“No, sir.” She swung her legs out and accepted his hand. “I like being pampered. When it happens, I choose to embrace the moment.”
“I’ll make sure you get more such moments.” Then he walked beside her up the path to his door. He checked the mailbox and pulled out a few envelopes. He frowned as he flipped through them. “I guess my caller was lying.”
“What?”
“I got a call yesterday that told me to check my mail. Nothing yesterday or today.”
“Maybe it’s still on the way.”
“Maybe.” He unlocked and opened the front door. “Furniture isn’t mine for the most part. Neither are the doilies.”
She tried to choke back a laugh but instead sputtered. “Doilies?”
“Beverly’s mom lived with them for a year and crocheted doilies. They’re still here even though she is in assisted living now. That’s why I spend so much time in my workshop out back.” He unlocked and opened the door, then held it for her with a hesitance she hadn’t seen in any of their interactions. There was something charming in the dip of his chin, and as she brushed by, a woody scent wrapped around her, making her want to lean closer.
She felt his gaze and glanced up to find him focused on her, their faces inches apart. The tug to be closer about undid her.
Then he leaned closer.
Hesitated.
She drew nearer.
An intense action-movie theme song started blaring, and Savannah startled. Jett groaned as he pulled his phone out. “Stupid ringtone.”
Savannah put her hand over her mouth and stepped into a home that looked like something out of Crate and Barrel, but with doilies on every surface. The explosion of delicate white mats uncorked her laughter and she turned deeper into the home so that it wouldn’t disrupt Jett’s call.
When he got off the call, he followed her inside. “I think we’re getting somewhere.”
“Who was that?”
“A source of mine at USCIS.” His phone dinged and he glanced at it. “Pay dirt.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The regret that his phone had interrupted what could have been an amazing moment lingered. But it had to take a back seat to Tina’s information.
He studied the text for a moment, then grinned. “Hope Boonmee has traveled to the US three times in the last year. Each time for about a week. And each time to this area.” He turned the phone toward Savannah so she could see the text. It wasn’t much. Just a screenshot of travel dates and locations, but it was more than they had a few minutes ago.
“So she’s traveled here. And you think that connects her to Dustin.”
“She’s connected somehow. But look at where she travels from.” He waited as she looked at the phone again, and then saw the light of realization dawn.
“Each time she flew out of and back to Suvarnabhumi International Airport.” She looked at him. “That’s the airport Dustin used.”
He nodded. “What if she’s a point of contact in Thailand?”
“But you haven’t found any record of her? Other than this?”
“Not yet. It means something that she’s from Thailand.”
“Then she probably doesn’t own property here.” Savannah took a screenshot that she forwarded to her number, then handed the phone back to him. “Why don’t you show me everything else you have? Walk me through it.”
“It started with a phone tip. Then I got a packet filled with receipts, which I confirmed.”
An hour later the box of his research was open with files strewn across the top of the dining room table, and he’d given her the overview. She’d listened well and he could almost see her processing the data.
“No wonder you’re convinced.”
He started stacking the files. “There’s too much evidence not to be.”
She worried her lower lip and he tried not to fixate on it. “But Dustin insisted he was innocent.”
“And I’ve got a random person who’s called a couple times telling me I’m wrong. Same thing in tweets and email, but that’s not unusual.” He put the first stack back in the box. “It’d be more unusual if I didn’t get people calling me crazy and a hack. Especially when someone of Donnelly’s stature is involved.” He pushed back from the table and leaned back in his chair, hands laced behind his head.
“So I need to find Dustin’s evidence, whatever it was.”
“If it exists, I’ll look at it.” He’d look, but it would take compelling evidence to change his mind.
* * *
Savannah glanced at her watch and stood. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Can you take me home? I don’t like that Addy’s been alone so long.”
Jett cocked his head and studied her, and she prayed he couldn’t read her thoughts. She didn’t need him to know how much his self-assurance made her determined to find whatever Dustin had meant to show her. She owed it to Addy and to the men to figure out whether there was more to the story than Jett had written.
“All right.”
The ride back to her apartment was quiet and she ran through what he’d shown her. She glanced at him as he neared her neighborhood. “I just thought of something.”
He smiled as he turned into Cherry Blossom Estates. “Shoot.”
“Who gave you the initial information about the trips?”
“I don’t know.”
He pulled to a stop in front of her apartment, and she thanked him for the ride.
“I’ll plan to go to Dustin’s tomorrow,” she told him. “I’ll let you know when if you want to join me.”
“You shouldn’t go alone.” His words fell heavy, but she ignored them as he came around the car and got her door.
“I’ll call. Thanks for walking me through what you have.”
He waited until she entered her town house before he pulled away. As soon as he did, she collapsed against the door. Her shoulder was hurting more than she’d let on. Though she wanted to go straight to Dustin’s, rest was what she needed. First, she’d spend some time with Addy.
