the flip side, Noelle had no restrictions whatsoever. Kari looked at Noelle like she was a friend, not a daughter, so Noelle had no curfew, no mom worrying about where she was or asking too many questions. Noelle got into a lot of trouble in high school."

  "Did she take you down with her?"

  "No. I tended to bail when things got dicey. She usually had other friends who were willing to keep up with her."

  "It sounds like you were complete opposites."

  "We were. But despite how different we were, we really had a bond. We told each other everything when we were kids. We were like sisters." She paused. "When Noelle came back into my life this year, I was wary, but I was also happy, because I'd really missed her. I don’t think I've ever been as honest with anyone as I was with her. She knew all my bad stuff, all my quirks, and I knew all of hers—or I used to. Now, it feels like I didn't know anything about her. I want to find out what happened, Wyatt. I want to get justice for her. But I'm also a little afraid of what we're going to learn."

  Wyatt gave her an understanding nod. "I get that. The truth is we never really know anyone, even when we think we do. Everyone has a secret, something no one else knows."

  "I don't think that's true."

  "Isn't it?" he challenged.

  "Well, I know you have secrets, and you're very private, but I feel like my life is pretty open."

  "But you're not involved with anyone. You live alone. Who's to know if you eat a pint of mocha almond fudge out of the carton after midnight?"

  "It would not be mocha almond fudge, probably strawberry swirl or cookie dough," she said, knowing Wyatt was trying to lighten the mood. "But I wouldn't worry about hiding that from someone. I'm not single because I have an ice cream addiction; I just haven't met the right person."

  "Maybe you're too busy looking up at the stars," he suggested.

  She rolled her eyes at that comment. "Have you been talking to my mother? That's her favorite thing to say. I've been building a career. There's nothing wrong with that."

  "No, there's not."

  "What about you? Are you single because you have some secret fetish?"

  "No, I'm single because I'm a terrible boyfriend."

  "Did someone tell you that?"

  "More than one someone. I'm not good at relationships."

  "Maybe because you look at everything as being temporary. No woman wants to think she's just good for the next few minutes or days or weeks."

  "Unfortunately, my past career didn't allow me much time to build anything longer than that."

  "You're not a Marine now. You can put down roots. You can hang a picture—if you want to."

  "I knew you were judging my apartment décor," he said with a gleam in his eyes.

  "Décor? You had nothing in your apartment, Wyatt. Certainly nothing that would count as décor."

  "Well, I might consider hanging a picture, once this is all over."

  "Maybe something from the Nova Star gift shop—with the stars, the moon, Mars—they sell some amazing and wonderful photos."

  He gave her a smile that sent a little shiver down her spine, and some of the cold in her heart seeped away.

  But as their gaze clung for seconds too long, she felt uneasy, wondering what she was doing. How could she even be thinking of Wyatt as a man when she was sitting in a mortuary about to figure out funeral arrangements for her best friend?

  Although, she could almost hear Noelle saying, I get it—he's hot—and you're still alive. Don't waste your life.

  But was that Noelle? Or was it her own voice?

  The door opened, and she stood up as Kari Price walked in. Her hair was a darker red than she remembered, and Kari was very thin, wearing a loose sweater over black leggings. Dark glasses covered her eyes, but as she stepped forward, she removed them, revealing red-rimmed eyes. She held out her arms, and Avery ran into her embrace as they exchanged a long, sad hug.

  "I'm sorry," she said, gazing into Kari's eyes.

  "Our girl is gone. I can hardly believe it. All the way here, I kept telling myself it was a dream."

  "I know the feeling." She felt tears well up within her, but she needed to keep them at bay.

  "Are you Noelle's boyfriend?" Kari asked Wyatt, who had gotten to his feet.

  "No," he said quickly. "I'm Wyatt Tanner. I worked with your daughter."

  "He's trying to help me find out what happened to Noelle," Avery added.

  "Thank God someone is looking for my daughter's killer. The police just told me the FBI has taken over the case but no one from the bureau is calling me back," Kari said, anger in her eyes. "Shouldn't someone have some answers for me by now?"

