When she entered Rosalee’s room, Kane was placing a tender kiss on his aunt’s forehead. The scene was touching…and private. Shelby stared for a moment, a bit overwhelmed by the feeling she’d always be an outsider, looking in. She began to retreat through the door, but Rosalee spotted her.
“Shelby, come in.”
She hesitated. “I can come back later.”
Kane straightened. “No need. I’m going to check in with Roberts. You and Aunt Rosalee settle in for the night.” He approached the doorway where Shelby stood. “How are things at Northstar?”
“All good.” She eased aside to let him pass.
He paused to stand in front of her. “Do you need anything else to be ready for tonight?”
They’d gone through the same routine of securing Rosalee’s room for the last couple of nights. She shook her head. “I’m ready.” She glanced up at him, her mouth dry from the look in his eyes. No matter how the next few days turned out, she’d never be able to forget this man. “Goodnight…Agent Kane.”
He leaned over and gave her a smile that made her insides quiver. “Merry Christmas, Northstar.”
****
Light spilled into Rosalee’s hospital room through the open door from the hallway. Then it vanished as quickly as it had appeared when the door closed. Shelby immediately felt the intruder’s presence. Her mind jumped to full alert. It looked like their hunch and the preparations the last couple of nights paid off.
She remained curled on her side, consciously breathing evenly between her lips. Her movements stayed smooth and small as she wrapped her fingers around the baton hidden beneath the pillow.
A figure crept along the wall, nearly indistinguishable from the darkness of the room. As he approached the bed, she smelled tobacco and snowy dampness on his clothes. He must have been waiting outside a long time. Her heart pounded with adrenaline. Waiting was torture. But if she moved too soon, he’d have time to kill her and Rosalee. She focused to gauge her timing to defend and disarm.
A rustle of clothing told Shelby the intruder’s arm had moved over her. A blade gleamed from the restroom nightlight.
She flung back the covers and whipped out the baton, extending it to the full length in a single snap. In a single strike, she whacked the baton across the intruder’s knuckles. With a satisfying crunch, his fingers flew open and the knife skittered across the tiled floor.
Overhead lights blazed on. Shelby saw the intruder stagger and clutch the bed frame to keep from falling. He was of medium height, and reminded her of an under-stuffed scarecrow.
“That was almost too easy.” Kane hurried up behind a stunned Grady Cooke, grabbed his shoulder, and slapped a cuff on his wrist. Then he wrenched the other wrist, broken and bleeding from where Shelby had hit him, and cuffed it, too. Cooke cried out in pain, but Kane ignored him. “You’re under arrest, Cooke. Again.” He looked over at Shelby. “Nice work with that stick.”
She grinned, warmed by his compliment.
Rosalee stirred in the other bed behind the curtain. “Did you get him?”
Shelby hopped off her bed, fully clothed, and tugged the curtain aside. “It’s over. Our ruse to use me as a decoy worked. Cooke thought I was you.”
Kane spun Cooke around and began to haul him out of the room, just as Roberts appeared. “Looks like we have our guy.”
Cooke struggled to get free, but being a head shorter than Kane, couldn’t get loose. “This isn’t over, not by a long shot,” he growled. “I got connections. You can’t keep me locked up.”
“Keep singing, Cooke.” Kane shoved the man toward the doorway and handed him to Roberts. “We’ll pick up your connections too.”
Kane looked over his shoulder at Shelby and Rosalee. “Will you two be okay for a couple of hours while we take care of this vermin?”
Rosalee gave a triumphant smile. “Go, go.” She waved her hands at him. “After all this excitement, I’ll have pages to add to the ending of the book.”
“Of course, you will.” Kane rolled his eyes. “Sounds like you’ll be burning the midnight oil.”
Shelby was relieved to have the man who’d been targeting them in custody. “No problem. That’s work we can handle.”
When they could no longer hear the man swearing revenge, Shelby turned to Rosalee. “Are you truly okay?”