Soft Christmas carols played from somewhere and when she opened her eyes, Savannah saw her tabletop-sized Christmas tree sitting next to the TV, its limbs heavy with ornaments and lights. The aroma of something sweet and spicy like banana bread flavored the air. She let herself relax into the idea that Christmas was coming.
* * *
Sunday, December 20
After attending the early service at her church, Savannah headed to Dustin’s apartment. She wanted to see what she could find on her own, but she called Jett on her way as promised. “I’m heading back to Dustin’s. Want to meet me there?”
“You caught me in the middle of something I have to finish. I can meet you there in about an hour.”
“All right. Come on up when you arrive.”
As she drove, she ran over the next day’s memorial service. She’d barely had time to call a minister and send email notices to the few people she could think to alert, but the memorial was primarily for Addy. It was the best Savannah could do to help her niece process her grief until Dustin’s body was returned to them.
Then her thoughts turned to what she hoped to accomplish at Dustin’s apartment. Her first priority would be a careful search of Dustin’s files for either his evidence or information on Hope Boonmee. And that would be easier to do without a reporter looking over her shoulder. Especially when said reporter possessed an uncanny ability to read her thoughts.
After she parked in a visitor spot, Savannah hitched her purse over her shoulder, fished out her keys, and held them at the ready. While she walked up to the building, she checked Dustin’s second-floor apartment windows for . . . something. She might be paranoid, but it was justified.
She scanned the parking lot before hurrying to the entrance and finding it unlocked. Then she climbed the stairs and tested his doorknob before unlocking it.
As soon as she was inside, she closed and locked the door.
Her muscles thrummed with energy, ready to bolt at the f
irst indication something was wrong. Maybe she shouldn’t lock the door after all.
She squared her shoulders and flipped on every light as she proceeded down the hallway past the kitchen and living space to the office. Before she entered it, she checked Dustin’s bedroom, then looked under his bed. She might be here alone, but she would not be surprised, not this time. Then she checked his closet. Stepped into his bathroom. Checked the shower.
Only after she’d confirmed she was alone did she feel the exhaustion of relief pressing against her.
She turned toward the office. She needed to get in there and check the files.
Instead, she felt a tug to his nightstand.
When they were married he’d kept a calendar that served as an early bullet journal to record anything memorable from the day. If he still kept a journal and she found it, it might answer some questions about his trips to Asia. But she didn’t see one on that table or in its small drawer.
She sagged as she considered her next move.
There wouldn’t be an easy answer. Not that she’d expected one, but it would have been nice to have Dustin’s thoughts about his days since he couldn’t defend himself anymore.
Time to move back to the office.
She closed the door to the bedroom on her way out and then turned on the office light. It looked as she’d left it, so she went to the desk and sat in the desk chair. The oversized chair leaned back beneath her weight, and she felt like a girl playing in her daddy’s chair. How had he organized files when they were married? They’d barely had the money to buy each of them a desk, and she’d been so focused on her law-school studies that she hadn’t paid much attention to his systems. She tugged open a drawer and riffled through folders of this year’s bills. They were relatively disorganized. Utilities were shoved into one file, medical bills into another, rent and household in a third. Charitable giving crammed a fourth.
Wait.
When had Dustin begun caring about donations? She pulled the file out and set it to the side for a careful read. The next file had another copy of Dustin’s will. She quickly read through it again. Dustin really had left her as his executor, something he should have changed years ago. Why had he listed her so recently?
She hadn’t seen Dustin since a fund-raiser they’d both attended six months earlier. She’d been there at a client’s request. He’d been there with the speaker, Logan Donnelly. Dustin had been relaxed, settled in a way that Savannah had never seen him. He’d looked good enough it made Savannah wish for a half minute that he’d settled down when he still had her. Then his gaze had slowly slid down her and back up, and she’d been ready to walk away and force herself to forget about him again.
Instead, she’d walked to the bar and collected a ginger ale.
When she turned around, he’d disappeared.
Dustin had had the ability to distract and capture her heart and soul from the time they met during the first week of sociology her sophomore year. The fund-raiser had proven that her heart would betray her and lean toward him even though her brain knew it was foolish.
Maybe Jett was right. Maybe a part of her was still in love with Dustin, but now Jett was here, and he seemed different in all the right ways.
Dustin was her past.
Jett was the opportunity for something new. That filled her with hope. And she decided that for once she would turn toward that feeling rather than away. It was her choice, and she was making it.
Savannah set the will aside with the donations file to take with her, then wondered where to look next.
Being his personal representative was a complication she didn’t need. If only it were as simple as selling a few assets, filing a few pieces of paper with the courts, then sending checks to his heirs . . . namely, Addy Jo.
The files weren’t looking through themselves, so Savannah turned to the next file and tried to ignore the fact that Christmas was Friday and she hadn’t done any Christmas shopping.
Her phone buzzed. On the way.
