Deadly Encounter

by DiAnn Mills

  “Thanks for helping me keep her safe.” Whitt ended the call.

  Alex laughed again. Youth, bluntness, and obviously a mind that never shut down.

  Was Stacy a magnet for trouble? In the last week, she’d been hit with a boatload of grim encounters, and none had been resolved. He’d always heard troubles came in threes, and she’d met the max.

  The agent in him probed the various possibilities. She lived in an area many Houstonians would prefer to see bulldozed or totally refurbished. He sent a request to the FIG concerning Walter M. Brown Investments.

  Thirty-five minutes later when he pulled into his apartment complex, he had his answer. The license plate was listed to a woman who’d reported the car stolen. The firm was a shell company, as Whitt suspected. But this one had a paper trail a mile long.

  FRIDAY EVENING, Stacy parked her truck in the garage and turned off the engine. Never had she been so glad to see a week come to a close. The alleged Mr. Smith had stopped by the clinic earlier that morning and informed her three families had accepted Walter M. Brown Investments’ cash offer for their homes, and six others were considering the deal. Fortunately Whitt had already left for school. Or had Smith watched him pedal away and chosen then to pay her another visit? The prices the home owners were accepting were far lower than market value, and she told him so.

  “Hard times demand hard prices,” Smith had said. “This afternoon I’ll be speaking to several owners who rent out their properties.”

  “They’ll be making a terrible mistake. Our water’s fine.”

  He smirked. “Damage’s already done. Regardless of what is proven or revealed, the owners want to unload their property.”

  She pointed to the door. “Leave now before I call the police.”

  He waved and left, squealing his tires in the parking lot like a disgruntled teenager. Today he was driving a different vehicle, but by the time she hurried outside to read the plate number, he’d already driven off.

  Then the 1:00 funeral drained her of what little emotional control she had left.

  Mr. Parson received military funeral honors. The dear man had outlined his service in detail and given his requests to his son months prior to his death. An honor guard of four Marines performed a powerful ceremony that included folding the American flag and presenting it to Mr. Parson’s oldest son. The music was a patriotic and faith-filled commemoration to a highly decorated Marine. The service concluded with a Marine playing taps and not a dry eye in the church. Hers and Whitt’s included. Afterward, Whitt wanted to spend time at her house alone, and she understood his need to work through Mr. Parson’s death.

  Now all she wanted to do was shut the world out and relax with Whitt. He’d offered to put together a salad, bake potatoes, and grill burgers. She’d make brownies to go with vanilla ice cream, or the other way around. She preferred a balance of hot gooey brownies covered with mountains of vanilla ice cream, drowning her woes in indulgences that would add inches to her thighs.

  For a week she’d endured one horrific event after another. It almost made the custody hearing next Wednesday a breath of fresh air. Almost. She refused to cease praying until the judge signed the papers.

  She ventured into the kitchen and noted an extra uncooked hamburger patty on a platter. “Did you forget one?” she said to Whitt, who was chopping up cucumbers and red bell peppers for the salad.

  “I’m really hungry and thought I might want another one later.” He already had the brownies in the oven. Did he think he had to earn her love?

  A nudge to call her mom swirled around her head and landed in her heart. She wanted to tell her about Whitt, but with all that was going on and the exhaustion weighing on her body, she’d wait for the next conversation.

  They ate while watching the six o’clock news on Channel 5. Kathi Scott reported the water fraud incident and gave residents a number to call at the health department. Finally resolution to a few headaches. But Smith’s words slammed against her brain. No matter what happened, owners would want to unload property. Who’d ever want to live here where it was dangerous to step outside your home at night? Although the water problem was a hoax, some people would never forget it.

  After they’d eaten and loaded the dishwasher, she and Whitt settled into their Friday night routine. She slipped the DVD into the player and grabbed an afghan to snuggle up on the couch. Xena lay at Whitt’s feet, and it was blissfully, wonderfully peaceful.

  The doorbell rang. She moaned and glared at the door.