  "I'm sure they'll be in touch," she replied. "But let's worry about that later. Are you ready to discuss arrangements?"

  "I don't know. I'm not sure what to do. I don't have any idea if Noelle would want to be buried or cremated, and where she would want any of that to take place. I'm hoping you might know, Avery."

  She shook her head. "We didn't talk about any of that."

  "Of course not. Why would you? My baby shouldn't be dead," Kari said, sobs taking over the last part of her sentence.

  Avery put her arm around Kari's shoulders as the director, a serious-looking man in his mid to late fifties came out of a back room and suggested they move into his office.

  "I'm going to wait for you here," Wyatt said quickly, a pained expression on his face.

  She nodded, thinking it would be better to do this with Kari on her own. But it wasn't going to be easy, and there was a part of her that wished she could stay in the reception area, too.

  But she needed to be there for Noelle's mom. Noelle had always hated when her mom was unhappy. She'd often felt personally responsible for it, as if it was up to her to make up for her dad dying. If Noelle was looking down on them now, at least she'd know that Avery was taking care of her mother. It was the last thing she could do for her friend.

  Seven

  Wyatt was happy to wait in the reception area while Noelle and Kari discussed funeral arrangements. Just being close to their raw emotion had made him feel uneasy. It had also made him realize how little emotion he'd let into his life the past few years.

  Everything was about work, and in order to do his job well, he couldn't let emotion into it. Most of the time he had no problem staying on track, but talking to Avery about her friendship with Noelle, her childhood, her life, had reminded him that once upon a time he'd had friendships too, real friendships. He'd also had a family and a home.

  Frowning at the direction of his thoughts, he pulled out his phone and checked the time. He could hardly believe It was almost five. The day had passed in a blur, and it wasn't over yet.

  He felt a restless urge to connect with someone, but it couldn't be someone from his distant past. He walked outside, drawing in several deep gulps of fresh air before punching in the number Bree had given him.

  "Just wanted to check in," he said. "I saw the news about the fire in Venice Beach. Are you at work? Can you talk?"

  "I am in the office. Hold on one second," she said. />
  He perched on the edge of a brick planter outside the mortuary and watched the traffic for a few moments until Bree came back on the line.

  "Sorry about that," she said.

  "No problem. I probably shouldn't be calling you, but I thought you might have more up-to-date information than Flynn."

  "It's fine. I just got off the phone with the fire investigator. The blaze was set in Noelle Price's apartment. Witnesses at the scene mentioned an earlier fight involving you, Ms. Caldwell, and the man with the tattoo on his neck."

  "No one else was seen at the apartment after we left?"

  "Not that anyone remembers, but it was a chaotic scene. The fire spread quickly. People were focused on getting out of the building with a few personal items and their lives. The only thing we know for sure is that whatever was in that apartment is gone. The fire investigation is just beginning. I'm sure we'll know more in a few days."

  "I'm not sure we have a few days. With the satellite launch coming up on Tuesday, Noelle's murder, and now the fire, everything is ratcheting up."

  "Which should make Nova Star more interested in cooperating with us, but Joanna said while your boss expressed concern about Ms. Price's death, he didn't believe it was connected to the company. He said his security is also looking into the matter, which I guess is you and your team at Nova Star."

  "Yes. But Hamilton is not quite as confident as he would have you believe. He is determined to protect his family, and he thinks Jonathan is being set up for a fall."

  "Then he needs to help us prove that."

  "Well, he's got me to do that. Are you spending the whole weekend at work?"

  "Maybe. Nathan went back to Chicago for a few days, so I figured I might as well keep busy. By the way, Vincent Rowland showed up in the office a few minutes ago and whisked Joanna off for a drink."

  He was surprised. Vincent Rowland was retired FBI and the father of a former friend. "What is he doing in LA?"

  "He's here for his daughter Cassie's engagement party."

  "That's good. I'm glad the Rowlands have a happy event to celebrate. That memorial a few months back was kind of rough."