The author grinned. “My dear, I’ve never been better.” She touched her bandaged head. “Well, I suppose I have been, but I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have this nightmare over. I guess Nelson was right all along. The threats were just some crackpot trying to scare me.” She gestured to the door. “It just happened to coincide with that escapee hunting down my nephew. This is a case of reality being stranger than fiction.” Her smile widened. “I’m glad this book isn’t fiction.”
Shelby laughed at the author’s assessment, feeling a bit lighthearted herself. It appeared the threats were truly nothing more than a strange convergence of circumstances. Her assignment was nearly completed. That thought sobered her for a moment. She wasn’t sure how she felt about moving on. She’d come to care a great deal for this dear lady who’d found a way into her heart. And Kane, too. She’d think about him later. For now, Shelby handed Rosalee a notepad and then booted up the laptop.
They were thirty minutes into the work, heads bent over Rosalee’s desk, when the door opened.
Shelby glanced up, surprised Kane had returned so soon. She had a smile ready to greet him, but it was another man who stepped into the room.
“Manny,” Rosalee exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter Nineteen
Herbert Mansfield’s dour presence made the hospital room seem colder and darker than it had been a moment ago. Shelby knew Rosalee had updated him on their situation. He’d pleaded with her to come to the resort to rest and recuperate, but with Cooke on the loose, Rosalee told him she was staying put under doctor’s orders. Mansfield hadn’t been happy about it but agreed and said he’d see her when she was released, pleading his aversion to hospitals. And yet here he was.
“Has something happened, Manny? It’s the middle of the night.” Rosalee removed her reading glasses and laid them on the desk to look at her old friend.
At this late hour, Shelby knew the billionaire wasn’t here for a social visit. His face was drawn, shadowed with deep furrows that spoke of little sleep and bitterness. She stood to approach him, but stopped when he withdrew a small pearl-handled revolver from his wool coat pocket. Cold snaked along her skin at the sight of the deadly weapon.
“Sit down.” Mansfield gave a low growl and gestured with the gun. “I may be old, but I’m still a very good shot. Especially at this range.”
“Manny!” Rosalee tried to stand. “What is this?”
“Shut up.” He cut her off, his gravelly voice a vicious bark. “You’ve said enough. More than enough.”
Rosalee’s face drained of all color. Shelby reached out to the author who grabbed onto her hand like a lifeline. The older woman’s icy fingers trembled. Rage bubbled up at Mansfield’s treatment of this dear woman.
“I’m doing the talking now.” Mansfield moved farther into the room, closing the door behind him. “For once in your life, you’ll listen, and do what I tell you.”
Shelby eyed the old man. A realization broke through like coming out of a dark tunnel. “You’re the one who sent the threats.”
“Of course I’m the one behind the threats.” He sneered. “Gold star for the new assistant. Except you’re not an assistant. You’re from that blasted Northstar Security Firm.”
Shelby cocked her head. “I thought you’d figured it out when we met.”
“And you were right to take a dislike to me,” Mansfield acknowledged.
“Is that true, Manny?” Rosalee looked stricken. “You were behind the threats? Why?”
“Because I needed you to stop writing that damn book of yours.”
Rosalee gave the older man a confused stare. “But why? There isn�
��t anything in my book that could hurt you.”
“Where’s the diary?”
Rosalee frowned. “Diary? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play coy with me. You forget, I can tell when you’re lying.” He shook his head at her. “Your father’s diary. You didn’t leave it at the house after the fire. And I’ve been through all the wreckage from the SUV. Where is it?”
The author’s expression grew alarmed. “How do you know about the diary? I’ve never spoken a word of it to anyone.”
“How could I not know? I watched your father write in it, night after night. I tried to find it after he died. I was going to destroy it along with all his other personal effects. But it wasn’t in his things.” Mansfield’s face twisted with hatred. “He must have sent it home before he died, and you’ve had it all these years…” He seemed to fall into an old memory. “You’ve known my secret… All these years…right under my nose.”