  “I’ll get it.” Whitt rushed to his feet. He had more energy than she’d ever own.

  “Check who’s there first.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” A moment later the door creaked open. “Hi, Agent LeBlanc. Looks like you’re armed to see Miss Stacy.”

  Armed? She shook off the afghan, paused the DVD, and stumbled to the door. Alex grinned. In one hand he carried a vase filled with a dozen yellow roses and baby’s breath, and in the other, he clutched a bag of popcorn Jelly Belly candies. He handed both to her. She inhaled the sweet rose scent. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She sent an accusatory look at Whitt. “I sense a conspiracy here. Whose idea was this?”

  “Mine,” they both said.

  She laughed and gestured Alex inside. “We’re ten minutes into High Crimes. From the looks on your faces, you two probably wrote the script.” Now to figure out why Whitt wanted Alex to pay a visit, especially when the man would have called her if he’d truly been interested.

  “Have a seat, Alex. The afghan is mine, so hands off.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He sat rather stiffly.

  “Coffee or lemonade?”

  “Coffee. Black.”

  “Typical,” she said on the way to the kitchen.

  “How so?”

  “High-profile law enforcement types always drink their coffee black. That way they can cap it and dash out into the cold, cruel world to solve a crime.” She reached into the cabinet for a mug and whirled around to find Alex behind her. She jumped.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  She smiled. “Tell me why you’re here. I’m really tired, and I know Whitt put you up to this. Can’t be about last Saturday.” Realization rained on her. “He called you about the health department mix-up.”

  He nodded and took the full mug she extended to him. “He mentioned a sting operation. I learned that Walter M. Brown Investments is a shell company.”

  “For what?”

  He tilted his head, probably forming an appropriate reply. “Not sure because this one isn’t easily traced.”

  “My life goes from one nightmare to a huge stressor that has me on overload.” She took a breath, the kind that usually calmed her. “What else can you tell me?”

  “Mr. Smith is driving a stolen car.”

  “This morning he had a different one. But I missed catching the license plate number.”

  “No problem. He’s stretching his luck. Whitt’s concerned about your safety in helping HPD.”

  She tossed a glance into the living room, where Whitt was sorting through DVDs. “He’s a bit over-the-top. I’m simply having a meeting with a person at the clinic. The only difference is a police officer will overhear the conversation.”

  “I can still hear you,” Whitt said. “I’m not over-the-top but a conscientious citizen.”

  “Close your ears.” Her gaze fell on the uncooked hamburger patty. “Grill the burger for Alex, since that was your original intention.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Medium rare?”

  Alex nodded and watched him walk onto the patio. “You can file tonight as an unorthodox interview.” He waited until Whitt closed the door leading outside to the patio and grill before continuing. “Ever done this sort of thing before?”

  “No.” She rummaged through her mind for words to change the intensity of the moment. “Want to give me a couple of tips?”

  He frowned. “How about be careful, and do you w
ant to go through with this?”

  She poured a cup for herself and added cream. “Seriously, I’m fine.” She leaned back against the counter and faced him. “The flowers and candy are very thoughtful. The popcorn Jelly Bellies are delish.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “I’ll let you sample mine.”

  “And deprive you of your treat?” He pulled out his phone. “Can you look at a photo?” When she agreed, he navigated to Lynx Connor’s pic.

  She drew in a sharp breath at the recognition. “He’s the man representing Walter M. Brown Investments, wanted me to sell my home. In fact, he’s put up signs to pay cash and has been meeting with home owners to buy their property. Using the water hoax as a scare tactic.”

  “We have a BOLO out for him. When was the last time you saw him?”

  “This morning shortly after Whitt left for school. He claimed to be meeting with more home owners in the afternoon.”

  “Hold on a minute while I notify the office.” He typed into his phone. When he finished, a slight smile met her. “Thank you. He’s been identified as an associate of Todd Howe’s.”

  “The murder is connected to the water scheme?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Alex.” She touched her throat. “I’m waist-deep in a horrible crime.”