Shoot. She needed to get through the files before Jett arrived.
It was Sunday and he should be relaxing.
The week had been demanding with the crash investigation and serving justice on those who preyed on innocence.
Now he was watching a dot on a screen. The position of the reporter’s car. It had been too easy to slide the tracker under the man’s bumper. He rubbed his hands over his face to fight the weariness that engulfed him. Then his vision settled on the last family picture that showed a complete family.
The one with Grace.
Before his wife left.
Before his son focused on career rather than on what truly mattered.
This was why he did what he did.
End the violence that destroyed families.
The thought froze him in place.
Who was he becoming?
His daughter would be an angel for the rest of time. She would never experience more pain, but her end had been ruthless. His stomach bottomed out again at the reality of how defenseless and alone she had been. He couldn’t be her avenging warrior then, but he could now.
Was his drive for justice right?
Those who sinned must be punished.
The laws were clear. But the laws weren’t always enough. He’d seen too many cases where the clearly guilty walked free to commit more evil.
God had taken care of Logan Donnelly.
He had taken care of Dustin Tate and Evan Spencer.
Now he’d let the reporter lead him to the fourth member of the team.
There was only one problem that he could foresee. Once he learned the fourth man’s name, he’d have to kill Jett Glover too.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The moment the sun glinted through his bedroom window, Jett had opened his laptop. He’d polished and submitted an article for Monday’s paper before entering Agent Martin’s name in a search engine. When Savannah had mentioned her encounter with him, his name had niggled something in his memory.
The man’s daughter had disappeared two years earlier. Drove to meet friends and vanished.
Grace Martin.
He pulled up his notes on the Twitter accounts and saw @Gracie467. As he scanned through the content on that account, he noted it looked like a memorial account for a Gracie Martin, but he couldn’t confirm it was Agent Martin’s daughter. But now that account was being used to highlight his article on the junkets to Thailand.
As he scrolled through the account’s feed, he noted several tweets also used the unique spelling of trueth. With retweets of other articles related to human trafficking, it could be an account focused on this tragedy, but he wasn’t clear how it tied to remembering a Gracie Martin.
He shot a direct message to the account, and then checked for responses to his other messages. Nothing. He wrote another round of messages. He wished it was easier to reach the people behind the accounts.
He’d look into her family. Maybe one of them was using the account as an ongoing memorial to her and call to action to prevent future tragedies. Since no one using the account got back to him, maybe a friend who worked at Twitter might be able to help. He pulled up the woman’s contact information and left a message for her.
As he drove to Dustin’s apartment he wondered why that account would repost his article within an hour of its publication. The fact it had been retweeted thousands of times also stumped him, but once he learned more about who owned the account he’d piece it together. Maybe it was one of those things that would never be fully explained.
The sky was heavy with the threat of snow as he pulled into the apartment complex and parked next to her empty car. He didn’t like that Savannah was in there alone, not after what happened Friday night.
He walked into the building as someone hurried out, then he hiked the stairs to the second floor. He texted Savannah to let her know he was at the door, and waited a few minutes for her to open it. He wiped his frown off as she greeted him.
Guess he wasn�
�t fast enough.
She cocked her head and studied him. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Long day.”
“Long couple weeks.” She gave him a small smile, then led him to the office where she took a seat at the desk. “I’ve been collecting files to evaluate more thoroughly at home.”
They worked in companionable silence. He sat on the floor going through the files after she did. He checked his phone for direct messages from the Twitter accounts every hour, but they were silent. He was beginning to think they were fake accounts. Then she turned to the desk drawers while he filled her in on his latest ideas about the tweets. While she didn’t look overly interested, she was a good listener and it helped to talk through what he’d learned. He could see the article coming together in his mind as he wrapped up.
“So it’s likely one person is behind the original tweets and then bots are picking them up and circulating them,” he said.
“How will you learn the identity of the account owner?”
“I’ve sent them each direct messages. Since that hasn’t worked, I’m reaching out to a contact at Twitter.”
She looked skeptical as she opened another drawer. “I don’t think they can do that. It would be a violation of privacy.”
“Maybe. But I can ask.”
“That doesn’t address the why though.”
“My guess is it ties back to how Gracie Martin died. This looks like someone’s become obsessed with human trafficking and is using her account to keep the issue alive.”
Savannah ran her fingers inside an empty drawer as she considered his words. “Maybe. I suppose it’s possible that could happen.”
“Possible and likely. It’s just that tweets are more temporary than a Facebook memorial page.”
Savannah pulled out a small key and examined it. “I think this is a key to a safe deposit box.”
Jett leaned forward, itching to take it from her. “Which bank?”
She read the name off the key chain. “I’ll go first thing in the morning.”
“We’ll go first thing in the morning.” Savannah looked like she wanted to argue with him, but Jett didn’t look away. He’d be there with her when they went through the box.
Flight Risk Page 22