“Does it matter?” Rosalee asked. “No one else knows—”
“I know!” Mansfield’s eyes snapped with anger. “I know you’re writing his story. Did you forget you told me that you’re including the first chapter of your father’s biography in your book? I can’t allow that. Not with Troy’s confirmation so close.”
“What secret?” Shelby spoke up. “What does her father’s diary have to do with your grandson’s confirmation to the courts?” She shook her head in puzzlement, looking from Mansfield to Rosalee. “I don’t understand.”
A light flashed in Rosalee’s eyes. “I do.”
“You don’t know everything.” Mansfield’s lip curled in a sneer. “And what little you do know cannot become public knowledge.”
“I wasn’t going to divulge your secret, Manny,” Rosalee said. “I’ve kept it all these years. Why would I expose you now?”
“What secret?” Shelby asked again, without taking her eyes off Mansfield and the gun. She wanted answers and as long as they were talking, no one was shooting.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” Rosalee answered. “I can’t tell you.”
Shelby thought back on the redacted World War II files she had yet to finish reading. Pieces of the puzzle started dropping into place. “Did your father and Mr. Mansfield serve in World War II together? In the OSS?”
“See?” Mansfield barked. “Even Miss Mouse is putting the pieces together.”
“I promise, I didn’t say anything to her,” Rosalee pleaded.
Mansfield snorted. “What else do you think you know, Miss Mouse?”
Shelby shrugged. “I think you got started in the oil business because of some sort of illegal operation during the war. Did Rosalee’s father try to stop you? He might have even died because of you. Did you kill Rosalee’s father, Mansfield? Is that the rest of the secret you’re trying to hide?”
“That’s not true!” Rosalee clutched a hand to her chest. “You were Father’s best friend. You took care of us when he died.”
“I was his best friend,” Mansfield snarled. “And then he betrayed me.”
“No.” Rosalee shook her head, even as a light of understanding appeared in her eyes. “Why?”
“That damn diary of his.” Mansfield raised the gun. “He recorded all our activities. He learned I’d revealed our location days before we were captured—that our escape from the Gestapo wasn’t really an escape. I bargained with the Nazis, and they let us live. I saved his life, and he betrayed me by recording it all in a diary he wasn’t supposed to be keeping. And you knew about all of it, didn’t you, Rosalee?” The hand on the gun tightened. “If Miss Mouse put it together, others will too. I can’t take that chance. It would destroy all my efforts to shield my grandson from my past. He’s going to be confirmed to the courts in a week.” He shook his head, his rheumy gaze locked on Rosalee. “If that damn maid hadn’t interrupted Cooke…” He stopped.
“You hired Cooke?” Shelby said. More of the puzzle fell into place. “You got him to New York. And the shooting at the cabin? Did you orchestrate that too? Are you Grady Cooke’s benefactor?”
Mansfield grunted. “I find the tools I need and use them.”
“Of course.” Rosalee sounded crushed. “How else would Cooke know where to find us?”
Mansfield lifted a bony shoulder. “Too bad it came to this.” The revolver wavered in the old man’s hand.
“I’ll pull the chapter out of my book. I won’t publish my father’s biography. I can frame my own story a different way.” Rosalee started to stand, but Mansfield leveled the gun at her and she sank back in the chair. “Please…Manny.”
Mansfield jerked his head at Shelby. “It’s too late.” The stark hospital lights glinted harshly off the gun barrel. “Tell me where the diary is.” He shifted his aim on Shelby. “Or your assistant dies.”
Shelby’s stomach muscles tightened, as though that would really stop a bullet. Right now, she wished for something she never wanted to touch again—a gun.
“You win, Manny.” Rosalee’s voice was quiet. “Put that gun away.”
Shelby recognized the billionaire’s hesitation and hoped that Rosalee’s plea had distracted him. She didn’t doubt Mansfield would shoot both of them once he got what he wanted. But maybe the author had bought a few more minutes for her to figure a way out of this situation.
“Hand over the diary.” He steadied the gun back on Shelby. “And no tricks.”