  He studied her color-stricken face.

  “Can you arrest him?”

  “Only question him. It’s not against the law to use a pseudonym, capitalize on gossip, or pay cash for property.”

  “That’s disheartening.”

  “But he has rights too. Stacy, I promise this will soon be behind you.”

  She saw a hint of interest in his gaze that shook her. “You don’t have to stay.”

  “But the movie is supposed to be one of Whitt’s favorites.”

  “Oh, he primed you.” She pressed her lips together, a bit nervous to be alone with him even with Whitt there. But she wanted to know him better.

  He took a long drink of his coffee. “So you hear it from me first, earlier this week Ric and I talked to the manager of the Aldine Westfield Stables. Said his name was Chet. He gave us the tour.”

  She paused, a surge of anger rising from the soles of her feet. “I thought I’d been cleared?”

  “You have. Every detail of Saturday’s case has to be visited. Nothing personal, okay?”

  She sensed her face growing hot. “Learn anything new?”

  He slowly nodded. “The members-only section of the airport ranger website isn’t secure.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Only when a hacker can determine when and where a volunteer is riding and a man ends up dead. Add the quadcopter piece.”

  He’d made his point. “I’ll insist stricter security measures are used. I’m an officer for the group. Is the investigation headed toward interviewing all the airport rangers?” Sarcasm laced her words, and she didn’t apologize for it.

  “We want to talk to a few. By the way, I saw you’re on the schedule tomorrow.”

  “I am.”

  “Mind if I join you? Chet said he’d have a gentle horse for me to ride.”

  She should have known Alex had his bases covered. “With two other women?”

  “I’ve already talked to them, and they said I was welcome. I have their coffee preferences so I won’t come empty-handed.”

  “C’est tout finis.”

  “That’s it. You’re finished?” He translated her Cajun and laughed. “Do you mean I’m irresistible?”

  “Please.”

  The back door opened and shut. “Hey, you two. A movie is calling our name,” Whitt said. “And we have brownies and ice cream for dessert.”

  “I smelled them the moment I came in,” Alex said. “With or without nuts?”

  “Without,” Stacy said, almost wishing he’d be gone by then.

  So much she wanted to know about what the agents had discovered, but she couldn’t ask with Whitt privy to every word. What more had Alex uncovered about Lynx Connor?

  Tomorrow she’d probe deeper.

  Sunday she’d rest.

  Monday she’d do her part in stopping those who were spreading lies about their water.

  Tuesday she had an appointment with Mr. Nardell to go over the court details.

  Wednesday was the hearing. Then she’d move on to whatever was going to blindside her next.

  SATURDAY MORNING, Alex stopped at Chick-fil-A and loaded five large coffees with the fixings, breakfast sandwiches, and orange juice into carryout containers—the OJ because women liked the healthy touch. As he maneuvered his Jeep to the stables, the smell drove him nuts and his stomach rumbled.

  He removed the lid to one of the coffees and took a sip. Sleep had evaded him last night. Being around Stacy distracted him far too much, and now he was heading to the stables to ride the airport trail with her and her friends. He told himself this was in the name of investigating an unsolved crime, but he enjoyed the side benefits.

  Shortly after 1 a.m., Pacific time, the LA office had picked up Lynx Connor at LAX airport, arriving from Houston. He lawyered up at his arrest. His interview would be a priority not only for California and Houston but for all the nation’s FBI offices. Alex wanted an opportunity to question him, but he’d have to settle for his responses from the LA office. Connor could have been in Houston during the time of the murder. Did the man wear a size 121/2 shoe and own a 9mm?

  Alex parked and grabbed the cardboard container of drinks and bag of breakfast items. He made his way to the stables. The mixed scents of animals and hay took him back to boyhood days. Now to find out if distributing Connor’s pic there provided more information. Long shot, but he’d been surprised before.

  Chet had a gelding saddled for him. Alex handed him a coffee and a breakfast sandwich. From the wide smile, he’d pleased the man.