Rosalee reached into the bedside drawer and lifted her purse. “I have it right here. I take it with me everywhere I go.” She glanced up at Mansfield. “You see, Manny. I didn’t want it to fall in the wrong hands either. You can trust me.”
Mansfield shuffled closer, his tongue flickering over old, weathered lips as Rosalee rummaged through her purse.
With Mansfield’s attention fully focused on Rosalee and the diary, Shelby slid a hand to her belt, gently tugged out her baton, and slipped it behind her back. It was still compact, and she palmed it, angling slightly to keep Mansfield from noticing her movements.
“Here it is.” The author held up a small black leather-bound book.
Mansfield reached for it, allowing his gun hand to drop slightly. At that moment, Shelby flicked her wrist to extend the baton to its full length, swinging the weapon upward, and struck Mansfield’s hand. His finger jerked and the gun fired. The report echoed through the room, making Shelby’s ears ring. Rosalee screamed and shrank back in her chair.
Mansfield screamed too, dropping the gun and the diary before clutching his broken, bloodied hand to his chest.
Shelby rushed to where the gun had fallen and picked it up. She trained it on Mansfield, her finger on the trigger. Rage filled her at his blatant disregard for all that Rosalee had been to him—a surrogate daughter, who had protected his dirty secrets for decades. And this was how he repaid that loyalty? She wanted to shoot the bastard for that betrayal alone.
He turned a watery stare on Shelby, drawing on some inner strength as he straightened and lifted his chin. “I’d rather die than see my grandson’s disappointment.”
“I’d really love to oblige you, old man.” Shelby’s finger tightened around the trigger. “Give me one reason not to.”
Rosalee retrieved the diary from the floor and glanced between Shelby and Mansfield. “Don’t shoot.” She held a hand out to Shelby. “Please.”
Shelby drew a deadly bead on Mansfield’s chest, intent on protecting this dear lady she’d come to care for.
“If the good guys just wait long enough…” Rosalee’s voice trembled. “He’ll die of old age.”
Shelby glanced over at Rosalee, her blood racing with the realization that her assignment had come full circle. She turned and glared at Mansfield. “Sit.”
The billionaire shuffled over to a chair. A defeated old man.
****
When Kane arrived back at the hospital, he told Shelby that Cooke had spilled every detail of Mansfield’s involvement on the ride to the police station. By the time Kane and Roberts had secured the convic
t behind bars and returned, Shelby had tied Mansfield to a chair. Hospital personnel had secured the billionaire while they waited for the authorities to arrive.
After the police took Mansfield away, Rosalee and Shelby set to work on writing the final pages of the autobiography. Dawn greeted them as they finished the last chapter, which now included a section on FBI Special Agent Kane’s apprehension of the escaped convict, Grady Cooke. As promised, Rosalee left out all the details of what happened with Mansfield, and removed the first chapter of her father’s biography.
“Why didn’t you expose the old reprobate?” Shelby couldn’t believe the author’s magnanimity.
“Because, my dear, this book is about me. Not Herbert Mansfield.” Rosalee tidied her notes. “He’ll pay dearly for his deeds. And his grandson, an unfortunate innocent in all of this, will be destroyed. I can’t change that fact, but I don’t have to drag it out by touting my involvement in such a public book.” She slipped her arm back into the sling. “I still have my father’s diary. Maybe someday I’ll unearth the entire story and tell it.” She paused and tilted her head to one side. “Then again, maybe not. Right now, I just want to go home.” She stood and began packing the few clothes Kane had bought for her hospital stay. Suddenly, she looked up. “Oh, and by the way, Justine.”
It took Shelby a moment to register the use of her given name. “What?” She looked at the other woman suspiciously.
“Merry Christmas.” Rosalee smiled.
Something inside Shelby broke. This woman, who’d been through so much, had more giving and generosity than anyone Shelby knew. Without hesitating, without thinking, she walked over and hugged the dear author close. The tears clogging her throat made it hard to speak. “Merry Christmas, Rosalee.”
Tell It Like It Is Page 22