  Shortly thereafter, Stacy and the other women parked alongside Alex’s Jeep. She introduced Marie Albert and Leslie Ott, the two volunteers she normally rode with, and he presented his breakfast tokens. One more time, he received extra points for his Cajun charm.

  “Please, couillon,” she said.

  “What did you call him?” Chet said.

  “Cajun for a ‘crazy fool,’ but it’s not bad. Rather sweet.” He lifted a brow at her and chuckled.

  She marched into the stables, giving Chet and the other two women a laugh. Strange, he hadn’t wanted to impress a woman in far too long. Maybe when this case was over, he’d ask her out for dinner instead of coffee or showing up unexpectedly at her doorstep. Or having two other women chaperone.

  While the women saddled their horses, Alex showed Connor’s pic to Chet and the women. None had seen him before. He found Stacy alone.

  “I have some news,” he said. “Lynx Connor was picked up by the LA office.”

  Her shoulders eased. “What a relief.”

  “I’ll keep you posted with what I can.”

  She tilted her head. “I understand.”

  The ride relaxed him, although at times the sound of approaching aircraft broke the solitude. The outdoors and the horse beneath him gave him more of an understanding why the airport volunteers were eager to do their part.

  Not that he totally supported them.

  They rode past the crime scene, and he picked up on Stacy’s tense reaction.

  He rode closer to her. “Breathe and relax,” he whispered.

  “It’s raw, remembering it again. Was I targeted to find the body since this is apparently connected to my subdivision?”

  He had the same theory, but more evidence was needed. “We’ll find out the truth. Given enough pressure and his increasing charges, Connor could provide answers today.”

  “You’re just trying to make me feel better, but I appreciate it.”

  He thought of her poetry. “Have you written out your feelings? That might help.”

  Her blue eyes flashed to his, warm and vulnerable. “I could try.”

  He’d touched on
her creative side, and that seemed to bother her a little. How well he empathized with those conflicting feelings of wanting a person to know him completely but being afraid of getting hurt. How would she respond if she knew he could read her?

  Stacy’s mare snorted and reared. Alex’s horse spooked too, and he gripped the reins.

  A rattlesnake slithered across the trail in front of them and disappeared.

  Stacy’s mare’s front legs lifted again, sending Stacy into the brush. The mare took off running toward the busy road.

  Alex attempted to calm his dancing horse while worry slammed against his mind. “Stacy, are you all right?”

  The two women dismounted and hurried to Stacy’s aid, while he rode the whirlwind with the horse beneath him. His horse stilled, yet continued to tremble. He patted the gelding’s side, coaxing the horse to relax. “Is Stacy okay?”

  “We’re not sure yet,” Marie said in a gentle Hispanic lilt. “Looks like she got the wind knocked out of her.”

  “Call an ambulance.” Alex dismounted and wrapped the reins around a sapling. He wanted eyes on Stacy.

  “I’m okay,” came a familiar voice.

  A rustle in the bushes snatched his attention. Stacy’s horse trotted back onto the trail and nuzzled against her cheek.

  Stacy reached up to pat the mare’s neck. “Sweet Ginger, you should never run onto the road. You could have been killed.”

  Alex knelt at her side. “What about tossing her rider?”

  “The rattler scared her.”

  “Right. Where do you hurt?”

  “I’m in one piece, other than bruises.”

  “The last time you broke your arm,” Leslie said. “I should know—since I was with you.”

  Stacy peered at Alex. “Help me up?”

  “No way.” He scooped her up into his arms, and that’s when he realized his heart had taken a huge dip. “Do you hurt?”

  Her face flushed red. “Not at all. I . . . I can ride now.”

  Back at the stables, Alex unsaddled and brushed down the gelding, then made his way to Stacy’s side.

  “Is your day busy?”

  She brushed her mare without giving him eye contact. “Appointments at the clinic. I’ll open back up at noon. Will the FBI issue a press release about the water fraud?”